See You Later [ A M I D S T _ T H E _ P O P U L A C E ]
By Stré
…to those longing for touch, to the jet-lagged travellers finding solace, to the lucky souls who have found their place…
Insomnia hits hard like a whip lashing at his back, smacking him wide awake instead of knocking him out cold. He wonders who is attacking his sleep, and jetlag appears to be the prime suspect, since he has only spent a mere three days in Japan and his body still thinks he is in America. Upon his arrival, he hardly felt any difference with his internal clock: the trek to Maka's apartment had passed in a blur, and he was so tired by all of the travelling that he passed out rather effortlessly that night. The next morning, he had woken up bright and early, ready for his first day of adventure in this foreign land, but by 3PM, his body had slowly shut down as if being shot by a tranquilizer.
Jetlag wasn't the only cause for his lack of sleep because no matter how well he could adjust himself to this new timezone, he could never get used to the fact that the sun rose at fuckin' 5AM. Indeed it was August, and the days were naturally longer in the summer, but that was just too early for his taste, with a city bustling hard at work by 7AM. They weren't kidding when they called Japan 'the land of the rising sun'.
The rays of light poking through the cracks of Maka's curtains aren't that bad, he thinks in retrospect. It's currently dark, with another few hours until sunrise, yet he still can't coax his mind into slumber, perhaps because his back is aching like a bitch. He's American, maybe not proud of it, but he grew up with the luxury of a bed, so resting on a futon on this thing she called 'tatami' (basically the floor) was a stark difference compared to his fluffy pillows and mattress that he already longs for.
No matter how he positions his body, his muscles can't relax, and while physical discomfort is certainly whipping him viciously, it's still not the biggest culprit that fuels his insomnia. There is something else that is rousing his senses, making it impossible for him to shut off his brain.
Her scent.
He thought that he would be immune to it by now, or that it would at least have the same comforting quality like on the plane, but it somehow evolved into something with the opposite effect. It's stimulating him. He doesn't notice it during the day, in the open air when they went sightseeing, or even when they returned to her apartment for a home-cooked meal. But when the lights shut, the scent amplifies and spreads like a wave of madness.
It really doesn't help that the source of this scent is lying a mere two feet away from him, also on a futon, on this damn hard floor. If he rolled over, he can easily (accidently) 'sleep' right beside her; maybe his arm would even flail and somehow drape over her abdomen, or even unintentionally snake up her modest chest during his state of 'unconsciousness'.
He dares not peek at her, so he isn't exactly sure which position she's sleeping in— either facing him, lying on her back, or turned the other way—but there are options for each of these possibilities. If it were the first case scenario, his hands didn't need to crawl and touch any of that delectable skin because he would be satisfied with brushing his nose against hers, being face to face, and relaxing in the soothing sound of her soft breaths. Or if his state of 'unconsciousness' was so 'unconscious', it could even mistaken her for a large pillow that he usually hugged at home, and he would pull her close to his chest, embracing the warmth that exuded from her tiny body.
Case number two was less interesting in comparison to the first, but it was definitely the most plausible if he were to 'fake an accident'. Its most appealing perk was the easy opportunity to 'unintentionally' grab her boob because all he had to do was outstretch his arm and 'hopefully' (of course by coincidence) land his hand on the desired area. He admits that her assets are small, but he knows that she doesn't wear a bra under her pyjamas, and the thought of those cute nipples excites him. He wonders if she would squeak in her sleep if he rubbed them the right way, with fingers merely trying to search for his earplugs in the dark, or so he could argue if she questioned his intentions.
Finally, the third scenario held the most potential because it was a bit like the first two combined. He may not be able to brush his nose against hers, but he could instead breathe in her ear from behind, perhaps sending her enticing messages instead of being the one at her mercy. That thin smooth hair would tickle his lips, but he would be able to fully breathe in the scent of her delicious shampoo, and maybe the intoxication in such a strong dosage would finally put him to sleep. His arm had an ever better access to her chest, reaching over, pulling her close with a breast (accidently) in his palm. Her firm ass would bump against his groin; hopefully she wouldn't awaken from the hard knock on her door…
He realises that these three scenarios are extremely promising, and he grows more curious at the thought of putting them into action. All he needed was to time it right, to know what to say if she grew suspicious or wary when she woke up, and to act completely nonchalant about the situation or even tease her nearly non-existent bust if he grew desperate for insults.
