Author's Note: Okay, my chickadees. This chapter includes mild violence and not-so-mild (ie, really strong) language (stop cussing so much, Tai, stars!), so please be warned. Oh, and all I can say is that Izzy must marathon Dr. Who when he's in a bad mood, because for some reason his word choice came out slightly British today in a few places, what's that about, hmm?
There are a lot of really complicated emotions in this chapter. This definitely is not as happy-go-lucky as the story has been so far for the most part. I hope I can pull it off without overdoing it, or underdoing it, or just… Flubbing it up in general. And, of course, I hope it's still entertaining. I'm so nervous! But what can I say, except… Allons-y, and see you on the other side!
The sound of people laughing and talking in the hallway outside of Izzy's room had caused him to put on his noise canceling headphones and set his computer's music collection to shuffle. And that was why he didn't notice when Joe stood, brushed past him, and opened the door to their room. He had no warning whatsoever. One moment, he was working on math homework, mind abuzz with numbers, and the next, someone was tapping his shoulder.
He glanced up, expecting to find Joe standing there, but it was Amy. His heart strained and skipped as she smiled hesitantly down at him. It was Wednesday, and he had successfully avoided her since last Friday, but obviously Joe had betrayed him. His eyes scanned the room for his roommate, but he was already bent over his desk, cutting off visual access to his face. Damn it, Joe! he thought savagely, staring at his back. He removed his headphones reluctantly.
His dismay must have been evident, because she seemed to wilt before his eyes, her shoulders slumping and her eyes glancing away from him. "Hi?" she managed, and her voice reminded him of a lost child, trying to get some help from whatever adult she judged safest in a room of strangers.
"Hello." His hands automatically curled into fists, and he returned his eyes to the pages of equations and numbers on his desk. His chest was a frothing mess of jumbled emotions. Nearly a week had passed since he last spoke to her, and he had convinced himself that he was rid of the germ of mild interest in her. But his sudden uproar of mixed excitement and dread proved otherwise, and he couldn't help but resent her a little for reducing him to this pathetic, emotional state. Too late, he realized that some of that rancor had worked its way into his tone.
Amy stood entirely still for a moment, then took a hesitant step backwards, putting more space between them. "Umm…" She cleared her throat, and he could see her hands wringing in his peripheral vision. "I… I haven't seen you around lately." There was a pause, and he acknowledged her with a faint grunt as his pencil scribbled a string of numbers over the paper in front of him. But, somehow, despite his show of indifference, she continued bravely, "You know, in the cafeteria, like the other day. Haven't you been eating lunch?"
His hands froze over his work. In truth, he hadn't been eating normally lately, but his brain couldn't provide a soothing lie or explanation, so he shrugged. For a moment, she said nothing, and Izzy sensed that she still expected him to speak. He remained obstinately quiet, despite his growing desire to talk to her. A long, strained silence fell over the room, so heavy and obvious that it seemed visible, like a gray mist. Finally, she shifted her feet and spoke again. "Umm, have you eaten tonight? I thought maybe we could… You know. Mass Effect, pizza?" There was forced cheerfulness in her tone as she posed the question, and it hurt him to hear it, to know that he fallen from making her smile to forcing her to put up a front.
Don't look at her, he told himself forcefully. One glance, and this game will end. One glance, and you'll break and agree to whatever she says, you'll be sitting hip to hip with her on her bed and playing some asinine video game, too charmed with her nearness to prevent yourself from wandering further down this deadly path. He nearly groaned aloud when he realized how good doing just that sounded.
"I'm afraid I'm busy with homework," he said brusquely, tapping his paper pointedly with his pencil. There was a slight rustling from behind him, and Izzy's stomach sank as he realized that Joe might be sticking his nose in this.
"What is that, one of your math assignments?" he asked, frowning over at him. "Those never take you more than twenty minutes."
"Thank you, Joe," Izzy hissed through clenched teeth. The last thing he needed was someone else helping him look like a bastard. Then, with greater volume, he added, "This isn't all I need to attend to tonight."
"Well, that happens," Amy said. Her tone was easy and untroubled, but her voice quavered slightly. "Maybe tomorrow?" Izzy produced a noncommittal grunt, and Amy took another step backwards.
The atmosphere in the room was unbearable. Izzy was the one making it that way, and even he could hardly deal with it. The papers on his desk crinkled as his fingers flexed on them anxiously, bunching up the fibers. Finally, Amy turned around and headed for the door. "Alright. I'll just… See you later," she managed, and, frankly, Izzy was impressed. Although it was far from a suave exit, it was a much better one than he would have managed under the circumstances.
She shut the door softly behind her, and Joe waited a few moments before speaking, presumably to give her time to wander out of earshot. A second later, that pause seemed like a sweet reprieve. "Izzy!" he cried, his voice sharp with shock and disapproval. "What in the hell was that?!"
Excruciating, his mind answered, but he ignored that prompt. "That," he said, picking up his papers and tapping them into a neat stack, "was me nipping this in the proverbial bud."
"No, Izzy. That was you being an utter asshole. Your mother would skin you alive if she saw that! I mean… What the hell are you even thinking?! That wasn't some random person you were brushing off, you know! She obviously cares about you!"
"Such language," Izzy said easily, shaking his head. But, despite the callous nonchalance in his tone, he was deeply troubled. Joe was right, and he knew it. What was worse, Joe was thoroughly disgusted, if his use of impolite language was any indicator. Izzy trusted Joe's moral compass, and had used it in the past when he found that his own seemed shaky and uncalibrated. If Joe was disturbed by his actions, then he had done something wrong. But Izzy had no choice; his options were to drive Amy away now, or… No. Driving her away was his only viable option.
Joe gawked at him, then placed his forehead in his open palm. "That was like… That was like spitting in her face, only without the spit."
"Which makes it… What, exactly?" Izzy asked, raising a brow and grinning. He couldn't believe how sick he felt all of a sudden. It was fortunate that he kept forgetting to eat lately, because he would probably be kneeling in front of a toilet right now otherwise. And yet, he kept his smile frozen in place, determined to convince Joe and himself that he was fine with this, that this was normal, non-destructive behavior.
A muscle twitched in Joe's cheek. He threw himself to his feet so abruptly that his chair was pushed a good foot away, then started shoving books into his duffel bag. "Izzy. You were hurt in the past. It was bad. I know. I was there." He paused for a moment and ran his fingers through his hair, glancing about his desk as if he were too upset to remember what he wanted to pack. Then, with no warning, he lurched back into action, picking up binders and supplies. "I get that you're afraid of falling for Amy and finding yourself in a similar situation. But Shauna and Amy are two very, very different people, and-"
"I am not falling for Amy," Izzy spat. A potent combination of anger and fear jolted along his nerves, and he found himself babbling, unable to reign himself in. "That's a preposterous suggestion. I've never fallen for anyone. I never will. She's merely charming, and, as a man of rational thought, I would prefer not to be charmed."
