Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bakuman.
A/N: Oh man… the anime's ENDED. I feel so… nostalgic, somehow. Well, here's to a hopefully better updated chapter! So this story continues in Nizuma's POV, since we just talked about Luna's meeting with Hattori last chapter. And yeah, since this site is FANFICTION, I get to tweak the plot a little. I meant that I'll arrange the events in my preferable order. The things that happened are the same, only the order's different. It doesn't make much difference, don't worry.
It rained.
Raining was so… unhappy.
Niizuma had sensed the ever-changing weather taking on a roiling, ominous black thundercloud today. He knew beforehand, that it WAS going to rain today. It was now three, right on dot. The landscape outside his window looked moody and grey, the color he loathed. Aomori was always green; it was cheery and familiar, with lush forests covering the mountains and blue bodies of water streaming near his house. Tokyo had subways, fast food chains, people talking in an obscure dialect, and unfriendly manga assistants, who, although eager to learn and cultivate their skills, treated their sensei like trash. Especially Mr Sato. It had always been grey. Though, for the sake of his parents, his manga, and himself, he tolerated the dullness of Japan's capital. The one true thing that brought real relief in his manga-filled schedule was his manga, and one other thing.
Speaking of which, that 'one other thing' had not arrived yet.
He wouldn't blame her if she didn't come today; the snapping that occurred the last time they met was not happily concluded, in the least. Or rather, HE snapped at HER. He could picture the sadness in her eyes, the whitening of her skin, and the tight clenching of her fists. She was frustrated, confused, sad, unhappy… the epitome of MOODY. He hated moody; so the regret that pulsated in his bloodstream, his brain, his very soul, was unexplainable. His mother said things in life were often unexplainable.
Niizuma sighed. He could only wait now. His mind started comforting him, in a ridiculous way: If she came into his studio before three-oh-five, he's going to be forgiven. If she didn't arrive before three fifteen, he'll assume that she had quitted. Yujiro will see to her wages, her remaining days of working and other troubling facts that he might have missed or not cared about, at all. If she wanted to quit willingly, he won't stop her. Who was he to do that, when HE made her quit?
Man. He has to calm down now. All this thinking was like a wall to his constantly-overflowing story ideas. His mind worked quirkily these days; before, he had only had to slowly delete the excess info from his mind that cluttered his muse, but now, he could sit for hours on his chair, his bottom getting sore, and literally FORCE his muse out of its shell.
Then another thought entered his mind: what if watching anime helped resolve this problem?
He got up and went to the DVD player, inserting a random One Piece disc. The TV coughed out a bunch of static, which made his hair fizz up, and the relaxing background music with seagulls and sea waves splashing against an invisible shore resounded in the apartment.
Like a robot with no control of its mechanical body, Niizuma reached for the remote control and simply pressed PLAY ALL recklessly. If he could sit on the chair for hours, he could damn well sit on the floor and watch the TV screen in the same amount of time. He was boss of this apartment; even if Luna came in, she's not supposed to comment on anything. He felt an out-of-character twinge of smugness; she COULDN'T say anything, because she can't afford to lose this job.
Oh. Luffy and the gang trying to save Brook's shadow. Even though it's exciting, Thriller Bark was still a place that ghosts liked to hang out in, and that made it a moody place.
…
Thank goodness it was raining: if not, her winter wear was for naught.
Luna didn't know much about bacteria spreading and all those biology statements, but she stubbornly stuck to her own paper logic that a thick amount of cloth would be able to stop the bacteria from spreading. Stupid, she knew, so she brought a mask. Annoyed by the way that people skirted around her and walked in huge circles just to avoid her, she'd taken it off at the next junction, where she hoped the weird glances would cease. Niizuma sensei wouldn't so much as look at her: he was too accustomed to weirdness and things that are out of the ordinary, since HE himself was a weird but fascinating object. Fascinating as in the way he drew manga, his odd accent, and even his unique ability to notice the obvious, which people often overlooked from time to time.
The rain encouraged the pedestrians to seek refuge inside air-conditioned malls, so the wet streets were mostly empty by now. Stray umbrellas were abandoned at the sidewalk, and a sheen of red and white caught her eye, and when she came nearer, she found out to be a bicycle. Tokyo people seemed to like to lie their things around, just for the heck of it; even though Luna herself was a Tokyo citizen.