He steels his resolve, and decides that he's really going to pull this through. Once again, his curiosity won over his reason; he will act on impulse, with the first step of opening his eyes and turning his head to look at her. He counts to three, like the number of possible positions he will be working with.
1…
2…
3…
He raises the curtains shrouding his eyes, to reveal just what kind of play he will have to stage. What the fuck.
She is lying on her stomach.
And somehow, he doesn't have the mental capacity to think of a new accidental scenario. He feels the excitement deflate as the anticipation completely vanishes, immediately replaced by exhaustion from the overwork of his brain. He finally falls asleep.
"Hey Soul, do you think I need to bring a jacket tonight?" Early September is still warm in Tokyo, but the evening's temperature can be rather unpredictable, especially when she's only wearing a light short-sleeved shirt, paired with one of her infamous miniskirts.
"Just bring one if you're worried," he answers impatiently, feeling a little nervous about the upcoming event. After his ten-day battle with jetlag, he finally came out victorious, and began to feel completely at ease with his surroundings. Of course, Maka was a great help, and although she was back in school, she seemed to spend all her spare time with him, assuring him that he could stay at her place for as long as he wanted. However, tonight he was faced with a new challenge: he would be meeting her group of friends for the first time, and the thought of strangers and a party left him agitated. He didn't want to worry Maka, so he hopes that the impatient tone he just gave her wouldn't reveal any of his unease.
Much to his favour, she isn't fazed by his attitude and she continues to take her time, searching in her closet for something appropriate, to finally settle for a long black cardigan.
"Okay, I'm ready," she says while flashing him a smile, maybe waiting for a compliment that he doesn't end up giving. She does look cute tonight, heck she always did, but she seemed to have put a little more effort curling the ends of her usual lank hair, and dusting subtle makeup that accentuates her delicate features. He wonders if there is someone that she wants to impress tonight, and the thought of it being anyone aside from him makes him want to grow a blade from his arm and slice the bastard in half.
"All right, lets go then." He slips on his loafers while she fiddles with the buckles of her boots. He likes the way she crouches on one knee, her slim pale legs looking all the more enticing. The stance makes her look like she's preparing for battle, which reassures him that he's not alone in the obstacle to come.
As they approach the meeting point, Maka breaks into a smile and picks up her pace when she spots a figure in the distance with violet hair. He feels a twinge of jealousy at the sight of her excitement, and he wonders what this friend means to her, but his suspicions are washed away when he sees that the person is dressed in a long black dress that clung snugly to its linear body. He was pretty sure that he/she was female.
Maka glomps him/her from behind, and a surprised yell that sounded fairly deep, passably masculine, was uttered from his/her mouth. Soul retracts his judgement; that voice sounded too ambiguous to be female. He watches them exchange greetings and quick small talk (more on Maka's part), while his eyes search for an Adam's apple, but a white high collar fully covers the neck, so he can't see a damn thing.
"Soul, this is my friend Krunevichovna Gorokhin," Maka announces and then mutters something in Japanese to Kru..na..whatever, who then awkwardly nods in acknowledgement. "He's a foreign exchange student from Russia, so he doesn't speak any English because he's here to brush up his Japanese."
Oh… So it's a HE?
Soul tries to make eye contact but Kru-o-something winces and averts his gaze. He then pulls out one hand from the pocket of his jacket, and offers it to the cowering stranger who doesn't immediately take it.
"Hello, Kru..vik—hang on Maka, can you repeat his name?" Soul turns to ask.
"Just call him Kurona, or Chrona if it's easier," she supplies, while Chrona stands in silence, throwing wary glances at the outstretched hand, but finally musters the courage and grips it very lightly, a handshake so weak that makes Soul further question his gender.
"H-h-hi, Sou-ru," the shy boy manages to say, smiling lightly but still not making eye contact. Maka seems pleased with their 'interaction' but Soul silently prays for the awkwardness to end because he doesn't know what else to do or say after this.
His prayers to God are answered when he hears—
"YA- HOOOO! OIIIII~~~ MAKA!" bellows a distinct male voice, as if he was divine intervention in the flesh.
The trio pivots on spot, to see a burly guy with shocking blue hair rushing towards them, while a normal Japanese girl follows him closely, trying to keep up with his ridiculously fast pace. When the pair finally collides and the group becomes five, Soul immediately feels left out because they're all yapping away in Japanese, even Chrona drops in a few words, but mostly when he's being directly addressed.