"Sure. Keep talking, Izzy. The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Izzy grunted disapprovingly, but the sound was lost amid the din of Joe working the zipper of his bag. His roommate slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and shoved his feet into shoes.
"Where are you going?" Izzy asked, and he was unable to keep a trace of sullenness out of his tone.
Joe paused and looked him firmly in the eyes. "Away from you." Then he picked up his keys and was gone.
Izzy stared after him for a moment, then tried to return his attention to his computer.
Within five minutes, he was dry heaving into the tiny trashcan he kept by his desk.
Thursday
Matt glanced over at Amy, who was sitting at the edge of her bed and playing her electric guitar. He had come up to return a CD he had borrowed from Sora, but the sight of Amy hunched over her secondary instrument, playing songs that obviously should have been played on an acoustic guitar, convinced him to stick around for a little while, despite her roommate's absence.
Oddly, she was acting as if she were alone in the room. Matt knew that she was aware of his presence, because she had answered his knock. But they had only shared a few exchanges, with her answers growing more vague and distracted each time, before she fell into complete silence, behaving as if he had left. As if this weren't reason enough for concern, she was playing a string of slow, mournful songs and staring into space with unfocused, permanently moist eyes.
Matt could only watch her for so long before something in him snapped. He sat beside her, and she paused long enough to look over at him, blinking owlishly. "If you play one more depressing song, I swear to God, I will remove every string from your guitar."
"No!" she cried, shielding the instrument with her arms. Matt sighed and shook his head. So, she was going to play this childishly.
"I was joking," he said, and she slowly unfurled her arms, giving him a cautious look. "Now. Why are you playing this kind of music on an electric guitar, and… Well, why are you going through some kind of emo playlist?"
Amy smiled, but it was stiff and nervous. "I'm of Irish ancestry. I like depressing music."
"Mm-hmm." He raised an eyebrow in response, and she began to squirm slightly. Matt waited in silence, knowing that she was likely to cave under his glance, but, to his surprise, she held firm. So, then, it was time to start casting around for answers. He began to ask questions in rapid succession, closely watching her face for traces of answers that she wasn't providing verbally.
"Classes going okay?"
"They're fine."
"Getting along with Sora?"
"You know I do. Why do you keep asking about that? Is it because you liiiiike her?"
"Please. That's beside the point right now. Let's see… Are you upset about whatever must have happened to your acoustic?"
"It's repairable. I miss it, but I'll get it fixed soon, and I have this great electric that you guys gave me." She patted her guitar, and Matt's eyes flicked to it. Amy had never accepted any of the money that the Teenage Wolves offered her for her participation in their shows and their CD, so they decided to use some of what she was technically owed to provide her with her own electric guitar, since it was inconvenient to find one for her every time they needed a secondary guitarist or a stand-in for band practice. She had insisted, with open, bossy delight, that they all sign it for her, and had spent an inordinate amount of time admiring the sunburst pattern on the body.
"And what happened to your acoustic was…"
"An accident," she finished. But something about the way her eyes rolled and her mouth twitched into something between amusement and a grimace said, quite clearly, Tai's stupid ass did it. It was an expression that Matt was pretty used to by now. But whatever had caused damage to her instrument, it seemed like she wasn't angry about it.
Matt was beginning to grow stumped. He wanted to ask if her father had called her, but he was worried that just the question would upset her further, and it was unlikely, anyway. Then he straightened and shook his head. He had grown so focused on his interest in Sora that he had forgotten about the unusual development in Amy's life.
"How's it going with Izzy?" he asked, unable to keep the brotherly teasing out of his tone. And, just like that, the neck of the guitar slipped out of her hand, and her eyes began to fill with liquid. She opened her mouth, then shook her head and looked away, as if not having eye contact with him would make the question disappear.
"Hey, now," Matt said gently, taking hold of her shoulders and tilting her towards him. He gently tugged on the neck of her guitar, and she lifted her arms obediently, watching passively as he removed the instrument from her body and sat it behind them on the bed. "What's happening with him?" Matt wanted to ask if Izzy had done anything to her, but he was confident that the little redhead hadn't tried anything like that, and, unlike Tai, he understood that accusing Izzy and getting angry would only upset her further. He hoped that it was just some kind of misunderstanding. "What's happened?"
"Nothing," she said, sniffing wetly. "That's the problem. Whenever I knock on the door, no one answers, and at first I thought it was just coincidence, you know, that no one was in. But I can't find him at lunch time in the cafeteria anymore. Yesterday, Joe let me in when I came up, and Izzy hardly talked to me, and he didn't even look at me. I tried to talk to Joe, you know, because we have some classes together and they're friends, but when I do, he just looks really sad and uncomfortable and asks me to try and be patient with Izzy, but that's all I can get out of him." She began to twist the hem of her dress around in her hands.
Matt stared at her for a long moment. For starters, he had no idea why Izzy would ignore her, other than his being naturally antisocial. What was more surprising and interesting to him was the effort she was clearly putting into trying to spend time with Izzy. "Amy," he said gently, rubbing her back in a soothing, circular motion. "Why do you care so much? I've seen Mimi literally beg you to do things with her and her friends, and you used to turn her down without batting an eye. I've seen you turn down a thousand offers of doing things and going places. So why chase after Izzy when it seems like he's trying to avoid you?"
She leaned into his touch, rested her head against his, and sighed deeply. "I've been asking myself the same question. Do you think I should take a hint and give up?"
"Well…" he said, hesitating. He had never seen her pursue a relationship on her own, so her interest in Izzy seemed like a healthy change. And if there was any chance of it being romantic, then he definitely wanted to encourage it, since he had been unsure if she would ever be brave enough to participate in romance again, especially so soon after what had happened to her. But he didn't want to tell her to throw her energies into a doomed enterprise, and it certainly didn't sound like Izzy wanted to talk to her.
"I don't know," he said at last. "It would be easier to give you my opinion if I knew how you felt about him." He pulled away from her and fixed her with a questioning look, but she wrapped her hands up and began to wring them, and her eyes watched their progress with rapt attention.
"I…don't…know. But I really, really want to talk to him." For a moment, she was quiet, but then she turned to him suddenly, and Matt was unable to determine if she was angry or sad. Upset seemed the best word. "I don't understand! He acted like he was enjoying himself. When we said goodbye last Friday night, he said he would absolutely like to do something together again, and I'm sure he meant it. I can't help but wonder if something went wrong in his life, and, if it did, I want to help him." A tear leaked down her cheek, and she wiped at it with annoyance, as if it were a fly buzzing around her face.