The sepia apartment was slick with water and newly-grown ivy around the bricked walls. Even at a far vantage point, she could see that the ivy was snaking around the walls and poking at Niizuma sensei's grimy windows. Among all the other windows, her sensei's were the dirtiest. It was so filled with dust and dirt that she couldn't peer into his unit. Not that she wanted to.
The apartment's sliding doors opened automatically, and she shook her black umbrella, dodging from the water droplets. She was already here. Literally in his den. She could bet that maybe Niizuma sensei somehow sensed her presence within his lodge, and she wondered how he would react, under their otherwise stiff circumstances.
"I'm not a coward, and I will of course NOT walk slowly and reach the studio fifteen minutes late." She muttered to herself. The mantra had little progress in soothing her nerves, though. But remembering about Hattori and her meeting a few days ago helped replenish her courage again. She was THIS close to getting a serialization, and once she did, she could also follow in her sensei's footsteps, dropping out of high school, and spend her life doing what mattered most to her. Read and draw manga. A life to be reckoned with. With fans and FREE Shonen Jump magazines! She could also have the chance to meet Oda sensei, Kishimoto sensei, Kubo sensei, Mashima sensei…
She let the happy thoughts surged repeatedly, temporarily distracting her nerves. When she reached the door, she stopped.
Should she just get herself out of these thick clothing? Niizuma sensei's apartment was not exactly cold.
The door creaked open before she reached for the doorknob. Hasty footsteps grew fainter and more harried as she nudged the door open.
She got the feeling that he was running away from her.
…
Luna was here.
Luffy was in the middle of pounding the zombies-coming-out-of-the-grave part, when the screen froze. Niizuma didn't even touch the remote. That was a sign. Just after thinking that, his dip pen, for some reason, rolled off his flat desk and dropped with a clatter on the floor. Two signals. It had to be.
His sixth sense tingled with alert, and trusting his senses over logic – his senses usually won out – he leaped over to the door and released the latch. As he scrambled back to his seat, he suddenly paused.
Should he open it for her? What happened last time between them was mostly his fault, and the Eternal Child actually felt the idiotic need – to himself – to behave gentlemanly. Since his assistant had ran off in tears – he could tell, again, from his uncanny sixth sense – he'd made those tears fall. Now the enormous burden of regret, shame and guilt seemed to quadruple in volume, and if he wanted to get that off his chest, he had to do something. That 'something' was what muddled him up. What should he do, exactly? What do the protagonists in manga do, exactly?
He ran to a bookshelf and pulled out an issue of Weekly Shonen Jump. Was the answer here? After he flipped through a few pages, he threw the issue away impatiently. Nada. He got another out. And another.
And another. And another. And another. By now, ten issues of Shonen Jump were littered on the ground, and Niizuma raked his hands through his hair, willing his 'genius' mind to come up with ingenious ideas. Luffy The Straw Hat was too busy entertaining his goal of becoming Pirate King and finding One Piece and gaining complete freedom; Naruto The Orange Ninja was besotted by Sakura The Pink Ninja, true, but he was overcame with her sheer wrath, that he was unable to argue with her, and besides, he was too busy to stop Madara The Masked Ninja a.k.a. Tobi to think of his beloved right now; Ichigo The Deputy Soul Reaper had no conflicts with both Orihime and Rukia, since he had zero interest/tolerance (?) for girls, at the time being.
For the first time in his eighteen years of life, shonen manga couldn't help him, or even give him comfort. Perhaps shojo manga might have a slight chance, but he had no taste, nor patience, for pointless fluff and cheesy lines of "I LOVE YOU PLEASE BE WITH ME FOREVER YOU ARE THE CENTRE OF MY UNIVERSE I JUST WANT TO PROTECT YOU COME HERE SO THAT I CAN KISS YOU". No way was he going to touch shojo manga. Except Aoki sensei's. Although the cutesy scenes of A Time of Greenery pissed him off, sometimes.
His wandering fingers found a spine of a specific tankobon volume. He peeked at the title.
Yotsuba&!... Yotsuba wasn't even a guy. Great art and endearing scenes that made you remember your childhood, but sadly, no can do.
