Author's Note: Update 3/25/11: Revising this makes me realize that the person who told I rushed this chapter was absolutely right. Missing words, paragraphs that don't make sense…certain parts of this were barely intelligible. Hopefully that's all fixed now. Also, better thematic coherence, symbolism, and foreshadowing. Yay.
With this revised and complete, I can finally revise and publish chapter 2-3 of Breaking the Cycle. It takes a lot of willpower not to develop Chiaki Haste and just leave my previous work behind, focusing only on the work to come. Spending the time to revise slows things down…but also makes sure I don't get anything that looks as hurried as this chapter used to be. (Point of this paragraph: I get to coin the phrase "Chiaki Haste".)
Mako-chan spat the water out from her mouth.
I should really get that cavity fixed, she thought to herself, placing her toothbrush and cup back in place.
She shut the door to the medicine cabinet, raising her head.
Ah, let's fix my hair before I head out today, she decided.
She reached up to fix her hair into its customary spikes.
"Hmm?" she questioned out loud, peering into the cabinet mirror in surprise.
Why did it seem wrong? Her hair was long and straight, as normal. A bit tangled, yes, but otherwise—
She sucked in a breath.
No.
She performed the most natural action for someone confronted with her position—she immediately groped for her chest with both hands, to confirm the reality of what she saw.
This—this can't be right! What's going on?
"They're growing in quite well, aren't they, Mako-chan?"
She spun around to look at the owner of the voice.
"M—mom!" he exclaimed, utterly at a loss as to how to explain was going on. How could he—
Her mom shook her head at her, then made a scolding expression.
"I've told you so many times already. If you're going to spend forever in the bathroom getting ready, then get up earlier! And really, get your priorities straight! I know how you feel, but how many boys is prettier hair really going to net you, anyway?"
She started to splutter and protest, but was cut off when her mother grabbed her by the sleeve and yanked her out of the room.
"Hurry up and get changed, or you're going to miss the bus again!" she insisted, pushing Mako-chan along the hallway back towards her room.
Again she started to protest, before realizing things had changed.
The scenery had morphed. She was no longer in her house, but in another familiar scene: the outside of the apartment building where the Minami sisters lived, next to the street, under some trees.
"How could I possibly have a relationship with someone like you?" Chiaki was saying. "You're not even a boy!"
Understanding the situation instinctively, Mako-chan felt her heart tremble in despair.
"But I, just give me a chance—"
She moved forward a step, but stopped abruptly, remembering the unreality of the situation. Without regard for decorum, his hands again shot up to his chest.
"I'm sorry," Chiaki said firmly, turning away. "I can't accept your feelings."
Numbly, she just looked at Chiaki's back, with its long, long hair, absently continuing to grope at her own chest.
"Let's go," Chiaki said, nodding to a distinctly male-looking Touma, who had appeared at her side like an apparition.
"Wait!" he yelled, lurching forward. "Minami! Listen to me! This isn't right! Chiaki!—"
"Chiaki—!"
He started to get up out of his bed, and almost smacked foreheads with his mother, who was leaning over him. Fortunately, she managed to back off just in time.
"How convenient," she commented drily. "Guess I won't have to drag you out of bed today. Hurry and get ready. I've let you sleep a little longer today, out of friendly courtesy."
She walked out, closing the door behind her, hurrying to get his breakfast plated.
He sighed, rubbing an eye with one hand.
What's wrong with me?
These dreams had plagued him, off and on, for months now, but had chosen to stalk him with particular fervor, these past few days.
He knew the answer, of course.
When his secret stash of female clothing had first been discovered, he had determined that it was time, once and for all, and to get rid of it. He had started preparing to give it all to Uchida, the only girl he knew who was the right size to wear them. This, despite his near-certainty that Uchida would throw it all out the moment he left the vicinity.
In the end, he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.
He told himself it was because he couldn't stand being once again banned from the Minami household.
That was what he told himself, anyway.
He had ended up giving them to Touma, for storage. Her brothers were apparently incapable of doing the necessary size comparison between some of the clothes in her laundry, and the person herself.
Akira, especially, should have recognized some of the clothing, but if he had ever noticed, he certainly never spoke about it.
Speaking of that guy, I really should make the effort to talk to him…
Though their situations weren't really the same.
He finished buttoning up the dress shirt of his uniform, and looked down, deeming himself satisfactory.
The dream yesterday had been the polar opposite of the dream today. Again he had been a girl, but it had made Chiaki accept him instead of rejecting him.
His subconscious was apparently very confused.
He didn't know what his parents thought. He had shut himself in his room over the weekend, leaving reluctantly only for meals. He didn't how he had managed to drag himself through his homework last night, lacking the helpful online guidance of Touma—who typically did the homework earlier with Chiaki.
He had plenty of motivation, however.
With a wistful sigh, he thought back to the beginning of the year, to the entrance exams, and Chiaki's admission that she cared enough about him to want him in the same school.
That had set his heart racing, alright.
He had since worked long and hard to dispel his "idiot" aura, but she didn't seem to have noticed at all. Still, he kept trying.
Back then, she had said other things, about loneliness, and selfishness, that had made his heart throb. He wanted to protect her, and didn't know how.
With a start, he shook himself from his reverie.
There was no avoiding it anymore. It was Monday. He had to go out and face consequences.
It was already late, so he doubted he had the time to sit down and eat a proper breakfast and, true to form, his mother shoved a breakfast pastry into his hand as he walked past the kitchen, dragging his bag behind him.
"This wouldn't happen if you had more discipline in getting up in the morning."
"Yeah, yeah I got already," he asserted, talking around the pastry clamped in mouth as he slipped on his jacket, briefly reminded of his dream.
In fact, he couldn't remember his mother ever letting him sleep longer and skip eating a properly cooked breakfast. Why had she done so today?
"See you, mom," he said, finally ready, walking out the door.
"See you," she responded, waving amiably as he trod away.
She closed the door behind and turned to walk back to her bed—she didn't have any need to be up this early, other than to make sure Makoto didn't walk out the door without any pants or something like that.
He wasn't really that absent-minded, not usually, but today he hadn't even remembered his lunch. She wondered if he had noticed her slip it into his bag while he was putting on his jacket.
Probably not; he was too wrapped up in his own problems.
"Minami…Chiaki?" she mused out loud. "I thought her name was Minami Touma?"
"Hello," he said, sitting down next to Touma on the bus.
Her eyes were bloodshot, and he noted that she had elected not to wear the skirt today.
"Hello," she responded, ignoring him in favor of continuing to look out the window.
Neither of them said anything the rest of the trip.
The first part of the day flew by, but paradoxically also seemed to take forever.
He couldn't resist glancing over at Chiaki's desk every few minutes. Not once did he catch her looking back at him. Several times she coughed loudly, and she seemed decidedly out of sorts. Instead of paying attention, she openly attempted to sleep.
He had tried talking to her in morning, just before class started, but she had just waved her hand at him drearily, telling him to wait.
Well, she was talking to him, and wasn't trying to avoid him. That was a good sign, he supposed.
He saw Touma try the same thing, and receive the same treatment.
He hadn't really paid attention in class either.
When the tone finally sounded for lunch, he didn't get up immediately.
Earlier, he had mentally kicked himself, thinking he had forgotten his lunch, but found that he had somehow packed it anyway.
