Ano Hito no Jijō (That Person's Circumstances)
by
Saddletank

Chapter Fifty Four – When A Snowball Begins To Roll

14 Days / 6

Hokuei high school quad, early one morning. Students filing in through the gates.

"Arima! Arima!"

He turned.

"Ah, Ryusaki. Ohayo."

"Here."

I pressed the folded sheets into his hand.

"A little gift, a little piece of espionage. Show it to Yukino when you get the chance, I think she'll be interested."

"What is it?"

"Something I managed to twist out of Asapin's sweaty little paws. But don't tell him I gave it to you, and don't tell Yukino where you got it."

He opened the packet of papers. I watched his eyes widen.

"Oh."

"I thought you'd be interested too."

"What?! Doujinshi?"

"Well, it's all still at the planning stage, so I don't know if they intend to do it all."

"Ryusaki. Arigato."

He looked a little perturbed by something. The yaoi manga with him on the cover I expect.

"No problem. Later."

I raised an arm and left.

- - - oOo - - -

That lunchtime, 1-Ds classroom.

"I've thought about it and I think maybe I'll do the play after all."

It turned.

The snowball, sitting on a slope was pulled by gravity and made it's first turn.

It moved.

Yukino's decision was the first pull.

"Uh?" Maho grunted, shocked to the core.

"Really? You'll do it?" Aya's response, bright and amazed was almost the opposite of Maho's.

"Yeah," Yukino seemed to be taking the final mental step right now as she spoke, "I thought about it and I decided to do it since it was bothering me anyway."

I sat watching Maho. She'd got out of her seat and was edging towards the door. I caught her eye and shook my head. Running never works, I mouthed at her, not from Yukino.

Aya was now excited, her face beamed. Lit up like that she actually had a certain cuteness about her. I'd never say she was pretty, but grinning and lively she had a certain something going on there.

"Oh yeah! You've really made my day!"

"And I'm going to debut as an actress!" Yukino, in her childish way, was pleased too.

As for me, I just wasn't sure. Acting. On a stage. In front of dozens of people. Not my scene at all as you know. Well, no, I'm not being honest. I was sure. Sure I didn't want to do it, but equally I was sure that once Yukino decided she did want to do it, it would be pointless for me to argue, so I went with the flow. No way could a mental weakling like me stand up to her once she'd made her mind up over something like this.

So I stayed quiet.

Maho didn't.

"I am not doing something like those cheesy comic book high school dramas."

The old Maho had entered the building. She stood there, arms folded. I watched her, and dead on cue she leaned back against a desk and crossed her ankles too. Then I noticed that even though it was early September and still hot, she'd begun wearing the black winter uniform thigh socks again.

Hm, maybe she had a thing about that. They were kind of like stockings after all.

I mentally filed that one away for later discussion with her.

Wearing that look, that defiant angry frown, striking that pose – I loved her.

Yukino went to her and with a wide demonic grin splitting her face, and looking thoroughly evil and bossy she said, "Maho-chan!" and in a friendly way let a hand fall heavily on her victim's shoulder.

"No!" her prey stubbornly looked away.

"You thought that script was good too though, didn't you? The characters are based on the four of us to begin with, so each of our roles was made for that person. All things considered, Aya's done a good job of observing us, you know? Ever since I read it the Doctor keeps talking to me in my head. That means the character is beginning to grow inside me right? Isn't that amazing? I've always been able to complete tasks that were given to me but I've never created something of my own, so I'm really looking forward to this. Come on, Mahorin, let's do it together. If you're with me, I'd feel better…"

Mahorin? Cute. Hm, I liked that.

"Look at my lips Yukino. I. Am. Not. Doing. It," the beautiful black-haired girl remained stubbornly closed up.

God I loved her like this, when she acted tough, she made my legs turn to water.

"What the hell?" Yukino was getting excited now, "I'm saying let's do it! So, dammit, you damn well better do it!"

"Piss off!"

"Urgh!" Yukino put an arm round her shoulders, holding her close and thudded her fist into Maho's gut. Maho folded over in pain.

Yukino's voice came quieter, calmer but even more sinister.

