"Beachside" - continued from Part IV
~ ~ ~
Nuriko turned, leaned forward so his elbows rested against the hood of the car. His gaze was cast downward, soft tufts of violet hair dangling before his eyes, wavering gently in the morning wind. "Ever since we were children...Kourin and I have been very close," he began quietly, fingers tangling nervously together in front of him. "And, then...when I was ten or so...we started to drift apart. We were still pretty close...but, Hotohori-sama..." He trailed off, shook his head slightly. "It was never like it was those first few years. Back then, when we were still very young...it was like...like every single moment we were together was precious...do you know what I mean? Like...like, if we didn't spend as much time together as we possibly could...that we would lose something, somehow...something that we would never be able to get back..."
Nuriko paused, sighing softly and glancing down at his watch. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm babbling." Those soft violet eyes lifted, stared into the other man's eyes with a swift, almost-pleading intensity. "What I'm trying to say is...Hotohori-sama...even if we're not as close as we were then..." His voice dropped. "I still cherish Kourin...and, I know that this is a mistake...that this is something she MUST NOT do. So, I've got to stop her. That's why I'm here today--because this is her last appointment before they..." He trailed off, closed his eyes. "Before they do it," he finished in a whisper.
Hotohori spent a long moment studying the smaller man in the warm glow of the morning sun, noticing the thin lines of pain obscuring his pale features, the way his fingers clenched anxiously together, the anguished slant of his eyebrows...it was almost as if he was in geniune, actual pain. Feeling a sudden burst of empathy, Hotohori circled the car, rested a hand gently on Nuriko's shoulder. The older man tensed slightly at his touch...then, recognized it for the comfort that it was, sighed softly and leaned his forehead against the window of the car.
"There's...something else, too," he murmured. His voice was almost painfully soft, muffled through the closeness of the window and the nearness of his sleeve. "Something...that makes it worse."
Inexplicably, Hotohori felt his stomach clench, and something dark and ominous slip into his mind. This was nothing good... "What...what is it?" he asked softly.
---
Coffee...a silent house...and a Get Smart marathon on TV Land. Mitsukake let out a soft sigh of pure bliss, leaning his head back against the luxurious couch cushions and smiling as that familiar, tinkling theme song began again, launched Maxwell Smart through a variety of intriguing doors and telephone booths...ahhh. Tilting his head forward just long enough to take a small sip of his third cup of coffee that morning, the young pediatrician stretched his legs out among the pillows, thanking God--and not for the first time--that Hotohori had decided to dip into his ample funds to furnish the rooms the eight of them shared. It certainly made for better TV viewing...velvet cushions, fluffy, silken pillows, enough room for even someone of his height to stretch out comfortably...
"That's right," came the tinny voice of the TV. "We'll have to use the Cone of Silence..."
Mitsukake smiled, took another steaming sip, then let the mug rest on the coffee table. "I love days off," he whispered. Then, he lay back, tugged a warm blanket over himself, and settled into the cushions.
---
"Chichiri!" came an irritated-sounding voice from the adjoining room. "Chichiri, there's no @#*(&# soap!!"
Already hopelessly late for his first class, the blue-haired professor rested his briefcase on the edge of the desk, took a few steps so he was closer to the door to his private bathroom. "Of course there's no soap no da," he replied simply. "I told you that before no da."
He could practically see Tasuki's scowl. "Oi, go find me some! I can't take a @#$(*@#*&$ shower without any @(*#&% soap!"
Chichiri brought a finger to his lips, chewed a bit nervously on the end of his fingernail. "Anou...Tasuki, keep your voice down, please...you're echoing no da..."
"I DON'T @#(*$&$ CARE IF I'M ECHOING! FIND ME SOME @#$(*&$ SOAP SO I CAN GET TO @(*#&@$ WORK!"
The older man debated for a long moment, absently twisting the uncomfortable length of his tie in his fingers. Finally, he drew a deep breath, walked back to his desk, and lifted the phone gently from the receiver. He dialed, pressed the receiver to his ear, waited.
Tasuki's voice rose again over the din of the rushing water. "Chichiri?"
