Title: Stranger

Rating: T, although given my main characters, this probably ought to be K -.- Just in case, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own La Corda D'oro or any of the characters mentioned here. Except Takano and Usaki, but you probably knew that. And now random boy who confessed to Shoko.

A/N: This chapter was finished a while ago, but after receiving some feedback that identifies Len as out of character, I was hesitant to post this and thought I should rewrite it differently, which messed up all my plans for the last few chapters. In addition, I'm not in a great place right now, and so, like most other things I meant to do or was supposed to do, I forgot about it.

But then after posting Trouble today, I decided I'd like to finish the story, and perhaps in doing so, I sacrifice some quality, but if I don't finish it the way it was planned, I don't think I'll ever get around to finishing it at all.

So here it is. I don't even know how I feel about it, so a lot of you might hate it, and if it is a disappointment, I apologize.

For those of you who were curious or surprised about Len's trying to kiss her, I put an explanation at the end of the chapter so it doesn't take up space here and anyone who isn't interested can skip it.

Thanks to everyone who read, and to those who reviewed. To address some questions:

the honest reader - Thank you, and to answer your question, I will probably write a Shoko/Azuma fanfic at some point. I just sort of like the concept of that xD

Dream Cager - Thank you so much for sticking with this and always taking the time to review it. Truly, your feedback is invaluable, and I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. I was a little uncertain about introducing Takano and Usaki, and am glad to know it wasn't a mistake. As for the explanation you requested, there it is. I hope I haven't messed up with this chapter.

Again, thank you for reading, everyone, and enjoy!

By the time Monday came, Shoko discovered that seeing Len again was the least of her worries.

From the moment she'd stepped foot on campus, she'd noticed something strange was going on. People . . . people were staring at her. She was sure of it. Granted, she often felt uncomfortable and worried that people were looking, but on some level she'd always known it was her imagination.

But today it wasn't. Today she was sure they were looking. And not just looking - the unpleasant stares prickling at the edge of her awareness were accompanied by whispers and snippets of lurid-sounding conversation, her peers' voices laced with that tone which signified a secret that would not remain a secret for long.

Shoko was used to that; it was high school, people gossipped. Whispers were a regular occurrence among her classmates.

Yet somehow, one always knows instinctively when a whisper is about them, like a sixth sense. People are talking about me.

She knew it, felt the dread that came with being caught in the spotlight.

But she didn't know why, and it was driving her crazy.

She told herself to ignore them, to just go about her business as if she were invisible and maybe she would be. She told herself she didn't want to know, that if she knew, it would just make things worse. If she knew, it would be impossible to ignore.

But even not knowing, she couldn't help but be painfully aware.

Desperately trying to brush it off, she headed towards her locker, willing herself to fade into the crowd, suspecting it would be impossible.

22, 36, 14. Click.

She tucked her books into her locker, withdrew a few necessary course materials, and nudged the door shut, slowing it as it clicked into place. She didn't want to draw any more attention than was already on her.

They were still staring. She wasn't going crazy. Heads were turned in her direction, sporting blatantly speculative expressions.

She wondered if she had something on her face, but quickly dismissed it. Dried tissue plastered to her nose would provoke a few snickers, but she was causing a persistent disruption in the crowd.

Racking her brain for anything embarrassing she might have done, she ran through a brief checklist. She'd checked to make sure her skirt wasn't tucked up into her panties before she'd left the ladies room, not to mention she was missing the telltale sign of an uncomfortable breeze. Her hair had been fine, neatly combed and clipped. She hadn't gotten up on the teacher's desk and started dancing - at least, not that she knew of.

She shuddered at the last thought. She couldn't even visualize it.

Shoko was bracing herself for the walk to her first hour class when Nami appeared out of nowhere by her side, startling her into dropping her books. She scrambled to retrieve them, aware of all those eyes pinned to her, tracking her every move. By the time she straightened and dusted herself off, she was blushing furiously and desperately wishing she'd had the good sense to stay home today, nevermind that she never missed school.

