The voices are taking to Hiro…predicting a change in lifestyle and living quarters. He handles it rather well, considering. One more upheaval in his life… and a hint of really sick sense of humour, but just a hint… more next chapter (sick humour, that is)
Advice of the day - Listen to your Rice Krispies, they know what they're talking about…
"He'll be moving in with me. He needs someone else there that can handle this until he gets under control."
"I thought it was under control."
"So did I." The voices made my headache hurt more and I groaned. Immediately the voices stopped and I felt myself lifted from the soft thing I was lying on and held sitting up. A sharp pin to my left hand told me that whoever was holding me was testing my blood sugar.
"It's normal." I manage to place the voice as Touma, but he's too far away to be holding me. I shift and sniff. K. Good.
Waitaminute. Wait just one minute here! Moving in? What?!
"Ngh." Oh, nice vocalization there Hiro, I grumble at myself, but my mouth doesn't seem to be working too well right now.
"Hiro-kun, you feeling alright?"
"Yeah. Where…?"
"Limo. We're going to pick up your things."
"Huh?"
"You need to be more careful! You had a reaction, Hiro. Low blood sugar."
"So that's what it feels like." Yay, first cohesive sentence! Go me!
"Wh…what!" I open my eyes and have to grin. I, Nakano Hiroshi, have with one sentence, caused as much damage as one of Shuichi's crying fits. Sakano is passed out on the floor, Shuichi is bug eyed and gaping, Suguru, on the seat across next to his cousin, both staring at me like I just said I was the next messiah, and K…above me, is speechless and stunned.
Only for a second though. I find myself staring down the barrel of a gun seconds later with steam literally rising from that mess of blond hair. I smirk.
"What do you mean by that, Nakano-san?" K growls, his eyes blazing.
"Calm down! Eep." I let out a breathless gasp and find myself pinned to the seat, an enraged manager replacing his gun with his face as the closest thing to my own. He looks royally pissed… the thing is, I don't understand why. Massive sweat drop time. He grinds his teeth, then pulls away as fast as he got close and buckles us both up.
"We are going to your apartment and you are packing what you need for the night. Tomorrow we'll clear the rest out. You're moving in with me." He says, very, precisely. I can almost see his head blowing up like a balloon and exploding right then, but, with what I think it a great show of restraint, keep from laughing out loud at the image.
"I'm fine by myself." I tell him, a bit upset that he thinks I can't live on my own.
"No. No you are not." He deadpans. "You're moving, that's final."
"No I'm not." My temper's beginning to flare, spurred a bit by the headache I have and the fact that my vision's still whacked out.
"Yes you are. Got it?" The last part's in English, but I catch the drift from the way his eyes blaze and the completely deadly serious expression on his face.
Maybe a week or two won't hurt. I catch the thought even as I catch myself nodding.
A week, alone, with K. K, our manager, who has the equivalent of a military storage unit of firearms, explosives, and god knows what else immediately at his disposal, and already pissed at me for some reason.
Kami-sama! What have I just agreed to? A week won't hurt…
It's gonna kill me.
--
Surprisingly, when alone, K is sane.
Relatively that is.
Oh, fine.
He's still nuts, but not as explosively so.
Must be all that time spent with Sakuma-san in the States…
Here's another secret he really doesn't want you to know. His real name is Crawd. I read it on the mail he got, and he turned all chibi and pouted when I called him that, saying to please call him K, especially at work.
With a name like that I can't blame him. It still cracks me up just thinking about it.
Suppose you wanna know what life is like for the big blond maniac, ne? All I'm going to say is that its definitely interesting. He had hauled my stuff up the seven flights of stairs since his apartment has no elevator before realizing that he needed his hands to get his keys in order to open the door. And the funny thing is, he started back down the stairs so he would have room to put my stuff down and take out his keys without even thinking about it.
Seven flights. Piled down with a shit load of not very light stuff. Twice. In under twenty minutes.
He's insane.
But we've already established this.
I grabbed him and he spun about, flopping around like a big rag doll despite having more than his body weight currently resting in his arms and grinning.
"Yo! S'up muh mahn!" He said. I blinked.
He never translated that one for me, and no matter how many language dictionaries I looked in I could not find any of those words.
"Where are the keys?"
"Right pocket." He jostled the things, trying to point it out. It didn't work, but I'm smart and figured it out pretty fast.
"Hold still." I told him and reached. Sure enough, the keys were right near the top. I yanked them out fast, realizing just why he wasn't perturbed by the thought of doing fourteen flights weighted down.
His thighs are solid.
The thought made me blush, and I fought it with everything I had to no avail, unlocking the door in the process.
"It's open." I mumbled, and he moved in, dumping my crap on the floor of the living room.
"Excellent!" I knew that word, but before I could comment my stomach growled and K's eyebrows shot through the roof.
"Hungry?" He smirked/leered/grinned. I have no idea how he can put so much information in his expressions and yet give nothing about himself away.