"Just a minute no da."
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ri-- There was the sound of crackling static, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable click of the receiver being drawn from its stand. "Eiken's Garage," came a dull, irritated male voice. "Eiken speaking."
Chichiri drew a deep breath, forced himself to focus on every-single-word slipping from his lips. "Hello," he began slowly. "I have an urgent message for you from someone who works for you."
He could practically hear the growl. "Is it that lazy piece of @#*(&@$ Tasuki??" he demanded suddenly. "LATE! AGAIN! Is it him??"
Chichiri winced...then, cleared his throat, again spoke in the slow, clear, low voice. "Yes, Mr. Eiken, sir. I'm afraid Tasuki won't be coming into work today no d--" He broke off, cleared his throat again. "He won't be coming into work today."
"Why the @#(*&@$ @#$(*@&#$(*@&#$ NOT?!?!"
The blue-haired professor glanced towards the bathroom, pressed a hand against his forehead. "I'm afraid he's terribly sick no da," he concluded, slipping in his speech but finding himself beyond the point of caring. "Mitsukake is having a look at him, but I'm afraid he won't be in today...possibly not tomorrow either no da."
"CHICHIRI! SOAAAAAP!"
Eiken's eyes seemed to narrow. "What was that?" he asked quickly. "Was that him??"
Chichiri let out a soft sigh. "Hai, no da. He's delirious, as you can hear. Keeps calling for soap na no da..."
"Oh, all right, all right," Eiken muttered, sounding considerably less than pleased. "If he's that sick...then, I guess I can't expect him to come into work." His tone hardened then, grew so loud Chichiri had to lift the receiver away from his ear to avoid brain hemorrhage. "But, @#*($&@#$*, I'LL DOCK HIM A WEEK'S PAY FOR THIS IF HE'S NOT IN ON TIME TOMORROW! I CAN'T @(#*&@$# AFFORD TO HAVE HALF OF MY WORKERS @(*#$@$& CUTTING WORK TO WATCH @(#*$&@$ MARATHONS ON @*$&@#$ CABLE TV!"
Shaking his head slightly to clear the ringing from his ears, Chichiri returned the phone to his ear, nodded slightly. "Hai. Goodbye, sir."
"Yeah, bye..."
Chichiri reached down a finger, pressed it lightly against the slender white button on the top of the base. He waited a moment, humming softly to himself as he waited...then, lifted his finger, raised the phone to his ear, and dialed. A moment later, he heard the echo of a ring a few offices down, smiled slightly.
"Hello, Dean Jacobs' office."
"This is Professor Chichiri no da. I'm afraid I'm *cough* coming down with something no *cough* da...and, so *cough hack* I'm going to have to call in *coughcoughgaaaaaspcough* sick today."
The woman's voice sailed into the higher octaves. "Ohhhhhhh, Mr. Chichiri, I'm so sorry! You sound AWFUL! I'll tell the dean right away! And, don't you worry about a thing, either! You focus on getting better! I'll personally make sure your classes are alerted."
"Arrigato no da."
He had just pressed the phone back down onto its receiver, smiling slightly to himself when, abruptly, the bathroom door swung open, slammed hard into the wall. "Oi, Chichiri!" Tasuki exclaimed. He stood framed in the doorway, dripping wet and clad in not much more than a thick white towel about his waist, muscled arms folded irritably over his chest. "Chichiri!" he repeated angrily. "Where the @#$*()&#$'s my soap!?"
Chichiri frowned slightly. "You're dripping on the carpet no da..."
"I don't @#(*&@$ care if I'm drippin' on the carpet, damn it--Eiken's gonna @#(*&$ kill me..."
"Don't worry about him no da. Come on. Get dressed no da. We're going back to the house."
Tasuki stared at him for a few seconds, looking vaguely confused. Finally, however, he shrugged, threw his arms up into the air, and marched back into the bathroom to get dressed.
---
The front door slammed open.
"A @#(*$&@$ week's pay??" came a loud, achingly-familiar voice from the adjoining room. "He @#(*$@$ said that?! That @(#$*@$!!!! That @#(*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@(#*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@!"