Nami apparently didn't notice her discomfort. That or she didn't care. She had whipped out a little notepad, pen clicking impatiently above it as she grinned at Shoko, eyes sparkling.

"You sly girl. Since when has this been going on?"

Shoko stared back at her, uncomprehending.

"S-since when has w-what been going on? And sh-shouldn't you be getting r-ready for class?" She glanced down at her watch. Nami only had ten minutes to get back to the Gen. Ed. building and to her first hour lesson.

The girl waved her hand energetically.

"This is worth being late for. Besides, I don't know when I'll get another chance to talk to you," she explained, then sharpened her gaze. "Anyways, you know what I'm talking about. You and Tsukimori-kun."

Shoko could feel her brain going blank.

"Me and Tsukimori-kun." She repeated slowly, altogether forgetting the proper honorific and grammar.

"Yes! I can't believe you've kept this a secret. Admittedly, it's been easier since the concours ended and you slipped under the radar, but wow. No one would ever have guessed."

She shut her jaw, which had drifted open in shock. She sincerely hoped she was wrong about where this was going. The alternative was unthinkable.

"But wow," Nami continued obliviously, shaking her head. "Who would have thought he'd fall in love with you? Er, which isn't to speak ill of you. You're so cute, Fuyuumi-chan, a lot of boys admire you. But Tsukimori-kun? Until now there was debate over whether he even liked girls. Or even people," she added, frowning at some memory.

Shoko let her ramble, each word like a hammer to her ribs. She couldn't breathe. Who would have thought he'd fall in love with you? What was Nami saying?

"But anyways, the fact of the matter is he does. So when did you guys start dating? Actually, how? You're both kind of reclusive people, Tsukimori-kun especially. I can't even imagine how the two of you ended up together."

Shoko broke free of the painful spell.

"W-we're not. Why w-would you think w-we were?"

Nami blinked.

"Someone saw you guys about to kiss up on the rooftop. You were so absorbed in each other you didn't even notice them."

Shoko was horrified. Someone had seen. Neither of them had even heard the door. Len seemed almost possessed at the time, and she was wholly absorbed in her confusion and panic.

She supposed she ought to be grateful whoever it was didn't stick around long enough to see her shove him away, and yet she could not muster up an ounce of thankfulness. Really, she wanted to curl up under a table and cry like she used to when she was younger.

"I-it's all a m-misunderstanding!" she bit out desperately. "It's n-not like that. Not at a-all. I d-don't know what they th-thought they saw, but that w-wasn't it."

Well, it was, but it hardly mattered. She needed to kill the rumor as quickly as possible.

A chill went over her.

He's probably heard it by now.

"Are you sure?" Nami's skeptical face simply fueled her embarrassment.

"P-positive!"

The other girl looked a little suspicious at Shoko's vehement denial, but shrugged and sighed, evidently deciding Shoko was probably telling the truth.

"So you and Tsukimori-kun aren't in love with each other?"

The phrasing had Shoko pause for a fraction of a second, her heart halting along with it.

She shook it off.

"N-no! Of c-course not!"

Nami looked disappointed as she tucked her pen and pad into her bookbag.

"Well. It is a little farfetched, I guess. Too bad," she lamented, straightening. "If you're sure there's nothing to it, then I should get back to the Gen. Ed. building. Sorry to bother you, Fuyuumi-chan."

Shoko nodded wordlessly, and Nami threw her a friendly smile before glancing at her watch, widening her eyes, and racing off. Shoko watched her disappear, a feeling of helplessness and anxiety overtaking her lungs, something she hadn't felt in some time now. It was returning with a vengeance.

But just because she'd explained to Nami, she realized, didn't mean that everyone else knew. She still had to face an entire day's worths of prying eyes and whispers in her wake.

And then the possible encounter with Len, which she'd been dreading to begin with. It would be a thousand times worse now, with the rumor hanging in between them, every eye on them should they meet.

She swallowed, mustering up the little courage she possessed, and turned to go to her classroom.

Halfway there, she paled, her feet numbly carrying her forward as another realization hit her, sweeping her stomach into nausea.

Kahoko. Kahoko will hear.