He should open the door. Then what? Will he ignore her? Or will it be her ignoring him? The latter was too hard to imagine or accepted. If she did that, he won't be able to continue on Crow for the whole day!
This will be for the wellbeing of Crow; he WILL find a way to speak to her.
His ultra-sensitive hearing caught the sound of almost-heavy footfalls, outside the corridor. A spasm came.
Why was he so nervous? It's not like she was a contaminant or something. He hid behind the door, and flattened his ear against the wood.
He could hear her breathing. Her almost-silent sigh. He could almost hear her moving her hand towards the doorknob.
He got to it before she did; the door opened.
He quickly escaped to his seat, and picked up his dip pen to start on the inking. Then there were the backgrounds. Then it was the refining of the speech bubbles and quotes. Then he must give her the blacks to be colored in and the shadows to be filled in.
Then… Then…
Darn. He couldn't concentrate. She was in this unit, taking her shoes off, and he felt the slight tremors of the ground as she walked in. Something rustled behind him, and he guessed that it was her bag. Oddly, her footfalls were heavier than normal. She paused for a brief moment. He knew that she was looking at the TV screen, and wondering why the heck Luffy's rubbery fist was aimed towards the TV audience. After arranging something – was it her clothes? – she sat down on her seat, and the rustling began again. Taking her stationery out, scratching her scalp. Then some fidgeting, and silence.
From the angle he was sitting, he couldn't even glance at her without turning his head to the side.
Was it worth the risk? Could he turn? Won't she notice?
As he slid finished drafts, one by one, letting the 'chips' fall wherever they may be, he positioned his head just an inch to the right, and his pupil followed.
Wait. Was that even Luna? He couldn't tell. A thick burgundy winter coat shielded her frame, making her look like a bulging dumpling. A woolen hat covered her long hair, not even a single loose strand in sight. A scarf hided her neck, and it was BLACK. She… she wore a mask. A green mask that surgeons wore during operations.
Was it dress-up day today?
He looked and looked. Until.
"What are you staring at?"
He almost jumped. ALMOST.
"Why, I mean, don't you feel hot?" He asked nervously. Even though he could see her eyes – they were NOT burning! Where did those banked fires go?! Now she looked like everyone else! – the inability to figure out her expression, to gauge her current mood, was frustrating. He wanted that mask off. He wanted to see her face, and look for traces of adjectives underneath, whether they were positive or negative ones. Human faces weren't able to fool experts; even a single twitch of an eyebrow can tell psychologists something useful about yourself. Niizuma wasn't a psychologist, but he may as well get the job.
Mask. Has. To. Be. Taken. Off. He couldn't stand this. Not even if she were sick. If she could still talk with a strong voice, she wasn't really that sick.
"Don't worry about me." She spoke in a monotone, so it made his job of deciphering HER even more difficult.
An inner volcano VOOSHED with life within him. This. Was. Unfair.
Why was she the one who gets to treat him like that?
Why did he have to be pelted with worries and angst all day long, when she wasn't even batting an eyelash at conversing with him?
Why did he have to ransack his own possessions to find out what he could do to earn her FORGIVENESS?
Why was he even making an effort to FIGURE HER OUT?! WHHHYYYYYYY?!
He wanted their roles to be reversed. So he could do the rejecting without revealing his hurt. One more important question: why was he even feeling HURT?!
But first, he had to have that mask taken off.
Balling his clammy hands into fists, in a swift second, his previous nervousness of a coward vanished. He walked with enormous strides towards Luna, HIS eyes, scorching with heat. Intent, with only her in his line of focus. In about five microseconds, he was standing right before her.
He was taller than her. He was older than her. He was more experienced than her. (In terms of manga making and the fact that he lived longer in this world enough to understand… well, the world.) He wasn't about to be squashed beneath her. She looked up at him in nonchalance, but her eyebrow twitched once, and he knew the nervous curiosity and the hint of fear, under her façade. Now he knew. A guy standing before you, staring at you with a bizarre intensity, your composure would still have frayed a little at the edges.
"Take that off." He said, pointing his index finger at the tip of her mask. He didn't want to exert force if necessary. He needed her to submit first.