"Look, my darling, you're the one who organized the class to give me the silent treatment. You can stage manage with the best if them. I always act happy but ever since then, I've been afraid of people, like a kind of paranoia."

"Oh, come on with that crap. That's complete crap you're talking and you know it. Your personality's damaged Yukino, but it was warped and twisted long before I met you."

"Ooh, that's cheap! Emotional scars never do disappear, you know."

"So you think giving me some is the way to win my heart?"

Yukino put her face close and that twisted black look came back. She'd only need a black cloak and a Phantom of the Opera mask to make the evil impression complete.

"If necessary… yes. Now, do it. Or suffer…"

"Damn you, you're sick."

"All right!" Yukino shouted in victory, "Maho says, she'll do it!"

"I know this is something I'll regret, this play is gonna suck, school plays always do. I don't do uncool."

"Me neither. So with me here, it won't be."

Yukino turned to me.

"And now," that evil grin returned, like some Nazi interrogator she leaned threateningly over my desk, "Pretty little Kanahrin. Kawaii little sweetie pie Kanahrin. You'll do the play won't you?"

Her treacly smile dripped over me.

"Sure I'll do it," I smiled easily, like some kid at a carnival being offered a free ride.

For you Yukino, anything.

Just don't kill me.

Maho stared thunderclouds at me.

"Traitor!"

"The end result was never in doubt," I retorted, "Why suffer humiliation and defeat on the way?"

"Because putting up a fight is the whole point, baka! Roll over and take the position of submission if you want, I'm a fighter by nature." She pointed a finger accusingly at me, "I'll remember this next time you need something from me."

Ooh, a wicked tingle went down my spine. I'll look forward to that.

- - - oOo - - -

Yukino came back to the classroom fifteen minutes later. She looked gloomy.

"I spoke to the student council president, he said we can't put the play on."

"Oh," Aya and Rika looked downcast.

"Oh dear, what a shame," Maho so looked like she meant it.

"They said we'd need too much stage time, we'd left it late to organize it and that we weren't a formal club and that we were amateurs."

"Amateurs?"

I looked at Maho. That had hit a nerve.

"Who says I'm an amateur?"

"But I guess it is too sudden after all." Aya was saying.

Yukino looked at Maho.

"Dammit! No! Leave it to me! Negotiations of this sort are my speciality. I'll make it happen somehow."

"Ooh, promising!" Rika gushed.

"Amateurs?" Maho was still shaking her head, "But even so, it's the timing of it. They said it's not possible, if there's no stage time, so why don't you just give up? I'm still no big fan of this, I'm not doing anything for it. All I'll do is say my lines and that's it. Got it?"

"Oh, scary, the old sassy Maho is back. Nice to have you along. I'm already fighting the whole student council, so I'll happily fight you too."

"Yeah, sexy tough Maho is back," I said, half fantasizing.

"You can shut your trap as well," she glowered at me.

It was a good thing I was sitting. My legs would have buckled under that fiery gaze anyway.

- - - oOo - - -

At the end of lunch we had another study period. Study periods were unofficially allowed to convert to culture fest planning sessions now, so after the formalities of the teacher registering us back in school for the afternoon, we gathered back in 1-Ds homeroom again.

Yukino threw the papers on the desk.

"What's that?" Maho asked.

"Take a look. Have a good look," Yukino went to the window and arms folded, stared at the sky.

I knew what it was.

Maho picked it up. Aya and Rika looked over her shoulder. For the sake of appearances I did too.

"Oh!" Rika squeaked.

"Wow!" said Aya.

"Bastard!" Maho cursed.

"Yaoi manga?" I feigned surprise.

"Where?" Rika asked.

"Not for you," Aya said.

"Hm. Mitchy. Takarazuka. What? Julie?" Maho looked at the costume sketches that Asaba would be wearing at his dinner show, "Baka! This is serious stuff."

"Isn't it?" Yukino said from the window.

"Even if it is all cross dressing, vaudeville type stuff. Damn, this is gonna be one weird show," Maho seemed strangely flustered by the fact that Asapin was dressing up in the style of infamous Japanese transvestite showgirls.

Even I thought it a little creepy. I mean how well did he know those Shinjuku lingerie departments? And more worryingly - why?

