Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica.
Note: I'm sorry that I took a bit long releasing this chapter. You see, I found my beta. She will be dutifully checking my grammar errors from now on. Because of this, there might be longer spans between the upcoming chapters.
Akihiko stood at the top of the staircase, his mouth turned upwards into a small smile.
The boy had the tail of his white shirt clenched tightly in small hands. Green eyes peered hesitantly from behind him, staring doubtfully down the stairs. The author felt small, hesitant breaths warm his back.
Slowly, he had extended his foot. And let it fall to the next step. He felt the boy's body stumble down after his, and the fabric around his waist abruptly tightened. He paused. Once the boy had maintained his footing, the author had taken another step.
And another.
And another.
He had paused after each one, letting the boy adjust at each small landing. As he neared the base, he felt the grip on his shirt tighten. At the last step, he turned around. "Misaki."
The boy squeaked in surprise, almost slamming headfirst into the black satin of a tuxedo vest.
"Wait here. I'm going to go..." the author coughed a little, "...check out that monster." The author's mouth was pressed in a firm line, but his lips were twitching slightly.
Misaki had a moment of insight. The man's words showed that he was trying to be brave. However, the slight hesitation in his voice, and the quivering of his lips indicated that the man was actually afraid. Upon this realization, the boy suddenly found a small tremor of strength within himself. He reached forward and touched his hand on the man's arm. "It's okay, Usagi-san. Let's go together."
At this, amethyst eyes widened. Before him, the silver-haired man stood, quite shocked. "Who told you that?"
The boy stared confusedly. "What?"
"Who told you to call me that?" the author demanded, his normally calm voice had a sharpened edge.
The boy was somewhat taken aback. He had not been expecting a tone of displeasure. Then he had remembered the conversation he had with the man's editor on the phone. Through her words, the author's reaction had seemed to make sense. "Aikawa-san. She told me that although you may not show it, you secretly would like it."
Those amethyst eyes looked very weary. "Misaki, don't listen to anything that editor of mine says. Half of the time she's crazy."
The man sighed, turning around. There was a quiet command. "Stay here. I'll be right back." In long strides, the author had disappeared into the kitchen.
Misaki stood on the bottom step, staring down. The earlier feeling of dread that had welled up inside his stomach had quelled, replaced by increasing waves of bewilderment. Although the editor had indicated that the author would secretly enjoy being called that name, when he had gazed into those amethyst eyes, the boy felt almost certain that the opposite was true. Staring down, the boy briefly wondered why.
Logically, it made sense. Why would his owner want to be called a rabbit? Men were not four-legged, soft-furred, long-eared creatures. Despite that rational explanation, however, the name seemed to somehow fit. Perhaps it was the physical resemblance between the two magnificent beings. The silver strands of feathery light hair were akin to the soft, silky fur of the small mammal. The man's leaned and muscled limbs moved with surprising smoothness and agility, reminding him of the natural litheness of a rabbit's body. Those amethyst eyes appeared so majestic and out-of-the-world they couldn't have possibly belonged to a human.
Now that he thought about it, both also seemed to always have the same, bored expression on their faces.
"Misaki. Give me your finger."
The boy broke from his reverie, noticing that the man had returned. Hesitantly, he held out his right hand.
He looked to see a long, beige strip being wrapped firmly around his broken flesh. There was a dull burn at the contact, an ache that resonated throughout his hand. But once he felt a padded pressure around his skin, he began to feel a little better.
The author coughed. "This band that you have on, it...protects you. You don't need to be afraid of the monster anymore."
Misaki glanced down at the porous strip, filled with hesitation. The narrow patch seemed so small and insignificant against his vision of a hundred gaping jaws of metal. But then, wasn't it possible that the sticky band was embedded with a sort of special power? Couldn't its composition be of an incredibly dense material impermeable to sharp edges, couldn't it's plain appearance cover up a powerful invisible force shield? The fact that the strip had already comforted his abraded skin signified, to the boy, that it had the intrinsic capability to protect.
Upon looking into the author's eyes, the boy felt any remaining doubt in his chest wash away by shades of soothing purple.
"Okay," he said, mustering his confidence.
There was a smile. "Let's go, then."
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Misaki had found that the author was quite right. The band was a good protector - he had spent the entire afternoon in the kitchen, and he did not receive a single cut while he was there.
The boy currently sat on a dining room chair, an enormous stack of books in a pile on the table. He had, in front of him, one particularly large tome that was split open, and was softly resting his fingers on a tight chunk of text. Green eyes weren't focused on the page, however. They had been staring rather absentmindedly at the kitchen for the last few minutes. The light in those emerald orbs grew far and distant, as the boy slowly drifted into the warm past of a few hours ago.
He remembered that after he had put on the band, the author had led him to the kitchen. Upon approaching the pile of metalware, Misaki had gripped the man's hand very tightly. When he had noticed the four-sided, sharp-mouthed trap, he quickly hid behind the author's back.