They must be talking about him because he can recognize the Japanese-version of his name, Souru. Maybe Maka is explaining how they met, or recounting the many events in the last ten days—she seemed to have spent all her time with him, so her friends were probably not in the loop with the news of her life. The normal-looking Japanese girl discretely throws curious glances at him, suppressing her lips to curve into a smile, as if tacitly saying that she approves of him. It makes him feel self-conscious, but he ignores it by distracting his thoughts with music; his eyes now look glazed and unfocused, an expression that Maka is quick to notice.
"Sorry Soul, I just got carried away cuz I haven't seen them since before I left for the US. Anyways, so this is Tsubaki Nakatsukasa," she points at the conventionally-Japanese-looking timid girl who releases that smile she had been holding, "and this loudmouth idiot is Shoutarou Kurosawa."
Shou-whatever didn't seem to appreciate something Maka said because he barks back something in Japanese, then faces Soul, while yelling at the top of his lungs—
"BURAKKU S'TAHH YO~~" His gaze was strong, and even though Soul couldn't understand any of those words, he somehow knew that they'd get along.
"Ugh, just call him BlackStar," Maka interjects, while looking a little annoyed by her obnoxious friend's antics. She then explains how his ancestry originates from the Burakumin, a minority group in Japan who were essentially the outcasts in earlier times and suffered discrimination till this day, but he wasn't afraid of hiding his roots. Moreover, the first part of his surname signifies the colour "black", so the nickname fit well into place.
"But where does the Star come in?" wonders Soul, which causes her eyes to slit in further irritation.
"Well, I like to think that it's from the first kanji of his name, Shou, which can be read as 'star'…but he just chose it cuz he thinks the word sounds cool." At that, Soul is sold. He inexplicably knows that he would get along with BlackStar, despite not being able to verbally communicate. He flashes him a grin that gets reciprocated, in a moment of mutual bromance, and Maka's irritation doesn't have the time to reach its peak because another character enters the scene.
"Good evening, Maka," says a well-dressed Japanese gentlemen that can actually speak impeccable English.
"Oh, Shin-kun! I didn't think you'd make it!" She embraces him in a short hug, catching the attention of a certain white-haired fellow. "Meet my friend Soul. He's from America."
Soul just nods casually, not feeling the urge to speak since Maka has already done the introduction for him.
"Pleased to meet you Soul." The prim young man removes his fedora, revealing three peculiar parallel white stripes dyed on the left side of his hair, and curtsies a polite bow. "My name is Shinichi Kido. But please call me Kid if it's easier for you to remember."
"Sure thing, Kid," he responds lazily, still trying to digest the whole situation. Maka sure had an interesting entourage, with all of the men sporting bizarre hair. That must be the reason why she never questioned his own white shock.
"Ok great," she announces while clasping her hands together. "Now where are we heading? There's that nice izakaya down the street."
BlackStar, who was having a one-sided conversation with Chrona, seemed to have heard the only Japanese word in that sentence because he immediately turns to Maka and a fierce argument erupts. Kid jumps in to mediate, along with Tsubaki who also attempts to control the rising flames, while Chrona watches from the sidelines and tries to speak up but the words extinguish before leaving his throat.
Soul is left out once again, and he takes the opportunity to collect his thoughts. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the sounds, but all he can make out are the words "Maka" (or was it baka?), 'eh-re-bei-tah' (kindda sounds like elevator), and 'karaoke' (which he's familiar with the meaning). When his vision returns, he's confronted with a flustered Maka that took a break from the bickering, leaving Kid and Tsubaki at the frontline.
"What's going on?" Soul asks with caution, hoping that she wouldn't direct her anger at him.
"BlackStar's being an idiot. He's insisting that we go to the karaoke place because he claims that it'll be more fun than the izakaya. He's giving the lame argument that the elevator's broken at the place I suggested, so we'd have to walk up ten flights of stairs to get to it…but he's just making excuses because he climbs stairs on his leisure time," she spits out scathingly, then lets out a frustrated sigh before continuing, "gosh, he's just being a selfish jerk, and doesn't seem to realise that Tsubaki, Chrona and I do NOT sing. Kid may sing when drunk, but he's got a surprisingly crazy tolerance to alcohol. Anyways, so it really just leaves him with the mic, so I don't get why we should be going to a karaoke place. "
"And what about me?" inquires Soul, causing Maka's brow to rise. "Is it all just Japanese songs?"