Matt patted her back, stalling for time. He felt guilty, being so wrapped up in his own blossoming love life that he forgot about his friend's needs, and he was still shocked and oddly hopeful about the way she spoke of Izzy. "You really think a lot of him, don't you."
Amy stared into her lap and sighed. "Yes. I do. He left a strong impression on me." She turned her body so that she was staring out the window, where the sun was just beginning to set. "At first, I wasn't even sure I should go out with him, which was ridiculous, because I suggested it in the first place. And I was scared of him when I put the skates on, because they made me defenseless, since I didn't know how to skate. Scared of him, can you imagine? But… He's so gentle and considerate… I felt comfortable again in no time. And then… And then I started to feel not just comfortable, but safe." She started to chew her lower lip, and it made her nose and mouth move like a rabbit's. "But he was really rude to me yesterday."
Matt's hands gripped Amy's comforter roughly. This was serious. Reading between the lines, Amy was saying that she trusted Izzy on some level, and, in her case, that was far too valuable to risk losing. "What can I do to help?" he asked, staring at one of her random drawings of Harry Potter characters taped to the wall. She was just like a kid sometimes, and that brought out his protective instincts, the same ones that seem to spring up whenever his brother needed something, despite the fact that TK was in high school now. "Do you want me to see if I can get Izzy to talk to me? Or maybe Joe?"
"No!" she cried, grabbing his knee. "No. But there is something you can do for me."
"What's that?" Matt asked, half hopeful, and half suspicious. Sometimes, Amy seemed to insist on sabotaging herself, on refusing what she needed most, on valuing herself far too little, and he feared that whatever she was going to say would reflect that.
She gently squeezed his knee. "Don't say anything to anyone about this."
Matt closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. She was, in essence, refusing help. "And, by anyone, you mean Tai." It wasn't a question. Matt knew exactly what she was implying, and his voice was toneless. He hated to admit it, but her rejection of their assistance hurt.
"I mean anyone," she said stubbornly. But a small, reluctant smile pulled at her lips, and she tilted her head. "But yes. I mostly mean Tai." They raised eyebrows at each other in unison, and Matt knew they were both imagining Tai knocking Izzy's door down, throwing the redhead over his shoulder, and plopping him down in front of Amy, then standing by and growling quietly while they talked.
Matt wasn't sure which part of this daydream was sadder: the fact that it's exactly what Tai would do if he found out about this, or the fact that Matt didn't think it was an entirely bad idea.
There was a long silence, and then Matt extended a hand to her. "Come on. Grab your guitar. Let's find Sora and play some music for her… And nothing depressing, alright?"
"I have studying to do," she began, but Matt cut her off with a slashing hand motion.
"Do it later. I'm not leaving you to mope alone in here, and I know this will cheer you up." He picked up her guitar, grabbed her wrist, and led her out of the room, ignoring her weak protests. She could just suck it up and accept his concern, damn it.
Friday
Izzy set his digital music library to shuffle and leaned back, wanting some distraction from the miserable feelings he had allowed to build up in layers inside of him. At this point, they were beginning to congeal together, clogging him up, just as sure to lead to some kind of spectacular, deadly failure as cholesterol in an artery. Joe was still rightfully disgusted with him (although they were still mostly getting along alright, due to the strength of their friendship), and he hadn't seen Amy again since he drove her out of the room with his boorish behavior. Although he tried desperately, he couldn't prevent his thoughts from wandering to that encounter, and he was in constant shame, and, ironically, in constant fear of having driven her away permanently.
He ground his teeth as he focused his attention on his music. His tastes would probably surprise most people, he knew. He had a fondness for folk music, standards, and electronica, the last being oddly useful for when he was doing long strings of calculations. But, right now, electronica would only jumble him up further, so he skipped those songs as they appeared with a disinterested click. He allowed his mind to wander, as much as it was capable of doing, as Stormy Weather, Summertime, Tender is the Night, and Fly Me to the Moon drifted through the room. Then April Come She Will followed, with the warm sound of an acoustic guitar accompanying the calm voice of Art Garfunkel. It had never been one of Izzy's particular favorites, and he almost skipped over it, but it seemed like too much effort all of a sudden, so he allowed it to go on.
April, come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.
June, she'll change her tune,
In restless walks she'll prowl the night;
July, she will fly,
And give no warning to her flight.
August, die she must,
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold;
September, I'll remember,
A love once new has now grown old.
Blinking, Izzy replayed the song. Something was straining in chest, and he was at a loss as to explain it. The guitar work, while cheerful and melodic, didn't seem to be what was tripping him up, so he focused in on the lyrics. They were almost nonsensical, really, but there was something… There was something lying quietly below them, making them cohesive and meaningful in a way that could only be seen with contemplation. And there was something about this combination of bright guitar sounds, of meaning hidden by poetic nonsense, of the description of a woman's inscrutable behavior, of the likening of female temperaments to the ever-changing seasons, that made him think of the person and the feelings he had been desperately trying and failing to avoid.
Amy's face appeared in his mind, beginning with her eyes, just as the Cheshire cat appeared grin-first. And suddenly, he was so desperately, miserably lonely. He was used to solitude, had embraced it years ago over a misunderstanding with his parents that had cultivated his natural tendencies to be reclusive and emotionally distant. He could spend weeks alone, without speaking a single word, and never feel lonely. But right now, all of that tolerance for being by himself was dried up.
Suddenly, his mental image of Amy took on the hurt, shocked expression she had shown when he completely ignored her a few days ago in this same spot, and he felt a deep sting of shame and regret. I'm terrible at dealing with people, he told himself. It's better for her not to be involved with me. Even if I did reach out to her, even if she did forgive me for avoiding her like this, I'd probably just hurt her in the end.
The door suddenly opened, and Izzy jumped in his seat, startled by Joe's appearance. He was carrying a paper bag, and he walked into the room and dropped it on Izzy's desk. "Eat that," he said harshly. "Don't think I haven't noticed you skipping meals lately."
"Hello," Izzy replied dryly, poking at the bag curiously. It smelled like Chinese food. Well, fake, Americanized Chinese food, to be precise. Although there was a definite dull, pounding sensation of hunger in his gut, Izzy didn't feel much like eating. He had a way of forgetting to eat even when he was in good spirits, so absorbed in his work that he simply kept going without pause, and he had discovered during the two lowest points of his life that this bad habit could go to an extreme when he was upset.
But he could feel Joe staring at him, so he pulled the take out box out of the bag, then dumped the fortune cookie out, as well. He opened the white box and found shrimp fried rice piled inside. "Thank you," he said, standing and going to the closet for a paper plate and plastic utensils. Then, knowing that it was best to show politeness after receiving kindness, he continued, "Did you have a nice time with Mimi?"
