"Beachside" - continued from Part V

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Nuriko was silent for a long moment, forehead pressing lightly against the cool glass of the window, slim fingers clinging to the roof of the car. Hotohori's hand was warm and strong on his shoulder, granting him the strength he couldn't seem to find on his own.

"What is it?" Hotohori repeated softly.

He would just...say it. What else could he do? Hotohori was here with him, trying to help him, trying to be strong for him...he owed him at least an explanation, didn't he? Even if...even if it hurt.

Nuriko raised his head from the window, carefully lifted the younger man's fingers from his shoulder, and turned. A moment later, he stood straight-backed and strong, staring up into those soft amber eyes as if in challenge. "There's not much time," he said quietly, glancing briefly at the nearby building, "but...I'll try to explain." Steeling himself mentally and emotionally as best he could, Nuriko leaned his back against the cool metal of the car door, folded slim arms over his chest, and let out a soft breath. "My mother was only seventeen years old when Rokou was born. She and my father were...poor. He was trying to write a book and she had her hands full with taking care of Rokou...so, there wasn't much room in their lives for anything else." His eyes closed. "Particularly not another child. Two years later, when my mother got pregnant with me..." He paused, eyes still closed, and shook his head slightly. "She and my father had already agreed that...if another baby were to come along...they couldn't keep it. There wasn't enough money to support another child...and so...she..."

Hotohori felt a shiver run through his body, folded his arms over his chest to mask the discomfort. "Oh, Nuriko," he whispered. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted as if to say something...anything...to make it better. "Nuriko...your mother..."

Nuriko nodded, very slightly. "Hai...Hotohori-sama. She was going to...abort me. She very nearly did, in fact...but, on the day that she was going to...just before..." He trailed off, shook his head in wonderment. "Just before she was going to, my father got word that his book had been sold for a lot of money--they wanted sequels, movie deals, everything. And, so, suddenly there was enough money for another child." His voice sank. "She was actually in the waiting room, just a few minutes away from...from doing it when the call came."

Hotohori closed his eyes, shook his head in horror. "My God," he whispered. "I can see...why this would affect you so much, then. Does Korin know?"

The older man opened his eyes, shifted his stance slightly. "What...that I was nearly aborted?"

Hotohori nodded.

"Iie." He smiled slightly, mirthlessly. "None of us were supposed to know...for obvious reasons, I suppose. Demo...I found out anyway." The violet-haired writer shook his head, stood taller, stronger. "Anyway," he said in a firmer voice, "I've got to stop Korin before she makes the same mistake our mother nearly did. If I don't..." His voice hardened. "If I don't, then, I fail as a brother...and I fail as a man." This said, Nuriko turned, drew a deep breath, and trekked the last few feet to the sidewalk, began to walk strongly towards the door.

Hotohori could only stand there, arms still folded lightly over his chest, and watch as his longtime friend strode boldly into the den of his worst fears, not a tremble in his legs or a hesitation in his step. The younger man smiled slightly, lowered his head and closed his eyes. "You're strong, Nuriko," he murmured. "Stronger than all of us, I think."

Then, shaking his head slightly, Hotohori stepped up onto the sidewalk and followed Nuriko into the clinic.

---

The door slammed open...again. Mitsukake let out a low groan and lay back among the couch cushions, pressing a heavy hand against his forehead as he struggled to drown out the shrill voice already rising from the front room.

"Ohayooooo!" echoed Miaka's voice from the entryway. "We're baaaack!"

Tamahome let out a heavy sigh. "Miaka..."

The brown-haired girl turned to him with wide eyes, blinked. "Hmm? Nani?" Before Tamahome could answer her, however, the girl had stepped forward, moved into the living room. "Mitsukake? Ne...are you alive?"

Mitsukake sighed. "No."

"Ah, Miaka--Tamahome. Why're you back so early no da?"

Miaka turned, rejoined Tamahome in the other room. "Chichiri!" she exclaimed. "Doushita? Are you sick?"

Still clad in his slightly-moist dress shirt and loose-hanging tie, Chichiri pressed a slim finger to his chin, smiled. "Sick no da? Iie..."