"You sing?" she exclaims, looking very sceptical.
"On the occasion," he answers simply, shrugging as if his response was to be expected. "It ain't hard, so why don't you? You've got a pretty nice voice."
He seemed to have stumped her once again because her cheeks flush, her brows furrow in confusion, while her mouth hesitates to form any words in a very Chrona-like manner.
"I…I've… never tried," she reveals meekly, a tone opposite to her usual confidence, which causes Soul to smirk deviously. He enjoys this new sight, and decides that he wants to see more of it.
"Okay, then it's settled. We're going to karaoke." He grins with more mischief, and she flares in anger, itching to smack him in the skull.
"SOUL! No! You can't go on his side," she whines lividly, but he's already making his way to the heated discussion. When Soul speaks, everyone (including BlackStar) quiets down, and when Kid translates the words that he had said, the blue-haired loudmouth immediately bounces in joy, pulling Soul into a strong bromantic embrace.
It's all over. Now she's the one dreading the next few hours, and in contrast to Soul who managed to hide all traces of foreboding, she lets her mood clearly show. But Kid quickly finds a way to console her.
"Hey Maka, did I mention that Liz and Patty are in town?" he slips in casually, and her face instantly lights up from the news.
"No you didn't! They're here to visit?" she asks excitedly, eager to include more friends in the mix.
"Yes, they've been staying at my place, and they were going to come with me, but Liz was still attending her appointment at the hair salon. I can get them to join us for karaoke when she's done, which should be shortly since we've been arguing for such a long time."
"Please do that! I want to see them, and they like to sing. Especially Patty." This was the perfect chance for her to evade the mic, since the Thompsons would be more than willing to monopolize the spotlight.
"Consider it done," he says with a poised smile. Kid whips out his phone and composes a text message at lighting speed, and receives a response in an equal (symmetrical, he calls it) time frame. He flashes another smile to Maka, as if to say that it's all taken care of.
Maybe the night wouldn't be so bad, both for Soul and for her.
He takes that back. It's bad.
Don't get him wrong; the evening had its good points. After Maka gained back her enthusiasm, she and BlackStar settled their qualms, and the whole group felt cohesive again. Even Soul already felt comfortable with this new crowd, which was a milestone in his life, since it usually took him months before remotely feeling at ease with a person.
He loved their karaoke system. In his experience back in North America, karaoke was done in a public setting, on a dingy stage in a bar, singing while drunk in front of an audience of strangers. But Japan had class, and it was instead done in a sound-proof private room, with speakers of great quality and disco light above, while offering a wide selection of dishes to order from, or at least that's what was available at this particular place. Soul suspected that Maka insisted on going to one that was of higher quality; he distinctively remembers her karate-chopping BlackStar in the head when he was about to enter a sketchy building, and she ended up dragging his unconscious body to their current location.
The plates of food arrived in quantities meant for collective eating, much like a buffet, and they could call any time to order more, from that special phone connected to the wall. But the best part ought to be this thing called 'nomihodai' (Maka had to repeat it many times for him to remember the word, but he'll never forget it); it basically meant 'all-you-can-drink', and they certainly weren't shy of making their money's worth, chugging copious amounts at an alarming rate, buzzing up the party that had only just begun.
On second thought, 'nomihodai' wasn't quite the best part because Maka was far better. She sat by his side throughout the whole evening, her thigh flush against his, like on that airplane where they had first met. He was tempted to place his arm over her shoulder or a hand on her leg…or maybe he needed more beer.
But it all went downhill when the two Thompsons had finally arrived because they shifted the mood of this social setting. Patty ran straight for the mic and sang energetically in duet with BlackStar, while Kid and Maka introduced Liz to Soul, and the four engaged in conversation. The familiarity of hearing his native tongue felt very comforting, and Liz had pretty good taste in music, so they got into quite the intricate discussion about jazz, sharing their experiences about live performances of the many musicians that most people have never even heard of. It was then that Maka started to act a bit strange, or maybe she was bored with the topic because she never made any attempt to speak up, which was very unlike her usual know-it-all attitude. Eventually, she left his side and went to go sit next to Chrona.
And that is when the horribly bad feeling settled in his gut.