Shame colored her skin as she unseeingly slipped through the silenced classroom, dropping into her chair. It was one thing to secretly harbor these feelings. To have pursued him even slightly before coming to her senses and doing the right thing.

It was an entirely different thing if Kahoko heard about it, an embellished version, and from someone else to boot.

Shoko did not hear her first hour lesson at all.

—

No, her whole self seemed to rebel. I'm not ready, I can't, I can't, turn around and walk away.

But it was too late. The crowd had already backed to either side of the hallway, waiting with bated breath to witness the much awaited (on their part), much dreaded (on Shoko's) encounter. Did they not have anything better to do?

After a morning of automatically drifting through the routine motions, her brain far away and her stomach persistently upset, she had resolved to avoid Len at all costs. With any luck, she wouldn't have to face him today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after.

The thought elicited a pang of something - relief? Certainly not regret - that she would forgo their comfortable lunch meetings in favor of hiding from him, but she didn't dwell on it. She was trying to focus on not thinking about it. About him, about the rumours, about Kahoko, about anything or anyone. She just wanted to get through the day and go home.

So, having resolved to do this, she'd left the classroom at lunch heading towards the cafeteria, hoping it would prove to be the lesser of two evils.

She had not taken into account that she might pass Len on his way up to the rooftop, or she would have cowered in the classroom longer.

But there he was, like every dream, nightmare, and cross between she'd ever had, striding in the direction she was coming from as if all eyes had not fallen on them, a collective breath held by those in the hall. Chatter had faded into quiet anticipation, and Shoko's legs propelled her forward using some source of strength she did not know she possessed.

She had no idea what to do. Should she say something? Ignore him? Turn around and run away screaming? I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I don't, I don't, I don't!

She, too, held her breath as they neared, waiting for the inevitable moment his eyes would fall on her, resentment or distaste or worse, cool impersonality written in their depths.

And suddenly he was so close, she could reach forward and tap him on the shoulder. She couldn't help it; she looked up, towards his face, trying to read his expression.

Blank, cold.

He walked right past her without even blinking.

Nearby, she heard an intake of breath. Someone giggled.

Shoko's face burned.

What else did you expect?

What indeed, she thought, and worked her way through the tittering crowd, trying to stop feeling.

--

As the hours dragged on, so did she. Even him ignoring her completely had not entirely snuffed out the rumors. If anything, it sparked more curiosity and debate.

Except now, some of the stares were pitying. She couldn't decide if they were worse than the ones that were knowing. The ones that said, Don't get ahead of yourself. Of course he would ignore you.

They all made her feel humiliated and angry and defensive and lonely, because even with her shame and embarrassment, she mourned the loss of a friend. It hurt to have the boy you liked ignore you, but even more, it hurt to have someone you'd been so comfortable and pleasant with act as though none of your conversations, either deep or light, had ever happened.

But no one mentioned it to her - which, really, was a blessing - and so she could not say anything, could not explain without looking like a stammering fool.

Her own forced silence, however, did not stop everyone else from talking.

"Did you see how he just went past her like she wasn't even there? Poor Fuyuumi-san! I guess this means they aren't dating."

"Of course they aren't. Do you really think he'd fall in love with someone like Fuyuumi-san? She's cute, and I think she's pretty nice . . . though, come to think of it, I haven't really heard her talk much . . . but she's sort of, well, dull. And she's so hard to talk to."

"Yeah, but don't forget, he is, too. Going off of how they got found out, I'd guess they don't do much talking."

Choked giggles followed this, and Shoko buried her head in her hands, their words echoing mockingly in her brain.

"You don't think they just go up to the rooftop to make out at lunch, do you?" A scandalized voice chimed in, further cheapening her hard-won friendship.

She hated this. She wished she could shut them out, but she couldn't stop herself from listening, morbid curiosity winning over her desire to be left alone.

She needed to get out of there before she went crazy. She tentatively raised her hand.

"Yes, Fuyuumi-san?"

"Um . . . m-may I please go t-to the l-ladies room?"