Instead of joining his friends in the corner of the room, he sat for a moment, wondering whether to try and ask again or just wait.
He turned his head to look across the room and was confronted instead by the sight of Touma's upper stomach. He recoiled slightly.
"So what do you think?" she asked.
He hadn't noticed Touma approach him.
"About what?" he asked automatically, craning his head upward.
"You know what I'm talking about."
He paused to consider the situation.
"We should probably be over there already."
He meant the other room, where Uchida and Yoshino were surely waiting for them.
Touma nodded.
"Yes, in the normal course of things, I should already be over there. In fact, there's no good reason why I'm not."
Makoto's neck started to feel tired. She was taller than him now, and he was in a seated position, compounding the disparity.
"But," she continued, "I'd feel more secure having you with me. Crazy, right?"
She smiled wanly.
He shook his head at her self-deprecation, looking downward.
"No, not really. Me too."
Touma watched the top of his head.
"We make horrible rivals," Touma commented, finally.
They simultaneously turned to look at Chiaki. She was collapsed on her desk in exhaustion, not moving.
"Is it just me, or does she seem a little—" Makoto began.
Chiaki sneezed loudly, briefly convulsing the desk she was sitting in. Makoto started to comment on that—
"What are they doing here?" Touma asked, looking to Chiaki's side.
She had noticed Yoshino and Uchida appear in the doorway. Makoto saw the two of them look at Chiaki with concern.
As they watched, the two of them conferred quietly with Chiaki. Makoto strained to hear what was being said, but couldn't quite catch it.
"She's sick," Touma said. "They're telling her she should go home."
"But that doesn't explain why they're here to start with. Don't you guys eat in their room today?"
Touma shrugged.
"I didn't hear everything they said."
Chiaki's chair scraped against the floor.
She got up slowly, picked up her bag and trudged towards the door in the front class. Uchida and Yoshino didn't follow.
When she got there, she turned and gestured to them to follow with a motion of one hand. She didn't meet their eyes.
They looked at each other, swallowed simultaneously, and did as instructed.
Seen up close in the unused hallway Chiaki had sought out, she looked a lot worse. Her eyes were even droopier than normal, and her movements were slow and methodical, as if each individual action took deliberate willpower.
Sniffing loudly, she rooted around in her bag and pulled out two sealed envelopes, handing them over wordlessly.
They watched her stooped figure for a long moment.
Touma stepped forward and placed her hand on Chiaki's forehead, her other hand on Chiaki's shoulder. Ruefully, Makoto wished he had the courage to do something like that.
"Shit, you're burning up!" Touma commented.
A moment of normal camaraderie, before she remembered the situation and jumped back, blushing.
"I know that, baka-yaro!" Chiaki snapped, pugnacious despite everything, before breaking down into a coughing fit.
Makoto and Touma glanced at each other.
Chiaki straightened herself out and cleared her throat, fist over mouth.
"I wanted to say something to each of you, but I wasn't sure if I had the courage."
She looked faintly embarrassed.
"I think I do, but I don't have the energy, so I'm going to take the easy way out, and let my letters do the talking. Excuse me for that."
She even did a little formal bow.
"Ah, well—" Makoto began, after a moment.
"That's not—" Touma said, simultaneously.
They stopped, having interrupted each other. They glanced at each other, trying to decide who would speak first, but Chiaki relieved them of that burden.
"Now if you'll excuse me," she said. "I'll—I'll be in the nurse's office lying down," Chiaki asserted shakily, turning for the exit.
"You sure you don't want us to take you home?" Touma asked.
She paused.
"At least take Uchi—" she began again.
Chiaki shook her head.
"I'm going to have Haruka come pick me up. You guys don't have to worry about it."
"Minami—" Makoto tried to protest.
Chiaki grabbed the two of them by opposite shoulders and pulled them forward with surprising strength, almost causing them to bump heads.
They looked at her with open surprise.
"One more thing, now that I remember it," she added. "I mean what I say in those letters. Every word of it. And the part where I ask you to come over after school: I'm not revoking it. I may be sick, but you guys better come!"
She made brief, serious eye contact with the two of them in turn, waiting for them to acknowledge that they understood, still holding their shoulders.
Then, nodding in satisfaction, she turned and walked away.
They watched her back as she staggered unsteadily away.
When she finally disappeared around the corner they reacted like sleepers waking from a dream, and hurriedly tore open their envelopes.
The careful diction and formal tone characteristic of Chiaki's writing washed over them as they read.
Before I begin, I would like to apologize.
You may have noticed that the two letters I am now writing are, in the vast majority, identical. This was not my original intention; I had resolved, before I started, to write two very dissimilar, individualized letters, and to give both the full attention they deserve.
That is no longer going to happen, and for that I am sorry. My will, freshly buttressed by a soothing shopping trip, begins again to falter. Perhaps this ache and weariness is the sign of an oncoming cold; perhaps it is some deeper sickness.
I ramble, I realize. These blank sheets, these two empty envelopes daunt me. I know that when I recopy these words, I will be struck with the urge to burn it all, and start anew. I must resist, and let my thoughts flow.
Enough excuses.
I have another apology to make.
The way I have willfully kept my eyes shut the past year is inexcusable. It is reminiscent of a child, thinking that covering one's eyes will make the world go away. It does not go away, of course, and eventually forces itself to your attention. In the end, hiding yourself has availed you nothing, and has only delayed you the opportunity to explore the wonders of the world.
Excuse the horrid analogy, but I hope I make myself clear.
The truth is, I have always noticed.
To Makoto: I notice the little flashes of pain every time I lash out at you. I notice the groping attempts to win my favor and I know precisely what I do when I shut them down. I notice the glimmers of pure joy when I drop even the smallest kind word, or when I give you supposedly meaningless chocolates that, of course, I give to few others. You never say so, but I know what you intuit, though you doubt your own perception enough that you disbelieve it. You are right. In truth, I have a weakness for exactly the types of idiots I profess to hate. Why else would I tolerate Uchida's company so easily? Perhaps it is Kana's influence.
So I keep you as far as away as I can, without alienating you entirely. Yes, it is selfish. I wonder why you stay with me? I am sure I do not deserve it.
To Touma: You hide it under a layer of cool, of pretending to be blunt and indifferent, but I sense it. I know it lies there, just under the surface, the quiet hunger. There are flashes of it, every time we play, every time we fight. A little more contact than necessary, hands that go a bit of askew of where they should. It is even in your eyes, in the strange looks you occasionally give me at such moments. I was never sure if you knew it yourself, so I tested your restraint, stretched it, and pushed it as far as it would go. It was selfish, and utterly unconscionable, but the truth is, I wanted to know too.
Regardless, I have seen now the cliff where restraint ends and the abyss begins, and I have been taught where it leads.
I knew all this, even executed half-rational actions based on my knowledge, but in the very act of knowing, forgot.
Perhaps I am insane, but it is amazing the contortions the human mind can adopt when it wishes to hide from itself.
I should explain why I did so much to hide from the truth.
Romance, to me, was always something to fear, to keep away. I have seen, on TV and in the books I read, the damage it can do. It carries risks, of isolation and loss, and of dragging you away from those you value most.
I already know what it is like, to lose; I do not wish to do so again. Though I remember little of it, my childhood was not a happy one. Perhaps Touma can sympathize.