"You know I did," Joe answered, and Izzy turned in time to see him coloring and grinning at the ceiling like a fool. "I was surprised that she wanted Chinese, though. She always seems to go back and forth about her dietary restrictions. One day, she's vegan. Then she's vegetarian. Then she doesn't eat rice or marshmallows, I don't know, I can't keep up with it. But apparently she's going through something of a stressful spot in one of her classes, and I think today she was a whatever-is-bad-for-me-tarian."
A tart retort, centering on how anyone could possibly be having trouble with any of the classes on Mimi's light, easy schedule, danced up to the tip of Izzy's tongue, but that would not put Joe in a good mood, so he swallowed it. The next thing that came to him was to roll his eyes and drawl out the word 'fascinating' to its longest possible extent, but that wasn't much better. I'm absolute rubbish when it comes to small talk, he thought grimly. In the end, he nodded, then hid his face by opening the mini fridge door and pulling out a bottled water.
Izzy went back to his desk, emptied the food onto the plate, and turned to face Joe, putting the plate on his lap. Joe, he knew, wouldn't let him out of his sight until he ingested the majority of the rice and shrimp, so he went ahead and got comfortable. But, as Joe watched him, something dark seemed to be slipping over his expression, and he didn't think it bode well for him.
"So. Mimi tried to get Amy to go to dinner with us."
Izzy fought to keep the grimace off his face, using the fork in his mouth to his advantage. Yes, this boded about as well as leaving a missile-sized air shaft open to the surface of your Death Star.
Joe fixed him with an accusing look. "She really didn't seem herself, Izzy. She didn't smile or say something perky or strange the whole time, and Mimi spent almost fifteen minutes trying to convince her to go with us." There was a long, incredibly uncomfortable silence, and Izzy had to swallow some water before he could say anything.
"I hope she's alright." He took another bite, one so enormous that Joe couldn't reasonably expect him to speak again any time soon. Joe's eyes narrowed, and his arms crossed.
"She asked about you. Several times, in fact."
"Several times?" Izzy echoed, so surprised that he forgot about his mouth being full. A few grains of rice flew out, and Joe edged backwards slightly. Joe waited, looking grimly amused, as he finished chewing and swallowed the rest. "You were only with her for a quarter of an hour."
"And yet she managed to ask about you a few times. And don't think that was the first time. I'm getting sick of trying to explain your behavior to her. She's seriously heart broken, Izzy, and it's entirely your fault, and you need to talk to her before I make you talk to her."
Izzy's brain sputtered like an old car engine. He knew she was upset about his withdrawal, because of the way she had looked at him when Joe let her in the other day. But he had no idea that it was causing her that much pain. "There must be some other issue in her life right now," he said nervously, unsure of whether he was talking to himself or to Joe. "Why would she be so invested in me? She hardly knows me!"
Joe raised an eyebrow at him. "You've been moping around in here for a solid week, Izzy. You haven't been eating. And it's all because you're afraid of how she makes you feel, but unwilling or unable to let go of it. So, I really don't think you're in a position to ask why she's upset over your behavior."
Izzy put the plate on his desk and sighed. Part of him was annoyed at Joe's directness, and by his insinuation that he had feelings for Amy, but he knew he probably deserved it, so he let it go. "I didn't intend to hurt her," he said softly, staring at his glowing, underlit keyboard. Guilt began to weigh heavily over him, and he began to droop in his chair.
"Well, she's hurting. So you had better do something about it."
Izzy stared vacantly at one of his monitors, trying to think of a reply, but a loud knock on the door saved him the trouble. Joe stood automatically and opened it, and Mimi flounced into the room, holding something long and flat in a tiny, delicate hand. Izzy's eyes automatically went to her long, flowing skirt. It billowed out behind her in a wave of pink, ethereal folds. Somehow, it exaggerated her size and her quick, jerky body movements. He looked at her face and saw an expression of mixed suspicion and anger, and he had no clue what that could portend.
"Izzy," she said, patting Joe's arm as she passed him, "do you know what this is?" She held out the thing she was holding. It looked like an elongated, slightly flattened stapler, but he was sure that wasn't the correct answer.
"I'm afraid not," he said, glancing past her to share a baffled look with Joe. He shook his head slightly and widened his eyes. You're on your own, chum, his expression seemed to say. He backed away from Mimi slowly, as if to avoid drawing her attention, and sat down silently in his desk chair.
Mimi waved the mystery object in his face. "This," she said, "is a straightening iron. You plug it into the wall, and it heats up." Izzy was tempted to correct her by pointing out that you plugged electronics into a socket, rather than the wall, but he was too curious about the punchline of this conversation to interrupt her. He simply stared politely at the object being waggled before him.
"Once it gets hot," she continued, and one of her hands caressed the instrument with a sensuality so sharp that it had Izzy shifting uncomfortably, "you put your hair between it, and it kills the frizz and removes curls." Mimi began to pace around the room slowly, occasionally tapping her hip with the straightening iron, staring him down all the while. Izzy watched, mesmerized, as the fabric of her skirt flowed dramatically around her.
After a few protracted moments of silence, she came to a halt in the exact center of the room. "I don't know exactly what's going on with Amy," she said, and she began to tap the grooming instrument ominously against her open palm, as if it were a weapon. "She's clamming up on me. I hate when she does that. So, anyway, I can't say why she's so depressed lately. But, if my hunch is right, and it has to do with you…"
She smiled at him so sweetly, so tenderly, that Izzy swallowed instinctively. The full force of her beauty hit him like a blow, as if she were some kind of goddess, descending to earth in a glorious burst of radiance. Her hands reached out slowly and cupped his face, and he could feel the handle of the straightening iron, warm with her body temperature, against his right cheek. He looked desperately to his brain for some kind of explanation, but it was sputtering pathetically, and so he sat in her hold, silent and still, like a half-wit. Mimi's face was only a moment away from his, and he couldn't pull his eyes from hers. Distantly, he was aware of the tickling sensation of sweat forming on his forehead.
"If you've hurt Amy in any way… Well, I'll only give you one warning. Make it right before the end of the weekend. And, even if you haven't hurt her, if you ever do…" Suddenly, she pulled back from him and clacked the arms of the straightening iron together in front of his face. "I will heat this baby up to its highest setting and slowly castrate you with it."
Then she turned, patted Joe affectionately on the cheek, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Izzy stared at the door, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, for a full minute before he was able to turn his head towards Joe. Their eyes locked, but neither of them seemed able to say anything. Finally, Joe cleared his throat, slumped back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling.
"I think this is the first time I've ever felt terror and arousal simultaneously," he said lightly, as if he were commenting on the weather. He crossed his arms, produced an oddly dreamy expression, and turned his chair around to face his desk.
