A/N: Quick FYI - I'll be uploading two chapters a week, this week and the next. So expect updates on Tuesdays and Saturdays! I'm really hoping to upload Heartbreak Cure on September 27th if possible. That's a Sunday, but I like the date because it's Naoi and Yuri's wedding anniversary.

Enjoy!

[Chapter 28]: One Step Closer (Part I)

The last week of October crept up on the Naoi household like a thief in the night and stole away with the last of Kimito's patience.

One of their electric kilns decided it was necessary to run longer than usual on Monday, which gave Kimito something new to scream about all morning. The problem was some elements that weren't heating correctly, or so Ayato figured from past experience. But his father yelled in frustration and kicked the damn thing – an irreverence that was only common around this time of year – so he wouldn't be surprised if something else was wrong now.

He'd been able to slip away while he was yelling and hitting various surfaces, and ended up not being too late for school. Which was good, because according to his mother all he missed was a full day of kiln repair. Could have been worse. His father might not have had spare elements and would've had to order new ones. The wait would've been lethal.

At least he wasn't going to school on an empty stomach every day. Aside from cleaning, his mother's big stress habit was cooking. As early as his rising time was, hers seemed to be earlier now, since he'd come downstairs more than once to find something hot on the table. Or even a loaf of banana bread she might very well have made in the middle of the night.

It was lemon bars on Tuesday. He slowed halfway through the forest as the path split into two, still licking white powder off his fingers. For a moment the world smelled like sweetness and citrus and fresh grass, and a faint muddy but not unpleasant scent he couldn't quite pinpoint until he realized the direction he'd gone.

Idiot, he chastised himself. The river must've beckoned to him while he was on autopilot. It couldn't be muscle memory – he hadn't played here in more than half a decade. Except for…

He licked his lips, lemon ghosting his taste buds as he considered the bridge not too much farther down the path. He could see the bushes where they'd hidden a month ago. Just one of Yuri's ridiculous schemes he'd been dragged into. But, why was he smiling?

Maybe it was the memory of Hejjiguchi falling into the water. He allowed himself a wry grin. Ah yes – nothing would ever be able to top that.

It had been an entertaining mission towards the end, he'd admit to that much. Back when none of them knew what they were getting into, and all that mattered was getting the fools to leave him alone. He'd even go so far to say that her plan had been crafty and insightful, and built on good intentions. Her unsuspecting victims did seem to like each other. It had worked for a while.

But she didn't listen to him; she hadn't left well enough alone. Which annoyed him further as he absently trailed across the walking bridge. Why should he find it within himself to leave things be when she couldn't do the same? Those three hadn't even been her friends!

They were now, he bitterly supposed. His mind might've been occupied recently but there was still no missing out on Ami's drama club chatter behind him. It had become significantly more cheery since Yuri and Masuda had joined last week. Part of it, he theorized, was to dominate the conversation and leave no room for Hejjiguchi's sullen comments. He would almost appreciate that if it wasn't nonstop.

Nonstop blabber about how much fun she, Yuri, and Masuda were having together, or how exciting it was that the school festival was almost here, or how surprised this one girl was going to be if whatever-the-name-was actually got to come after all. Ayato was surprised Masuda wasn't losing his mind.

Or maybe he already had. Yesterday, Ami had been going on about her and some other members' attempts to get – Gina? Jinko? – Jinko's old friend to attend the play. She was letting her dear friends in on it, but apparently it was some big surprise, she'd told them earnestly, so keep it hush-hush, okay? She shouldn't even be letting it get out of the range of the drama club.

"Your secret's safe with me," Masuda had said, so calmly and amiably, as if he didn't mind her presence or something. "And don't worry, I don't think Hejjiguchi's listening."

("He's not," Kurimu and Ami had chorused knowingly. Hejjiguchi's withering look was hard to miss in the window reflection.)

Ayato could not understand, for the life of him, what people saw in that girl. Somehow she just kept drawing seemingly right-minded people into her web.

Three-fourths of the way down the dirt path, two things happened to him at once. One, he remembered where this fork of the trail opened up – and two, he saw a flash of red amongst forest green.

His head jerked of its own accord, like a dog on an invisible leash. His eyes followed the glimmer, wondering, as it fazed in and out between the trees.

Was that…?

He slowed, then stopped, shaking his head. Why would it be? There was a neighborhood nearby but it wasn't Yuri's. The Nakamuras lived ten or so minutes away from here and her route to school certainly did not dip into the forest trail. Why would she bother to enter the woods? Unless he had some sort of misplaced delusion that she'd come to walk to school with him…

Even if that had been her, the Maeda coffee shop was a moment's walk from here into town. And Midori Hill – it was practically next door. She could very well be walking Kurimu to class, if not the whole lot of them.

