When You Least Expect It

*part 2

By Sakata Ri Houjun

Alex is not going to be getting a whole lot of fic time here, as it will focus mainly on Chichiri and Mousse. Right now, my main concern is getting those two established in terms of friendship. But Alex will be getting plenty of makeup moments in the next few chapters.

Also, a special thank you goes to the four people who reviewed this story. Arigatou gozimasu...

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~Life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think~

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Mousse shot an angry glare over his shoulder at the cerulean-haired man who was happily chopping vegetables, humming a lively tune all the while. The Amazon didn't understand why, but he just felt on edge around the mysterious Chichiri, and being insulted by both Shampoo and Cologne in front of him only seemed to confound his irritation.

The monk sensed his stare and looked up to meet his eyes, his smile never wavering. Quickly Mousse faced the noodles he was cooking, his face coloring either in embarrassment or fury, he couldn't tell. He never knew what it was exactly that had been discussed between the old bat and Chichiri, but apparently it seemed that they arranged for the visitor to remain here as a resident of the Nekohanten.

And so, here they were, working together in a hot kitchen, fulfilling the orders being called back by Shampoo who was waiting tables this shift. The raven-haired man did admit rather reluctantly that things went smoother with the extra help, and for once Cologne wasn't dumping extra duties on him. But still, just listening to Chichiri working so cheerfully as though he were grateful for the job was working on his nerves.

Then almost appearing like a specter, Cologne entered the kitchen, her staff tapping against the tiled floor. "Chichiri, I have a few errands to run and I'll be taking my great-grandchild with me. You think you can handle things for an hour or so?" Mousse growled inwardly at the casual way she seemed to dismiss his presence, as though he weren't even in the room.

The monk paused in his chopping, looking up with his damnable smile. "Certainly, no da. The lunch rush is lagging, so it shouldn't be anything that Mousse and I cannot handle, na no da. Isn't that right, Mousse?"

The Amazon tensed upon hearing his name used in such an informal manner. But he didn't dare to even reward the blue-haired man with so much as the slightest movement to show that he had even heard him, keeping his focus on the noodles.

Cologne nodded to herself. "Good. I leave things in your capable hands, Chichiri." With that, she hopped from the room, leaving the pair alone.

There was an uncomfortable pause, the only sound the gurgle of the boiling water.

"So?" Chichiri began, trying to break the tension.

Mousse didn't respond, trying to ignore the heat surging through his blood.

"Do you want to continue working in the kitchen, or would you prefer to go out and clean off the vacated tables, no da?"

Mousse stared hard at the boiling pot in from of him, not quite sure what to do. He didn't quite hate Chichiri, but this guy wasn't on his list of favorite people either right at this moment. He was used to Cologne and Shampoo ordering him about, as though he were nothing more than a lackey. This was the first time he had been offered a choice, and he didn't know if this were a joke.

Chichiri continued, hoping to try and coax something out of the pensive warrior. "If I were you, I'd take the dining room because it's all the patrons are gone now and it's much cooler out there so it would be a welcome break from the heat here, no da. However, if you wish to finish your cooking instead, that's fine with me, no da. I just wanted to know what you wanted to do, na no da."

Mousse stood there for a moment more, suddenly finding himself starting to feel ashamed for hating Chichiri as much as he did. But he quickly suppressed this guilt, knowing that the stranger only pitied him, and he hated being pitied. But then again, Chichiri did have a point; it was unbearably hot in this kitchen, especially for him working over a hot stove wearing his robes.

Sighing to himself, Mousse finally turned and headed out of the kitchen, only sparing a glance at the monk. He kept reminding himself over and over that he was only going because the cerulean-haired man's suggestion was logical, not that he cared for his well being at all.

Chichiri shook his head. He knew exactly how the young Amazon felt, if only because he himself had felt those same conflicting emotions whenever people stared at his scar. But that had been long ago, back when it was still fresh and painful for even himself to look in a mirror, a reminder of his failure and betrayal. He matured greatly since then.

The seishi smiled bitterly at himself for that thought. If he had matured, then why was he still wearing his mask?

He knew that Mousse did not hate him, far from it in fact. The raven-haired man was trying his hardest to hate him, so hard that he was resorting to ignoring him. Well, it was good then that he decided to send the young man out to the dining area where it was indeed much cooler. He'd let Mousse cool down and then he'd go out to talk to him.

He moved over to the stove, to attend to the boiling noodles, resuming his song from earlier. Suddenly, there came a loud crash from the front dining area. Chichiri looked up, alarmed before running out to investigate the commotion.

But all he saw was Mousse, kneeling over some broken dishes, a dark scowl covering his features. Sighing in relief, Chichiri moved to crouch next to the young Amazon, his hands straying to help in cleaning up. "You okay, no da?"

Mousse halted in his task, his frustrated blue eyes glaring accusingly at the monk through the thick lens of his glasses. "It's nothing to concern yourself about. I just tripped over a chair I didn't see. Why would you care?"

Chichiri met those eyes, wondering what all Mousse must have had to endure his young life. "I can't help but care, Mousse."

The raven-haired man pursed his lips. "No, you don't care about me. You only pity the stupid duck-boy that everyone picks on."

"Actually, that's far from the truth, Mousse. I do care."

Mousse finally turned his head; unable to cope with that perpetual grin that seemed to make Chichiri's words hollow. "You couldn't possibly care; you don't understand me at all."

Chichiri continued to gather the pieces of the broken dishes, his gaze focused solely on the task at hand. "I think I can begin to. I know what it's like to be wholly devoted to something and yet still be betrayed in the end, no da."

Mousse still refused to look at Chichiri, but his head hung a bit at the older man's words. "Then you must know what it feels like to have someone swoop in out of nowhere and claim that which you sought with all your heart?"

