00:40:00

Take Forty

15; stop:

To this day, Makoto shudders whenever she hears the rattling of the train on the tracks and the pleasant warning chimes signaling danger.

7; gasoline:

The first time Chiaki makes an offhand comment about the size of Makoto's feet, she goes unnervingly still, and Kousuke shoots him a look as if he's thrown himself in front of a moving vehicle. "What?" he queries obliviously, surveying his friends' faces. Makoto suddenly glares up at him through her bangs, and propels the baseball straight into his face. "Ow!" he yelps, staggering a step back from the force of the blow. Kousuke releases a slow hiss of empathy. "What the hell, Makoto! What was that for?"

"Don't compare my feet to space shuttles!" she screams, cheeks colored in embarrassment. "Damn it, Chiaki! You're an ass!"

He fumbles wildly, looking to Kousuke for assistance, but Kousuke has already surrendered his friend to oblivion. "I never said that!" expostulates Chiaki, out of a dire need to preserve his life.

"I'm leaving," huffs Makoto, spitting him with another withering look. She grabs her mitt, stalks off the baseball diamond, stuffs it into her duffel bag and prepares her bike to leave.

Chiaki watches her with open-mouthed horror. "Wait! We need a catcher!" shouts Chiaki after her.

Makoto snaps her head back, eyes narrowed in trademark anger, which is rarely, if ever, directed at him. "Find someone with daintier feet to play catcher!" She presses on the pedals and spins away, like a leaf in autumn.

Chiaki gapes wordlessly at Kousuke. Kousuke only returns his look with an eventual shrug. "That's how she gets. She's really sensitive about her feet." Chiaki feels his face begin to swell and he curses Makoto for her amazing arm. "I wouldn't recommend doing it again," Kousuke suggests. As if he ever would. Chiaki has learned his lesson.

"How long is she going to be like that?" blubbers Chiaki pathetically.

Kousuke scoops the ball from the rusty-colored dust. "It takes her a couple of days to cool off. She'll be as good as new by Thursday."

"Thursday?" Chiaki repeats with a twinge of a whine in his voice. "What's she so upset for? It's not even a big deal!"

Kousuke shakes his head. "Girls are girls. Some girls worry about their hair; for Makoto, it's her feet. Just don't bring it up." He slaps his hapless buddy across the back and trucks himself off the field.

Chiaki jogs up after him. "Flowers, right?"

Kousuke's eyebrows skim upward. "What?"

"That's what you do when girls are upset. You give them flowers, right?"

Kousuke's confusion dissipates into amusement, which he displays with a laugh. "Sure—if you're dating," Kousuke replies. "You don't get Makoto flowers for talking about her feet."

"Then what?" presses Chiaki wearily. They both reach their bikes and Chiaki leans down to throw the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder.

Kousuke adjusts the strap on his. "Nothing. Just let her deal with it. She'll come around. She gets tired of being angry. See you tomorrow."

Chiaki frowns helplessly into the distance. He sighs, throwing his leg over the bicycle. He had really wanted to get her flowers.

38; raw:

"I have this awful tan line." Seeing no one, she pulls down the collar of her shirt, exposing pink, raw skin from her collarbone to the small swell where her breast begins. "Can you see it? Does it look bad?" inquires Makoto, trim eyebrows pinched in consternation.

Chiaki clears his throat and lowers his eyes. He can't help but think it's the most indecent thing to stare.

40; writer's choice: mole

Kousuke scratched his neck self-consciously. "I think it might be all the sun. I swear it wasn't there last month. It's not obvious, right?"

"Don't sweat it. You can't even tell," Chiaki answered.

"What about you, Makoto?"

"I don't have any moles," replied Makoto crisply.

"Yeah, you do," contested Chiaki with a skeptic's frown.

Makoto slowly shook her head. "No, I don't," she responded, giving him a look that clearly said he was being daft.

"Yeah, you do," he insisted, sounding exasperated. "You have a small one right," he gestured vaguely to chest area, "here." Makoto looked down at the corresponding area on her own person—at the valley between her breasts. He froze and dropped his arm, realizing his mistake. With careful, measured movements, she pulled the material out with her finger and peeked through her shirt. After a somewhat vigilant examination, she found that a small brown freckle marred her skin. Makoto blinked owlishly, as if she could scarcely believe what she was seeing. Kousuke gave Chiaki a suspicious look.

"How did you know that?" Makoto yelped.