"Sure. The hall pass is on the chalkboard," her teacher said, and went back to grading a paper. She hated that as she stood, everyone looked at her. It was as if all the students had disappeared, replaced by stand-alone pairs of eyes boring into her as she exited the classroom.

But she had to leave. If she didn't, she was sure she'd burst into flames or throw up.

The moment she stepped outside, relief sank into her bones, and she sighed, some of the tension seeping out, the calm serenity of the empty hallway taking it's place inside her chest.

She walked slowly, intending to take as much time as possible. She was in no hurry to return to that stifling classroom. Instead, she wanted to be by herself, with her own thoughts, with this cool, refreshing quiet soothing her troubled nerves.

She trailed her hand along the wall, the exhaustion she'd fought to keep at bay making itself known. She wished it were Friday, wished she could go home after this and sleep for hours, locked away in her room with her clarinet, far away from this bizarre world full of strangers who cared whether she was dating Len or not.

She even nearly thought, for a split second, that she wished she could go back to the uncomplicated monotony of her life before Len.

But the thought did not complete itself, could not complete itself. Because what's done is done, she told herself. But that had never stopped her regret before. Really, the thought of erasing all the time they'd spent together left her feeling panicked.

Why? Why is it so important? Why did he have to be so . . . so damned important? she questioned bitterly, blinking back tears.

She was sick of the questions, all of the complicated questions that had come up lately, wanting answers.

Sick of wondering, about so many things. About him. Ever since the one day when she'd been late for class, nothing had been the same.

And it was all his fault. For being beautiful and cold, but not cold, and puzzling and magnetic. For making her feel worthwhile, not so out of place. For listening. For speaking in return. For being all the things that made him so compelling, that made her want to just sit with him and never move, that made her want to make him feel the same about her.

She focused her blurred vision on the tiles, slowly placing one foot in front of the other along the cracks as she walked, thinking of him, remembering him, missing him, feeling tired and ridiculous and sad. She thought back to the first time she'd seen him.

It had been perhaps a few weeks since she'd begun attending Seisou Academy. That morning, she'd woken up early, feeling restless, but she often did, even back then. So she'd done as she always did when faced with that problem. She pulled out her clarinet and played until the minutes had passed and it was time to move.

But she'd gotten distracted, and when she finally realized the time and raced out the door, she was coming perilously close to being late.

As it turned out, she made it to school with plenty of time.

But not to class.

No, because she'd been hurrying through the courtyard when she heard a loud crash and automatically turned to look. But as her head swiveled, a flash of blue dragged her attention to it instead, and suddenly she was totally unaware of the dropped textbook or anything else, the whole scope of her mind trying to wrap itself around what she was seeing, and then he turned toward the sound as well and she saw him and all of the sudden she was crying. Just like that.

Ten minutes later she was in the ladies room, hugging her book bag to her chest - the bell long since having rung - and desperately trying to make sense of her tears and this awful torrent of feelings that had sprung to life and were fighting for dominance inside her as leftover tears followed the route of their predecessors down her flushed cheeks as she sat, unable to move. Unable to get the sight of him out of her head. Unable to figure out the feelings that had taken over. It had started with that painful knot in her chest, the way her throat had closed up and the tears suddenly had appeared in her eyes not unlike her experience at the cake shop, when he'd laughed.

But back then, she hadn't known the feeling, was wholly unprepared. He was just a stranger. She knew nothing of him, and yet something in his eyes or his face or his posture or a combination of them had turned her upside down and knocked the air straight out of her lungs.

His image had plagued her ever since. When the concours was announced, her happiness at having been selected shortly thereafter mutated into panic because now she had to see him. Every second she spent even in the same room had her adrenaline racing, and every time he moved she nearly jumped.

And look where all that had gotten her. Walking down a hall, half-miserable, half-numb, and wanting nothing more than to run away and never come back.

Shoko was not far from turning the corner when she heard footsteps. They seemed to be coming from around the corner . . .

"Um, ah, Fuyuumi-san!" She whirled around, and the footsteps stopped. They must have belonged to the young man in front of her, she realized. But she could have sworn they were coming from the other direction . . .