When the signs multiplied, when Fujioka inserted himself from nowhere, despite my initial efforts, when my acute perception—just as acute as Kana! Never let her convince you otherwise!—sensed the storm gathering, I buried my head in the sand and sought to make myself the eye of the storm. I clung to the moment as long as I could. Fujioka resembled father, after all! No reason he couldn't fit into the family unit. We can simply keep Touma as the little brother I christened her on the first day. Makoto can be the distant cousin I keep far away. It was nice, imagining the family I never had.
I could have kept it up longer, much longer, had I simply not acted to lure you in, but it seems…I do not know what I want. Perhaps I simply cannot bear to be alone.
Possibly, it runs in the family. Kana had a delusion similar to mine for a long while, but gave in to reality much more quickly, and on her own terms. She has acted more responsibly, I suppose, but she also does not have as much to deal with as I.
To be honest, I still do not fully understand why it scares me so much to enter a new world—and yes, it does scare me. I must understand why.
Kana is still right in what she said.
Looking back over what I have written, I see that I have successfully delayed the central point of this letter until the very end, even if I was not very coherent in doing so. This procrastination is intentional.
After Kana first upbraided me, I had thought it imperative that I make a decision. I agonized silently over it, unable to choose, working through the same mental logic over and over.
Yes, there was no simple choice. I could find no easy reason to accept or reject either of you, not in brain or heart. I tried weighing levels of affinity, possible consequences, gut instinct, and found every measure atrociously balanced.
I am determined at this point to handle this as maturely as possible, not only for my sake, but for the sake of everyone around me. I do not wish to destroy all we have because of this.
I must apologize a final time.
The truth is that, thinking through everything I have heard, and the advice I have received, I must ask you to accept my decision to…postpone my decision. I do not wish to lose what I have with either of you, something which seems inevitable no matter what I decide. I know that such a postponement would to you only extend a period of agony. It is completely selfish, and I ask that you forgive me. It seems…I still cannot handle the loss.
Please do not let this destroy us. Do not hate each other for this and I beg you not to hate me. Tomorrow, when I give you this letter, I will feign strength to conceal weakness. Perhaps I may even have the courage to discard this letter and speak in words, though I doubt it.
Though I do not know how I will face you after this, I ask you to please, please discard any misgivings and come to my house after school. At this point, I think only if we talk will I begin to know what to do.
I will not let this destroy us. You must attend.
If it helps, my sisters know nothing of what I have decided…yet.
To you both, I—
No, never mind.
With love,
Minami Chiaki
They finished reading, Touma first, followed by Makoto, but continued to stand as still as statues.
Finally, Makoto finished absorbing the impact. His knees weakened and he felt himself begin to crumble, pieces breaking off the stone façade. Desperate for anything to delay the collapse, he turned to say something to Touma:
"I, that is—"
"Well, that was unexpected," Touma said suddenly, folding her letter in her hand briskly.
"Ah, yes it was," Makoto answered, surprised by her seeming blasé.
Touma turned to look out the window. Makoto realized that, despite the passiveness of her voice, she must be quite shaken; she did not normally avoid looking others in the face.
"It took me forever to dare to do it, you know," she said. "It took me so long to work up my courage. It took me so long to even understand what it is I wanted. You understand that, right? At least a little. Realize how hard it must have been for me."
She was holding the letter in front of her. Makoto couldn't see what she was doing with it.
"I—" he began, but she clearly wasn't really waiting for a response, since she kept right on talking.
"I had everything worked out. There was no way I could be wrong. I was certain I would be accepted. It made perfect sense. Even so, it took me so long."
"I, I see," Makoto responded, struggling to master his emotions, torn between what had just happened and what Touma was saying.
Touma's voice seemed higher than normal.
"I had everything planned out. Contingencies, counter-contingencies—I was even counting on your help. Everything was going to be perfect, or if not, I would make it perfect. Things would work out, somehow."
This time, he said nothing, just listened to her breathing heavily.
"Why—why did you have to get involved?"
She turned, eyes full of tears and face full of anger, letter crushed in fist.
Makoto hadn't been prepared for the sound of her voice breaking, or for how much it hurt him to hear it.
Chiaki had told them not to hate each other, but it seemed they were on the brink of exactly that.
"WHY?" she demanded.
"I—" he began again.
He was completely unprepared for the impact that jerked his head back and sent him down to the floor, unprepared for the force of her fist ramming his face.
"WHY?" she demanded again.
"WHY? WHY, you ask?" he rebutted, springing back up, ignoring the pain and the blood suddenly running from his nose. His confused emotions had crystallized for the moment into a comforting knot of anger. "I did it because I loved her, more than you ever could, you confused, confused…aberration!"
He said this while ramming his elbow forward, already out of control. A more civilized part of him, knowing itself to be overpowered, protested fruitlessly that he shouldn't be using such force on a girl.
Touma dodged, but not fast enough to avoid a blow to the side of her head. She fell back and supported herself on the windowsill, blood running from a cut near her eye, which immediately began to swell.
They danced a clumsy dance, loudly dispatching careless, unplanned blows. Neither fought particularly effectively, or with anything other than force of anger, not even Touma, to whom precision and finesse should have been second nature.
"You speak to me of love and aberration? Who here plays dress up every other day and displays to the whole world his perverted urge to be the other gender? Certainly not me! Abomination indeed!"
This last was punctuated by a running punch, again to the head. Makoto was able to avoid it, but the momentum of her body colliding with his slammed them both into the opposing wall, knocking the breath out of his lungs.
Neither of them remembered or even cared that they were shouting each other's taboo secrets out at megaphone volume.
He shoved her off with excessive force, though not with enough to make her fall—this was not from lack of trying.
"Are you so sure about that?" he retorted. "What about Fujioka? Who's the one trying to be something she's not?"—he jumped into her and pinned her against a door, catching her fist in his hand—"Why do you care so much anyway? The pants, the attitude, the hair, even the voice; don't think we don't notice you faking it! Is that what it's all about? Proving to yourself you can do it? Win over a girl like Chiaki and you'll be finally be a boy! Is that it?"
He had said too much.
With a burst of strength, she shoved him off. He tumbled onto the floor.
That's right; she's stronger than me, part of him registered.
She dove onto him. He barely avoided an outthrust elbow to the face.
"What about you, huh?" she yelled in his face. "Feeling insecure about your manhood, dressing up in pink every weekend? That's the reason, isn't it? Win her over, and you can finally get Uchida to stop snickering at you, and your mother to stop worrying about you!"
He rammed his forehead into hers, but did it poorly, hurting himself as much as her.
They had just barely started grappling on the floor when a girl suddenly appeared over Touma's shoulder. Another distinct part of Makoto noted that he had a perfect view up her skirt. On most other occasions, he would have mused that he wasn't sure if he were blessed or cursed.
"What is this? A fight or a lover's tryst?" she queried, archly.
With that, she hauled Touma off of him adroitly, despite her efforts to resist, and armlocked her.
Energy spent, Makoto made a feeble effort to go after her, but found himself similarly hauled up by a girl with a familiar perfume.
"What the hell do you guys think you're doing?" Uchida yelled in his ear, painfully loud.
Where on earth had they come from?