Mitsukake let out a low groan, leaned his head back against the cushions and pressed his hand tightly against his forehead. "No," he pleaded quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering if perhaps it was all just some terrible dream. "No...no...please?"
"You're overreacting no da," replied a second voice. "Besides na no da...at least now you can have your soap..."
"BATHROOMS SHOULD @#*$(&@$ HAVE SOAP! It's not RIGHT when they don't!"
Mitsukake leaned forward, placed his face in his hands, and let out a low, mournful wail. "No, no, no, no," he murmured. "No, no, no..."
"Chief," chirped the TV. "Are you sure about this? I think I should bring Agent 99 with me."
A shadow fell over the couch. "Oi, Mitsukake! What the @(*#$& are you doin' here? And, hey, where're Nuriko and Hotohori?"
Something dripped onto his face...but, he barely noticed. "My only day off," he mourned quietly. "My only day off..."
"Oi, Chichiri...what the @(#*$&$'s wrong with Mitsukake?"
A choked sob sprang from his throat. "My only @(#*&@$ day off...!"
Chichiri, standing framed in the doorway, felt his eyes widen, stretched forward a hand to tap Tasuki on the shoulder. "Anou no da...I think maybe we should leave him alone..."
Tasuki was shaking his head, eyes wide and stunned. "B-B-B-but...but, he said--"
"Come on na no da. I think Nuriko has some scented soaps in the bathroom no da..."
"Uhh...yeah...uh..." The young mechanic reached forward, gave the older man's broad shoulder a brief, comforting pat. "Feel, uh...feel better, Mitsukake."
"Missed me...by THAT much," claimed the TV.
Mitsukake let out another long sigh, then rose to his feet, stretched forward, and switched off the TV. "Maybe I'll go into work," he murmured dully. The broad-shouldered man glanced down at his soft blue bathrobe, the fluffy, matching-blue slippers adorning his feet...and smiled slightly. "Then again...maybe not."
Mitsukake turned and left to make himself another cup of coffee.
---
~ ~ ~
Nuriko turned, leaned forward so his elbows rested against the hood of the car. His gaze was cast downward, soft tufts of violet hair dangling before his eyes, wavering gently in the morning wind. "Ever since we were children...Kourin and I have been very close," he began quietly, fingers tangling nervously together in front of him. "And, then...when I was ten or so...we started to drift apart. We were still pretty close...but, Hotohori-sama..." He trailed off, shook his head slightly. "It was never like it was those first few years. Back then, when we were still very young...it was like...like every single moment we were together was precious...do you know what I mean? Like...like, if we didn't spend as much time together as we possibly could...that we would lose something, somehow...something that we would never be able to get back..."
Nuriko paused, sighing softly and glancing down at his watch. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm babbling." Those soft violet eyes lifted, stared into the other man's eyes with a swift, almost-pleading intensity. "What I'm trying to say is...Hotohori-sama...even if we're not as close as we were then..." His voice dropped. "I still cherish Kourin...and, I know that this is a mistake...that this is something she MUST NOT do. So, I've got to stop her. That's why I'm here today--because this is her last appointment before they..." He trailed off, closed his eyes. "Before they do it," he finished in a whisper.
Hotohori spent a long moment studying the smaller man in the warm glow of the morning sun, noticing the thin lines of pain obscuring his pale features, the way his fingers clenched anxiously together, the anguished slant of his eyebrows...it was almost as if he was in geniune, actual pain. Feeling a sudden burst of empathy, Hotohori circled the car, rested a hand gently on Nuriko's shoulder. The older man tensed slightly at his touch...then, recognized it for the comfort that it was, sighed softly and leaned his forehead against the window of the car.
"There's...something else, too," he murmured. His voice was almost painfully soft, muffled through the closeness of the window and the nearness of his sleeve. "Something...that makes it worse."
Inexplicably, Hotohori felt his stomach clench, and something dark and ominous slip into his mind. This was nothing good... "What...what is it?" he asked softly.