She blinked. He was fairly unfamiliar. Not someone from her class.

"Um . . . I'm s-sorry . . . h-have we met?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something twitch in the opening between the nearest classroom door and the wall. People were watching. Shoko was thoroughly confused, having one minute been lost in solemn thoughts, and the next accosted by the fidgeting boy standing before her.

The young man turned red and laughed awkwardly.

"Ah, well, not really . . . I'm Shotaro Nagasaki . . . but, um, I just . . . I wanted to tell you I really admire you!" he blurted out, wincing as soon as he said it.

Not what she was expecting.

He continued on bravely, looking away.

"Um, I know . . . that is, I've heard that you're already . . . but if you aren't, I was wondering if, um, maybe you would consider me as a-"

"Excuse me."

The hair on the back of her neck prickled. How had she not heard him? She must have been too distracted by . . . Shotaro's? confession. She inhaled, and slowly turned her head, heart ready to lunge out of her chest and onto the recently mopped floor, forcing some unfortunate janitor to grudgingly come and dump it into a bucket of questionable cleanliness, where it would lie limply until someone threw it into the incinerator and the rest of her burned up as a result.

And there he was, towering over her as her brain carried out this trivial thought, definitely at the Tree stage of irritation.

Shotaro took an involuntary step back.

Len's eyes landed on him, cold and disinterested.

"In future, avoid exchanges like this in the hallway. You're in the way."

Shoko couldn't even say anything. She hadn't been so terrified of him in a long time.

She glanced back towards Shotaro, who may or may not have started shaking in fear. It could just be Shoko that had begun shaking.

"Um, ah, I'm s-sorry, I'll . . . move. Right. Uh, I'll see you later Fuyuumi-san, um, maybe we could talk . . ." he trailed off, sliding an uneasy glance at Len as he fidgeted with his hands. "Y-yes, later."

He ran back into the classroom, and Shoko caught the muffled exclamations of what must be his friends before the door quickly slid shut. She glued her gaze to the floor, at a loss.

"Um, I . . ." she began quietly.

But Len was already walking away.

She waited until he'd turned the corner, then went to the nearest locker and banged her head against it a couple of times before turning around and going straight back to the classroom.

—

" . . . And Shotaro-kun was confessing to her when Tsukimori-senpai came and basically said to back off because Fuyuumi-san was his!"

Shoko was ready to throttle the group of girls she'd been placed near for seventh hour. And she thought she had a ridiculous imagination! As if Len would ever! Where did they come up with these things?

"Oh, poor Shotaro-kun! He's liked her for the longest time . . . guess he was just a little too late. That's terrible," one of them said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

"Terrible?" Her friend dismissed her sympathy with an incredulous tone. "I think it's exciting. Even though he walked right by her earlier, he obviously cares for her."

"Eh . . . I guess so. It's just, he doesn't seem like the jealous type. He's usually so composed." At least one of them has some sense. Shoko's embarrassment was quickly turning to a bitter dryness fueled by her misery at being ignored a second time.

"You're kidding, right? Of course he's the jealous type. The quiet ones always are. It's probably why he always acts so emotionless . . . he's covering up his explosive nature. I totally knew it."

" . . . I don't know, Kana-chan. I think you just read too much Shoujo manga."

Shoko was saved from the rest of the excruciatingly painful conversation by the dismissal bell. She'd called Usaki in between class to let her know she would be staying after to practice her clarinet. She couldn't bear the thought of going home and thinking about this even more than she already had. She needed time to calmly sort through her thoughts, to clear them from her head.

She wearily gathered up her things, stopping by her locker to deposit books and the like into it and retrieve her clarinet. Then she made her way to the music rooms, traversing the crowded hallway with barely any of her usual reticence. Somehow, the way she was feeling just then, she was inured to the usual anxiety and self-consciousness. She mostly just felt tired, like her feet were moving only out of habit rather than a desire to get somewhere.

If anything, she was just relieved to reach the practice room and escape all the curious eyes that had stalked her down every corridor.