I'm surrounded by bloody lunatics, Izzy told himself. The faint scent of his food slowly called him back to the sane, rational world, and he picked up his plate and dragged the fork around in it. But, somehow, the recent threat to his genitalia made it seem even less compelling than before. "I believe I've lost my appetite," he mused aloud, pushing the plate away on his desk.
"Eat it," Joe ordered, tapping his finger against a textbook impatiently.
"I'll finish it tomorrow," he said, and he began to pile the rice and shrimp back into the takeout box. Joe turned and fixed him with a glare, and he nodded. "I know. I'm sorry. But I really will eat it tomorrow." His friend looked at him for a moment, then sighed.
"I suppose I can see where you're coming from," he said, and then he shook his head and opened a text book. Izzy fought down a sigh of relief. He was extremely glad to find himself out of the limelight. He opened the door to throw his plate away in the hall trashcan, then put the container in the mini fridge. Then his eyes fell on the fortune cookie, and he sat at his desk and opened the wrapper. The cookie itself held no interest for him, but he enjoyed reading the fortunes. His clever fingers pulled out the confection and broke it apart, then extracted the strip of paper from the shattered remains.
It read: May your desire be always greater than your fear.
For a moment, Izzy stared at the tiny red text, unable to absorb the message under the sheer weight of the situational irony. Then his brain sparked back into function, and he dropped his face into his palm. Oh, for- Even the damn cookie is patronizing me.
Fine, he snarled in his mind. Fine. Damn you, Joe. Damn you, Mimi. Damn you, anonymous fortune writer, who is surely staring at the wall and questioning the point of his existence in some tiny apartment room. Damn you all.
He stood, moving quickly and jerkily under the force of his sudden anger, resignation, and fear. Truth be told, he would rather not do this, but the combined guilt trip from himself and all of the people he had just damned left him no choice. His options were to act or to smother under the weight of his own remorse. Joe turned towards him, and his eyes were slightly wide. "Izzy," he said, watching him struggle to shove his feet into shoes, "where are you going?"
"I have some business to attend to," Izzy muttered, not looking away from his footwear.
"You… You're going to talk to her, aren't you!" he said, smiling hopefully. "Oh, well done, Mimi!"
Izzy closed his eyes and forced a slow breath through his clenched jaws. "Please don't praise someone for threatening to pry my scrotum off with a heated grooming device. At least, not in my hearing." Joe grinned, shook his head, and turned back to his books. Sighing, Izzy grabbed his wallet, key, and cell, then slipped out of the room.
He almost went directly down the stairs and to Amy's room, but it occurred to him that he might want to have something to ease his apology. So, he passed her floor and made his way to the tiny, extremely overpriced convenience store located in the middle of this group of dorm buildings. Along the way, he realized that he had become another man in a long line of men hoping to win forgiveness from a woman with a peace offering. Somehow, that thought only made his mood worse.
Once he stepped through the store's glass doors, his dark eyes scanned the shelves for something suitable. They were packed with junk food and microwavable meals, things that would appeal to college kids. Izzy crossed his arms and frowned at the precarious stacks of unhealthy foodstuffs. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no concept of Amy's tastes in food, other than that he had once observed her eating pretzels and a turkey sandwich. Not exactly helpful information at the moment.
Reluctantly, he tried to recall Shauna's tastes, but he stopped when he realized that he was equating Amy to his ex-girlfriend. That was just too insulting to Amy, so he gave that up and wandered deeper into the store, down narrow aisles brimming with Cheeto bags, condoms, energy drinks, Hot Pockets… Everything a college student needed, except nutrition and alcohol.
The far end of the aisles led to a large freezer with sliding doors, and Izzy smiled when he saw the enormous selection of pints of ice cream. He had no memory of anyone ever saying that they didn't like ice cream; all he had to do now was select a flavor. Personally, the strawberry looked like the best choice, but he went with the chocolate brownie flavor for Amy, although he couldn't say why. Perhaps it was just the stereotype that women like chocolate. Whatever the reason, he grabbed a pint and made his way to the cash register, where a disinterested boy glanced up from his magazine, raising a brow at his selection.
"Fucked up, huh?" he asked, grinning cheekily as he scanned the bar code. Izzy felt a muscle twitch in his cheek, and he said nothing as he fished some money out of his wallet. He hadn't realized that chocolate, brownie-laden ice cream was such a clear indicator of guilt. The boy shrugged, bagged the pint, and handed him his change.
With his peace offering secured, Izzy made his way to Amy's room. Soon he was standing at her door, and he could faintly hear the sound of a softly singing voice. He strained his ears, oddly eager to hear her sing, but couldn't make out much from here.
Shaking his head, he pressed his back to the wall beside her door, trying to plan out what he would say. But the longer he stood there, the more difficult the situation seemed, and the less sure he became of his chances of being forgiven, and of his right to even be standing here. He could vaguely hear her walking around (she wasn't exactly light on her feet), and she slowly approached the end of the room nearer to the door. As she came closer, he could hear her voice better, rising into a ghostly swell. He eventually recognized it as a song from Les Miserables, which he had seen once at his mother's insistence.
I saw him once, then he was gone!
We were like dreamers at night
Who meet as in a trance, and part again.
Two phantoms in the shadows of the moon,
Can people really fall in love so soon?
He walked alone, he seemed alone, like me.
Could he have known
That moment was my destiny?
I had to run away, and it was like a dream.
I saw him once, the dream is true.
I saw him once, and once will do!
One thing was suddenly abundantly clear: she was born to sing. Her body was a living instrument. Izzy shut his eyes and groaned softly, grateful that no one was in the hallway. Her voice was exquisite. It lilted gently, sweetly over every word, and she wrapped her light, airy sound over each one with a lover's tenderness. Instinctively, she captured the emotion of each phrase, sounding every bit the dazzled, confused, love-struck youth, so frightened by her first romantic feelings that she was content to let the moment slip by. And that faint ethereal quality that always seemed to hover around her, just at the edge of his perception, was in full force when she sang. She was a spirit, a specter, a faery, a druid.
Izzy turned away and slipped back into the stairwell. There was no way he could touch her. She might as well belong to another dimension entirely, she might as well be the faery queen, glancing over her fantastic court with those eyes that could melt a man down to his marrow. And he was very much a grounded, ordinary man, a man who trusted in science and rationality, a man who would never be able to comprehend a woman like her.
That's what he told himself as he returned to his room, exceedingly grateful to find Joe gone. It was a decent excuse for failing to talk to her, but, deep down, the voice of truth was whispering his real motive.
You're a coward.
Saturday Afternoon
"I still can't believe you chickened out."