Kurimu. Kind, docile, drew her pretty art and kept to herself. He bet Yuri liked that.

He bet it made her very happy.

The figure reappeared through the trees, near the forest's edge. Wandering along the Midori Hill neighborhood border. For a moment, he thought he could make something out: shoulder-length wine red hair.

And him, standing there, staring creepily from afar.

A dull ache prickled at his chest. Suddenly the lingering lemon in his system tasted like summer and warmth and everything that was steadily drifting further and further away from him.

He shook his head, cut across thickets and bending branches, and continued into town on his normal trail.

The rest of Tuesday passed as normal.

Behind him, Kurimu squeaked excitedly to Ami about the play. Even cared enough to whisper during class – how scandalous. She must've gotten caught once though, because their third period teacher had looked sternly in their direction and he heard a small despairing peep from her chair.

But oh, how could she contain herself? The school festival was less than two weeks from now! And she was just so very happy to see her best friends have fun on stage after all their hard work.

"On stage?" Hejjiguchi had echoed, emerging briefly from his grouchy bubble. "I thought Yuri was just doing tech work."

"Hm," Kurimu said, miffed.

Ami made a similar indignant sound, but brightened after considering her friend for a moment. "So you are paying attention."

Hejjiguchi looked surprised and a little guilty. "Well, I'm not tuning you out or anything," he said defensively.

"I should hope not," Ami said sternly, probably only half-joking. She was sitting, as she often did during break periods, with her chair dragged over to Kurimu's desk. So she was able to nibble at one of Kurimu's frosted sakura éclairs while giving Hejjiguchi a contemplative staredown.

Kurimu's voice rose an octave. "I meant I was looking forward to seeing her tech work on stage too. Just because something's backstage or unconventional doesn't mean it's not just as important. It's still real."

Ami and Hejjiguchi looked puzzled at her impassioned response. Even Ayato discreetly raised an eyebrow while he pretended to read his book (as if he was able to with all this background noise).

"And anyway," Kurimu continued, more demurely, "isn't Yuri going to be an understudy?"

"Oh yeah!" Ami said brightly. "We did have some unofficial auditions yesterday. I'm wishing Jinko good health of course, but if anything goes awry, maybe you'll get to see her onstage after all!"

Kurimu cheered at that, but Hejjiguchi frowned slightly.

"Don't mean to rain on your parade," he said, invoking another little hum from his ex-girlfriend, "I think that'd be really cool too, but shouldn't you be hoping Jinko doesn't get sick? You know, the whole childhood friend reunion thing? You're not dragging Tachihama there just to see Yuri."

Ami instantly looked glum.

"Tachibana," she corrected. "You're right. It would be amazing if Yuri and I could perform together, but I really want this big chance to make Jinko happy."

"Hmm," Hejjiguchi said, very helpfully, as he leaned on his elbow, "but it sounds like you gotta pick one or the other."

Ever the drama queen, Ami wilted in her seat with a sigh.

"No she doesn't." Kurimu reached over and patted Ami's arm. "Didn't Yuri try out for any other part?"

Ami perked up. "Yeah – Sakurai, actually!"

"Then there's still a chance that you, Jinko, and Yuri can all play together!" Kurimu said blithely. "I think that would be a lot more fun."

A relieved fondness broke over Ami's face in the form of a gradual smile.

"Kurimu-chan," she said, "you are the best type of optimist."

Her friend simply beamed back at her.

"This is, of course, still counting on one of your friends getting sick," said Hejjiguchi, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

Kurimu and Ami looked mutually unimpressed with him. Despite himself, Ayato had snorted.

And, well, those oh-so-entertaining and highly necessary conversations continued off and on throughout the day, always within earshot. Ami sometimes stopped her and Kurimu's ramblings to call Hejjiguchi a sourpuss and ask him about track and field, which Ayato cared about even less than costuming or fishing props.

It subsided after lunch. Hejjiguchi went back to brooding in the corner and eyeing the track field like a cat watching a birdhouse. Ami gushed to Kurimu about some girls who were painting the scenery and backdrops. Kurimu, who had come back from lunch a little deflated, yipped at her in mild offense at not being recruited. The teacher chided them, Kurimu squeaked sadly, and the babble dissolved into quiet note-passing.