4; paper:

His eyes rounded in amazement. "What's in this?" he exclaimed, wrapper crinkling as he smoothed it out to examine it.

Makoto raised a dubious eyebrow. Chiaki was just so strange sometimes. "What do you mean? The candy?" she asked. He nodded enthusiastically, evidently pleased with the flavor that was currently throttling his tongue. "Sugar," answered Makoto. "Just tons and tons of sugar."

Chiaki's pupils dilated in approval. "Where can I get more of this stuff?"

Makoto reached into her pocket and pulled out another lemon drop, placing it in his hand. "I have more at home, but if you want some more now, we can stop by the candy shop before we all head home." She flung the duffel over her shoulder, wiping the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead. "Hey, Kousuke!" she called out, waving said boy over. "Chiaki wants to visit the candy shop later."

Kousuke made a face. "I didn't know you liked sweets, Chiaki."

Chiaki shrugged off the presumption. "I didn't know there were people that don't like this stuff. It's good."

Kousuke took the opportunity to toss Makoto her mitt, which she caught with an expert hand. She propped the duffel against her side, unzipped the bag and stuffed her baseball mitt in without further ceremony. "It's almost five. We should go now, before they close," she suggested. The other two pulled up their duffels and sat them on their shoulders. Makoto started off first; a beat, before the duo followed suit, half a step behind her.

Kousuke glanced over Makoto's short stature, and gave Chiaki a pointed look. "Hey, Chiaki."

"Hmm?" Chiaki managed, popping the other lemon drop onto his outstretched tongue.

"What kind of candy do you have where you came from?"

Chiaki laughed. "It's not very good. That's all you need to know."

Kousuke and Makoto exchanged looks. "You know, if he's crazy about lemon drops, just wait until he gets a hold of some Swiss chocolate."

"Chiaki, have you had chocolate before?" Makoto queried, half-joke, half-incredulity.

His brow furrows contemplatively. "What's it like?"

"Well, it's—it's—" Makoto grasped for suitable detail. "It's this dark brown stuff, and it melts—it tastes like—" She made indecipherable hand gesticulations. "What the hell! I can't describe how chocolate tastes! Have you seriously not had it before?" she spluttered, efforts exhausted.

Her lackluster description of chocolate failed to excite him. "It sounds like crap, to be honest."

"It's not crap!" she blurted, aghast. "Chocolate is nothing like crap!"

Chiaki glanced at her. "If you're going to get so worked up over it, I guess I might as well try it."

Makoto's palm resounded against futilely against her forehead. "You're hopeless. Someone like you should just stick to lemon drops."

19; rental:

"Say, you don't like him, do you?" he asked her harmlessly one evening, as they sat in Kousuke's living room watching a baseball game on television.

"Who?" replied Makoto, a chocolate bar poised between her teeth.

"The guy who sits in the back of class. Ryouta," he clarified, sounding somewhat miffed.

Makoto shrugged, taking a bite out of her candy. "I hardly talk to him."

Chiaki shifted closer, leaning in. "Really? Because you were acting all friendly to him today."

Makoto's next blink revealed comprehension, and then, guilt. "Oh, whatever," she said quickly, "you make it sound like I'm not nice to people."

"You let him borrow your English notes," Chiaki pointed out, scrutinizing her.

Makoto glanced around Kousuke's living room, and determining Kousuke was nowhere in sight, she sighed as if in defeat. Chiaki felt a spike of something that resembled resentment flare up, licking at his insides. "Fine," she began, leaning conspiratorially toward him, cupping a hand around her mouth so that her voice only reached his ear. He leaned toward her, appropriately, and embraced the pleasant shiver that ran up his spine when her warm breath kissed his ear. "He let me borrow his notes for math last week. I was just returning the favor. Don't tell Kousuke, okay? Kousuke thinks I'm dumb enough as it is." Explanation given, Makoto leaned back and took another unabashed bite of the bar.

Chiaki nodded solemnly, pleased she had dispelled his paranoia about that nerd who sat in the back of the classroom. There was obviously nothing going on between them. It was simply an innocent notes-exchange. He wanted to keep it that way.

"Oh, Kousuke! Great, you got the popcorn!" exclaimed Makoto excitedly, abandoning the chocolate bar he had given her on top of her baseball magazine. Her fingers wriggled eagerly until Kousuke surrendered the fresh bag of popcorn with a long-suffering sigh. Makoto proceeded to dig in, scooting closer to Chiaki in order to give Kousuke room on her other side.

