A/N: It just occurred to me that I should warn you all ahead of time: Chapter 13 is the last full TPS chapter written. But I guess it could count as a mid-season finale? And since I have one less class to worry about (as of tomorrow), plus it's NaNoWriMo, maybe I can make some progress on TPS as well as HC? We'll see how the semester works out.

In the meantime, enjoy chapter 12!

[Chapter 12]: Emboldened by the Boldest

Ayato didn't expect the days to follow to be too different.

People came in and out of his store, browsing and replacing and oohing and ahhing. Few were younger than twenty-five, save for Masuda. He imagined his classmates would rather be at the pool or the beach for hours upon hours. Yuri had been right to call Ami's bluff. Ayato wasn't going to put an unwelcome visit from the trio behind them just yet, but if he were the beach type, this week would be the week that any normal teenager his age would want to go. It would probably be perfect on Yuri's birthday, which was coming up fast.

Right now, it was after three and there was a lull, so he was in the back doing the usual maintenance. He preferred to wedge clay when it was just him there. Whenever he tried to do it in front of Kimito, he wouldn't be doing it fast enough ("Your mother can knead dough better than this!") and he'd get pushed out of the way. Then he'd stand a few feet behind him, rubbing his arm like an idiot, while Kimito pummeled the clay himself. Needless to say, it wasn't very comfortable to watch. When Ayato did it himself, it made him feel like he was getting stronger.

He laughed to himself as he positioned his palms right and pressed down with most of his weight. Maybe this was where he got his supposed "pottery muscles."

The thought, once losing its charm, made him miss Yuri a little bit. He gave the clay a few more aggressive massages and stored it away in a bag and container on top of the counter. Then his attention dropped to the cabinets below. He was hiding something he'd been working on just in case… well… in case there was a reason to hope. In case he didn't have to wait until September, or at least one Nakamura dropped in. But the more he had time to dwell on it, the more he doubted the Nakamuras would drop by the shop to pick something up for Yuri instead of spending every waking minute with her. That was why they were home for most of this month, instead of having work stand between them. They cared about her, so they would be with her.

Still, while he was wiping clay residue off the counters, some part of him was expecting her to walk through the front door any moment…

The bell jingled. Ayato tripped over his own feet and then the stool, kicked it angrily in retaliation, and skidded quickly down the hall into the front room.

"Welcome to the store," he said as cordially as he could, trying to veil his disappointment that the girl standing near the doorway was very clearly not Yuri Nakamura.

There were similarities, though. While her hair was waist-length and more brown than red, she had the same build and height, though maybe a little bit more… leggy. She had a cooler look to her, but she seemed friendly enough.

"I've seen you around," she said decisively, narrowing her blue eyes at him in scrutiny. "You go to my high school, don't you?"

"The only one in Akuma, yes." Oh great, was that sass? He hoped she wouldn't report that. Quickly, he covered it up with what passed for a smile. "How can I help you?"

She rolled her eyes. "My little sister wants to be a gymnast like me, and one little stunt in the house broke Mom's favorite vase. Then she let me take the fall for it. So I need to buy a replacement with my own allowance."

He directed her to some vases that mothers tended to flock to, conveniently close to the front counter so he could wipe it down while she was browsing. As she mulled thoughtfully over two particularly ornate ones, he had a thought that was almost conversational. "Why was your little sister doing gymnastics inside during the summer?"

Laughing, she poked her head up. "I could say the same thing about you! It's summer break. On a day like this, you should be at the beach enjoying it. Not stuck inside, working."

"That's not really up to me," Ayato responded, keeping his tone even.

"Who's it up to, then?"

"The man who runs this store." He wondered if he might strike some fear into this girl's heart. "Kimito Naoi. My father."

She did pause, bowing her head slightly like she was deep in thought. Then, another chuckle, this one rather dry.

