CHAPTER 7:

PRESSING FLOWERS

(as in, when you press a flower in a book and they get all dry and crunchy...)

Nanao looked questionably at her Captain who was pressing flowers into a very big book. It was filled with a very big variety of flowers. He looked up at her and smiled happily. Nanao rolled her eyes and asked,"Captain, what the heck are you doing?"

"I'm pressing flowers, my lovely Nanao-chan! It's fun to keep them all in good condition for at least a while, don't ya think?" he replied, closing the book and standing up.

"But sir, why do you press flowers in books? They only dry up after about a week. There's no point in it," she argued, staring at his book.

"Well, everybody has a hobby. Like, Lisa-chan enjoyed spying on our meetings. So, what do you enjoy to do? You know, some people are like stalkers and take pictures of the people that they like when they're asleep. Isn't that creepy?" he asked, and Nanao tensed up.

"Yes sir! That's very creepy, and I couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind doing anything like that!" she quickly agreed. Hey, she wasn't lying. When he was asleep, she wasn't in her right mind! She just had to take pictures of the cuteness that is Shunsui Kyoraku.

Shunsui laughed and sighed. "Has anyone ever done anything like that to you?" he asked, staring at his nervous wreck of a lieutenant.

"I ADMIT!!! IT'S ME, SIR!!! I TAKE PICTURES OF YOU EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU CLOSE YOUR BEAUTIFUL BROWN EYES!!! I CONFESS!!! I'M SO SORRY! I KNOW I'M A DISGRACE AND LISA WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS!!! I'M TO BLAME!!! I'M" she was cut off by Shunsui putting his finger over her mouth. He just stared at her.

"Okay....... that was really awkward..." he said after a while. "I didn't know your hobby was quite so...involved..."

Nanao sighed, but smiled when Shunsui smiled at her. "I'm sorry..." she said. "It's just that, everyone has a hobby, and you're really... you know, hot..." she admitted, hanging her head down.

"You know, you could try pressing flowers," he suggested.

"Can I try pressing you?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

"Okay..."

"Sure..."

"You wanna make out?"

"Yes!" (as in Fred Fredburger)

And that's how their night ensued. And not a single flower was pressed that night...

Why do I ask all these questions? Why do I never answer them? Do you even care? Find out on the next chapter of "Vacation: GOTTA Get Away."