Chiaki touched her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention, and once he did, he whispered slowly into her ear: "Come to me for math notes next time. I'll help you."

Makoto nodded, disarmed by the rich timber of his voice. Clearing her throat, she delicately returned to watching the television screen. Chiaki reclined against the sofa, a satisfied half-smirk heavy with implications on his face. Kousuke watched the two of them suspiciously. Finally, he cleared his throat, and demanded that Makoto share the popcorn.

22, turquoise:

Chiaki stared at the odd bulge beneath her shirt. She stared perkily back at him. His eyes darted uneasily from side to side, before finally resting on her…shirt. "Something's wrong with you," he coughed uncomfortably.

"It's for you, moron." Makoto stuck a hand into her shirt, prompting Chiaki's eyes to go wide in astonishment. She pulled out a small tube of cardboard. "I had to sneak it out of the museum." She handed it over to him. He fumbled with it shiftily, highly aware of the body heat still emanating from the parcel.

Finally, at her expectant, reproachful look, he popped open the top and peered inside. "What is it?" he asked, squinting into the dark.

"It's a copy of the painting," she smiled apologetically, "since I couldn't get you the original."

35; abyss:

That night, she sobbed so hard she was afraid she would forget how to breathe. She would never be able to run to where he was. He would be waiting for her forever.

12; mist:

She supposes she loves Kousuke enough to be with him, but, when she wakes, eyes misty, she realizes she doesn't love him enough to dream about him.

26; here:

Chiaki sits at the edge of an empty riverbed, one that had run clear and full mere centuries ago. He trails a hand along the yellow, parched grass, and remembers sitting in the exact same spot a year ago, when it was lush, warm, and in a time where he didn't belong. He stares out into the rocky husk of the old river until the image is burned dismally into his retinas. He closes his eyes, and tries to draw over the image with his memories—but they're only shells and glimpses of what they used to be.

He drops his head in defeat. "I'll be waiting," he murmurs nostalgically.

I'll come running.

His brow furrows at the foolishness of it. Who would ever come running here, to this desolate wasteland? He had wasted his time, and, worse, hers.

Sometimes, he catches slippery half-memories from times that she must have erased before her last leap. As a time-traveler, he's not immune to rewrites, but he's certainly more able to grasp at edited memories than others. A painful smile jerks across his mouth as he remembers how many times he asked her out, even yelling at one point because he was so desperate. He remembers singing a song dozens of times, and the gleeful look in her eyes every time he would start in his ridiculous off-tune voice. He remembers these things because they're all he has. He thinks it might be enough, but it's not.

Suddenly, he's thrown forward, lurching dangerously fast and tumbling toward the rocks. The wrenching sensation almost reminds him of time-leaping, but he hasn't—doesn't—have any to leap with, so—

He grabs a hold of the dead grass before he hits the rocks, curtailing his abrupt journey to jagged edges and thirsty dirt. He thinks he might have pulled something, because his arm feels about ready to give, as if he's suddenly gotten two times heavier. His eyes blink open blearily and he tries to heave himself to his feet, but he's unable to. With a start, he realizes he's pinned to the slope, with arms wrapped around his neck, and a lithe runner's body collapsed on top of him.

All the air seems to leave his lungs in one fell swoop. It can't be. He's dreaming again. Those vivid dreams he has—he's hallucinating, of course, because it can't be her.

"I came running," she breathes into his ear. He commands his arm to move, to touch her, make sure she's real, or at least to make this dream last because it's never been so good to him before. His fingers graze her cheek, and those bright, brown orbs shine, lively and real, at him.

"Makoto?"

She grins, still breathless from the chase. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

A/N: It really saddens me to not see more fanfic for this movie. But, then, my fixation with it may not be so healthy, either. I'm not too fond of this chapter, but only because it wasn't as fun to write as the last chapter (yes, it is done, and it actually has a kind-of theme; crazy, right?). I will probably post the last installment by the end of the weekend. I'm eager to get working on a multi-chaptered Tokikake fic (on my profile, for more info) that I've had to postpone because of exams. Just a warning, though. My multi-chaptered projects are the most sluggish things on the face of this planet. Naturally, vignettes are my security blanket. This might be redundant of me to ask, but is anyone confused by the title of my chapters? Anyone understand the concept behind it? I'll stop yakking your ear off now. Comments and critique welcomed. Thank you for reading.