As expected, the unveiled reluctance prevailed, and she shook her head. Maybe out of respect, she kept her eyes on him. They were beginning to show signs of glimmering, those eyes of hers. Great. He wanted them to BURN LIKE INCINERATORS.
Bringing his hand under her chin, albeit not roughly, when he didn't want to hurt her, he leaned down until their faces were level. He was that tall.
Her orbs widened, but she didn't push him away. Their gazes held, both not flickering. Both sides were way too proud and confident, and they didn't want to back down from anything that might happen. Green into brown. Hard determination met calm passiveness. She wasn't fully passive, he could tell, from the slight quivering of her jaw.
He crumpled his fingers around the thin, smooth material. He felt the bony structure of her face. It was oval-shaped.
It all took no more than one moment. Her mask was discarded, thrown off to possibly the other side of the room.
Now he could appraise her. Now he could see her, just the way she is.
His hand didn't let go, yet. Instead, it moved up, his fingers grazing her smooth cheek. It slithered up to her forehead, nearly smooth, save for some lately-developed zits. Her skin was quite warm. His finger slid down her nose, like a skier skiing off a steep slope. And then he touched her mouth. With his hand. Her warm breath tickled his fingers. Her mouth was not too thin, nor too thick like sausage lips. It was full, rather like the petals of a flower…
Disturbing thoughts ran over in his head. Mouth. Ki-
What?
Oh no. NO. That cannot be… He cannot be…
The magic string broke. The twinge of ache in his leg lengthened to a longer, tighter muscle-stiffening-hell-brewing-in-his-calf-and-kne e-torture. He shuffled, and stood up. Sauntering back to his seat, his fists relaxed. How long had he stood there?
What would have happen, if he…?
That was a question too difficult and scary to be answered. He was in control of himself. He couldn't let his emotions rampant. Crow wasn't finished yet. Think of manga. Think of drafts. Most of all, think of Shonen Jump.
…
All was quiet. Except for two young adults breathing in and out. The girl's breathing was slightly labored.
Luna's cheeks were very warm. Was she getting a fever?
Did that fever stemmed from his touch? Okay, that was preposterous. So she was left to contemplate, and to mellow down her body heat. She had been getting the feeling that she was just a millimeter from bursting into flames, and now the heat took leave of her body, leaving her feeling a hollow, icelandic Arctic region in her heart.
What she couldn't figure out, was her sensei's queer behavior.
Maybe it was her fault to start with, when she refused to discard the mask. What's wrong with leaving the mask on, when you had a cold and didn't want to pass it to other people? She was doing it for everybody's wellbeing. And he had went along and TOUCHED her, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin, her mouth. She couldn't guarantee that he'll be totally fine, when he'd had such close contact with her. Talk about UBER-close. That closeness was what exactly made her flame up, it seemed, given the evidence that as his hand – he was so gentle – grazed specific parts of her face, her toes had crinkled together, she'd got a dormant shiver in her Achilles tendon, and the fact that she actually had an urge. An urge to…
An urge to embrace him.
She knew that Niizuma sensei was all about manga and Shonen Jump, but that didn't stop her from thinking of OTHER things. As far as things go, he didn't even show signs of being attracted to girls or – unbelievable, but must be included – guys. The closest adoration she'd ever witnessed was his strong feelings for Ashirogi sensei. Though he didn't blush when he mentioned them. Until today, she may have not had an inkling that he was… I don't know, sentimental? He certainly looked royally feral when he ordered her mask to be off. She was taken by surprise, that she didn't even tell him of her reason to bundle up in the first place! Now everything that had happened seemed funny and hopeless. He didn't know she was sick, and maybe thought that she put on the mask simply for the purpose of annoying him, and he took it off for her. She didn't want him to nose into her business, and she gave a wrong answer. Clearly a wrong, stupid answer. "Don't-worry-about-me" was a sick, masochistic reply.
If she had wanted to save herself form this dilemma, she might not have shaken her head in the first place, after his ruthless command.
But now, she had to sweep these thoughts away, and concentrate on her job as a manga assistant. Also, indulge in the hopeful prospect that she might nab a serialization.
A/N: I'm sorry that I've misspelled Niizuma's name wrongly for NINE chapters. I'll edit them when I'm free...