"Yeah, I get it," she said. "Family first, right? That's how it always is. You don't want to let your family down, even if it's putting a lot on your shoulders." Standing up, she still kept her eyes on the vases, but she shook her head. "Y'know… if he cared about you, he'd let you have friends. He'd let you be free."

If he cared about me, Ayato chose to shut down a scoff. Right.

She picked up a medium-sized vase and brought it to the counter. "You know what I think?" she said, her eyes boring into his. He figured she was about to tell him anyway. "I think nothing's worth your freedom. Not even family or love. It's not worth it when it costs you your happiness, or your freedom, or pretty much your whole life."

Well, what a speech! Why don't you just wait right here while I go home and tell Kimito I quit? It'll be a piece of cake. Just have a medical kit ready, yeah?

Ayato bit those things back too. He wondered if Kimito's "the customer is always right" mindset counted when he was being fed boatloads of what his father would call sentimental propaganda.

Then a thought hit him. "Oh, no," he said, groaning despite his best efforts. "Are you one of Ami's friends? Did she send you to spy on me?"

She looked surprised.

"I'm Chitose Hisakawa, if you really don't know me." She traced a design on the vase, which he was now getting a better look at. Her fingers were grazing the outline of a fish, an elaborate and monstrous illustration aptly painted by his father. This girl Hisakawa had an odd aesthetic taste.

"Ayato Naoi," he said, while ringing up her purchase. "It's nice to meet you."

"Hey, I hope I don't seem too pushy to you. I think I went off on a bit of a rant there," Hisakawa added as an afterthought. Crossing her arms, she stared off to the side. "It's just, I've been thinking of someone lately, and… I don't know, it's put me in a bad mood." She laughed, then. "I guess we both have our reasons for not going to the beach today."

"I do have my reasons for going too," he said honestly. "My friend's birthday is on the 27th, and, well, Yuri's the last person I want to disappoint." Tied with his father, admittedly, but for different reasons.

Hisakawa hesitated, then met his eyes again with curiosity. "Yuri Nakamura?"

"That's right. Do you know her?"

"Yeah. We used to do gymnastics together until she dropped out." There was a pause, then she shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Well, I've got a distraught mother to appease and a sister to bully. Have a nice day, Naoi."

He straightened up as she headed out the door with her gift. "Thank you, please come again!"

Hisakawa paused at the entrance. "You need to get out of this place. You sound like a video game character." More tinkling laughter, but it died off after a second. "Her favorite color is purple, if that means anything to you."

She glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Tell Yuri I said…" She looked conflicted for a second, her features contorting like she was having a hard time swallowing down a pill. Then, after a weary sigh: "Oh, hell, don't tell her I said anything. I was never here."

She whipped around and shut the door behind her with such energy that the bell jingled twice.

Ayato frowned. He wasn't sure when he started getting this popular and social. At least it hadn't been one of the troublesome trio – but Hisakawa was even stranger than them in a more mysterious sort of way.

He decided not to say anything about Hisakawa for the time being. He also decided not to say to her that while purple was still a long-lasting favorite, Yuri liked green now. He didn't say a word. Instead, he marched down the hall to the back room and got out his hidden treasure and some green paint.

As unrealistic as dreamers could be, sometimes they were inspiring.

Come mid-afternoon, it had to be stored away. Kimito came in and started inspecting the back room like he was determined to find a spot Ayato had missed while cleaning. He came up with little to nothing; Ayato mentally celebrated his triumph and Kimito had nothing to say on the matter. He merely got out the clay and told Ayato to get to work on cleaning the sink so the drains wouldn't get clogged. When that was done and his hands were covered with slimy clay residue, Kimito sniffed in disgust and told him to go wash up.

Then he swept the floor in the front room, wiped the shelves, and did the dusting. It was a double win for Kimito. Ayato wouldn't be sitting around being lazy, and the filth and fingerprints customers (and Ayato) brought inside with them would be scrubbed into oblivion.

After putting the duster back in its place in the back room, Ayato cleared his throat. "I'm done. What's next?"