Amethyst eyes glimmered. The author reached forth and graced his fingers along the silvery, holed sides. The boy quickly squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for a sharp intake of breath and a low, pained growl.
The reaction never came.
Opening both eyes, Misaki saw that the author was staring at him, a particular expression on his face. The man's facial features were fixed at a handsome angle – his cheekbones were high, his lips were tilted upwards, and his eyes held a clearly satisfied glint. For some reason, looking at the expression made the boy feel somewhat annoyed.
"So, the monster you were referring too was this?" The author's voice was silky, like running water.
"Well, no, I mean, yes...but it was different! It doesn't attack you, maybe it's just me!" Misaki stared helplessly at the author.
Long, pale fingers held the instrument up by the handle, pointing to a formation of little nicks."Misaki. This isn't a monster. It's a cheese grater."
"Cheese grater?"
A round, red fruit was selected from a glass jar. The fruit was brought forward and then promptly pushed towards the surface of sharp points. Red and silver met. Crushed. A sphere was slowly being eaten, until it was only three-fourths of a full moon. The instrument was tapped several times on the counter, then pulled upwards.
A pile of yellow slivers and red ribbons now lay on the counter.
Misaki stared, dumbfounded. "It hurts fruit?"
The man's lips had quivered, and a low rumble had escaped the man's mouth. "That's one way of putting it."
Misaki suddenly recalled his earlier exploration, and ran to the far cupboard, taking out the large container with a black appendage and a lid. "What's this, then?"
"A pot."
"What does it do?"
"Cooks."
"Cooks?"
"Hmm. You put it on a stove," the author motioned towards a black machine next to the fridge. "The surface becomes hot. Food changes texture." Hands gestured towards the dining room. "Once your finished, you put it on a plate. It becomes a dish."
"So by using this, you can create dishes?" He recalled the plates that he had eaten yesterday. Each dish was so marvelously crafted and delicious, that the very thought of duplicating that art form left the boy feeling an intense wave of pleasure.
"Yes."
The boy stared at the author in awe. "Can you teach me?"
The author stared, amused. "Misaki. I don't think that would be a good idea."
Eyebrows furrowed. "Why not?"
The author looked completely serious, staring forlornly at the stove. "Because despite my best intentions, my eggs turn out black."
The boy blinked. Although he couldn't quite understand what the author meant, something about the man's tone indicated that he did not like cooking very much.
The author was thoughtful. "But if I remember correctly, I should have some cookbooks lying around here." The silver-haired man sauntered out of the room and disappeared upstairs. Moments later, he reemerged holding a stack of thick box-like structures. He placed them on a nearby sofa. "After we finish eating, you're free to look at these."
Misaki could scarcely contain his excitement. He stood, his hands itching to touch those bounds.
"Misaki, I have to go out in a few hours. When I'm gone, you may help yourself to any of the leftovers in the fridge. Although," the silver-haired author turned towards the boy. "Do not touch the stove. If you do so, you'll be in danger of hurting yourself."
After eating lunch and working a little on his writing, the author had left the apartment mid-afternoon. When he had left, Misaki had taken those books from the sofa and put them on the dining room table. Taking the first one out, he had flipped to the first page and started to read. Soon, he had been so immersed in learning recipes, that he had forgotten the time.
But that had been earlier this afternoon. Now, the dark skyline showed that it was indeed well into the night. Misaki glanced at the empty apartment, a slow and dull emptiness had slowly crept into his mind. The emptiness spread throughout the rest of his body, but eluded his stomach. For some reason, he wasn't hungry.
There was a ring in the living room.
Misaki glanced up at the noise, moving away from his table. His feet moved towards the coffee table. He reached down to pick up the elliptical shape. "Hello?" He asked, dully.
There was a voice on the other end.
He listened quietly. "What? He's...what?"
The boy widened his eyes.
The burnt egg is a reference to the Super Deluxe Fluffy Omelet scene in the anime! Oh, Akihiko. He tries.
Oh, one more thing. Yeah, I realize this chapter may seem a bit boring (again). I'll try to make the next chapter very exciting. After all, it'll be Misaki's first time away from the apartment.
AMSwafford92 - Haha! I wonder if Akihiko might have been afraid of monsters when he was little...probably not, huh?
darkhuntressxir - Isn't he? Mi-chan, come here! (Gets glared at by Akihiko).
8GreenMoon - I'm glad that you enjoyed my take on the characters. While Akihiko is often portrayed as an insensitive bastard (which he is, sometimes), I wanted to take my time to flesh out his other personality traits.
dirtylittlefreak - Initially, I was thinking along the two extremes. Half of my brain was like, "Let's make Misaki a full robot! No emotions!" The other half was like, "Maybe we could transform him into a human boy at the end?" Anyways, then the last few paragraphs of Ch. 9 kind of wrote themselves, and I was satisfied with my result.
SparklyDragonite - Thank you so much. Your review is so detailed and a pleasure to read.
MickeyandMouse - You liked that paragraph, and I conveyed to you what "pain" was? Yay!