Touma and Makoto looked at each other, panting heavily. Touma had a black eye and blood on her face, with a rip in her shirt near her shoulder. Makoto knew without looking that blood stained the front of his shirt, and that his pants had a tear somewhere. Having burned off his initial emotion, he was already regretting this. Her eyes told him that she was too.
It had all been a farce, a way to loudly shout away their anger.
"Please calm down," Yoshino added, from behind him, unnecessarily.
"What are you doing?" the girl holding Touma yelled. "You think Minami would want this?"
"What?" Touma asked, nonplussed, shocked by her knowledge.
"You think I don't notice," the girl hissed in her ear, "but I've always known. I knew before you did, and bore it, because I didn't want to be selfish! I don't recall getting angry, or punching anything!"
"It's not—" Touma tried to explain, but found herself under a continuing torrent of beratement and lecturing.
"Who is that?" Makoto whispered to Uchida.
"A girl in her soccer team. She—agh, it's too hard to explain!"
At that moment, Makoto noticed that Uchida had her arms under his and her chest was pressed up against his back rather closely. A prurient, inappropriate thing to focus on at the moment, but, filled with adrenaline from the fight, he did.
He reacted only slightly, but she noticed.
"Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing his head after she dropped him and smacked him on the back of his head.
"Pervert," she commented.
"Now's not the time for that, Uchida," Yoshino sighed, before turning at the sound of a new voice:
"Hey, what's going on over here?"
A tall boy appeared around the corner, flanked by two attendants.
Student Council member, Makoto mentally flagged.
Even Touma and the girl looked up from their conversation.
"Ah, excuse me," Yoshino said.
She walked over to the stern-looking boy, who acknowledged her presence by exchanging bows with her.
She whispered into his ear.
"You're right," he said, pressing a finger to his lips and tilting his head. "I do owe you. I guess I never saw any of this."
Suddenly smiling, he turned and walked away, waving for the others to follow.
After a long moment lost in thought, Touma addressed Makoto.
"I think we can both agree this was a mistake," she said, adjusting her collar. "I didn't really mean any of that. I was a little…agitated. I think you were too. Can we forgive each other?"
She stuck out her hand.
"Of course!"
He shook it enthusiastically.
"Now then, instead of fighting, let's start a friendly competition," Touma continued, looking suddenly satisfied with herself.
"What do you mean?" Makoto asked, tilting his head in confusion.
"I'll act like a girl for a while," Touma began. "To prove that it's not just about…what you said. And in return…"
Makoto watched her warily, wondering where she was going with this. What crazy idea had she come up with?
"…in return, you have to tell Chiaki the truth about…certain things. You know what I speak of."
Uchida gasped involuntarily. Makoto blinked rapidly, processing what she had said.
"That hardly seems fair!" he exclaimed. "I mean, all you're doing is—"
"It's harder than it sounds!" Touma interjected. "I haven't acted…anything like that since I was seven!"
"But why—"
"Because I honestly think it will be good for both of us," she explained, making a series of "I've got a plan" gestures with her hands. "It'll settle some issues. We'll learn how just how authentic we are, how right we were about what we said."
Makoto looked at her carefully.
"If things go wrong, I promise to try and argue for you if Chiaki gets too angry," she continued. "Besides, you owe me big time for that thing with your mom."
I wish the rest of them weren't here so I could talk more directly! Touma thought.
"I honestly don't think she'll be mad for too long," she finished.
Makoto stared back at her, wondering at her motives, trying to digest the implications—
Screw it.
He trusted her, and if she believed it made sense, then she was probably right.
"Fine then, but I'll only promise to try! I—I'm just not sure if I can really…just say it," Makoto responded, blushing slightly.
"I'll accept that," Touma said.
They shook hands again, then turned to face the others, who were watching them with unabashed interest.
"Let's get you guys cleaned up then," Uchida said, stepping forward. "I think your nose has finally stopped bleeding, Makoto."
"Ah," he put his hands to his nose.
"No, wait, wait," Touma waved her hands. "We can't go to the nurse's office. We can't. That's where Chiaki is. That's…"
Her voice trailed off.
"But then—how about one of the storage sheds?" Uchida suggested. "We can't just leave you guys looking like that! And do you have a backup shirt with you, Makoto?"
"I don't…"
As they walked off, Yoshino held the third girl back a little as they walked.
"Let's talk a little, later, after school," she suggested, meeting the girl's eyess.
"Ah, about what?"
"Later," Yoshino insisted.
The girl thought.
"Okay, I guess. But you'll have to make it fast. We have a game—oh I wonder if Touma can…Ah!"
The girl's eyes widened.
"She can't miss a critical game like this one! If she—I have to talk to her!"
The girl lurched forward.
"No, wait—" Yoshino began, reaching forward, but stopped midpose.
She had stepped on a piece of paper on the floor.
Yoshino bent down to pick it up. She would catch up with them soon enough. There was always time to peruse something as interesting-looking as this.
She glanced over it.
Oh. That's what it is.
Yoshino pondered briefly whether to destroy it on the spot.
Instead she placed it in her carefully in her shirt pocket. Whichever one of them dropped it would surely want it back and, in the meantime…it wouldn't hurt to sneak a few peaks at it.
She hurried off to follow the others.
"Didn't Touma give Chiaki a schedule of games? How could she not know about today?" Yoshino asked, uncapping her bottle of water. "I mean, yeah, she's sick, but to not even know it was happening…"
"You know very well Chiaki doesn't care for soccer," Uchida sighed, shifting her legs underneath her, trying to redistribute her weight on the grass. "She probably forgot about it the moment she got it. There's no helping it. She just doesn't like athletics."
"I wonder why," Yoshino said, peering at the field. "Haruka is excellent and Kana—well, she's enthusiastic."
"She's probably just jealous," Makoto mumbled offhand.
"Hmm? You say something?"
"No, nothing."
They kept talking, but Makoto was too busy watching Touma on the field to notice. For all their comments about Chiaki, none of them had ever actually attended a game she played in. Yoshino and Uchida were generally too eager to go home or to Chiaki's house and as for him—well, it seemed a little strange going alone, so he never had.
Touma had been nagging Chiaki ever since she joined the school team to attend a game or at least a practice, just to show some support. Chiaki had always refused. It was the one thing they didn't see eye-to-eye on. Touma couldn't understand why she wouldn't, a fact she had complained to him about on several occasions. Makoto hadn't been able to enlighten her.
He hadn't understood why it was so important to Touma, either, and even the revelation of Touma's feelings for Chiaki had failed to fully clarify the issue for him.
Now though, he understood.
The First-year Sensation. The Southern Typhoon. An entire battery of questionable nicknames had accrued to Touma the soccer player, none of which had quite stuck yet. Her fame was such that the whole school knew about her— vaguely, because frankly middle school intramural soccer wasn't that important a topic.
But it certainly mattered to the team. Touma's "wing-girl" had practically begged her to play earlier that day, stroking her hand and reminding her how hard they'd worked, how much this match meant to them.
It was Yoshino, acting with typical adroitness, who had covertly used her phone to call Chiaki. She intervened at just the right moment, having Chiaki explain to Touma that, despite her previous admonitions, it was alright to be a couple of hours late, if it was for something as important as this.