Kimito was throwing the wedged clay on the wheel they kept here. His focus didn't waver, but his shoulders hunched. "Done with everything? Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir." Ayato tried not to scowl too visibly. This part was such a waste of time.

"The floor is swept?"

"Yes, sir."

"Every shelf wiped?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I go in there myself, I won't see a speck of dust?"

How good is your eyesight? As ancient as Kimito was, it should be failing by now. Ayato pursed his lips and considered his words for a millisecond. Kimito had a habit of switching his sentence structure to test Ayato and make sure he was listening to him, not saying "Yes sir" like a robot and tuning him out. He also had a habit of smacking Ayato upside the head when he was caught, so he would stop sounding like a broken record.

"Not a one, sir," he answered.

Kimito harrumphed like he didn't believe it, but kept throwing the clay as he spun the wheel. It was taking form quickly, an immediate sturdiness that was beyond Ayato's abilities just yet. A sturdiness he felt he could get closer to by the end of the summer, though. Or the year, more realistically.

"Handle the recycling next, then."

Ayato nodded and entered a side room, where they kept buckets of slip and scraps and slime. Fifteen feet away from the buckets, there were plaster molds on multiple shelves of drying racks where the slime could air out. Before it could go into the molds, however, it needed to be beaten into shape. That was why they had drills, attachments, and blenders lying around on an overturned barrel.

Picking up the bucket of clay scraps, he dumped them into one of the slip buckets. They sprinkled down like rain and gave the mixture an odd, crunchy, clumpy appearance. All of the gunk in these buckets reminded Ayato of… extremely unappetizing pudding.

"This stuff really is disgusting," he said to himself, then frowned when his voice echoed.

Busy in the back room, Kimito just grunted.

"It can still be of some use," he said, matter-of-fact but disinterested.

Ayato cracked a smirk, and before his impulse control could kick in, "Now I know exactly how you feel about me."

Outside the room, the pottery wheel slowed. "What was that?!"

"Nothing important, sir!" He grabbed the blender and started mixing the slip, scraps, and recycled clay into a usable purée. Any following protests from his father either died down or were lost to the buzzing of the blender.

Ayato could admit, beating the imperfections out of the slimy clay mixture was an excellent mode of stress relief. But then, there was another analogy to be made there. One he didn't want to think about. He frowned, shook his head, and poured everything into the plasters to dry.

Kimito hit him later for mouthing off.

On Friday and Saturday, more of Ayato's hours went into training at home than running the shop. They also, unknown to Kimito, went into glazing and firing something that Ayato had no intention of selling.

It was a coffee mug, and since Hisakawa had gotten into his head, he'd added a little purple to the green before the firing and glazing process. He had to confess, it turned out fairly attractive. Almost like a cup made of zoisite. Just looking at it, working on it and helping it take form, made him anxious. He was getting too hopeful now that the idea had become something tangible.

What was he thinking, being so eager to have it finished by her birthday? He would have to hold onto it until September, and make sure to hide it until then. He had no idea what Kimito would make of it if he saw it.

The last thing Ayato wanted was for Kimito to get suspicious. He'd been doing so well keeping Kimito at bay from the one thing he had to himself, a friendship with Yuri. And now this mug was just… standing out like an air bubble. Like a kiln kiss. A pottery pimple waiting to be popped.

Saturday evening gave him one or two breaks on training, since a scowling Kimito had to run to town to get more supplies. In the meantime, he instructed Ayato to unload the kiln himself. Ayato, who had snuck the mug into this batch, was overwhelmingly relieved and used this advantage to smuggle the finished product into his room.

His first instinct was to put it away in his desk drawer and be done with it. Instead, he lingered on his bed with the mug in his hand, running his fingers tentatively along the glassy surface.

He'd made this himself, with no interference, and it was… worthy. That was the best word for it. The word that best described his potter pride and his sense of accomplishment – almost paternal in its own way. It was polished and glossy and it looked like a gem. Girls liked gems, didn't they? Did they want to drink out of one, though?

