Thanks to Kashima's influence, Hori's grown into the habit of checking the caller ID before picking up, so thankfully, today he has a moment to brace himself. He smacks a hand to his forehead, rolling over in bed. "Sakura, it's the crack of dawn."
"Oh, stop being so melodramatic," she says snidely. "Since when is nine the crack of dawn?"
"Park your snark at the gate, please. It's Saturday, for Christ's sake." He reluctantly sits up, his covers splayed messily around him, and massages his temples. "Anyways, what's up?"
"You won't believe who just visited me," Sakura says, giddy.
Hori scratches his head. "Uh, that psych major you hang out with sometimes?"
"What? No!" she says shrilly. "Nozaki, dummy. I guess he heard from Kashima or whatever, but anyways, he stopped by my hospital room, and god, he was just so chivalrous, not to mention khakis are a fantastic look for him-"
He yawns pointedly. "Get to the point."
"-and he brought me flowers!" Sakura squeals.
His jaw goes slack. "No fucking way."
"Yes way!"
Hori gives a shake of his head. "Are we talking about the same guy? No chance he has a long-lost twin brother or something?" Nope, he isn't buying this for one second. Clueless, deadpan Nozaki, displaying tact for once? Impossible.
"It was hundred percent him, I swear! I told you he was sweet, didn't I?" she insists. "He came in and put this really beautiful bouquet of carnations on my bedside table and told me to feel better. Crazy, right?"
"Are you sure they aren't deadly? Possibly sprayed with cyanide?" He narrows his eyes. "He's always struck me as kind of shady, you know. Are you positive we can trust this guy?"
"Hori, what's up with you today?" Sakura admonishes, and her voice suddenly falls to a hush. He imagines her lips curling into a smirk, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arch and arms folded across her chest, pictures each individual eyelash mocking him. "You know what I think this is? Jealousy."
Hori laughs in disbelief. "Me, jealous of that nutjob? Whatever for?"
"The fact that you don't have the balls to get a girl flowers," she says smugly.
He freezes, lowering the phone.
"Well, Hori? Got anything to say for yourself?" Sakura taunts.
"Oh, you're on," Hori breathes.
After his early morning shift the next day, he wanders into the florist's, shuffling through aisles and aisles of pinks and blues and yellows and purples, black-eyed susans and delicate white roses and vibrant tiger lilies.
Breathing in the musky smell of the earth, Hori stops at a bouquet of irises, fingers the petals.
Hope, he remembers. That's what they mean, right?
"May I help you?"
The salesgirl is smiling at him, her dark green apron dusted with soil, a terracotta flower pot held to her chest. She's pretty, he thinks suddenly, all high cheekbones and creamy skin and dreamy eyes, chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.
Hori drops the flowers, edging back towards the door. "Uh, no, just browsing. Sorry."
"Well, come again soon!" she calls after him, and he gives a jerky nod.
For some unfathomable reason, the thought alone sends guilt surging up his spine, makes him remember flecks of gold and freckles against pale skin and Kashima's heartbeat against his.
For a girl barely taller than he is, Mitsuzuri is surprisingly intimidating. Rhythmically hitting her hammer against her palm, she tilts her chin up to glower down at him. Hori gulps at the spiky ring glimmering silver from her middle finger.
"Well, look who decided to show up," Mitsuzuri drawls. She rocks up and down on her heels, raising herself up on tiptoe.
Of course she just had to choose today to wear those,he thinks, staring at her combat boots with the ridiculously high heels. Totally impractical but stylish as fuck, she'd once said to him, singsong, over the whir of the power tools. Oh, and a surprisingly good weapon.
Hori timidly holds out her favorite drink as a peace offering.
Mitsuzuri eyes him beadily for a moment, before snatching the white chocolate mocha out of his hands and downing half of it in a single gulp. Wiping a dribble off with her shirt sleeve, she gives a shake of her head. "Thank God you're back. I'd rip your balls off, but, uh, kind of exhausted right now. And running on a six-pack of Red Bull. And, you know, hell week. Anyways, back to work?" She waves her hand in the general direction of the sets and pats his shoulder clumsily, sauntering away with a certain spring in her step.
Kashima nudges him in the ribs, utterly failing to suppress her smile. He only notices her dimples then, tiny indentations in her cheeks, and gets so distracted that he hardly hears what she's saying. "Told you you're her favorite."
He jerks himself back to reality, scoffing. "Please. She's on a caffeine high; you can't take anything she says seriously."
"And you don't know how to take a compliment," she says playfully.
"Like being that tyrant's favorite is a compliment," Hori says, scathing.
Mitsuzuri pokes her head out from behind the curtain, narrowing her eyes at him. "What was that, Hori dearest?" she asks, dangerously quiet, smiling she's got fangs.
Fuck, how her canines so pointy?
"Just extolling your virtues, of course," he says hurriedly. "Nothing of note."
"Huh, that's what I thought," Mitsuzuri says with a hint of malice. "Don't push your luck, wiseass. Just 'cause you're not six feet under doesn't mean I've forgiven you yet."