It was also that wing-girl who had explained to them, as they left the storage shed, that Touma's arrival had transformed the school soccer program from a mediocre local team to a powerhouse with aspirations to the intramural crown. She told them that the coach had taken one look at her in practice and immediately promoted her to starter forward, and that the demoted third-year girl hadn't even complained, so obvious was the disparity. She told them that Touma was absolutely critical, that her absence on the field would have been a disaster.
Throughout it all, Touma had walked quietly, saying nothing, only nodding whenever Uchida asked incredulously if something was really true.
To all of them, it was surprising news. Touma had never said anything about this to any of them. They had always thought of soccer as something Touma just did, in the same way that Uchida collected little stuffed horses and Yoshino devoted her time to learning to cook. None of them had ever thought to ask her about it, or to investigate how well she was doing.
Watching her on the field now, he could see that it was no mere hyperbole.
Soccer is inherently a team sport; it is difficult for any one player to shine so brightly as to fully obscure the others. He knew this, but it was still apparent, even to him, just how valuable Touma was on the field. Time and again the ball was dumped to Touma, or the girl he now knew fully deserved her designation as Touma's partner in crime, and they would be relied upon to weave their way up the field for, if not a shot on goal, something close to it. It wasn't a particularly good strategy, but it was the best their team had.
It was strangely graceful, the way Touma moved on the field, weaving among obstacles, calves working as she tapped the ball back and forth, or sought out open spots in the defense, effortlessly outrunning and eluding defenders like so many traffic cones. Some combination of athleticism, years of practice, and natural instinct made her peerless among her limited competition. It was fascinating to watch.
The other girl, worshipful of Touma, had understated her own relative skill—she was clearly quite talented—but Touma was the star. Touma radiated command, directing the offense with occasional instructions that could somehow be heard from the other side of the field.
Receiving a pass, her partner smoothly performed an elaborate fake, losing a defender just long enough to shotgun a pass forward to Touma, who was already in the perfect position. She dodged left, then with sudden blistering speed blasted past two defenders. There was nothing left now but the goalie, and one good kick—
He watched her slip, in the kind of slow motion he hadn't been sure existed. Her right leg slid forward along the grass, not enough downward force to stop it. The studs on her cleats tried and failed to dig into the mud. Her other leg followed close behind. Her eyes opened wide with shock as she fell backwards, her elbows instinctively pushing outward to prepare for impact. For an improbable moment, the physics of her impact, the leverage from her failed right leg, turned her head, and he found himself staring right into her pupils. She stared right back.
Then she hit the ground, her head recoiled from the impact, and her eyes closed.
The goalie scooped up the ball, obviously relieved—then immediately looked ashamed.
He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he finally exhaled.
A girl nearby sighed loudly.
"She's just not with it today," she said.
This came from a sizable contingent of girls some distance to his right, seated on the grass next to the field. Regulars, they had a drink cooler, a stacked pile of snacks, and a giant cloth to sit on. The fanclub was out in force, as they apparently always were.
Frankly, he was shocked.
This kind of performance is "out of it"? he thought, incredulously.
The action on the field stopped, and a crowd of team members gathered around Touma's position on the field.
"Oh no! Is she hurt?" Uchida asked.
Yoshino glanced at Makoto meaningfully.
After a long moment, Touma pushed herself up on her elbows, letting a teammate help pull her up. She held the back of her head, chuckling sheepishly in embarrassment, and signaled that she was fine. With obvious relief, the players moved back to their positions. The fan club cheered loudly.
She looked at him, and again they met eyes.
She walked slowly away from him, holding her side.
Ah, rib pain. That was probably me. He thought with a twinge.
"Do you see that?" one of her fans exclaimed. "She has a black eye! When did she get that? That's not a soccer injury."
Definitely me. He automatically turned away from them in embarrassment, even though there was no need to.
"That would explain a few things," another said. "Our representative was dropping hints at me about Touma being involved in something, but she wouldn't tell me anything!"
"Oh, that girl. Knowing her, it's probably total bullshit. She's just messing with you."
"But it certainly makes sense…"
"Tch. Fanclubs," Yoshino derided, leaning forward to get a better view.
Looking away from the field for a moment, Makoto spotted in the distance a few boys watching the game avidly. They wore a strange look, as if they were totally immersed in the game. He supposed they must be the boyfriends of some of those on the field.
Despite the many shots on goal, it was late in the first half before the first goal was scored. That came after a dexterous series of faked shots that finally manage to distract both defender and goalie. A brief cheer rang out and Touma grinned, having redeemed herself.
"I taught her that move, you know," said a voice behind them, announcing his presence for the first time.
Startled, he whipped his head around and flinched, colliding with Uchida, who promptly shoved him back.
"Fu—Fujioka?" he asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
"Makoto-kun, was it?" he asked, looking at him carefully. "Am I right?"
Makoto just nodded, mouth dry, instinctively starting to sweat.
"I should ask what you're doing here," Fujioka responded. "I attend her games all the time. I've never seen any of you here before, though."
He sounded faintly accusing.
"We just thought we'd see what it was like," said Uchida amicably, ignoring the dig at them.
"I see," Fujioka said blandly.
Fujioka sat on the grass between Makoto and the others, and took a moment to watch the field.
"Quite something, isn't she?" he asked rhetorically.
"Ah, yes, she is," Makoto responded, eying him warily.
"I'm sure it's due to your training," Yoshino said, establishing friendly banter.
"No, no, I can only take some of the credit, at most," Fujioka responded modestly, waving his hand. "More important are the traits she has on her own. She's talented, she's hard-working, she's special."
He paused to formulate his next sentence.
"I mean, I'll be honest, I never thought I would ever meet someone so talented. It's like meeting a dream in person. It's a pleasure to teach her and—"
Fujioka stopped, realizing they were all looking at him and that he had gotten carried away. His face reddened.
"You have a girlfriend already, you know," Uchida pointed out dutifully.
"You know that's not what I meant!" he responded, now blushing furiously.
Uchida and Yoshino burst out laughing at his discomfiture.
Makoto grasped Fujioka's shoulder, pulling him over for a moment of male sympathy.
"Don't worry about them," he shared confidentially. "They're just making fun of you. They do it to me all the time."
"I know!" Fujioka said, still preoccupied with saving face.
Makoto shrugged at his unfriendliness, and resumed watching Touma play, but hadn't watched for more than few seconds before Fujioka again took his attention.
"Actually…" Fujioka began.
"Hmm?" Makoto asked distractedly, turning to look at Fujioka.
He found Fujioka scrutinizing him carefully, hand on chin.
"How exactly do you know me?"
"Isn't that obvious?" Makoto asked, looking at Fujioka, stumped. "We met at Minami's."
"No. We haven't," Fujioka insisted. "I'd remember meeting you. I only know you by reputation. I had to guess who you were based on Chiaki's description, but you knew me by sight, even though I'm alone. Have you seen me before?"
Oh shit! I was too careless! Makoto thought, panicked.
"Well, you know, I guess I must have," he said. "I mean, maybe you just forgot…"
"And you look so familiar," Fujioka added. "But I'm certain I've never been introduced to you before."
"Then I—I'm sure we must have met…sometime…before…" Makoto began, struggling to think of a change to change the topic.
"Hey, Fujioka!" Uchida interrupted, coming to his rescue. "Did you bring Kana with you?"
Successfully distracted, Fujioka looked up for a moment.