Izzy threw his head back, slammed his pencil against his desk, and closed his eyes. "Joe. Enough."
They were both working at their desks, as per norm. Joe had been heckling him about bailing on his mission ever since he found out about it the night before.
The squeaking of Joe's chair announced that he was turning, most likely with the intent of starting up another scolding, but a rustling sound near the door had him standing. But apparently he had forgotten to turn the lock after letting himself back in after using the restroom, because the door opened, and Izzy cringed as Tai stormed into the room.
"Izzy!" he said, not bothering with any preamble. Usually, Izzy approved of directness, but this was a bit…much. "Listen, man. I know you don't owe me anything, but I really need a favor. It's for Amy." Tai pulled a face as he said Amy's name, and Izzy realized that he was hesitant to point out any kind of connection between his cousin and the person he was appealing to.
"Oh, wow, would you look at that! I completely forgot, I have to meet someone in the library," Joe said, standing and grabbing his duffel bag. He brushed past Tai, and Izzy stared at his fleeing form with wide, desolate eyes. Apparently his roommate was determined to never be pulled into a Tai encounter through his influence ever again. On the one hand, Izzy could hardly blame him. On the other, he was pissed to find himself abandoned in Tai's abrasive company.
Izzy forced himself to breathe calmly. Tai frowned at him, then closed the door and sat in Joe's vacated seat. "I broke Amy's guitar," he said after a pause. He bent forward and clasped his hands between his knees, looking pained. "I think it's really got her depressed. I keep trying to get her to go to the repair place with me, but it's like she's too down to want to go anywhere. Not that she normally wants to go anywhere…" Contrarily, Izzy found himself perking up a little. Was it possible that he had nothing to do with Amy's stormy emotional climate after all?
"What does this have to do with me?" he asked, and Tai nodded, looking strangely meek.
"Well. I, uh, the nearest repair place isn't within walking distance, and the bus doesn't get me close enough, either. And I guess I thought it might be less awkward if someone else is there. I guess she speaks well of you, or whatever, and maybe it would cheer her up if you went, too. Not that I need you around."
Izzy crossed his arms and sat up straighter in his chair, annoyed that Tai was talking down to him even as he asked for his help. "Tai. I am not your chauffeur." This was why Izzy hated letting people know that he had a car. Suddenly, he had more 'friends' than he knew what to do with.
Tai's nostrils flared, but he took a deep breath and held his hands out beseechingly. "I know. That's why it's a favor. I'd really owe you one. I'll find some way to pay you back."
"I do not need to have you in my debt," Izzy said, grimacing heavily. "The last time I was, you dragged me to a party that I didn't want to attend, and I ended up getting drunk enough to challenge you to a six cup match of beer pong. If you'll recall."
"And you met Amy," Tai countered. His hands turned into fists on his knees, and his knuckles were whitening beneath his dark tan.
"And a fat lot of good that's done me!" Izzy cried, too struck with his recent unhappiness to consider the implications of his words. Tai stared at him for a moment, and then his eyes went oddly unfocused, almost glazed. Izzy flinched and pulled back, subconsciously putting more space between them, picking up a feeling of danger on an instinctive level.
"What are you talking about?" Tai asked slowly, and there was a strange buzzing sound beneath his words. It reminded Izzy of the droning of a bee hive.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Slip of the tongue." It was a weak excuse, but he couldn't think of a better one, at least not with Tai slowly standing up. Izzy's eyes went to his arms, which were bare from the bottom of his tee shirt's sleeves down, and he realized that there was enough build up of muscle there to push up some of his veins, making them clearly visible. The redhead swallowed. Hard.
"Now that I think of it," Tai began, advancing on Izzy's desk, "she hasn't mentioned doing anything else with you since the roller skating thing last Friday. And she hasn't been talking about you at all lately."
"That's likely due to the fact that we haven't seen each other since then. Well, save for one brief encounter." Izzy assumed that this would have a soothing effect on Tai, since he grew upset the last time they went out together. Tai froze completely, and then his body began to shake slightly. Izzy was briefly confused, wondering why the other boy suddenly seemed afraid, until he realized that he was actually falling into a deadly rage. His palms instantly went slick with cold sweat.
"This hasn't been about the damn guitar at all, has it," Tai said quietly. "No. No, you did something to her, didn't you!" And then Tai's hands were around his throat, and the other boy's skin was like a fire against his, so hot with his sudden rage that it seemed to be burning him.
"I didn't!" Izzy choked, but Tai hauled him to his feet anyway.
"You have thirty seconds to tell me what's going on here," Tai breathed, and he backed him into the rough, cinder block surface of the wall, doing it so forcefully that Izzy was almost winded.
His room seemed to sway in his vision, and fear overwhelmed him, rendering his tongue mute. This was no bully, trying to entertain himself with the suffering of someone smaller than him. This was an enraged man, trying to protect something he found precious, and that was much, much more dangerous. He began to writhe in Tai's grip, instinctively trying to free himself. But his twitching only seemed to aggravate Tai's temper further, so he forced himself to stop moving, although he couldn't prevent his feet from seeking the floor in vain. Tai was holding him up off the ground, and it was putting unbearable pressure on his neck.
"Listen to me," Tai growled, putting his face remarkably close to his. "The last boy who fucked with her? You don't even want to know what I did to him. I almost got my own soccer team disqualified from the state championship game. I didn't even care. I was the captain, I worked all four years to get that team where it was, and I did not give a fuck, not after what that bastard did to her."
Don't ask! Izzy's mind begged of his curiosity. Don't ask! He'll only grow more enraged if you ask him to talk about it! He's completely lost it! Somehow, his self preservation instincts won out, and he managed to ignore the torrent of questions battering his brain.
"I didn't lay a hand on her. We had a pleasant outing, and then we went our separate ways. I simply haven't spoken to her since then." He tried and failed to suppress another twitch. He felt like a fish flapping about on the ground, unable to breathe, unable to get his bearings. His hands went to Tai's, and he tried to pry him off, or at least to loosen his hold, but it was like trying to bend steel. They didn't give a centimeter; in fact, if Tai noticed his struggling, he gave absolutely no indication.
"Why wouldn't you?" Tai barked, and Izzy almost wept with relief when he realized that Tai's confusion and suspicion were warring with his rage. "Amy's weird sometimes, but she's fun to be around."
"Just busy," Izzy managed weakly. He was beginning to grow light headed, and he felt his eyes start to roll backwards as the world blackened around the edges. Suddenly, the pressure on his throat was gone, and Tai was holding him against the wall by the shoulders. He breathed in deeply, and his faintness began to pass.
When his vision cleared, Tai was glaring down at him, and he almost wished that he had passed out entirely. "Here's what we're going to do," Tai growled, and his hands closed on his shoulders with bruising strength. "You're marching down to her room right now. I'm getting to the bottom of this."