That had been Tuesday. Just him trying to focus on the board but inevitably eavesdropping on a group of imbeciles – that was his fate, apparently.

He suspected Ami was doing it on purpose, trumpeting about drama club so he could hear how much fun Yuri was having without him. Bragging at him about her happiness and instant assimilation into the group. But the joke was on her. Despite her other faults, the girl had a natural penchant for talking over Hejjiguchi. He would gladly be subjected to her Yuri stories if it kept the other loudmouth idiot from being a constant wise-ass.

Because Wednesday was pretty much the same damn thing. Incessant babbling from the girls, Hejjiguchi making some sort of offhanded comment, Kurimu making upset noises at him, Ami squawking louder about something or other. Occasionally during break periods Masuda would join the conversation or be dragged over by an overeager Ami, and she'd fuss after one of Hejjiguchi's dry remarks and look to him for help. Masuda would humor her and wisely change the subject. He'd talk civilly to Hejjiguchi about music they both liked and say nice things to Kurimu about her art and baking. The latter seemed to undo any good he'd done with Hejjiguchi.

"What's in those pastries?" he'd asked when Kurimu started distributing snacks. Apparently Hejjiguchi didn't do vending machine runs anymore; Ayato grinned at the memory. "They look very good. If you want to contribute more to the drama club, I'm sure the club would appreciate your baking as a post-production treat."

Kurimu had preened very much at this, managing a bright smile. But before she could reply, Hejjiguchi cut in.

"Nah, they've got strawberry paste in them," he said, examining the pastry Kurimu had politely shared with him. "Misako and Horigoshi are allergic."

"They're not allergic," Ami fumed. "Horigoshi has a sensitivity! And Misako only hurled because he did."

Hejjiguchi laughed. "Either way. They digest it, they pay for it! Ami found that out the hard way."

Ami blushed profusely. "To be fair, he didn't know either."

"Not until he tried the cake you brought in!" Hejjiguchi said, grinning.

Kurimu and Ami had squawked at him, looking a mixture of begrudgingly amused and very put-upon. "I still think it's a great idea, Masuda-kun," Kurimu said kindly, but in a firm way like she was obviously not talking to just him. "Maybe my mother and I can make a dessert that everyone will love."

Masuda looked pleased. "I cast my vote for something with apples and cinnamon."

Both girls sighed in agreement. Hejjiguchi slipped back into bored sulking.

But God forbid Ami leave the classroom and Masuda break free of the strange little quartet. That's exactly what happened the break period before lunch. Ami had fled in the middle of a stressful, escalating conversation in a flurry of pink hair, yelling that she had to go to the bathroom (which perturbed Ayato with the most frustrating case of déjà vu). The teacher had sighed as if in great pain and dismissed the class early. Nearly everyone piled out of the room – except for Kurimu, Hejjiguchi, Ayato… and two or three kids who stayed in their seats on the opposite side of the class and started listening to music. Kurimu and Hejjiguchi took that as their cue to argue freely.

Without their Ami filter, those two were like those horrendous soap operas Ayato's mother put on in the afternoons. They took to the corner of the room and initially kept a low whisper (courtesy of Kurimu) but then Hejjiguchi started getting cranky and discernible in bits and pieces.

"—all friendly with Masuda—"

"What? …just good friends… being nice…. why do you care if…"

"I don't!"

"—isn't like you, I don't like what—"

"—not being anything—"

"…think I'm childish! But you're the one…"

"—saving us both a lot of unnecessary trouble—"

"—just scared!"

"Of what?"

"—all this talk of real and make-believe because you—"

Ayato couldn't take much more of this. He slammed his book and his hands on his desk, jumped to his feet, and spun around.

"Will you please," he snarled, putting emphasis on manners for dear Kurimu, "take it outside!"

Kurimu gawked at him, mortified. Beside her, Hejjiguchi crossed his arms defensively and shot him an unimpressed eyebrow raise. "You take it outside!"

"Gladly," said Ayato, heading towards the door. "You two were never this annoying when you were friends. I would've thought you two at least had the sense to never let it get like this."

Hejjiguchi stared at him, incredulous. "Of all people! Trying to play Love Doctor… I'm supposed to take this from you?"

Ayato glowered from the doorway. He might not have experience with deeply loving relationships but it didn't take a relationship counselor to know at least one of them was being a bonehead.

"Jealousy isn't a good look on you, Hejjiguchi," he said, with a dismissive harrumph as he walked out into the hall. "Get over yourself."

A few indignant noises followed him out, but faded with distance, and in the more tolerable buzz of incoherent hallway chatter he allowed himself to think.