"Look at all this…" Aya sounded like she was spacing out. I'd seen it all already. There was a lot to take in. And if they pulled off even half of this, beating this show would be a tough call.

Fukada, class 1-Fs rep, certainly knew his stuff. I wondered if he was into media studies or something, or maybe marketing. He was good. The tie-ins with the dinner show were all geared up for one purpose – to make money: note books, pencil boxes, pen holders, telephone cards, coffee mugs, mobile phone straps, watches, ball point pens, laminated gift cards, posters, handkerchiefs, mascot dolls, lockable diaries, 1/6th scale figures, art books, poetry books, manga and doujinshi, the Asapin Official Guide (whatever the hell that was), an Asapin strip calendar "Twelve months: twelve items of clothing, countdown to your perfect Asaba Christmas!" the tag-line screamed.

Whoa, was the collective opinion.

"No way," Maho grumbled, "this has got to be a joke. 1/6th scale PVC figures? Nude calendars? How is a high school class going to produce those? This is a wind up, it has to be."

She turned away in disgust.

But real or not it showed serious commitment and the printed material, the manga the art books and the posters and so on were all practicable.

Nude calendars eh? I might buy one myself.

"But at least I got something helpful out of Arima when I saw him just now."

"Oh yes?" Aya turned to Yukino who'd faced the room again.

"He said we need sponsorship from a teacher, that'll get us funding and resources we'd otherwise never get, and maybe we'd get some rehearsal space and storage space for our sets."

"I can't think of who we can approach."

"Our form master and year master of course, if he can't help he'll know someone who can. Who's coming?"

"What? Now?"

"Yes, of course now, why waste time?"

Rolling a little quicker now.

None of us wanted to miss this, we were all coming.

Except Tsubasa, she stayed and stared at the view.

And Izawa I'll just speak my lines Maho of course. She actually got a chemistry book out and worked. In culture fest preparation fortnight. Was she feeling alright?

- - - oOo - - -

Seven minutes later. In the office of the year-master.

"What do you think, Kawashima-sensei?"

The teacher didn't answer for a minute. He continued to study the A4 pad in his hands, flipping pages.

"Hm. So, Miyazawa, you say Sawada wrote this?" the rather dry and stern year-master pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to Aya, "My field is mathematics and I'm not very knowledgeable about literature but this is a great surprise." He waggled the script, "I had no idea you had such talent."

"No, I just jotted down the stuff that came to mind so it'd look good. It's just a farce really."

"No way!" interjected Yukino, "It's a piece Sawada-san wrote from the heart that addresses the issues that concern her."

It is? I thought. Steady on Yukinon. I thought it was a sci-fi story.

"And you want to perform this at the culture fest? I think that's excellent. This is the kind of material that's worthy of a culture fest. In the past we had more performing arts but since the school drama club shut down a couple of years back most students are happy to just run stalls that are no more than shops, cafes or similar entertainments. But this. This is the real thing. The school should support this sort of endeavour. I will submit a recommendation for you."

"Arigato gozaimasu." Yukino actually gave the sensei a small bow. We three followed suit, "And about the procedures for actually getting the play onto the stage. We don't really know what we need to do, so would you be able to tell us?"

"It would probably be best to get a teacher to sponsor you. Since you have a great piece here you should be able to get them to treat you as a temporary club which will make you eligible for funding."

"Oh," chirped up Rika, "then we'd better find a teacher to sponsor us."

"But who?" Aya asked.

Kawashima-sensei coughed.

"We should probably try to get a Japanese language teacher."

Yukino always took the positive line, was always on the attack.

"Do you guys in 1-D know any well?" I asked.

Kawashima-sensei coughed again. I looked at him. He looked at me. Thicko that I am, I didn't get it.

"Not really," Rika tapped a finger to her lips.

"And we definitely want someone with a voice on the student council," Yukino ticked off another point.

Kawashima-sensei coughed a third time, louder. Loud enough for us to shut up and wonder if he was coming down with something.

"Well, I did a little theatre back in my school days," he said.

"Pardon?" four girls politely checked their hearing.

He looked at us then tilted his head down and looked again over his glasses, like a friendly and slightly mad old professor.