Panic burst through Izzy's chest like fireworks. "Or else what?" he spat, and he was equally impressed and horrified with the snark he injected into his words. Tai's scowl morphed into a wild, crazed smirk.
"Or else I'll bash your head in and carry you there unconscious. Either way, you're going to Amy's room. It's your call." He wasn't joking. His arrogant smile made it painfully obvious.
"I'm beginning to hate your 'choose an option' game," Izzy muttered, and Tai grinned and released him, smacking him on the back hard as he stepped away from the wall. He tried not to hiss in pain, tried not to rub his neck or shoulders as he made his way to the door.
"I'm beginning to wish that you had chosen the hard way," he said ominously. Izzy swallowed hard. There was nothing for it but to go see Amy, and he fretted the entire way, completely unable to predict how this encounter would go, but feeling oddly grateful that Tai had stepped away from the murderous rage that had consumed him just a moment ago.
Far too soon for his liking, Tai was knocking on Amy's door. Izzy could hear her feet pattering against the floor, could identify the moment when she stumbled by the sudden irregularity in the sound, but she must not have fallen, because the door opened promptly. Then, her doe-like eyes locked on his, and he watched them widen.
"H-hi?" she muttered, and her eyes went to her feet. Izzy glanced down, too, following her movement, and he saw that she was wearing adorable knee-high socks dotted with ladybugs. He lifted his gaze and observed that her hands were wringing, that she was chewing her lower lip.
"Amy," he breathed, unable to bear her obvious signs of discomfort. "May I come in?" Then Tai snorted behind him, and he remembered that he had not, in fact, come here of his own volition. His face colored with his shame as he realized that it had taken the threat of physical harm for him to come to her.
She nodded and stepped back, allowing the two of them to enter the room. She sat at the edge of her bed, and he took her desk chair. Tai crossed his arms and stood over the two of them like a body guard. Izzy rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, wondering how he was going to say what he needed to say with Tai hovering around.
"Tai," Amy said calmly, pressing her hands to her knees. "Sora just texted me asking if anyone wants to go grab dinner at Chipotle with her. I bet you could catch up, if you hurry." Izzy fought to keep his expression neutral. Was Amy trying to get rid of her cousin? That surprised him. He would have thought that she had no desire to be alone with him, after the way he had treated her.
Tai's body jerked slightly, and he moved a step towards the door without seeming to notice it. "M-maybe next time," he muttered, but the creasing of his brow seemed to indicate indecision.
"Suit yourself," Amy said, shrugging and turning her attention to him. "Izzy, could you please help me with my calculus homework? I'm having the worst time with this question about Sherlock Holmes using the temperature of a cup of coffee to estimate a murder victim's time of death."
"Wait," Tai said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Aren't you mad at him?"
"Mad? At Izzy?" Amy echoed, looking mildly surprised. "No, not at all. Where did you get that idea?"
"I…" Tai colored horrifically, and his eyes swept over Izzy's neck, where faint signs of bruises in the shape of his hands were probably already forming. Sensing that Amy wanted Tai gone, too, Izzy played along with her, giving Tai an accusing look that had him backing up. "I… Wow. I really thought… I'm really sorry, Izzy. Let me just, uh… get out of your hair."
Then, miraculously, he backed out of the room, pausing just long enough to shoot Izzy a final look that said, I am sorry about earlier, but, just so you know, I'll still kill you if you do something to her.
"Wow," Izzy said, staring at the closed door. "I don't know if I've ever seen someone looking so abashed in my entire life.
"He deserves it," Amy said, sighing. She stood and gently put her hands on either side of his face, not unlike the way Mimi had yesterday. But, instead of drawing seductively close only to threaten him, she gently tilted his head, baring his neck for her inspection. "Stars!" she cried, running her fingers gingerly down the slope of his neck. A faint tremor went through his body at the feeling of her skin on his, and he was shocked to discover how sensitive to stimulation his neck was. "Look at these marks! Was he trying to choke you to death?!"
Izzy shut his eyes and fought down a groan. He was desperately trying to deny how good her innocent touch and her concern made him feel. "Don't think too badly of him," he said quietly. "I deserved it. And, after the way I treated you the other day, I was too embarrassed to speak to you on my own. His methods, while violent, were effective, and I'm…" he paused as he tried to think of an adequate phrase. "Begrudgingly grateful." His hands tightened into fists in his lap. "Also, I'm sorry you felt the need to lie to convince Tai to leave."
"Who's lying?" Amy asked, raising a brow as she tipped his head about for a clearer view of the damage. "I was never angry with you. Hurt, yes, but not angry. And I do need help with that homework question. I make a point of being honest." She tsked and ghosted her fingers over what must have been a bad bruise, and Izzy fought not to shiver.
Izzy frowned and tried to recall exactly what Tai had said. Technically, Amy hadn't lied to him; he had asked if she was angry, and she said no. The question implied that there was something wrong between them, which there was, but only specifically inquired about one emotion. Amy's answer, while technically honest, led Tai to believe that things were calmer between the two of them than they actually were.
Izzy wasn't sure if he should be impressed or afraid. "For someone who doesn't lie, you're awfully skilled in the art of misdirection."
"That's the power of truth and language," she said off-handedly. It was clear that her attention was firmly on his wounds. "I wish I could do something for these bruises… I don't even have concealer to lend you…"
"Don't trouble yourself over it," Izzy said softly. His hands closed around the seat of her desk chair as her touch continued to sent a faint thrum of electricity down his nerves. What was with his neck? Was it a weakness he had always had? If it was, then Shauna had never discovered it.
His facial muscles tightened at the thought of her. Forget her. Say what you came here to say, fool. He opened his mouth and tried to get the words out, but it was even more difficult than he had imagined to string together something sensible that didn't reveal too much of himself. In the end, he had no choice but to just say whatever came to mind. That was better than sitting in silence like an idiot.
"Amy… I really want to apologize for how I've treated you since we parted last Friday. I wish I could say that I have a reasonable excuse, but…" He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye, trying to ignore the feeling of her hands on his neck. "I… Lately, I've been experiencing some strong emotional turmoil, and I allowed it to negatively impact how I treated you. It was wrong of me. I don't have an excuse. All I can do is apologize sincerely, beg your forgiveness, and promise you that I'll find some other way of coping in the future."
Something softened in he expression, and her forehead instantly crinkled with concern. "I knew it," she whispered, putting faint pressure on his skin and drawing even closer to him. "Please, Izzy, is there some way I can help you?"