And of course, she'd been in there no more than ten minutes when the door was pushed open, the person emerging shortly thereafter causing her to choke mid-note. The clarinet screeched indignantly at the mishap and her hands fell to her side as she tried to clear her throat. Failed. Tried and failed again. Probably looked like a fish. Oh, god. She did feel like she was drowning. Oh, but fish didn't drown, did they? Not unless someone stitched up their gills, she supposed. But who would be so cruel, and for what purpose? She couldn't imagine how awful that would be and how on earth had she gotten here when he was standing right there?

"I apologize. I didn't intend to startle you," his smooth, cool voice filled the room, a sharp contrast to the melancholy melody that had rung through it before.

She swallowed, nodding wordlessly, uncertainty filling her with tension. Why was he here?

He shifted, looking uncomfortable for a fraction of a second before he lifted his chin and resumed his usual confident stance.

"I came to apologize."

Her heart launched into a series of clumsy tumbling. Apologize? For ignoring me?

He must have read her look of confusion, for his jaw tightened and he looked resigned.

"For trying to . . . to kiss you," he clarified, gritting his teeth like he was swallowing something distasteful.

Her stomach suddenly felt unpleasant. She nodded slowly, stunned.

He clasped his hands in front of him and continued on.

"It was completely inappropriate. I apologize if I offended you. It was a mistake," he explained. He hesitated, and looked genuinely baffled. "I don't know what I was thinking."

She stood, listening silently, her knees trembling slightly.

The silence stretched on for a few moments as she processed his words, and he looked at her expectantly. As if she were supposed to be mollified.

If anything, a most bizarre, dark feeling was twisting up inside of her. She'd unconsciously clenched her fists, and she felt . . . irritated.

"You don't know what you were thinking," she repeated quietly.

He hesitated again, then nodded.

"That's all," he finished when she said nothing else. He sketched a quick, precise bow, and turned to go. She stared at his back, a black well of resentment and humiliation rising in her.

The first time any boy has even expressed an interest in kissing me, and he apologizes. A mistake, he says. 'I don't know what I was thinking.'

She blinked rapidly, the fierce power of the strange and surely unjustified emotions causing her to shake. But she couldn't help it. This was the last straw. She'd spent weeks in a wretched state of confusion over him, had felt the highest bliss and deepest misery because of him, had come to discover so many new things about herself, about him, had come to care so deeply for him, to look forward to seeing him so much. She'd tormented herself and lain awake thinking of him, wondering, hoping, drowning in this perpetual state of fear and longing.

What was more, she had already spent the entire day hearing people talk about how unsuitable they were. Mostly how unsuitable she was. She had been humiliated and picked apart by perfect strangers, dismissed and belittled, been laughed at, been pitied, been subject to all of their thoughts about her. And then! Then he had ignored her twice, and now, when she finally found some peace from all of it, from her shame and embarrassment, he slipped in cool as you please and affirmed all the things that people had been saying all day, that there was no way he would be interested in her, that it must be a mistake because he was him and she was shy and plain and quiet, and what's worse was that she knew this, had even taken solace in it, had no right to be upset about it, and yet she was tired of it, tired of fading into the background, of going unnoticed when she so desperately wanted him to notice her, tired of being someone who by all accounts, including his own, was not good enough. She was tired and furious and mortified that he of all people apologized for trying to kiss her and even as she felt these things she knew she was being unfair but that just made her even angrier and - and -

He hadn't even made it to the door when she tugged on his jacket sleeve, pulling him back towards her as she clutched his collar to hold him in place while she kissed him, knowing she shouldn't, knowing he would probably push her away, knowing she was just making it worse for herself and that when all was said and done she would just feel humiliated and for once in her life she didn't give a damn and it felt great.

But he didn't push her away, just stood there stunned into stillness as she stood on her tiptoes, kissing him for all she was worth, injecting it with all her anger and shame and even those bitterly tender feelings she harbored and had for some time now, drifting in jagged pieces through her self as they cut at the rest of her, leaving wounds wherever her affection for him touched.