"That is, if you'll have me."

Gathering speed… taking on a momentum of its own…

We would have him. We'd have him very much. He was perfect to have. He was one of the more influential and senior teachers in school. I looked at Yukino and saw on her face the same thoughts as must be lighting up mine.

Funding. Influence, Resources raining down on us like manna from heaven. Doors standing invitingly open, Kawashima-sensei angel-like smiling benevolently as he held them wide. Other groups looking on at us with envy and not a little loathing.

"Oh, yes!" four girls chorused with delight.

- - - oOo - - -

"Yay! We were so lucky to get Kawashima-sensei to sponsor us. After all he's the year-master and the faculty class advisor! Power! He's got power!" Yukino rubbed her hands in glee and almost skipped back to 1-Ds room, "Just leave this to me," she sang, "I'll use this to grab loads of funding for us."

"We're lucky to have you on our side," Aya sounded awed.

"Hm," I was thoughtful, "At times you can be a crazy annoying tyrant Yukinon, but there's no denying you're a useful person to know."

"And don't you forget it," she poked a finger in my face.

"Humble too, that's nice in a person."

"I always thought Kawashima-sensei was a lot scarier," Rika said, "Now that we've talked to him, he's really nice isn't he?"

"I fought him once. And won."

"You did?"

We all looked at Yukino.

"Hm, that time he called Arima and I into the student discipline room because our grades had fallen at the Kimatsu test at the end of June. He and I had a big row…"

"You argued with him?" Rika sounded incredulous.

"And he eventually saw things from my point of view."

"Whoa, are you taking his job next?"

We chuckled at Aya.

Then we looked at Yukino. She was thoughtful, arms folded, a finger to her lips.

"Hm," she struck a studious pose and considered the option.

And that just made us laugh more.

- - - oOo - - -

The next day. The snowball was rolling nicely now. Bouncing down the hill. More snow stuck to it.

Yukino went (no, ran) over to the student council office at ten minutes to three with our formal application in her hand. Culture fest event applications, fully signed off with a formal proposal and sponsoring teacher's signature had to be in by three. Yukino had to not only draft the application and get it signed and countersigned, she'd also made a special application to form a club. Only recognized clubs and whole classes could propose events, otherwise it would have been anarchy with groups of friends putting on dozens of small displays each one puny and all a drain on the limited resources. She made it with four minutes to spare.

We were official.

The following morning the notice boards carried the final list of culture fest proposed events. I stood looking at the list. My name was on it.

"Drama Club. Play: 'Steel Snow'. Club members: Miyazawa Yukino, Izawa Maho, Ryusaki Sakana, Shibahime Tsubasa, Sawada Aya, Sena Rika. Event Sponsor: Kawashima Hayao. Seconded: Enomoto Y. (head master)."

My name. Not quite up in lights, but close. And Kawashima-sensei had got the club approval countersigned by Enomoto kouchou-sensei. Top man in the school. The Boss, we called him. He literally owned us. We hardly ever saw him except at official assemblies when important notices were made.

Oh, my word, the headmaster himself.

Lots more snow, good quality snow, moist and sticky. The ball was heavy now. And faster. Almost unstoppable.

That was it, there was no turning back now. We'd made our bed, it was time to lie in it.

My God. I was going to stand on a stage. In a spotlight. And speak in front of people. I could feel the fear creeping up my spine already.

"So," a gentle, deep, soft voice was at my shoulder, "now we're in trouble. Are you looking forward to it?"

I turned to the girl who was the centre of my world.

"No, Maho. I think I'm going to wet myself with nerves."

She looked at me, one eyebrow went deliciously up.

"Oh, dear. And we've not even begun rehearsing yet."

She put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"We'll keep an eye on you. Me and Yukino. But mostly Yukino. I still can't work out what the hell I'm doing here, but at least I'm confident of learning my lines."

"I'm not."

"You will be. The alternative - failure before Yukino the Slayer is not an option."

The not was emphasized with a harder squeeze.

The idea of suffering at Yukino's hands in the way Tsubasa had suffered, and Maho herself had been defeated didn't fill me with comfort and hope but at least I knew the best possible person was right behind me.