He spent most of the free period doing just that. Thinking, walking, wandering.

Why did people, young and old, spiral recklessly into an argument over the pettiest shit? There was a word for people like them. His mother used to say it when he and Hayato roughhoused. As boys, whenever pottery training let out, they had done it too much and too often. Over a fruit they'd raced up a tree for. Over a duel with branch swords. Over a race through the forest where Hayato had cheated – he would still say it to this day, Hayato had absolutely cheated.

Pugnacious, his mother had called them. Irascible. (Boys, Kimito had added gruffly, seeming almost proud when Hayato caught Ayato in a headlock.)

Ayato at least knew why he and his brother liked to fight. In a strange way, it might've been purely for attention. From each other, from their parents. A classic twin power struggle – wrestling each other since the womb. Kimito said it was natural, even encouraged it. His sons turning into "weak men" was a plague in his mind and a curse on his lips.

But see, those fights were fun. Outside of the workshop, Hayato was guileless but competitive and easily riled up. He'd known all the right buttons to push to get Ayato to drop his handheld game and chase him up a tree. Other people's fights never seemed quite as spirited.

Well, perhaps Kimito took some twisted satisfaction from lashing out. But Hejjiguchi and Kurimu didn't seem to have any fun at all. So why were they still subjecting themselves to all this?

More importantly, why was he still being forced to listen to it?

Honestly, all of this from a simple matchmaking prank? One trivial little detail after the two of them had been so tightly wound? It was ridiculous. They had actually enjoyed each other once, so why couldn't they sensibly talk it out and stop playing games?

Although, he supposed that was asking too much of Hejjiguchi.

Gliding briskly through waves of students, Ayato rounded a corner at the end of the hall. He should be getting back to class in a minute or two, but he was glad to be away from idiocy as he scanned the classroom numbers to figure out where he'd wandered off to.

Just to the left of the girls' restroom, he did spot a familiar face or two. Pink hair and a birdlike puckered pout. Ami Kawata – who was, oddly enough, in the middle of what seemed like a deep conversation with Chitose Hisakawa.

Ami didn't notice him at first. She looked rather subdued, arms wrapped around herself while she muttered things quietly aside to her schoolmate. For the most part Hisakawa seemed to be listening. Sympathetic, even. But there was a wry, tired edge to her half-smile, as if whatever Ami was saying wasn't exactly what she was keen on hearing right now. Ayato could very much relate to this.

Apparently Ami's exquisite hearing picked up on his little harrumph, because she stopped talking and frowned at him. Hisakawa noticed him then too. A glimmer of recognition took over her face. "Oh, it's you again."

"What do you want?" Ami said grumpily. Hisakawa lifted an eyebrow at the girl in mild interest.

"Passing period is almost over," he reminded her. He smiled innocently at her, then at Hisakawa. "Am I interrupting something?"

Ami's frown deepened with suspicion. She glanced at Hisakawa, which doused her sourness with a bit of guilt.

"Just girl talk," Hisakawa said impassively, oblivious. "He's right. I'm going to head back to class now. But please," she paused to give Ami a meaningful look, "sort out your priorities, Kawata. See you later."

With that, she broke into a swift trot and disappeared around a corner. Ayato absentmindedly watched her go, side-eyeing Ami. What was that about?

Then he turned to her and said, with great indignation, "Don't ever leave me alone to babysit again."

Ami grinned a little, albeit nervously. "I just needed a minute alone to—"

"—gab with your best girl friend Hisakawa behind Yuri's back?" he tsked. Hand to his heart, he did his best to out-dramatize her. "It's disloyal!"

She looked upset again, brow furrowing very hard in defense.

"It was only girl talk!" she insisted. "We ran into each other in the girls' bathroom! It's different!"

"How is it different?" he asked, vaguely amused.

Ami huffed at him. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and grumbled something about hopeless, clueless boys.

"Aside from the obvious part," she sniffed. "Because I don't care about people's pasts, I care about their future. Because I'm not about to make a big stupid deal out of something I know very little about and abandon her!"

His mouth fell open in bemused outrage.

"You-!" he sputtered, stupidly pointing a finger at her. "She—!"

Before he could finish any sentences, she was gone. Stalking off to their classroom with a theatrical flounce and an upturned nose.

Him! Abandon her! What had Yuri been telling everyone? Who was the one who had gotten bored? Who had denounced their friendship and walked away?

Abandoned! What a load of bullshit!

This school was chock-full of absolute morons. He was glad that next Saturday, he would be too busy at work to celebrate it.