He watches how closely she sits to that awkward gangly excuse of a male, their thighs also pressed against one another, with smiles plastered on both of their faces. Soul was never one to judge, but he just couldn't understand why she was friends with this oddball who was supposedly male but wore a fuckin' dress. Chrona may seem innocent and quiet, but as Soul's ears catch the pitch of Maka's carefree laughter, he feels that the freak is attacking him personally, slashing a deep gash across the chest, and fatally wounding his pride because that girl should have been laughing from his words and not by the purple-haired weirdo's.
It could be the alcohol that's making him sensitive, but he feels that Chrona is also infecting his blood, making it boil and tainting it with dark jet-black thoughts. Soul stands on the brink of insanity, but he manages to suppress the red demon that's telling him to let loose and claim back what's rightfully his.
They both get up and leave the room, yet no one seems to notice but him. BlackStar is still hogging the microphone, while Patty drags a reluctant Kid to join in. The newly formed trio performs a song with Tsubaki awkwardly holding the tambourine, giving it light off-beat jingles, and Liz sits back to enjoy the sight, roaring in hysterical laughter when Kid hits an uncharacteristically high note as if someone was squeezing his family jewels.
Soul doesn't pay attention to the chaos around him because his inebriated mind concentrates on other thoughts. Did they just go to the bathroom? But why together?
He can't take it anymore. He rushes out of the room, only to find himself in a deserted hallway without any trace of their whereabouts. His suspicion had been the bathrooms, so he heads down the hall in the opposite direction of the elevators, where he quickly spots the universal stick figure signs. No matter how drunk he is, he refuses to peep in the women's, so he checks the men's to see if Chrona is there. It's empty. And he cusses because he has to think of another possibility, which is rather difficult with a head slightly spinning from all the alcohol he consumed.
Maybe they went outside for a smoke, but that's kind of ridiculous since every room in this building allows smoking, and Maka hates tobacco, even when it was second-hand, so there's no way that she would accompany a friend that indulges in this bad habit. Soul drags his feet back to their private room, but stops in his tracks when he sees Maka come out of the elevator, alone.
His mind clears as his adrenaline picks up, and those lazy feet turn into fervent strides that lead him right in front of her surprised face. She doesn't have time to react before he guides her to the side, nearly sandwiching her against the wall.
"Maka, where did you go?" he demands aggressively, a gruff tone that she doesn't appreciate one bit. She's also intoxicated, so it doesn't take much for her temper to lose control.
"What's it to you?" she bites back with rivalling aggression. It fuels the demon in his mind, and suddenly, he just doesn't give a shit about her feelings.
"Nothing really," he responds sarcastically. "It's just that if you ran off with a certain someone, I wouldn't be able to get back home cuz I don't have the key to your place."
"Oh fuck off. So I'm just an apartment to you? Well you can sleep on the street for all I care." She tries to push him aside, but he stands his ground and only cages her in with more force, leaning so closely to her ear that she can feel his hot breath against her neck.
"Better on the street, than in the arms of a purple-haired freak," he mumbles but she can hear him loud and clear.
"Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" She's absolutely livid, but also extremely hurt by his remark because it doesn't seem like he was the least bit remorseful of his words, and her own demon that she had been battling throughout the evening was soon going to gain freedom.
"Where's Chrona?" he tries to ask neutrally, but it's impossible to hide his contempt.
"Where's Liz?" she retorts back, the demon had successfully escaped. He backs up to face her and looks straight in those piercing green eyes, with his own appearing completely dumbfounded because her question had seemed very random to him. Liz? Why would she bring her up?
When Soul doesn't throw back a reply, she continues to rant.
"Why don't you just go stay with her... getting all chummy at first sight…you can talk about jazz and music all you fuckin' want…" She stares at the floor to hide her embarrassment, but the blush that reaches her ears blows her cover, and he's quick to understand the situation. Suddenly, his own jealousy becomes trivial.
"Stupid boys, always going after the bombshells…Her hair's so lush and sunshine blonde…not like my stupid drab ashy colour that no one seems to want to compliment… even tried doing something different to my hair tonight… but in comes Liz just back from the salon…not like I can compete with that...Ugh, guys are so superficial and such pigs… always going for the nice figure and a damn bigger rack than mine… You're just the same Soul, just like all the other guys, and just like my stupid fuckin' lying philandering useless papa, so go ahead and just leave cuz I know that you desperately want to tap her a-MMMmmm—
The end of her sentence gets muffled by his moving lips against hers, and her mind is slow to process just what was happening, so she doesn't have the time to fortify her defences when his tongue easily trespasses the entrance and reaches for hers.