Something like the political commissars in the Russian army in the second world war. If the soldiers turned and ran away, the commissars shot them.

Incentive, yeah, it's good to have incentive.

- - - oOo - - -

A synopsis of the play was deposited with the festival council so that people could read it if they needed to. There were various official reasons for this, allocation of funding and resources and room or floor space being a few.

But curiosity came into it too and many students read it and picked up on the gist of the play's plot. Suddenly people were hanging around us asking questions and acting all fangirly, and of course, fanboy-y. Yukino was used to this, Maho too to some degree I assumed, although I saw her at her desk once, in traditional pose with chin on elbow looking hacked off. Around her, a veritable Maryland Project cast gushed and coo-ed at her.

"Maho-san's going to play a robot!"

"No, a man!"

"A man? Ooh, she'll look so cool!"

"You'll make such a handsome man, Maho-san!"

Tsubasa too was chased and hassled but she just bit and scratched at her tormentors and they kept their distance.

But me?

Most people went,

"Who?"

"Ryusaki? The swimmer?"

"In a play? She can't open her mouth in class without fainting with nerves!"

"Sakana-chan, are you in this play of Sawada-san's?"

"It seems so, yes."

"Wow. Have you got your sick-bag ready?"

Hm. Arigato guys. That's the kind of support I need.

- - - oOo - - -

I was with Yukino the next day, the last day of that week. We had only a week and a day to do this. I had little faith, this was impossible.

"Kanahrin, you forget who you're in this with. Miyazawa will get us through this, don't doubt it for a moment. This is pressure! Pressure! Ridiculous deadlines! Hard work! Damn, I love it!"

We were on our way at lunchtime to our usual planning bunker, the resources room. The others were already there. Aya, Rika and Tsubaki chatting at a desk. Tsubasa and Maho sat off to one side, each alone, uninvolved.

Miyazawa sat with the other three. She took charge.

"Let's think about the whole breakdown of tasks."

"Hm. What kind of tasks do you have to assign?" Aya asked her.

"Costumes are Rika," Yukino made a note on a pad, "Then we have sets, props, sound, lights, hair and makeup… hm… dressing rooms, finding a place to perform the damn thing… This is going to be hard for us to do by ourselves. I guess we need stagehands."

"And it doesn't look like we can expect any help from Maho and Tsubasa," I said glumly.

"Then I'll ask some of the girls in the volleyball club who have free time," Tsubaki broke in, "There's a lot of them, and they're strong."

"Really?" Aya sounded pleased.

"Arigato," Yukino looked up at Tsubaki, standing over us, "You're always there for us."

"I am?" the slim girl seemed puzzled by this, as if Yukino was complimenting her because she'd soon want something in return, "Uh, don't mention it."

"For props can we just bring whatever we need from home?"

"If it's of suitable style, yes," said Aya, "remember the context of the far future. I'll go through the script again and write out a list of what we need. There's food dispensers, a tea service, plates and so on. And computers and things. We need a big video screen.

"And I want to think hard about what music to play, and its timing is important. I really want to focus on that," Aya was really getting into this.

"Sounds good. It's starting to work," Yukino added.

"Konnichiwa..." a dreamy voice spoke from the doorway.

"Huh?" we looked around.

He slid in, smoothly and slimily like a snake, and came to the desk. He leaned over Yukino, right into her personal space, his face beside hers, almost on her shoulder. She didn't flinch back an inch.

"And what is this group of beautiful maidens sitting around discussing, hm?"

"Asapin!" Yukino shot him a black look.

"You know, ladies, if you have a problem, anything at all, just let me know. I'll solve it for you, no matter what it is."

"Ah, no! Get off!" Yukino picked up her planning pad protectively, "Don't ooze your pheromones all over us, you'll make a mess!"

"Heh, heh, heh, heh," he chuckled like treacle, "Miyazawa, you're such an ingénue."

"Get out of here. Just go and prepare for your dinner show or something."

"My classmates are doing all that work for me. So I have nothing to do but spend these lovely hazy days of summer with you delightful creatures."

Tsubaki stood behind him, she folded her arms and an elbow poked him in the side.

"Sorry," she spat, obviously not.