---
Coffee...a silent house...and a Get Smart marathon on TV Land. Mitsukake let out a soft sigh of pure bliss, leaning his head back against the luxurious couch cushions and smiling as that familiar, tinkling theme song began again, launched Maxwell Smart through a variety of intriguing doors and telephone booths...ahhh. Tilting his head forward just long enough to take a small sip of his third cup of coffee that morning, the young pediatrician stretched his legs out among the pillows, thanking God--and not for the first time--that Hotohori had decided to dip into his ample funds to furnish the rooms the eight of them shared. It certainly made for better TV viewing...velvet cushions, fluffy, silken pillows, enough room for even someone of his height to stretch out comfortably...
"That's right," came the tinny voice of the TV. "We'll have to use the Cone of Silence..."
Mitsukake smiled, took another steaming sip, then let the mug rest on the coffee table. "I love days off," he whispered. Then, he lay back, tugged a warm blanket over himself, and settled into the cushions.
---
"Chichiri!" came an irritated-sounding voice from the adjoining room. "Chichiri, there's no @#*(&# soap!!"
Already hopelessly late for his first class, the blue-haired professor rested his briefcase on the edge of the desk, took a few steps so he was closer to the door to his private bathroom. "Of course there's no soap no da," he replied simply. "I told you that before no da."
He could practically see Tasuki's scowl. "Oi, go find me some! I can't take a @#$(*@#*&$ shower without any @(*#&% soap!"
Chichiri brought a finger to his lips, chewed a bit nervously on the end of his fingernail. "Anou...Tasuki, keep your voice down, please...you're echoing no da..."
"I DON'T @#(*$&$ CARE IF I'M ECHOING! FIND ME SOME @#$(*&$ SOAP SO I CAN GET TO @(*#&@$ WORK!"
The older man debated for a long moment, absently twisting the uncomfortable length of his tie in his fingers. Finally, he drew a deep breath, walked back to his desk, and lifted the phone gently from the receiver. He dialed, pressed the receiver to his ear, waited.
Tasuki's voice rose again over the din of the rushing water. "Chichiri?"
"Just a minute no da."
Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ri-- There was the sound of crackling static, followed almost immediately by the unmistakable click of the receiver being drawn from its stand. "Eiken's Garage," came a dull, irritated male voice. "Eiken speaking."
Chichiri drew a deep breath, forced himself to focus on every-single-word slipping from his lips. "Hello," he began slowly. "I have an urgent message for you from someone who works for you."
He could practically hear the growl. "Is it that lazy piece of @#*(&@$ Tasuki??" he demanded suddenly. "LATE! AGAIN! Is it him??"
Chichiri winced...then, cleared his throat, again spoke in the slow, clear, low voice. "Yes, Mr. Eiken, sir. I'm afraid Tasuki won't be coming into work today no d--" He broke off, cleared his throat again. "He won't be coming into work today."
"Why the @#(*&@$ @#$(*@&#$(*@&#$ NOT?!?!"
The blue-haired professor glanced towards the bathroom, pressed a hand against his forehead. "I'm afraid he's terribly sick no da," he concluded, slipping in his speech but finding himself beyond the point of caring. "Mitsukake is having a look at him, but I'm afraid he won't be in today...possibly not tomorrow either no da."
"CHICHIRI! SOAAAAAP!"
Eiken's eyes seemed to narrow. "What was that?" he asked quickly. "Was that him??"
Chichiri let out a soft sigh. "Hai, no da. He's delirious, as you can hear. Keeps calling for soap na no da..."
"Oh, all right, all right," Eiken muttered, sounding considerably less than pleased. "If he's that sick...then, I guess I can't expect him to come into work." His tone hardened then, grew so loud Chichiri had to lift the receiver away from his ear to avoid brain hemorrhage. "But, @#*($&@#$*, I'LL DOCK HIM A WEEK'S PAY FOR THIS IF HE'S NOT IN ON TIME TOMORROW! I CAN'T @(#*&@$# AFFORD TO HAVE HALF OF MY WORKERS @(*#$@$& CUTTING WORK TO WATCH @(#*$&@$ MARATHONS ON @*$&@#$ CABLE TV!"