Hori sighs. "I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"
"Nope!" Mitsuzuri chirps, disappearing once more. There's a moment of peace, just the gentle whirring of hum of the screwgun and the splash of paint on the sets, before a loud bang sound fills the air. "Houji, I swear to fucking God, if you fuck with the props one more fucking time-"
He rolls his eyes. "And here I thought she was actually being placid for once."
"Well, that's our Mitsu-chan, alright," Kashima laughs. "This is pretty mild, actually."
Hori shakes his head mournfully. "Poor little bastard."
"She missed you a lot, though," she adds, out of the blue.
He raises an eyebrow at her. "Well, that came out of nowhere. What gives?"
"Oh, nothing much," Kashima says flippantly, the trace of a smile gracing her lips. "Just that you probably don't want to be in the general vicinity when she finally processes the fact that you skipped out on a week of duty. Hell week duty, no less. It'll be cataclysmic, you know.
Hori swallows back a gulp. If this Mitsuzuri is placid, maybe he hasn't seen the worst of it yet. "Oh, fuck."
"So, wanna escape?" she chirps.
He cocks his head to the side. "What do you have in mind?"
Her eyes sparkle; it makes his chest feel uncomfortably tight. "You'll just have to find out, won't you?" She takes his hand (his palms feel clammy, all of a sudden, and no, his stomach is not doing weird loop-de-loops, thanks for asking) and guides him backstage, pushing aside a stack of wooden planks to reveal a tiny door.
"Um, this seems weirdly similar to the start of a really clichéd horror movie," he says nervously, watching as she tugs open the door. Behind it is a half-staircase, half-ladder that seems to go on for miles in the half-darkness. "Are you sure this is safe?"
"Don't be ridiculous. I've done this a million times!" Kashima laughs, climbing up with practiced ease. She pauses, glancing back to chance a grin. "You do trust me, right?"
Does he?
Then again, last time he'd trusted her, he'd ended up curled in a fetal position on a hospital bed with a fractured rib and a pocket of painkillers and an enormous bill he's still paying off. Not technically her fault, but even so- the association stings.
The ladder rung creaks as he climbs, and he lets out a shaky breath.
"I, uh, yeah. Trust. Sure," Hori stammers. To cover up his sudden bout of spectacular awkwardness, he adds, "Too bad you can't catch me, though. Your princess might need saving."
Her grin broadens. "Well, why don't you give it a try? Just a heads-up, though: you might just tempt me to fall on purpose."
"I'll brace myself, then," he says, taking a break to breathe and wipe away the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Fuck, this is exhausting. I have to climb this ladder and worry about being chivalrous? How do you do it?"
"Well," Kashima says delicately, throwing him a pointed look, "I have quite the princess, for starters."
Nope, nope, nope, his heart is not doing a weird tap dance right now.
"Cheesy. Only you could pull off something like that." Hori settles for scoffing. "That alone would send poor Mikoshiba into hysterics. Where did you even get that, anyways?"
"One of my mom's movies," she says drily. "Buff ex-Marine slash genius hacker slash male model with a disproportionately huge head saves damsel in distress from evil mastermind plotting to destroy the world and rides off with her into the sunset. You know. That sort of movie."
"Sounds terrible," he remarks, for lack of a better response.
"Yeah, I know, but it's better than nothing, right?" Kashima says with a shrug, a touch acidic. "If nothing else, I can at least watch her crappy movies."
They lapse into heavy silence.
"Uh, did your dad ever reply to that letter?" Hori says feebly.
"Total radio silence. Unlike you, I can't exactly go barging in into his house." She lets out a brittle laugh. "Last time I tried that, his security guards threw me out without so much as a second look."
He grimaces. "Ouch."
"Ouch is right," she agrees. "I know I'm a part of his life he'd rather not think about, and that he has a new family now and wants to stay away from my psycho mom or whatever, but honestly, would it kill him to give me five minutes of his time?"
"You're so brave," Hori says before he can stop himself, and yeah, he totally means it.
Kashima shakes her head. "If I was really brave, I would've showed up at his door again. I wouldn't have given up. But honestly, what did I expect?" They reach another door, and she tugs it open, helping him out. "Here it is. Thrilling, isn't it?"
They're higher up than he'd thought, just enough to make his knees wobble a little, on a platform tucked just above the curtains, a set of harnesses dangling by their heads. The actors are tiny figures below, milling around the stage and the rows of auditorium seats- little squares of plush cushions and red velvet.
"What is this place?" he wonders out loud.
Kashima reaches up to tug a harness. "Well, it was where the actors got ready to do stunts and stuff, until a few years back someone got really badly injured and the administration banned doing anything dangerous in the theater. So, yeah, it's abandoned." She leans against the railing, resting her head against her elbows. "I found this place a little while back, wandering around backstage. Totally by accident, by the way. It's been my secret hideout ever since."
"Not so secret anymore," he quips.
"Well, I can trust you to keep a secret," she says, gazing fondly out at the view. "It's amazing, isn't it? I like to sit up here and just stare at those seats- I mean, there are just so many of them, right?- and imagine them completely filled up. Every last one. And I imagine standing on that stage with that spotlight on me, doing what I love, and every person in those seats cheering for me, getting lost in the play, getting lost in me. It makes me remember why I act. I want to connect. I want to feel."