"Oh, so you're preparing for your play? How sweet. Will you remember your lines? Kanahrin, do you think you'll be puking by the first act or the second? And you'll need stage sets too though, huh? Such a lot of work. But if that's the case I can help you there too, you know."

"Eh? You, Asapin?"

"Oh, yes," he didn't once drop the creamy, luscious voice and the posturing, "You're looking at the man who had all straight tens in art. You want some drawings doing, or paintings, or set design? I'm your man. As I am in all things."

He winked at me. I blanked him.

"Oh," Rika spoke, happy and bright as always, "I've seen Asaba-kun's sketches before. They're really good. He's got a good eye. Individual style."

Asaba turned slowly to her and gave her a big grin and a double thumbs up. She smiled prettily and he patted her head.

"Welcome back to the fold my little lamb. You've been away far too long, I've missed y... Ay!"

Tsubaki had whacked him.

"Hands off!" she grimaced.

"Okay then," said Yukino.

He sat down, made room for himself, "So, how are we going to do this?"

"Hey, don't suddenly come in here and just take over!"

"Urgh," Tsubaki groaned, "Are we turning more and more into a messed up group or what?"

"Hm, Asapin," I observed, "All you really wanted was to be in with us cute girls, right?"

"And mess up our plans so your dinner show will win," Aya added.

"Oh, I don't need to mess your plans up for my dinner show to win…"

"Asapin! Will you just shut up with that dinner show crap." Yukino shot him the Look of Doom.

"…but while I'm here," he continued smoothly, "this is the cutest planning group I know of."

We laughed. He always laid it on thick but he was harmless enough. And if nothing else he'd make a nice ornament to our group.

There was a presence.

I looked around.

He was in the doorway.

I frowned.

How long had he been standing there, I wondered.

He wasn't looking at us but seemed to be staring blankly out through the windows and off into the sunshine.

That look… it wasn't Pale Arima certainly, yet it wasn't Dark Arima either. It had tones of darkness about it but I couldn't place that face. I'd seen it before somewhere, recently.

Damn, I hate it when that happens.

It digs at you and gnaws at you and won't leave you alone.

That look, it was familiar.

"Arima?"

I muttered under my breath, as though unsure if it was even him behind that strange face.

He caught me looking and the face vanished to be replaced instantly by another. Light and happy and open.

"Miyazawa!" this new happy face said.

She turned.

"Arima!" a call of delight and joy. That call of loving recognition and welcome would make a corpse take heart.

He came in.

"Here are the printouts you wanted," he laid a slim sheaf of papers on the desk, "Hideaki, what are you doing here?"

"Guess what," the Casanova replied, a little cockily, "I'm helping out with the play planning. Helping Miyazawa and her lambs. Friends! Friends…" he quickly corrected.

"Hm, lucky you. I wish I could try stuff like that."

My heart missed a beat. There was no emotion in his voice at all, not one scrap. Yet that simple throw away comment that could have sounded chatty and friendly if he'd accompanied it with a smile, sounded like a prison sentence the way he said it. He sounded like a man doomed to a life of lonliness by an incurable shyness.

I went dark inside.

Why?

Why would Arima say a thing like that? That way?

And what had been in his mind when he'd been watching us from the doorway?

And how long had he been there, just looking. And listening?

Asaba stood up and put his arms round his neck and went all gay and clingy on him.

He'd not seen that different person, or if he had he was hiding any reaction.

"Oh, yes?" Asapin said, "You wish you could join in with these gorgeous beautiful girls?"

"I am not you," came the reply, delivered again without humour.

"You've already been a great help by sharing your ideas with us."

I glanced down at Yukino. She was smiling. The Big Happy Kitten was back.

Had she seen it? Surely she must have?

And then it hit me.

Maho!

That was it!

Maho's face!

That morning at Yukino's house.

When I'd gone home early with Tsubasa, the morning after she'd run away.

Maho then had worn that look.

It was a look of helplessness and hopelessness.

The same expression.

She'd worn it and I didn't know why.

And now Arima had worn it and I didn't know why either.

Why would Arima, with a love in his life as strong as Yukino's, go around with that emotion eating at his insides?