Shaking his head slightly to clear the ringing from his ears, Chichiri returned the phone to his ear, nodded slightly. "Hai. Goodbye, sir."
"Yeah, bye..."
Chichiri reached down a finger, pressed it lightly against the slender white button on the top of the base. He waited a moment, humming softly to himself as he waited...then, lifted his finger, raised the phone to his ear, and dialed. A moment later, he heard the echo of a ring a few offices down, smiled slightly.
"Hello, Dean Jacobs' office."
"This is Professor Chichiri no da. I'm afraid I'm *cough* coming down with something no *cough* da...and, so *cough hack* I'm going to have to call in *coughcoughgaaaaaspcough* sick today."
The woman's voice sailed into the higher octaves. "Ohhhhhhh, Mr. Chichiri, I'm so sorry! You sound AWFUL! I'll tell the dean right away! And, don't you worry about a thing, either! You focus on getting better! I'll personally make sure your classes are alerted."
"Arrigato no da."
He had just pressed the phone back down onto its receiver, smiling slightly to himself when, abruptly, the bathroom door swung open, slammed hard into the wall. "Oi, Chichiri!" Tasuki exclaimed. He stood framed in the doorway, dripping wet and clad in not much more than a thick white towel about his waist, muscled arms folded irritably over his chest. "Chichiri!" he repeated angrily. "Where the @#$*()&#$'s my soap!?"
Chichiri frowned slightly. "You're dripping on the carpet no da..."
"I don't @#(*&@$ care if I'm drippin' on the carpet, damn it--Eiken's gonna @#(*&$ kill me..."
"Don't worry about him no da. Come on. Get dressed no da. We're going back to the house."
Tasuki stared at him for a few seconds, looking vaguely confused. Finally, however, he shrugged, threw his arms up into the air, and marched back into the bathroom to get dressed.
---
The front door slammed open.
"A @#(*$&@$ week's pay??" came a loud, achingly-familiar voice from the adjoining room. "He @#(*$@$ said that?! That @(#$*@$!!!! That @#(*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@(#*$&@#(*$&@#(*$&@!"
Mitsukake let out a low groan, leaned his head back against the cushions and pressed his hand tightly against his forehead. "No," he pleaded quietly, squeezing his eyes shut and wondering if perhaps it was all just some terrible dream. "No...no...please?"
"You're overreacting no da," replied a second voice. "Besides na no da...at least now you can have your soap..."
"BATHROOMS SHOULD @#*$(&@$ HAVE SOAP! It's not RIGHT when they don't!"
Mitsukake leaned forward, placed his face in his hands, and let out a low, mournful wail. "No, no, no, no," he murmured. "No, no, no..."
"Chief," chirped the TV. "Are you sure about this? I think I should bring Agent 99 with me."
A shadow fell over the couch. "Oi, Mitsukake! What the @(*#$& are you doin' here? And, hey, where're Nuriko and Hotohori?"
Something dripped onto his face...but, he barely noticed. "My only day off," he mourned quietly. "My only day off..."
"Oi, Chichiri...what the @(#*$&$'s wrong with Mitsukake?"
A choked sob sprang from his throat. "My only @(#*&@$ day off...!"
Chichiri, standing framed in the doorway, felt his eyes widen, stretched forward a hand to tap Tasuki on the shoulder. "Anou no da...I think maybe we should leave him alone..."
Tasuki was shaking his head, eyes wide and stunned. "B-B-B-but...but, he said--"
"Come on na no da. I think Nuriko has some scented soaps in the bathroom no da..."
"Uhh...yeah...uh..." The young mechanic reached forward, gave the older man's broad shoulder a brief, comforting pat. "Feel, uh...feel better, Mitsukake."
"Missed me...by THAT much," claimed the TV.
Mitsukake let out another long sigh, then rose to his feet, stretched forward, and switched off the TV. "Maybe I'll go into work," he murmured dully. The broad-shouldered man glanced down at his soft blue bathrobe, the fluffy, matching-blue slippers adorning his feet...and smiled slightly. "Then again...maybe not."
Mitsukake turned and left to make himself another cup of coffee.
---