"I think I get it," Hori says slowly.
"Right? Mitsu-chan thinks I'm crazy," Kashima laughs.
"Guess it's a theater major thing."
"Maybe it's a you-and-me thing."
He rolls his eyes. "God, you are so embarrassing."
She cracks a sheepish grin. "It's just what makes me so charming, right?"
Yeah, Hori thinks, right after their first dress rehearsal. Too charming.
A gaggle of girls (probably freshmen, he thinks scathingly) is clustered around her, a haze of sickly sweet lavender perfume and cherry lipgloss and ugly perms, oohing and aahing over her costume.
Mitsuzuri raises an eyebrow. "Why do you look so surprised? You did know she was super popular, didn't you? I mean, we've been dealing with this practically every rehearsal."
"I did, but-" words fail him completely "-this."
"Yes," she says, looking faintly amused, "this. Do I sense some jealousy?"
There it is again, jealousy.
Growing flustered, he fights hard to repress the blush he can feel coming on, because he does not want to think about this, doesn't want to think about the weird flutter in his stomach or the bitterness rising in his chest. "I just- why do you even put up with this? Why don't you just kick them out?"
"Act for us, Kashima-senpai!" one girl implores, batting her eyelashes. "Just an eensy weensy peek?"
Kashima smiles warmly, giving her a flirtatious wink. "I can't, sweetheart. Strictly confidential. The show's Friday and Saturday, though- perhaps you'll honor me by coming?" She produces a handful of flyers from her pocket, and the girls practically pounce on them, shoving five hundred yen notes in her face.
Mitsuzuri juts her thumb on their direction. "See what I mean? It's an excellent business strategy."
Hori rolls his eyes. "You are disgusting."
She throws him a sleazy grin. "Don't hate the player, kid. Hate the game."
"So," Sakura says coyly, in lieu of "hello," smirking up at him from her hospital bed with her sketchpad splayed across her lap, "about those flowers-"
"No,"he says flatly, sliding into the chair next to hers. "Not happening."
She gasps, the charcoal pencil falling to the floor with a thud. "What?"
"Oi, watch out. Those things don't come cheap, you know," Hori admonishes, leaning forward to pick it up, "and like hell I'm gonna-" Sakura gives him a shove, and he lets out a choked-off sound, toppling off the chair.
Sputtering, he sits up with as much dignity as possible, glowering at her. "What the hell was that for?"
She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. "For breaking your promise."
"Technically, there was no promise. I accepted your challenge, and now I'm admitting defeat," Hori counters, and grunts as he eases himself back into his chair, rubbing his sore behind with a grimace. "And besides, this is totally pointless. I mean, does she even like flowers?"
"Oh, don't be silly," Sakura scoffs, waving her hand. "All girls love flowers."
"Kashima isn't exactly like most girls," he mumbles.
"Touché," she concedes, albeit grudgingly. "Okay, fine, correction: all girls love getting presents from boys. Straight girls, that is."
"How do we even know that for sure?" Hori asks, skeptical. "She is a chick magnet."
"You have got to be kidding me," Sakura says reproachfully. "Remember all those times she was hanging around the coffee shop? She was totally checking out Ryuunosuke-kun." He's one of their regulars, a med student at the university with big hipster glasses and bushy eyebrows and a blue paisley scarf he swears his mother owns, too, perpetually bobbing his head to the indie crap blasting from his iPod.
"That pretentious dickwad?" He gags, wrinkling his nose. "But he drinks raspberry mochas. Kashima would never in a million years like a guy who drinks fucking raspberry mochas."
"Well, obviously," she admits, lips curling into a devilish smirk, "but that got your attention, didn't it?"
Hori's at a loss for words. "You are incorrigible."
Her smile only deepens. "Buy the flowers, Hori. You'll thank me later."
Cradling the irises in his arms, he tiptoes into the auditorium. Kashima's standing alone in the spotlight, long after everyone else has gone home, her eyes squeezed shut. "She speaks: o speak again, bright angel," she murmurs, "for thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head as is a winged messenger of heaven unto the white-upturned wondering eyes of mortals that fall back to gaze on him when he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds and sails upon the bosom of the air."
Hiding the bouquet behind his back, he clears his throat. "O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."
She beams at the sound of his voice, opening her eyes. "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?"
Hori starts climbing up the steps to the stage, his confidence wavering. Don't chicken out now, don't chicken out now, he orders himself. "'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." He takes a deep breath, before placing the flowers in her arms and shrugging. "Not roses, but close enough, I guess."
Kashima presses them to her nose and inhales.
Flustered, it's a little impossible to resist the urge to babble. "Yeah, I know, it's probably not what you want but I thought you seemed a little nervous so I wanted to cheer you up and Sakura said that it was a good idea so-"
"And people say I'm the noisy one." Grinning, she shuts up with a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, senpai."
Fighting down the urge to blush, he reaches up to touch a hand to where her lips had lingered. Still warm and tingly, a little rosy. "Uh, yeah. Sure."