- - - oOo - - -

It was later, the last fifteen minutes of lunch. I needed some fresh air and some space.

I did what I often do, I went up to the roof. I turned out of the stairwell and sat with my back to it's cool shady side.

I crossed my legs, folding my ankles under my thighs, tucked my skirt sensibly down to cover everything and rested my head back on the smooth cool concrete.

Ah.

Bliss.

I watched the clouds for a few minutes as they sailed serenely above me like airships.

I became aware of another person on the roof.

A boy. Right at the far end by the railings.

I studied him.

I knew who it was.

He was sitting knees drawn up, hunched over, reading a book that he held in front of his shins, arms resting around his knees.

A large cloud came over and painted the concrete darker. The darkness covered the boy.

He didn't move.

I didn't stop watching him.

Someone else came onto the roof. Another boy, tall, slim, light brown hair to below his collar bleached almost blonde by the sun. He wore his slacks loose and sloppy, a baggy shapeless white tee shirt and scuffed trainers. Hands in pockets he made his unhurried hippy-like way across the roof towards the first boy. He was wearing headphones and the tinny sound of them was the only noise up here.

As he walked the cloud passed, the shadow of it's trailing edge flew over the roof behind the walking boy, as though he were dragging the sunshine behind him like a gift he was about to give.

It was a strong image and it touched me.

He switched off the music.

He stood over the sitting boy.

"Hey there. You okay?"

The sunshine came over them both. Warmth and light replaced cold and dark. The second boy's arrival swept it away.

I blinked. Aya should be here. She could use that symbol in one of her stories.

The standing boy got no response.

Then something happened that surprised me, it even shocked me. Mostly because I didn't understand it.

The second boy sat down, his back to the first. He swallowed from a can of drink and put it down next to himself. He drew his knees up and leaned back a little but said nothing.

The first boy riffled through his book, clearly not interested in it, and let it fall.

Then he leaned back, leaned against Asaba and lay his head back on the taller boy's shoulder.

Arima closed his eyes and rested there against his friend.

Suddenly my heart was up in my throat and tears stung my eyes.

I don't know why and I don't understand the connection these two have but something intensely sad struck me about this scene.

It was as though – well, had Arima been a girl, I think Asapin might have loved him. Would have loved him. Maybe in Arima he saw his perfect friend. His soul mate. The girl he was searching for. They were so different and I know Asapin had said Arima reminded him of his own father.

Maybe that was it, despite the deep ruptures in his family he still loved them, loved his father and in loving Arima he was finding healing. I wondered how deep this friendship went, how loving it was.

Be clear on this, be quite clear, I wasn't thinking gay stuff at all, not one bit of it, but the gentle connection I witnessed on that roof that day seemed to speak more to me than any number of words Asapin had said to me about Arima.

That face, that helpless hopeless face Arima had worn.

What caused it?

And did he find comfort here with his friend?

Why didn't he find comfort in the arms of his lover?

Or was a lover's comfort the wrong medicine for whatever this sickness was?

I thought of Maho's face too, and wondered if there was a parallel.

If there was I couldn't see it.

Her situation, what I knew of it, had no parallel to Arima's and Yukino's that I could see.

She was happily in love with her boyfriend and while her parents were causing trouble it would all work out in the end.

Wouldn't it?

As the bell rang the two boys got up.

I stayed where I was, in shadow. They'd possibly see me but they might not. They definitely would if I moved to the stairs so I stayed still.

They walked slowly and side by side to the stairwell enclosure. As they neared the door Asapin dropped back a pace to let his friend go first.

He looked up and saw me watching them.

He said nothing, his face made no expression.

He put a hand on Arima's back below his shoulder as though to both guide him and let him know he was there. As though to support him.

They went down.

I sat a minute longer, giving them time to go.

Then I followed.

A rather puzzled and confused and concerned Ryusaki followed.

I felt like I'd witnessed another snowball.

It too was rolling, gathering size and momentum and might soon, if it's course remained unchecked, become dangerous, unstoppable without someone getting hurt.

I needed to speak to Yukino.

- - - oOo - - -

12 – 13 July 2007

For author notes about Chapter Fifty Four, please see my forum (click on my pen name).