Stop being so sweet, Izzy's mind pleaded. Remove your face from its compelling nearness to mine. Say something cruel, something bitter, something that will free me from my attraction to you. But none of that was suitable for speaking aloud, so his brain offered up the least dangerous of his thoughts, and he latched on to it gratefully. "Help me?" Izzy echoed. "You ought to be scolding me. I treated you so callously; why are you offering to help me?"
She blinked down at him. "Eh? That? Don't worry about that." She flapped a hand dismissively. "You apologized. That's enough for me."
"No," Izzy said, and the sharpness in his voice surprised him. "No. Amy, I was knowingly cruel to you. You're brushing it off like it doesn't matter at all! I advocate forgiveness, and I'm very relieved to find myself forgiven, but, frankly, you should be more offended than you are."
Amy drew back from him, removing her touch, and Izzy cursed himself roundly for causing her to withdrawal, even as he breathed a small sigh of relief. She raised an eyebrow at him, looking faintly puzzled. "Uh, so what do you want me to do?" she inquired. "I don't think I understand."
"Show a little concern for yourself. I'll begin to worry about you if you show such obvious signs of disinterest in how you are treated." Color crept into his face when he realized how honest he was being. This girl was working her way deeper and deeper into his regard with every exchange, and he didn't know how to safeguard himself, or if he even wanted to.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Uhhhh, okay. Here goes. Grrr. Izzy." She began to waggle a finger accusingly in the direction of his face. "That was such a mean thing you did. I'll forgive you this time, but you had better be nicer to me in the future. Grrr." Her delivery was entirely deadpan, except for the grring, where she seemed to amuse herself, scrunching her face up like a puppy trying to be scary. It was adorable, and Izzy felt a strange constricting sensation in his chest as he observed her.
A strong sense of earnestness flooded outward from her as she began her next sentence. "Now, what can I do to help you?"
Izzy slapped his forehead with his open palm. "Amy," he sighed. He allowed his eyes to sweep over her from head to ladybug-covered toe, wondering who had taught her not to care about slights toward herself. He knew he had hurt her, and she had displayed her hurt, but where was the anger, the sense of being wronged? There was something strange about Amy's sense of self respect, and he found himself growing deeply curious about it.
"Here's what you can do, if it pleases you," he said, touching her hands without thinking. "I heard from Tai that your guitar is in need of repair. I'll take you to have that done. And then, if you're willing, we'll return here and play that video game you mentioned. We can eat as much pizza and junk food as you'd like."
"I don't understand," Amy said, curling the very tips of fingers against his. "How does that help you? And, also, Tai will give me grief if I don't let him pay for the repairs."
"Oh, don't worry," Izzy said, smiling grimly. "It will be my pleasure to save the receipt for him." Then he slid his hands further up, so that their palms were pressed together, but he didn't hold her hand. It was important to him that she be able to escape easily if she wanted to. He knew she was antsy about being touched. "As for being helpful to me…" He tilted his head, and he could feel himself coloring as she blinked down at him, eyes wide and undeniably adorable. "It would ease some of my guilt over how I've treated you to do you a favor. And… And, being with you improves my overall emotional climate." It's how I feel afterward that causes the trouble, he added privately, but he was just going to have to find some other way to deal with that. It was abundantly clear that avoiding her wouldn't work. For one, her friends wouldn't allow it (he reflected that, even if he never used it again for its intended purpose, he was rather fond of having his maleness intact). For another, all it did was cause him pointless misery.
She lifted her hands from his and began to draw random, idle patterns on his palms with her fingertips. It tickled slightly, but he was careful not to react. "Can we hang out tomorrow, too?" she asked quietly, staring at the progress of her digits over his skin. "If… If it's not too much trouble?"
His instinct was to close his eyes, groan, and lean back in her chair, too emotionally overstimulated by the shy hopefulness in her voice to do otherwise, but he fought that down fiercely and miraculously kept his expression impassive. "I'm at your disposal."
Amy lifted her hands to her cheeks and averted her glance, smiling sweetly, and Izzy rose automatically at the signs of moisture in her eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked. He placed a hand on one of her upper arms, coming closer to her than he probably should have, but it couldn't be helped. He was concerned about her.
She nodded and went to the corner of her room, retrieving an enormous guitar case. "Yes. I'm sorry. Shall we take care of this before it gets too late?"
"As you will," he said, watching her carefully. "You're sure you're alright?"
She froze with her back to him. "Nn. I just… I'm really glad you came to talk to me."
"Amy…" His hand wandered to his chest, as if to soothe the sudden aching there. Stop doing this to me, he thought frantically. What are you doing to me?
"As am I," he said, and even to his own ears, there was something wistful and melancholy to his tone. Amy paused as she lifted the guitar, giving him a curious look, but she didn't say anything, for which he was grateful.
He had no idea what was going to become of him with regards to her, but he couldn't deny that he was both eager and frightened to find out.
Author's note:
Hey, it's the other side! And I'm seeing you!
Wow, this chapter was so much more fun to write than I thought. I love how Mimi dressed for the occasion when she threatened Izzy, oh, man, am I amusing myself. Actually, Mimi's entire scene was awesome to write. I hope people agree with me that she could be so threatening in defense of one of her girls. And the random convenience store boy giving Izzy a hard time? Classic. Izzy listening to Amy sing, the way he spoke callously and crumbled inside at the same time, and Tai slowly working his way up to completely losing it… Wait, am I writing my own review here, what are you doing, Hidden? -_-
Still not sure if the emotional content went well, although I did destroy my fingernails (by biting them) writing the scene where Izzy is a jerk to Amy, which I guess is a good sign? As you can see, these two will definitely not be having a smooth path to romance, if it ever goes that way at all. But, hey, life is hard, especially when you're two introverts with really bad romantic histories. They say that if you're not torturing the characters, you're doing it wrong…
Oh, also, I hope that I clearly revealed one of Amy's greatest faults in this chapter, namely, how little she values herself and her own feelings. It's a terrible fault to have, and we will eventually be seeing where she got it from (actually, Matt hints at it, and if you read GUWY, you know the answer already).
Uh also… Right! The day was saved today due to indifference and violence. Please, young folks… Find your moral content elsewhere, I am a bad role model, lol!
Oh, right, please be prepared for a delay between this chapter and the next. I will be writing chapters for my other two stories before I update this one again, so there may be a lull of 1-3 weeks before the next update, I'm sorry! But that's why today's chapter is super extra long.
Here's my question for the day! Do you think all of the drama in this chapter is caused by actual character traits, or am I just conjuring it up from the nether? It's very important to me to keep my writing free of contrived conflict. As much as I love Koushiro, I really do believe that Izzy would fight romantic feelings, kicking and screaming all the while about being a rational person, fearing his own emotions. But what do you think?
So many author comments, I must have liked and feared this chapter! I'm so nervous!