Chichiri bit his lip, his hands never stilling. "Yes," he whispered. "Although it's been years since it happened, it still hurts me to think about it."

Mousse scoffed. "Funny, you don't seem to show any remorse."

The clinking of broken china ceased and there was a silence followed by the rustling of paper. The Chichiri's voice came again, still whispering. "Unlike you, I have to hide myself because of what happened to me..."

Confused, Mousse turned to ask what Chichiri meant by that. However, his question died on his lips once he laid eyes on the sight before him. Chichiri still had his smile, only it was now being held in his hand, a frozen lifeless paper object. His true features were more sharply defined, one rich mahogany eye full of raw emotion and reproach. But Mousse found his gaze drawn to the vicious scar that laced across the left side of his cheek, a testament to more pain than perhaps the young Amazon world ever experience in his lifetime.

After a long moment, Chichiri tilted his face to the left, effectively blocking his scar from Mousse's shocked blue eyes. "Now you know why I must smile, no da."

Mousse opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to find a reply. All his anger and irritation that he had built up towards Chichiri had suddenly dissipated into nothingness upon viewing the monk's true face. Now instead he truly felt guilty for treating him the way he had. Here he had been wallowing in his own problems, wrapping himself up in self-pity. Never did he once thought to consider the misplaced man before him.

Chichiri was growing uncomfortable under Mousse's silence, not being able to discern what the young Amazon truly thought of him now that he had seen his true face. His gaze was drawn to the paper mask he still held in his hand, a wistful smile crossing over his handsome features. "It's just a magic spell, a cantrip that I use because people pitied me. I hated their pity, no da. I guess after s many years of hiding, this false smile I've worn ended up become something that defined me, na no da."

"I'm sorry..." Mousse muttered, although that apology was inadequate to what he truly wanted to say. He felt that he should be bowing, begging forgiveness for his attitude that had been uncalled for.

Chichiri closed his eye and shook his head, though still smiling. "Don't be. The last thing I need is for there to be a dissention between us, no da. After all, we are going to be sharing a room, na no da." He looked up, his smile softening but still genuine. "Could you imagine the two of us sharing a room if you were still angry with me? I'd have to sleep with one eye open, no da."

Mousse felt his own face pull into a smile at the joke, feeling as though he might have finally made a friend. Albeit one who would undoubtedly stand out in a crowd with his strange hairstyle and absurd speech patterns, but someone who could understand him completely nonetheless.

Then what Chichiri had just said dawned on him. "Wait, did you just say we're sharing a room?"

The cerulean-haired man nodded once, his high-peaked bangs bobbing with the motion. "Hai, no da."

Mousse furrowed his brow in confusion. "Why? There are plenty of spare room in the upper level of the Nekohanten."

Chichiri shrugged. "Maybe because I opted to room with you, no da. I felt that you and I are more alike than either of us suspect and I wanted to get to know you in the time I'm here, na no da. So when I talked with Cologne earlier today, I asked to room with you."

Mousse felt honored although still confused by what Chichiri had requested of Cologne. "And she said yes?"

"Actually, she said I must be crazy but then decided that perhaps I'd be a good influence for you, no da. Personally, I don't know why you let her say the things she does about you, na no da."

Mousse scowled. "She just doesn't like me. If only because to her I appear as a blind, incompetent, weak warrior."

"Well, you shouldn't let what she thinks of you define who you are, no da. I learned that a long time ago from an old and very dear friend of mine, no da." Chichiri's smile took on a sad note as his hands moved to finish cleaning up the broken dishes.

"You mean the miko?" Mousse also began to help with the mess; he did drop the dishes after all.

Chichiri nodded, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Hai."

Mousse wanted all of a sudden to bring back the happier Chichiri, which he preferred. "Didn't you mention earlier that this was her world?"

Chichiri sighed. "Unfortunately, Cologne was able to determine that this isn't the world where the Suzaku no Miko came from. This is a totally different world, although similar to hers, no da. And since I can't ask Miaka for help, I don't know if I'll ever be able to go home, no da." He took all the gathered pieces of china into his kesa and stood up. "I may be stuck here for good, no da.

The Amazon stood up with him, placing the pieces he had collected into the kesa as well. "Then I have no choice but to make certain that you'll never feel out of place, for as long as you're here."

They smiled at one another, a peace finally being established between them as well as a mutual friendship. Chichiri was about to respond when suddenly, the front door to the restaurant slid open and a disheveled young man came pushing past the curtain to enter, flopping unceremoniously into the nearest chair.

Mousse was the first to recover, his long-standing time spent working in the food industry suddenly kicking in. "Welcome to the Nekohanten," he stated as he approached the blonde-haired man who was busy fanning himself with a menu. "What can I get for you?"

The pale man looked up, his violet eyes weary. "I finally made it, deshi," he exclaimed, his voice laced with fatigue. "You have no idea how long I've been searching for this place."

Chichiri made his way to the table the young man sat at, replacing the mask in his hand with a glass of cold water, which he placed before him. "You look like you could use this, no da."

"Arigatou, deshi," he muttered gratefully before gulping the life-giving liquid which cooled his body greatly. "I got so horribly lost on my way here."

"Why didn't you ask someone for directions?" Mousse questioned, not able but to wonder what this stranger's purpose was in finding this place.

"I did, deshi," he protested. "I stopped some guy and asked where Nerima 6-chome was. The directions he gave me where so horrendous that I ended up three prefectures over, deshi."

"And who was this guy you asked, no da?" inquired Chichiri.

"I didn't catch his name," he moaned in fustration, as he removed his spectacles and buried his face in his hands. "But he was wearing a yellow bandanna and carrying a bamboo umbrella on his back, deshi."