Disclaimer: I do not own The Girl Who Leapt Through Time. I think I'll just stick to admiring it.

x: twenty-eight

Bedroom Monster

There was sudden lurch, nearly forcing Makoto off and over the precipice of her mattress. She spluttered audibly, and reflexively clutched her arms around the pillow. She jerked a glance over the slope of her shoulder, dark pupils dilated. "Chiaki, what are you doing?" she yelped, throwing the covers off, sitting up and pinning him with an accusatory look.

Chiaki blinked at the ceiling, appearing slightly disoriented. The tank top that he'd gone to bed with rode up on his abdomen, exposing far more skin than Makoto was used to. Registering her large oval, unguarded eyes, he sheepishly pulled it down in order to preserve a semblance of modesty and sat up. "Morning, Makoto."

At his flippant remark, Makoto appeared to recover her wits. She narrowed her eyes. "What was that?"

"What? What was what?" he countered artfully, scooting off the bottom end of the bed. He ambled off toward the door, yawning urbanely as he went.

"What was that—" Makoto's words froze on her lips. Her whole body shuddered, memorized the feel of familiar, phantom fingers tracing the freckle on the back of her gave a jagged gasp and pulled up her unflatteringly baggy sleeping shirt, staring down the length of her straightened spine to stare at the brown fleck marring otherwise unblemished skin. Chiaki theatrically raised a brow at her in concern. She returned her eyes to him, eyes lidded and suspicious.

"What's wrong?" he queried, rubbing the back of his neck with a wry frown, something he only did when incontestably guilty of something. Something bad.

Makoto's slim arm shot out. "What's that?"

Chiaki's olive eyes darted to his wrist, and, in a spectacular show of giving himself away, yanked it down to his side. Makoto leapt out of bed, practically ramming him into the wall. She wrenched his wrist away from him, staring at the imprint of numbers on the skin. Her eyes rounded, almost comically, Chiaki thought, if he weren't about to be skewered.

"What did you do?" Makoto squeaked, eyes aimed at the digits a nail's breadth from her stilled thumb.

"Nothing."

"It's one number less than yesterday!" ululated Makoto. She pierced him with a potentially withering glare. "What happened?"

"What are you talking about? Nothing, Makoto, nothing!" he claimed, hands raised in submission.

"What don't you want me to remember?" Makoto growled, shaking him, to no avail. "What did you do to me?"

Chiaki abruptly laughed, catching Makoto completely off-guard. He lowered his face to whisper in her ears. "We can do it again if you really want to." She jolted back from him as if electrocuted; the tender, wraith-like hand ghosting over her skin again.

She didn't like this. Not one bit. Especially not accompanying that hooded look in his eyes. "D-do what?' she stammered with spitfire eyes.

He chuckled. She pointed at the exit. "That is the first and last time I share my bed with you, Chiaki. Starting tomorrow, you're getting your own apartment."

"Wait—what?" he faltered; he saw the set determination engraved on her face. "Oh, c'mon, Makoto. It was just a huge joke."

"Care to tell me what's with the time-leap you used between yesterday and today, then?" she bargained.

Chiaki folded his hands behind his head, basking in a secret pleasure. "I don't really feel like telling."


A/N: I'll leave you to guess what this is all about. This was way better in my head. I, ugggh, I butchered their characters. Kill me now.

Yes, I'm back briefly! Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I wish I had more time to respond to them all. Until next time, have a renewing day.