so sleepy...

9

First, a cover.

He checked the closet and found an ugly, but huge off-white trench coat he suspected came from Grandpa Granger's earlier years. It smelled of mothballs and mold, but once he had squeezed his wings to his back, it covered him readily and nearly reached the floor. It was a good thing he had lost so much weight. He could just barely move his arms in the sleeves.

His stomach panged, making his knees tremble at the idea of walking all the way to his apartment, but he ignored it. It was never a good idea to work out on a full stomach anyways.

But then he saw the glint of the Granger Mobile's key on a hook by the front door and hesitated. It was an awfully long way to walk, and if he was having problems even climbing a ladder…

He slipped off the key, sending a quiet apology to the older man. A Russian driver's license would mean nothing here, but at least he knew something.

Still, his hands sweat as he opened the door and settled into the front seat. He had to adjust the seat to his longer legs. Stinking tiny Japanese.

The coughing start of the motor nearly gave him a heart-attack as it broke across the silence, making him laugh. Crazy genocidal murderers and death, he was a still and cool as stone. Imagining Tyson's grandfather stomping out and yelling at him to get out of his car and suddenly he was a jumpy, guilty teenager.

Really, he thought as he backed out of the driveway, Tyson has no idea what he does.

After all, he had turned a trained killer into an ordinary, teenage boy.

Traffic was all but dead, and the clock on the dashboard told him it was little after five. He maneuvered the streets well enough, though it felt strange to be in a car, especially one as stiff and old as the Granger's Toyota. Exactly twenty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript apartment complex and turned the motor off. Seeing his home after so long of not being there felt almost as strange as driving the car in the first place.

His apartment was on the third floor on the right end. He jiggled the doorknob, sighed when he realized it was locked and his key in the abyss with his lost cell phone, and went to the window. He pulled out the screen, breathed on his hands so they stuck to the glass, and slid it open.

Has my place always smelled so strong of cheap hairspray? He thought blithely as he slid in and closed the window behind him. He didn't even use hairspray. Unless he wanted to make a homemade flamethrower.

His home was an ordinary studio apartment. He didn't spend much time in it, other than to sleep, eat, and maybe read a book if it was raining outside, so he didn't see the point of wasting his allowance (or rather, his allotted child support squeezed out of Voltaire by the court) on a big place he'd never be in, so he had gotten himself the basics. The apartment building didn't even have a shower, so he had to go to the local bath house whenever he needed to bathe. Thus, it held only a futon, his school things, several cardboard boxes of books, a tote of beyblading gear, and some hand-dumbbells he used while reading. The kitchen consisted of only a microwave, a sink, some cupboards, and a small fridge.

"I'm home," he muttered.

His stash of cash was right where he had left it: underneath a loose board on the bottom of the cupboards. There were perks to living small, aka, he had more than enough to buy as much food as he could want. He also dug up his old black leather duster, which, if anything, helped him to stand out less than Gramps almost-yellow monstrosity. Not to mention it was a larger size, which gave him room to breathe.

He didn't bother to unlock the door as he left, but he made sure to put the screen back. Honestly, if someone were desperate enough to break into his apartment, not only would they not find anything, but whatever they did take they'd probably need it more than him. He tossed Gramps coat in the back and slid into the front seat of the car as the first rays of dawn grayed the sky.

His stomach gave another nasty twist. He was starting to feel nauseous.

"This whole turning into a bird freak is the pits," he grumbled, practically throwing the poor Toyota into reverse. "It definitely makes sitting in a car a pain. Damn, does this seat go back any farther?"

If he was lucky, no one would look too closely at him at the spill of red wings all across the cab. He'd have to be a little sneaky on getting out.

As he pulled up to the chain grocery store and went about pushing his newborn wings tighter and tighter beneath his duster, his thoughts played about his future. Tyson had been right on calling Kai out on his pessimism, though only in part. While Kai did have his fortune to inherit when his grandfather should finally die, there was no saying how many years were in-between now and then. Kai had graduated school a year early, with honors, even, and had colleges even in the States trying to woo him, and there were ways he could get his education and find a career while keeping his wings hidden. But it wasn't like it was a particularly happy thought either. Even in his spacious duster he felt cramped and edgy. He had never been comfortable out in society when he was normal, and now he could hardly walk down the ales of the stupid empty grocery store without wanting to run for it. What kind of life was that? Sure, he might be able to fly one day, but he'd have to do that even in secret. And if Dranzer really was gone for good, combined with his own spirit…his beyblade days were officially over.