"Well, I've never brought her here before, but this time she said she wanted to come. She insisted trying to find a shop to buy drinks and snacks from. That's the reason I'm late."
He paused.
"And I would have gotten here on time if she hadn't insisted on stopping to talk with Riko," he groused. "I mean I'm usually late anyway but—"
"You mean you let her go buy drinks for you?" Yoshino berated. She and Uchida wore disapproving looks.
"Well, I mean, she wanted to, and she said that I should just go ahead—" Fujioka began, again nonplussed.
"Yo!" Kana yelled, appearing out of nowhere, holding out a bottle of iced tea and running across the distance that separated them. They watched her approach.
"All the places around this school are damn expensive," she said when she got there. "What are those bastards trying to do, ripping off girls like that?"
"Now, now I'm sure they're just—" Fujioka began, relieved at the interruption. More perceptive than usual, he stopped when he realized the others were staring at Kana.
The last time they had worn expressions like that was when Chiaki had mysteriously shown up to school one day with two of those strange hair bumps on her head.
Kana's hand automatically went to her hair, which she was wearing untied and long. She had also committed the unusual conceit of placing one of the early-blooming flowers in her hair.
"I—I chose a different hairstyle today. Something wrong with that?"
She seemed strangely embarrassed, looking away while struggling to maintain her normal challenging voice.
"No, no, nothing. We're just surprised," Yoshino said, signaling the rest of them to drop the topic.
Makoto spent the rest of the first half listening with one ear to Fujioka rave about Touma and the work and dedication she was capable of. With the other ear he listened to Touma's cheering section urge her on and deride the opposition. With his eyes, he continued to watch Touma on the field.
Makoto thought about Touma's dedication to her chosen sport, and how she was willing to sacrifice something so important to her for Chiaki. That was love. Could he honestly say he had the same dedication as her? If he couldn't, then he knew it would be unfair to Chiaki if he didn't give up now.
He knew that given the situation, the two of them should be at each other's throats. And they had been, earlier. That hadn't been real animosity though, on either side, and he knew that. They had too much history together, were far too good a pair of friends.
He knew, too, that something like that shouldn't be enough to hold them together. Human history, he was sure, was littered with examples of friends being torn apart by just something like this.
It was because of this that he could understand why, torn between two terribly equivalent choices, between two mirrored futures, Chiaki had opted instead for an impossible middle road. He could understand why she worried so much about destroying what they already had.
Like her, he had no idea how to proceed, what should be done, or how the situation would develop.
During the half-time break, Touma stopped by to greet them briefly, clutching a water bottle and a towel.
"You want a snack, Touma?" Uchida asked, granola bar outthrust in her hand. "It's from my lunch!"
"Ah, no, I'm fine," she demurred. "It's actually not a good idea for me to eat until after the match. It doesn't seem to work well."
"I see…" Uchida said disappointingly, withdrawing her offer.
"See, I told you!" Yoshino faux-whispered to Uchida, cupping her mouth with one side of her hand.
"Did not! You said she doesn't like granola!"
"She doesn't. She's just being polite."
"As if!"
"Good game, Touma," Fujioka said, drawing her attention away from the childish argument.
"I suppose," she responded, looking wary rather than modest.
"I meant to arrive earlier, but…" Fujioka shrugged and made a vague gesture with his hand. Kana glanced at him in annoyance, but then switched her focus to Touma. She seemed about to say something.
"You were late?" Touma repeated, sounding relieved. "Then that means you missed my embarrassing slip earlier."
"You slipped? In cleats?" Fujioka asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, it happens to the best of us. How exactly—"
Having been preoccupied by Uchida and Yoshino's shoving match, Fujioka only now turned his head upward to look at Touma's face. Squinting for a moment while still talking, he jumped up abruptly, interrupting himself.
"Touma! Your eye! What happened to it? Let me have a look at it."
From force of habit, Fujioka grabbed her head in both hands so as to get a better look, oblivious to changed circumstances—namely, that he now knew she was female, and not young enough to treat like such a child regardless.
"Fu—" Uchida began, thinking to point that out, but she was stopped by Yoshino's restraining hand.
"Nothing!" Touma said. "A ball hit me in the face! Let go!"
After a bit of squirming, she managed to get away.
"That's a fight injury!" Fujioka pointed out. "What happened?"
"Nothing! Okay? I—I don't want to talk about it."
Touma turned away.
"Touma. This is serious. You—"
Kana grabbed his shoulder, cued by Yoshino and Uchida, and he stopped.
"Let it go," she ordered. "Let her deal with it."
"But I'm—"
He stopped midsentence, seemingly flummoxed. Kana then leaned over to say something in his ear.
"Well, if they think they have it under control…" he said, agreeing reluctantly.
While Fujioka thought about it, Touma started subtly trying to escape by backing away.
"What are you going to do when you get home, though?" Fujioka asked suddenly, pinning her with a look. He didn't have to explain what he meant.
"Oh. Well, today I'm not eating at home, so I'm just going to go straight to my room and hide it."
"Should work…" Fujioka mused.
"Well, break isn't very long," Touma explained, "and I've already spent too much time here. I need to discuss things with my team…"
With that excuse, she turned to leave, her face broadcasting relief, but then she looked down, at the boy seated on the ground.
"Is something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked quizzically.
She had finally noticed Makoto, who hadn't said a single word the entire time, instead quietly staring at her. With her other hand, she was absent-mindedly toweling sweat off her hair. It had drenched the top front and back of her team uniform.
"Ah!" he responded, snapping out of his trance and turning his head away. "No, nothing. Nothing is wrong."
"Uh-huh. Well, I guess we're going to have a lot of explaining to do," Touma said, being intentionally enigmatic—so enigmatic that Makoto didn't quite understand what she was trying to say.
He didn't ask her to clarify.
She strode back across the field, not seeming to notice the girl who had been surreptitiously watching the exchange from distance. The girl turned, and ran back to the fanclub section to spread what she had heard.
Makoto sighed. More grist for the rumor mill. Then he noticed that Kana was looking at him strangely, and that Yoshino was watching both of them.
This was too much. He felt like he was caught in the crossfire of some complicated chess match.
Oh shit!
He had been forced to borrow an ill-fitting replacement uniform shirt, and his pants still had a hole on the side. Not enough evidence for anyone but Sherlock Holmes to draw the correct conclusion…but Kana had shown evidence of such skills before. She couldn't be that perceptive…could she?
Touma was on the other side of the field in a team huddle, talking and gesturing animatedly. The coach stood to one side, nodding. Evidently, it was standard practice for the team to confer during half-time. Her coming over had been a gesture of courtesy.
"Look, Fujioka," Kana said suddenly, breaking the silence and grabbing his arm. "I know you're worried about her, but these two"—she gestured at Uchida at Yoshino—"says things are under control. I'm willing to take their word, and if Touma doesn't want to talk, you shouldn't force her. You're not really her—"
"I know, I know," he said, cutting her off. "It's just—"
"Anyway, all that being said," Kana continued briskly, turning to her right to address Yoshino and Uchida, instantly changing the mood. "I trust that I will soon hear the truth of the matter. I think I know some of it already, but I think it's best if I heard all of it."
"Ah, well," Yoshino hedged, rubbing her neck nervously, "Maybe, you know, sometime later, but not now."
Uchida glanced at Makoto, losing discipline momentarily, but quickly looked back.