I hate this, she tried to tell him as her grip loosened and her shaking hands lifted of their own accord to his face and hair, tears burning at the back of her tightly shut lids. I hate all of these awful feelings, I hate that I care so much, I hate that I can't control this when you're always standing there looking so proper and composed and in control of yourself and I wish for once it wasn't just me, and you would finally just-

He kissed her back, for whatever reason she had no idea what was and at the moment did not care about and every thought in her head flew away at the touch of his hand on the base of her spine, the heistant pressure of his lips against hers, and she simply let go and allowed herself to be lost as their feet tangled and they stumbled forward until the cool solidity of the wall halted their movement.

She could not for the life of her recall how long they stayed like that, entangled and wholly absorbed in one another, clumsy movements carrying traces of desperation, before they were brutally shaken back to reality.

"Fuyuumi-san?" Nami's voice called, just outside the door. They both stilled immediately, keeping close to the wall in hopes she would not see them should she look inside. Shoko tried to control her breathing, and felt a stab of satisfaction that Len struggled with the same in spite of the imminent danger of being discovered. I did that. Even in the midst of her panic that she might be discovered, she felt childishly pleased.

But Nami simply called out once more and then moved on, her footsteps gradually fading into silence until the only sounds that remained were their flustered breath.

Len exhaled in relief, leaning over her shoulder to rest his forehead against the wall as she stifled a laugh. She couldn't remember ever having been in a compromising situation, let alone about to be caught in it, and combined with the aftereffects of the kiss, she felt a giddy, adrenaline-fueled exhileration coursing through her.

"That was close," he muttered, then glanced at her, immediately frowning. "Why are you grinning? Of all the people to catch us, Amou-san?" And suddenly they both froze as the words left his mouth, the reality of what exactly they would have been caught at finally hitting them, and with that single sentence, her moment of blessed recklessness made a crashing exit to match it's similar entrance, and she realized where she was.

Rumpled and pushed against a wall in the close embrace of the boy her friend was in love with, never mind her own feelings, having just been thoroughly kissed for the first time ever and probably the last time for a long while if not ever because clearly boys were very, very bad news, especially if they kissed you to the point where you forgot yourself completely and they forgot themselves completely and made you wonder if maybe you should forget yourselves more often and oh god, what was she doing, she needed to get out of here before she dissolved and he looked at her with those cold eyes like she'd violated him because she had violated him and he'd somehow gone insane briefly and let her violate him because that is what must have happened for the two of them to arrive at this point.

She ducked under his arm, launching into a rapid shuffle to the piano where she'd set down her clarinet. He whipped around, startled, as she grabbed clarinet and case and made for the door. Out, out, out, she chanted, half-afraid he'd seize her arm and drag her back before she made it through.

But no, he just stood there by the wall, attempting to process her sudden turnabout and probably horrified in regards to his own shocking and uncharacteristic behavior, and by the time he flung open the door and stepped out after her she was halfway down the hall, leaving him to wonder in perplexed frustration what exactly had just happened.

And Nami, poking her head out of a practice room to view the commotion, watched the whole thing with wide eyes and her mouth agape.

Now, to clear things up for some of you who were surprised by Len's trying to kiss her. My argument for it's plausibility is that Len is a seventeen year old boy who is otherwise not seeing any action and so oblivious to social cues, that when it comes to romance, he's not even thinking about it. And Shoko's a really cute girl and while their friendship is still awkward, it's still one of the first and only ones he's had. Actually, now that they've been eating lunch together, he probably talks to her more than anyone else. And there she was looking all cute, playing a lovely tune on her clarinet, and the mood was right, and if Len were well-versed in courtship or social interaction, he'd identify the setting and probably get out of there, but he's not. He's just going off instinct. Keep in mind, it doesn't mean he's decided he likes her, because he doesn't think about things like that. He just acted. And you can bet that afterwards he was thinking, "What the hell?" just as much as she was. The key here is that when he did it, he wasn't thinking anything because he's never been in a situation like that before.

Hopefully, things make a little more sense. Perhaps my perspective is flawed, but at least you know what it is. Since this is in Shoko's point of view, it's hard to figure out what is going on with Len, and I can see how it'd be unexpected. So . . . there's that. Thanks for reading