Ayato laughed quietly. Maybe it didn't matter. What mattered was that it was a treasure and something palpable he could give to her. As long as he didn't break it or lose it or something before September.

He could keep it under wraps for that long. If he could hide his friendship with Yuri as long as he had, then he should have no problem keeping her gift out of sight—

"That's beautiful, Ayato. Did you make it?"

Ayato startled so badly that he lost his grip on the mug and fumbled gracelessly to catch it before it could hit the solid floor. He snapped a glance behind him, his heart still pounding in his ears.

His mother stood in the doorway, a surprised doe-eyed guilty look on her face.

"Oh, I'm sorry for sneaking up on you like that," she said with a rueful but gentle half-smile. She gestured toward the ceramic in his hands. "I just… I was passing by your room and I couldn't help but notice… I love the colors."

"Well, thank you." Part of him swelled with pride that someone else noticed his own individual project, though another part of him flinched. It was definitely not a good thing that his mother "couldn't help but notice." He needed to be more discreet.

His mother was still standing by the door frame with almost a shy childlike curiosity. Her eyes looked unusually bright. "That's for Yuri, isn't it?"

Good God! He really was transparent!

"For her birthday, in… in case I see her this summer." He broke their eye contact. "I feel like it's not going to happen, but I just wanted to have something. I was just hoping."

"Ayato, there is nothing wrong with hope," his mother said soothingly.

Is that what makes you stay with him? Ayato wanted to say it out loud, but he didn't dare. It would sully a moment he got all too rarely in this house.

"There's no hope if Father finds it," he said instead. He fidgeted with the mug, rotating it between his fingers. "I've been hiding it at the store, but for now I need to make sure it's somewhere he won't automatically notice like you did."

His mother frowned, thinking hard.

"I can take it for you," she said. The suggestion raised Ayato's attention and his head. Seeing his reaction, she smiled brighter, and her own posture straightened with a subtle confidence. "I know a place. If he even bothers to look, it'll blend in with the rest of my things. I can tell him it was a gift from the family."

Ayato wasn't sure. "But you'd be lying to him."

"I don't know about that. He can interpret 'family' however he wants. It's his choice." She shrugged modestly. "It's often his choice not to care what my side of the family says or does."

"He will if they're sending you pottery," Ayato reasoned. "That's a threat to his pride and his business."

"Not if I don't pay for them." She laughed, an unusual and sweet sound. "I don't think your father will notice or even care."

After giving it some thought, Ayato nodded, got up, and handed the mug to her. She wrapped her fingers very carefully around the piece, then held it to her chest protectively when they heard heavy footsteps approaching the house.

"That would be your father." He could see her folding back up into submissive mode, with just a hint of defense. Her neck hunched and she stiffened, concentrating. "You should go back out and meet him, get back to your chores. I'll be down shortly to take care of dinner." She gave him a little maternally assertive pat on the back and a push out the door. "Go!"

And that had been that. He and Kimito reconvened in the workshop, sanding some mugs and dishware before storing them carefully away. Kimito was crabby because he'd run out of green paint sooner than he'd thought – oops – and they'd lost valuable training time from him going to the store, but they made it work. Rather, Kimito made him work. Like squeezing blood from a turnip, he was worked to death, or until Kimito decided he couldn't have cold dinner on his conscience.

Mother treated them to green tea when they finally came inside, and Ayato felt himself calming down somewhat, On the other hand, drinking it reminded him of another time he'd dared to drink green tea peacefully, when Kimito wasn't the one sitting next to him. This was not the way he wanted to spend his summer break. But that was a strange thing to think about, because… really, it was the only way he'd ever known.

He crashed in his bed that night, staring up at the ceiling and thinking – maybe – that all could change.

Preview:

"I'm-not-Hayato."

"I have those kinds of dreams all the time."

"Is there something I should know about?"

"Mother...?"

"Don't take me for a fool."

"It was a mistake."

[Chapter 13]: Obliteration.