"If you say so," Kana responded, clearly not surprised by the answer.
A whistle sounded, signaling the end of intermission.
"Oh, so you're going home with us?" Kana asked.
"Yes," Makoto answered, refusing to show how unusual this was for him—in male form anyway.
He and Touma chuckled nervously. Touma had changed back into her standard uniform, shoulder damage hidden under a jacket. It was five thirty, and cold enough to justify a coat. Despite the seemingly porous defense on both sides, their school had scraped out the 1-0 win.
"We already asked Haruka's permission," Touma added.
"And you guys also?" Kana asked, turning at a slight angle to face Yoshino, Uchida, and Touma's teammate, who was hanging around unaccountably.
"Yes," Yoshino answered briefly.
"What?" Makoto and Touma asked simultaneously, turning with shock. Makoto dropped the jacket zipper he was in the middle of zipping.
Yoshino looked at them.
"Why not? It's only natural. I thought you knew? I mean, you told us you were going to the Minami house after the game, and since we attended the game…"
What's Yoshino playing at? She knows why we don't want them there. What is she doing? Touma thought in frustration.
"Nice to meet you, Kana-san. I'm Yoshihiro Misawa. I trust I won't be intruding by going also?" said Touma's partner in their dynamic duo.
"Oh, no problem at all." Kana responded, sounding intrigued.
"She's going also?" Touma asked Yoshino. Her voice and face could not have conveyed more dismay if she had been told all three of her brothers were attending.
Makoto, remembering the girl, Touma's fanclub president, rallying the troops to support her immediately after the game, felt a strong pang of sympathy.
"It didn't seem to make sense not to invite her," Yoshino said, looking deliberately puzzled. "I asked Chiaki for permission when I called her earlier. Haruka was the one who suggested it, also."
"B—but—"
"Chiaki is sick, Kana, have you heard?" Yoshino said, changing the subject and joining Kana, who was walking off. The two of them ignored the continued protests behind them.
"She is," Kana said, with genuine surprise and outrage. "I hadn't heard at all! I was wondering why she wasn't here. Damn it, why did Haruka give me a cell phone if she never intends to call me on it?"
Hands still raised in futile gestures, Touma and Makoto stood stock-still. After a long moment, they finally reacted, huddling to hold a private conference.
"How did we get railroaded into this? Why?" Touma whispered to him.
"How the hell should know? And Chiaki approved it, so…"
"You two," Kana interrupted.
Startled, they stared at her. For some reason, Kana had walked back, leaving Fujioka and Yoshino chatting with the others.
"This is the perfect opportunity to say this," she continued, giving them furious glares. "I saw you two back there. If you break Chiaki's heart, I will kill you. Make no mistake. Now stop dawdling like idiots and hurry up."
Leaving them standing there gaping, Kana turned around and ran to catch up with the others.
"I—but—that—" he stuttered.
"What the hell was that?" Touma said, a bit more eloquently.
"I—I don't know. Shit, I don't know. What on earth is going on?"
"Let's just go," Touma said, after a moment of thought. "I don't think we're going to find out standing here."
They ran to catch up.
This day still isn't over? This is definitely the longest day of my life. Makoto thought with dark humor.
By this point, they were all thoroughly familiar with the route to the Minami household. They navigated the short distance there with unthinking group intelligence, the streets dimming as the twilight crept in among the budding tree branches. They carried their bags with them on their backs and shoulders, books clattering occasionally. Not an unusual assortment of kids, notable only because they were out somewhat late on a Monday. They divided naturally into three parts, Yoshino, Misawa, and Uchida rushing ahead, Fujioka and Kana in the middle, and Touma and Makoto lagging far behind.
Only Misawa glanced up occasionally, mildly surprised when the group turned or when they found themselves caught on opposite sides of an intersection and needing to wait. Makoto could not shake the feeling that something was off.
After the events of the day, Makoto and Touma walked in silence, uniform in gait. There was nothing left to talk about; nothing relevant, anyway. Even so, Makoto repeatedly opened his mouth, ready to say something, anything, only to close it again on second thought. Touma noticed him do it, but didn't bail him out; couldn't, because she didn't know what to say either.
They crowded into the elevator, awkwardly, barely managing to all fit inside.
"Ah, sorry," Makoto apologized, recoiling after accidentally ramming his shoulder into Touma. She looked at him strangely.
At the back of the elevator despite being last in, Makoto found himself staring straight into Kana's long, luscious hair. Several times during the walk here he had seen Fujioka's hand reach for it automatically, only to twitch away spasmodically at the last moment. Makoto wondered if she noticed; he didn't think so.
Several times he had wondered what it would be like to have hair like that. Sure it would be heavy, but it must be fun to—
He shook his head, quietly appalled at himself. Touma's expression watching him only grew more questioning.
Since they had Kana with them, there was no need to knock on the door. They piled inside, the ones in front collectively giving the standard "sorry to intrude".
Here again, Makoto was last. He hesitated before stepping across the threshold.
Touma turned and looked back.
"You okay?"
Her eyes showed concern, and something else.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Kana hustled everyone else into the group into the room with the kotatsu, the one they treated as a de facto family room. When Touma moved to join them, however, Kana stopped her with an outstretched arm.
"The person you're looking for will be in her room, if she's really sick. Best go see her now."
Indeed, there was no sign of Chiaki in the front rooms.
"How did you know—" Makoto began.
Kana held up a hand to interrupt.
"Please. Give me some credit for having a brain," she said with a crooked smile.
Yoshino and Uchida, at the kotatsu, studiously pretended not to hear anything. Fujioka was pouring tea in the kitchen. Only Misawa looked up in frank curiosity.
"Where's Haruka?" Touma asked, clearly surprised Haruka hadn't come out to greet them.
Kana shrugged.
"I think she's out or something. It's strange, considering she left food on the stove. Actually, she's probably in the bathroom."
"I see."
The crooked smile returning, Kana said, quietly this time and leaning forward:
"You lucked out, Mako-chan. I didn't think you'd ever manage to escape her restrictions. But I wonder how long you'll be able to resist the urges."
Makoto blushed bright red.
"Wha—what are you talking about?" he said, looking away, realizing full well that his reaction admitted the truth.
I can't believe I just admitted it to myself!
Before he had time to crack, Kana laughed, loudly and melodically. Uchida and Yoshino looked up, and Fujioka paused, walking with tray of tea in hand.
Unable to talk from laughter, she just waved for them to walk on to Chiaki's bedroom.
"Don't let it get to you," Touma whispered to him as they walked. "She's just messing with you."
"I—I see."
"Kana!" Fujioka yelled from the kitchen. "What should I do? I think something's burning! Where's Haruka?"
"You idiot! Turn it off! Turn it off!"
Kana ran to the kitchen, followed closely by Yoshino.
They had paused in the hallway to witness that tableau.
"Where is Haruka?" Touma asked.
They could now see that neither bathroom showed any signs of anyone inside.
They heard muffled thumping sounds from inside the bedroom.
When they opened the door, they found Haruka sitting on the bed in front of them, leaning over Chiaki, doing her best to pin down the girl there. Dressed in nightclothes, Chiaki looked shockingly frail, and her determined but weak efforts to get up were ineffective against Haruka. Her feverish eyes darted from side to side, blazing in their sockets.