This fuckin' night was a disaster, but if he could take advantage of her at least once, it'll all be somewhat worth it, or so says the demon in the back of his mind. Soul's righteous right hand gently cups her cheek, massaging his thumb on the insanely soft skin of her face, while his devious left gropes another type of cheek, sneaking up her skirt and grasping that firm sweet bun of her backside. It continues to creep like a beggar lurking in the shadows, sliding inside her panties and edging towards the crack where that damp hole lies beneath.
Meanwhile, his tongue is leading a romantic waltz with her clumsy inexperience, like a charming prince taming a shrew; he kisses her tenderly with a hand keeping their dancing lashes steady, and she's quick to learn the steps despite being overwhelmed by his passionate attention. His long fingers then caress her earlobe, in an attempt to stimulate her nerves in a gentlemanly manner, but the index of the deviant begs to differ as it nudges even closer to her most private part. It's seeking for shelter, and when Maka does not refuse its incessant scratches on her door, it finally takes refuge in that warm deep cavern.
But lord was it hot and humid down there. The beggar can barely breathe in such a confinement, so it takes a breather by walking outside, only to quickly enter back into the comforting hole; the pattern is continued as Soul strokes her gently, receiving her pleasured muffled moans in his mouth that's still firmly latched onto hers.
To chose between a classy prince or a dirty beggar, most would favour the former but she couldn't decide which was better. In fact, a part of her wanted to see the prince break down and descend to lowly ways, but the ounce of consciousness that was surprisingly left intact in the back of her mind told her that this wasn't the right place to do such a thing. The pleasure felt fuckin' amazing, but it needed to be postponed.
"Soul," she pants, as she pulls back from the intense makeout session, "lets take it back home."
His face is expressionless, and he doesn't say a word; he just grabs her wrist and heads towards the elevators.
"No hang on!" She shakes herself out of his grasp. "We gotta say goodbye, and I have to pay Kid who'll handle the bill."
He supposes that he can wait a little while longer. It'll all be worth it. Especially since he now knows that their attraction is mutual.
He can't wait any longer.
Stumbling in the door, he pushes her down and discards her complex boots in her stead, all the while fondling her legs, and taking lewd peaks up her skirt as she sits on the floor with those perfect stems split wide apart. He scoops her up bridal-style and brings her to the bedroom without a bed; that damn tatami will have to do because he didn't bother fetching their futon and covers.
She's placed down with utmost care, showered with quick light kisses, while he unwraps the present he had been dying to open since that fateful encounter on that flight. He wouldn't have admitted it back then, but he now owns up to the magnitude of his desire towards this girl. His pounding heart along with the unbearable bulge in his groin are the clear physical signs of his want, but her scent lures him into a deeper bond, a connection that taps into the realms of spirituality, and he refuses to believe that he is being swayed by alcohol because he really does mean the cheesy thoughts that are flowing in his mind, and there's no way that he would be this hard if he were drunk.
Her cardigan, shirt, and skirt are thrown to the side, but he leaves her in her bra and panties so that she is left with the last bits of modesty. She doesn't seem to complain or voice her opinion like she usually did; in fact, she was rather quiet and mellow while he was undressing her. His eyes lock on to that gorgeous slim figure and he cannot understand why she would feel insecure or belittled when compared to Liz. Her small bust matched perfectly with that tiny waist, and he remembers the longing he had for her cute nipples that he has yet to see. He unclasps her bra.
Uh-oh, bad idea. His pants feel too tight and he is aching, nearly writhing in pain from the sudden growth spurt of his third leg. It's not a matter of want anymore: it's a desperate need. But alas, he would never fully become a beggar because he was a true gentleman, and he wanted her to enjoy it as much as himself. Women needed to be buttered up before being served for dinner, so he quickly gets started on the preparations.
He reaches for a perk nipple, testing to see what kind of soft moans could be uttered from her adorable mouth, but as he rubs it between his digits, his ears become disappointed when they hear nothing but silence. Peculiarly enough, her breathing sounded rather deep, and her eyes that had been lazily half-opened, seemingly lustful, were now—
"Fuckin' asleep," he curses aloud, to an inexistent audience because the only other person in this room is comfortably passed out.