On Thursday Kimito went to Akuma High to make arrangements for a ceramics exhibit at the festival, and Ayato honestly should have seen it coming.

His mother was the only one at home when he got back from school. Since there was no work to be done until Kimito's return, she invited him to help her with some baking while she explained the situation to him. He reluctantly agreed. It sounded and smelled a lot better than doing homework in his room.

"I didn't even know we could do that," Ayato said after his mother explained where his absentee father had gone.

She lifted the lid of the pot on the stove, checking hopefully for a simmer.

"Neither did he, until he got the idea in his head." She stirred and prodded at the boiling beans. "At school festivals, students can present their art and hard work to the public. Your father believes that since you are a student, working hard and making art, you should be able to present what you've done at the festival."

"But it's not an extracurricular activity," he said, doubtful. "It's work and chores."

"It's you putting effort into your future. And it's part of Akuma culture," Mother said gently. "You should be very proud."

Ayato grunted.

"And your father says it's good exposure," she added as an afterthought. "Good for business."

Of course. That was what he figured.

The afternoon went on. His mother stirred and simmered and drained the beans until they were paste, and smiled her approval as he handled kneading the dough. He hadn't really done this in a few years – help her out in the kitchen and all – but he did have a knack for it, sort of. Some of it was just basic pottery and chemistry. Measuring, wedging, shaping with tools. But Kimito insisted it was women's work, so when he got home he barked at him to go to the workshop. And that was where they'd ended their Thursday.

Friday, he went to school with anpan and kind of savored it all the way to campus, purely from the satisfaction of having helped make it. Which was a mistake – because a couple of the tree danglers had stopped what they were doing to eye it hungrily. And a blessing, because while they weren't looking one of their friends threw a ball and bounced it off both their heads.

This school... Yuri would've loved that. A begrudging but true concept.

At some point during the day some school staff members came to him and told him essentially what he already heard from Kimito the night before. What he could bring, when he could come set up, what and how to advertise if he wanted to provide printed information sheets or bulletins…

"Will I need to be attending the display the whole time?" he'd asked, and dreaded the thought. His customer service persona at work was one thing, but here at school with his classmates? A godawful experience to be sure. It was embarrassing enough contemplating the "persuasion" Kimito had used to get his way.

"Oh, no. You have a number of options," one woman had said, straightening her chain-attached glasses. "Reserving a stand or a table is one thing. We can also have your pieces put up on ledges or window sills. If you'd like a more secure option, there's always the lockable display cases. The ones that hold trophies or other art pieces."

The older, stouter woman beside her had beamed at him. "No need for all work and no play, Naoi-san. We want to make sure you enjoy the festivities."

He considered this, and discussed it with them for a little longer. Kimito could make him do his dirty work at the school festival but he certainly couldn't chain him to a damn table stand. The women encouraged him to think it over and come back to them with any questions.

He went back to class in a decent mood. Then Ami opened her mouth and started squealing about how the play was only a week and a day away and how she hoped her dear friends would enjoy the performance while they sat in the front row and behaved themselves, hem-hem! Kurimu had told Ami she would be sure to mind her manners and practice perfect theatre etiquette, and one of the girls prompted Hejjiguchi in a way that made him quite indignant. This eventually devolved into Ami making a subtle but very severe warning.

"—anyone who'd rather argue and be childish than graciously support their best friend's long-awaited, hard-earned performance might as well not be there at all!"

Hejjiguchi had been very much cowed into silence. In fact, after that, he and Kurimu might've just switched to ignoring each other. It might've gotten a little quieter back there, for the time being. Ayato didn't know.

What he did know was, he didn't like how vague and reaching that threat was. Nor did he like the slow realization that for once, courtesy of his father, he would be stuck exactly where Yuri needed him.

But she didn't.

A/N: There was so much I wanted to put in this chapter, but it felt like shoving certain scenes in the same chapter would be too fast-paced. So "One Step Closer" is a two-parter. Also, that thing about putting his pottery up on ledges? Inspired by a thing my church actually did with this one member's ceramics. I love looking at them every Sunday. Did not know until this year that a dude I went to Sunday school with made pottery! Still debating asking for writing tips.

Until Saturday!

Preview:

"So you're banishing me?"

"Big babies eat lunch in timeout together where they belong."

"Will you SHUT UP?!"

"I barely stood a chance!"

"You and Yuri haven't spoken to each other in weeks."

"She doesn't want me there."

"Think about it."

"8300, what do you say?"

[Chapter 29]: One Step Closer II.