He had been getting too old for that anyways, he told himself. Still, if he didn't even have beyblading to look forward to…

No one was awake when he walked into the Granger Dojo with what bags he had deemed most important. He had scarfed down a few breakfast monjus at the grocer, so at least his legs weren't about to crumple beneath him, but he still could feel his mouth watering as he pulled out the slabs of bacon and ham. He also pulled out various fruits and a kind of shake he had found in the health section for those trying to gain weight—usually meant for children recovering from illness or the elderly. He took one, dug out a straw, and headed upstairs as quietly as he could.

Inside Tyson's room, Ayah was just as he had seen her last: laying on her stomach, swathed in blankets, with her somewhat fragile looking white wings crumpled about her. Soft morning sunlight seeped through the blinds like fingers, painting gold stripes across her face and the wall.

He did his best to dodge the majority of mess as he went to her bedside and shook her gently.

"Ayah." Her name stirred the warm feeling from the night before like a stick stirring coals from the ashes. "Ayah, I got food."

She groaned and her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him for a few seconds without recognition, then she gave a sleepy huff, her eyebrows puckering as though in pain.

"Kai, I can't—I'm stuck." Even her voice panged with humiliation.

It bemused him how much hearing that affected him. Frowning, he put the shake and straw on the bedside table and reached for her. He had to dig one of his arms beneath her shoulders and collarbone, but she managed to have enough strength to slide her knees up so he could turn her about and lean her against the headboard. After pulling one feathery wing out from behind her so she didn't have them twisted uncomfortably to one side, he lifted up the smoothie.

"You should be able to feed yourself this. Just takes a straw."

Her eyes shivered on the proffered bottle. She blinked hard, lifted up her hands tentively before they collapsed back to her sides.

Then she did the next worse thing that could happen to Kai.

She burst into tears.

"I can't even lift up my arms," she whimpered. "And that stuff is for old dying people—am I dying? Oh, I hope so. I've never been so embarrassed in my life."

Kai didn't do comforting. He didn't do tears. His only remedy for those, no matter the age or sex, was a slap upside the head and a command to grow up. Life was suffering. And, compared to Kai, most people were spoiled from infancy.

But he couldn't very well slap her and tell her to get over it. He already knew what kind of feelings that incited in his teammates. She was more delicate than that, and he understood how painful shattered pride could be. At the end of the day, his pride was all he had.

"It—it, um…I-I wasn't much better," he managed to get out, wincing at his stutter. Kai Hiwatari did not stutter. "The weakness passes after some food and sleep. It probably wouldn't be so bad if you hadn't spent up so much of your energy healing people."

She shook her head weakly, squeezing her eyes shut against the huge fat tears pouring down her cheeks. "You and Ray saw me naked. You had to even clean me and dress me and—oh…" Unable to lift her hands all the way to her face, she bowed her neck as far as it could go and met her hand half way to hide behind curtains of curling white hair.

A blush tickled across Kai's cheeks, but he ignored it. This wasn't the time for him to get embarrassed too.

"It's no big deal," he started, then decided he really didn't have anything else to say that wouldn't be a lie. "Look, just drink this and—"

"What does 'jerk off' even mean?"

The blush exploded through his blockade. It wasn't even a blush, it was more like a lava plume taking up his skull. "Uh…"

"And poor Ray sounded so disgusted, and who wouldn't be? I must have looked like a hatched alien or something from a horror film!"

Kai felt no need to tell her she must have missed the first part of their conversation when Ray complained about her being appealing even covered in slime, and how it was making it hard for him to walk. He didn't need her to revisit the 'jerk off' question.

More uncomfortable than ever, he quickly twisted off the cap from the smoothie, stuffed the straw in, and pushed it into her lap. He then reached down and shoved a spare pillow that had been left there to prop it up a bit higher.

"You weren't disgusting," he managed to push out.

"You know I can hear you lying, right? You're heart rate is doing the galloping thing."

"Then you're hearing wrong." And because it wouldn't leave his head, along with the fear she should ask the question to one of the others and get them assuming, he added, "And proof? 'Jerk off' is a word for masturbating."

She gave a noisy little hiccup. "Masturbating?"

Oh god, he was not having this conversation. "Drink your smoothie, damn it."

And afraid the fire in his gut might try to burn out of every orifice and pore on his face, he scuttled out and yanked the door close behind him.

He never wanted to tear out his vocal chords more in his whole life. Wasn't putting their foot in their mouths Tyson's specialty? When had Kai become so…so…

Screw it. He was going to make himself a huge breakfast, eat it all so Tyson couldn't have any, and then find somewhere far, far away where no one could find him. Maybe, when he woke up, he'd actually have the strength to care about showing his face around here again.