There was no way that he would try to wake her up because he secretly enjoys the sight of her sleeping form, particularly in its stark nudity. He can touch her all he wants, or sleep next to her in any type of position—whether face-to-face, holding her while she lies on her back, or spooning from behind— and best of all, he no longer had to worry about formulating the excuse that his body had been 'unconscious' or that it was an 'accident'.
He takes out their futon, and picks up the sleeping princess to place her on a softer surface, so that she doesn't complain about back aches the next morning (not that the futon made much of a difference in his opinion). He then discards his own clothes to get more comfortable, and settles down by her side, pulling her close like he had rehearsed in his head weeks prior. As he tugs the covers over their resting bodies, he realises that there will be pain tomorrow, but he would always place her well-being before his and protect her from all harm, namely the lust that is thankfully cooling off.
Even if he will be bludgeoned in the balls until they were bruised blue, he knew that the whipping lashes of insomnia would not abuse him tonight. She fits perfectly in his arms and her soothing breaths send him to the greatest deep sleep he had ever experienced. Not even the early rising sun would wake him up.
A/N:
Okay, this ended up being way longer than expected, so I might divide my last part in two if it also gets developed extensively. I had to cut off many more details that I had planned in my mind, mainly trivial stuff about the other SE cast so it wasn't important to the whole plot. But since I'm rather neurotic, the footnote below has all the extras, just in case anyone was interested in reading my thoughts on the other characters (or if it inspires you to write your own AU in this Japan-setting, feel free to use it as a base!)
Thanks for reading! ^_^ And don't be shy to comment if anything annoys you, or if you have any suggestions for this Japanese theme.
NON-REFERENTIAL FOOTNOTES
[1] Chrona, aka Krunevichovna Gorokhin. Where did he go? TO ITALY. Kidding. He just went home in the middle of the karaoke party. He's male because it worked well with the plot, but his crazy mother always wanted him to be a girl, so ever since birth, she dressed him in girl's clothing. Even when he moved out, she keeps on sending him dresses. Finally, his mother passes away (from a brutal brutal death), and the black dress he wears is a sign of mourning. I don't speak Russian, so I only found the name Krunevichovna on the net; it's apparently a female name, which reinforces his mother's obsession of having a daughter. Gorokhin is a Russian surname according to wikipedia, and it looked like Gorgon so I chose it. If anyone Russian is reading this, and the name sounds absolutely ridiculous, please pardon my ignorance!
[2] BlackStar, aka Shoutarou Kurosawa. Not sure if everyone understood the dissection of his name, but in a nutshell, Japanese names are usually composed of characters (called kanji) that all have meanings. Each kanji can be read differently, so the one for 'star' can be read as 'hoshi', 'sei' or 'shou'. The 'shou' in the name Shoutarou isn't written with the 'star' kanji, but Maka drew the connection because she's a nerd, lol. Also, I thought it was a cool coincidence to link him to 'burakumin', which has nothing to do with 'burakku' (how the Japanese pronounce 'Black'), but they're a minority group that faced discrimination because of their low-status in the feudal hierarchy (they were the ones in charge of 'impure' jobs like butchers, tanners, executioners, and anything involving dirty work). I thought it was a good parallel to BlackStar's 'hoshi clan' ancestry, and how he has to live with that burden when he never committed any crimes or even grew up with the clan.
[3] Tsubaki Nakatsukasa. She's Japanese, both in this story and in canon SE. I didn't think much about her because she's essentially in her element (i.e. in her country of origin).
[4] Death the Kid, aka Shinichi Kido. Oh lord, I racked my brain for any name starting with 'de', and I couldn't think of any; only stuff starting with 'dai' came to mind (like daichi, daisuke, daikichi, etc.)… Finally, I just gave up and thought Shinichi sounded appropriate, since it at least has the 'shini' which means death. (but for the record, the kanji for this name has nothing to do with death; it's separated as 'shin'-'ichi'.) Kid in this story is Japanese, but he comes from an affluent family that made him learn English at a young age, so it's really impeccable but a little too formal at times. He met the Thompsons while on a trip to America, and they've been friends for a long time. ^_^
[5] Liz and Patty Thompson. Not much to say because I didn't think extensively about them… but Patty has a knack for picking up the Japanese language really fast, so she's able to sing all those songs with BlackStar. :D
Ugh. That was a long footnote. I think too much.