"Please, Chiaki! You can't get up! You're too sick! Let me go get them instead! I beg you—"
Chiaki's eyes focused on them, causing Haruka to look and turn as well.
Haruka smiled weakly at them and let go of Chiaki, sitting on the bed.
"She got worse all of a sudden. She was sleeping, but she suddenly started saying she needed to get up and dress. I told her she needed to stay asleep, but I couldn't convince her, and then she heard you guys arrive…"
The request was implicit in her words.
They stared at Chiaki in shock.
She didn't sound anything like this on the phone! Touma thought.
Torn between two desires, they looked at each other for a long moment and decided with body language and nods.
"We can come back later," Touma said, casting her eyes down and turning to leave.
"She's right," she continued, addressing Chiaki. "For now it's important that you sleep and get some rest. It's not—"
"No!"
Finally responding, Chiaki had her arm outstretched in the universally recognized "come back!" gesture.
They turned back.
"Chiaki…" Makoto said quietly, involuntarily.
After a long silent moment, he realized his error.
"Minami! I mean Minami!" he amended hastily.
Looking around, he deduced from their surprised looks that they hadn't even noticed until he pointed it out. HIs cheeks colored.
Chiaki shook her head gently, with a light smile. She was seated on her pillow.
"That's not necessary. 'Chiaki' is fine."
Haruka touched Chiaki lightly on the arm, question again implicit.
"It's okay, Haruka. I'm feeling a little better. I think—I want to have dinner at the table. Just give me some time."
Haruka stood up, abruptly, decision made.
"We'll see about that. But I guess there's nothing wrong with letting them stay a little while. Not too long, alright guys?"
She gave them a meaningful look, filled with concealed threats of bodily harm. They nodded.
As she walked over, she leaned over and whispered so they could hear:
"I wanted to tell you all to stay home, since Chiaki was sick, but she wouldn't have it. She even wanted to invite the others. It's not like her to insist on something like that, especially since I do the cooking. I granted the wish, but I hope it's worth it. Please don't aggravate her."
With that, Haruka turned and briskly shut the door behind her.
They waited a moment. In the background, Kana expressed surprise at Haruka's reappearance. The phone rang.
Chiaki motioned for them to come over. They finally separated, Touma opting to go to her left and Makoto to her right.
"That's an interesting black eye you have, Touma."
"Ah, well, that was—"
"And is that a bruise on your knuckle?" She pointed at Makoto's right hand.
Surprised, Makoto raised his hand and made a fist. He hadn't even noticed that.
"Never mind," Chiaki said, leaning back into her extra pillows.
They waited.
Finally, to split the silence, Chiaki decided to just start talking, in the hopes it would lead somewhere.
"I don't know if I'm thinking straightly. This fever might have gotten to me. But I've had time to consider it. I don't think my letter was too coherent. What I mean is, if I were to choose, the odd one out would drift away. No matter how I try to deal with it, I can't think of any way either one of you wouldn't just…disappear from my life. I—I couldn't deal with that. You—you guys are my family and I couldn't—"
They had watched in muted horror as she lost her composure. Protective instincts stirring, Makoto reached forward and she grabbed him by the shirt, briefly, before letting go and sitting back, sniffling. It was unclear whether this was due to her sickness.
"No, no, I'm fine. I'm tired. This sickness is getting to me."
"I'm sorry," Touma said suddenly. "If I had known, I would never have…"
"I wouldn't have either," Makoto added, as an addendum, still lost in thought. "It wasn't—"
"No. Don't apologize," Chiaki interrupted, smiling wanly. "It's not your fault. It's my fault. I should have known better than to think things would stay the same forever. I should have known…"
Makoto futilely grasped for something to say. Here it was again. The vague sensation that something was wrong—no, it was obvious that something was wrong—and he had no idea how to deal with it. It hurt.
"It would be unfair for me to ask you to wait indefinitely," she continued. "And I can't lie and refuse you both. But then I can't—I can't… I just need more time!"
With this last outburst, she again fell back, seemingly exhausted.
"Chiaki!" they both exclaimed, within moments of each other.
"Kana was right all along," Chiaki said, seemingly apropos of nothing.
They watched her, but she pushed herself back up, recovering with surprising rapidity.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just promise me…"
They listened.
"Don't fight again. I didn't think it would go that far, but apparently it was a closer shave than I thought. And before you ask, Yoshino told me. Otherwise, I wonder if I would have noticed the hints."
They issued their promises, then looked at her askance as she tried to get up.
"Are you sure?" Touma asked. "You should probably—"
Chiaki waved her off.
"No, no it's okay. I just…won't move much."
Makoto moved to try and help her up.
He held her arms, and looked down at her. Her cheeks were a bit reddened from the heat of her fever. Her hair was arranged untidily on her head. The top button of her pale blue nightshirt was undone, presumably in deference to comfort.
Swallowing hard, he looked away—and spotted Touma staring as well, before noticing him watching and also looking away, with the same faint look of embarrassment he was sure he wore.
That look on her face, strained and desperate…
It had looked like someone who had been starving her whole lifetime, but was being forced to turn down a plate of food right in front of her.
Just in case I was skeptical… he thought.
Then, a moment later:
Do I also look like that?
"That's my role, you know," Touma said, smiling weakly. "I'm her best friend, after all."
If it had been intended as a joke, it fell flat. If it was a warning, it lacked the force to do anything.
Though she was right; Touma really was closer. She was the one who fought and played with Chiaki, the one who visited when she was sick. Where had he been?
Banned.
He swallowed, and carried on. He wasn't just going to give up.
As they walked out the door, Touma thought of something.
"Shouldn't you change?" she queried of Chiaki.
"Ah, yes," Chiaki said.
Dinner that night was subdued, their general mirth suppressed by the lack of Chiaki's reliable caustic attitude and Touma's energy, and by the wary eye everyone kept on Chiaki, whose eyes drooped more than normal and who seemed constantly on the verge of nodding off. The only isle of excitement came from an animated discussion between Misawa, Touma, and Fujioka about that day's soccer game. For Chiaki's benefit, Kana and Uchida commiserated at length about how much being sick sucked, though Kana couldn't resist getting a few digs in at her.
Makoto thought that Misawa seemed to spending a lot of time looking at Chiaki, but decided it was probably his imagination. It also seemed to his newly paranoid mind that Yoshino was watching him.
In the end, they all went home early. It was Monday, after all, and Chiaki needed to sleep early. Makoto and Touma accepted Yoshino's offer of a ride home. Before Makoto got out of the car in front of where he lived, he remembered something.
"Are we still doing that, you know, that thing you suggested? The one where you try to dress like a girl."
Touma paused a long moment, belying the seeming certainty of what she then said:
"Of course."
Author's note: I managed to dodge adding a named original character for this long, but somehow the soccer player wormed herself deep enough into the plot that all the "that girl", "Touma's partner" references were getting painfully awkward. So I named her (watch me end up never using her again…). I'm not exactly happy about it, but oh well. The name isn't a complete coincidence, incidentally.
Speaking of new characters, there is a new character in the newest chapters of the manga. It's probably impossible to work that character in at this point, especially when I don't know anything about the person. It's not too big a deal, because I dated myself the moment I started writing this, and it would be surprising if newer chapters didn't make this story impossible in more ways than one.