When did I start noticing? My stomach rumbled again and K was gone back to the kitchen and slamming stuff around in the cupboards to pull something together while humming this amazingly repetitive song.
"Just eat it…eat it…don't you make me repeat it…" I listened to the English for a while before I couldn't stand it anymore.
"If all songs in English are that mundane it's no wonder you came here and agreed to be a manager." I snort and detach myself from a wall. "Can I do anything to help?" He was going to all this trouble, and, I admit it, I felt guilty for causing so many problems for the man in such a short period of time. That was Shuichi's job, not mine.
"Test again, then give yourself your shot." Glancing at the clock, I realized it was indeed time to do both. Have I mentioned I really, really don't like needles? I'm not phobic, but still…
I'm also not insane, and I realized long ago that if a few needles a day are going to not only keep my alive, but feeling good, then it's worth it. They don't hurt as much as most people assume, mostly since the needles most people have to compare are nasty intramuscularly delivered buggers called flu shots and such.
Mine aren't even a centimetre long, and are supposed to be given in fatty areas of the body such as the arms, thighs, stomach, and, erm…buttocks. Mosquito bites literally hurt more, unless I hit a vein or nerve.
Shit, those are painful.
But I'm getting used to it. Drawing the amount I need is easy, they have these machines called pens that all you have to do is twist a dial until it reads the amount you need, stab yourself, and press the same dial you used to measure to inject.
Ichi, ni, san. (one, two, three) Simple as that. Whatever K's making it smells good, so I return to the kitchen.
Good god, he's almost as bad a Shuichi. I say almost cause what he made is actually not only edible, but good. It still takes almost an hour to clean the kitchen though. I think I'll be cooking more from now on. I need to break the silence that lies between the clink of chopsticks on porcelain dishes.
"K-san?" I ask, not looking up.
"Hiroshi-kun?" My name with a slurp of noodles.
"Why are you doing this?"
"What?"
"Letting me move in, helping me with my…" I still have trouble saying it, it still hurts. "…my illness. Diabetes." I managed to raise my head for the last word, and saw that maniacal grin spread across our manager's face. I could almost recite the English along with him.
"Because…I, am a great manager!" The words came out and the cackle followed, but I only mouthed the words and rolled my eyes. I don't cackle…
That often. And not like K. He's turned it into an art. Now that I've had my shot and something to eat, I'm feeling much better and my headache's gone. I want to go out. It's been a while since I've done anything fun. Leaving the blond in the kitchen, still laughing and stroking his pride, I go to the room that has been dubbed my own and pull out my cell, dialling numbers that I don't even need to think about. It's not the studio issued ones that I'm using, but personal. I let the phone ring on the other end.
And ring.
And ring.
Shuichi's not within hearing distance, apparently, and I am a bit disappointed. It's been a while since we went to throw greasy popcorn at some god awful movie, and I miss that. He's probably busy with that writer. I try the next number, having to look it up since it's been so long since I last used it. Before the tour that started this all, actually. I'm stunned to realize that, until then, I really hadn't given any thought to my supposed relationship to Aya-chan. I get an answering machine.
"Hi you've reached my personal number. If you don't know who this is you can hang up, if you do, you know the drill." The beep sounds and I stumble out a few phrases, call me and the like, before hanging up. This failure somehow isn't as depressing as Shuichi's lack of response. I want to get out still, but don't relish the idea of doing so myself…I'm a star, I should be able to get a date even on a Thursday. Next number.
The tone on the other end tells me that Suguru had let his batteries die, so I try again.
Busy.
Answering machine.
Sorry, can't talk now, have a date to get to.
Busy tonight, how about tomorrow?
Answering machine.
I consider calling Sakuma-san. He's always getting into some kind of trouble no matter where he is, so life's never dull when he's around.
Answering machine.
God, does everyone have a life but me? This is getting frustrating. I flop onto my futon and curse as my glucose monitor (blood testing machine) jabs me in the back. That's going to bruise, and since my healing abilities had lowered since contracting…my disease… it'll probably take three or four days to heal.
Yuuzi's out at cram school right now, and as much as I'm sure that he'd appreciate being pulled out, my brother needs to study. Arghle.
"Whatcha doing?" I shout and scramble against the wall as K's head appears in my field of vision.
"Gya! Wha!!" I'm coherent when startled, did you notice? I think my heart has now taken up permanent residence in my throat, where it insists on beating so fast it's almost a hum.
"Bored? Good. Me to. Let's go!" I find myself being dragged along by an over zealous full grown man and wish, not for the last time, that I could know at least _one_ sane person. Just one? Is that too much to ask? Really?
I'm going to dehydrate if this sweat drop gets any bigger.
Next chapter… Hiro gets his sense of mischief back, but at what price? Don't worry, it's not too bad…really…well…okay…it's bad…but not real bad.
Mmm, melty…
Should be up by tomorrow.
Ja!