"OI, CHICHIRI! I AIN'T USIN' NO @#(*$&@#$ LILAC SCENTED SOAP!"

Miaka clapped her hands together. "Ahhh, Tasuki, too?"

"GET ME SOME @(#$*&$ DIAL OR SOMETHING'! CHICHIRIIII!"

"Ano...JUST A MINUTE NO DA!"

The blue-haired professor turned back to the two newcomers, offered a slight smile. "Tasuki and I are skipping work no da," he admitted, a trace of guilty amusement slipping into his tone. "Normally I wouldn't do something like this no da..." His smile lifted. "But, it's nice to have a vacation every once in awhile no da."

Miaka smiled widely, began hopping slightly up and down. "Ne, Tamahome!" she exclaimed, latching onto the older man's arm and pressing her cheek against it. "We should skip out on the rest of our classes! YATTA! Hai! And, then when Hotohori and Nuriko come back, we can all do something--maybe even go out and get something to eat! WAAI! WAAAI!"

Chichiri frowned slightly, but it was a speculative frown, a thougthful frown. "Hotohori-sama went somewhere with Nuriko no da?"

Calming rather abruptly from her recent food-spurned hysterics, Miaka nodded, pressed a finger to her lips. "Mm-hm," she responded. "Chiriko said they went for an appointment or something...ne, Tamahome, isn't that what he said?"

Glancing briefly at the girl still clinging to his arm, Tamahome nodded, let out a soft, "Hai." He paused then, cast a brief glance around the cluttered entry room. "I hope whatever this appointment is gets Nuriko back to his old self, though...this room's a mess...and, we haven't had a good, hot meal in days..."

Miaka gazed darkly at her...uh...beloved. "Nani, Tamahome?" she asked in a low, irritated voice. "Nuriko shouldn't be the only one who cooks and cleans...you could help out, too."

Tamahome harrumphed. "So could you, Miaka."

Chichiri let out a short gasp. "Iie, Tamahome no daaaaa!"

But, it was too late. A flash of inspired light flickered into Miaka's eyes, and she stood straight up, raised both arms above her head and began to jump around. "Hai! Hai!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to wrap her arms around Tamahome in what could only be described as childish glee. "Ne, I'll make dinner tonight!! WAAAI! WAAAAAAI!" She paused for a moment, seeming to think...then, leaped away from Tamahome, went sprinting into the kitchen. "I know just what to have!" she called over her shoulder...and, then there was the crashing of pots and pans and cupboard doors, along with the muffled, high-pitched squeals of Miaka's humming...

Tamahome let his head droop downward, pressed an anguished hand against his forehead. "Aaaaah," he mourned softly, "what have I donnnnnne?"

Chichiri sighed softly, moved to one of the nearby chairs--a soft, thick-cushioned white armchair--and sank weakly into it. "You may be responsible for all our deaths no da," he offered with a hint of a smile. "Demo no da...at least we have Mitsukake."

Tamahome, standing very near the door to the living room, took a small step backwards, peered into the room. His eyebrows raised. "Uhh...Chichiri?"

"Hai no da?"

Tamahome's eyebrow raised a bit further. "Should Mitsukake's foot be twitching like that while he's asleep?"

The blue-haired professor rose to his feet, moved to the doorway and peered through. Noticing a mug lying nearby, the interior of it stained and soiled with a rich, moist brown, Chichiri smiled slightly, nodded in understanding. "Caffeine overdose no da," he explained. He smiled. "Don't worry no da. I'm sure when he wakes up he'll stop twitching..." His voice darkened. "At least until he tastes dinner no da."

Tamahome let out a heavy, anguished sigh-sob, sank into the piano chair and let his head thud down onto the polished wood. "Nuriko," he sobbed. "Come back soon...onegaaaaai..."

Chichiri moved silently to his friend's side, patted the younger man gently on the shoulder. The only sounds were Miaka's chirping hums, the crash of pots, Tasuki's labored screeches of song against the hiss of the shower water, and Mitsukake's heavy, droning snores.

Chichiri smiled slightly. "We're an American family no da," he murmured.

---