You're Always Sorry
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: I went away for the weekend and was just itching with story ideas. I come home, exhausted. Sit down to type at long last and then . . . nothing. *sigh* Another one of those life experiences I guess. Characters-not mine. Lyrics-not mine. Where did little pessimist Jillian come from? My apologies. *bows* Better chapters will come. Anyway, here is chapter . . . er, 14? Something like that. Much thanks to Alithea for the help to boost me past the dreaded writer's block. Enjoy!!)
***
After inadvertently staring at the sun, I am always fascinated how, by blinking, I can still see the image of that brightness burned into my vision wherever I turn.
Seeing Sorata now is a little bit like that.
Funeral atmosphere must be engaging the little poetic spot on my soul that is sore today. We're entertaining some idle, visitation-esque conversation. How has the weather been holding up? How's work, oh fine style chit-chat. I'm glad you're here, me too. Of course, I'm thoroughly unconscious through the entire thing. Blinking mostly.
My first rational thought, even though I'm performing quite well I must admit since it seems no one's noticed I've fallen back on autopilot-anyway, my first rational thought is that I should no longer react this way. But after not seeing Sorata every evening for the past few weeks, I'm a bit taken back by the familiar dip of his neck into the yellow shirt, hidden for the occasion under a black suit top. How his cheek bones are so prominent and his jaw so limber during speech. Features that I'd been intoxicated with, familiar with, adoring of.
Damn crush.
Of course, Himeno elbows me gently while I roll my shoulders, missing the question.
"I'm sorry." I rub the back of my neck, feeling the rising temperature there and extremely grateful that it seems to have satisfied itself with just turning the lower portion of my hair into a damp sweat.
"I was curious if you knew who the Chinese guy is that they're talking to." Sorata shuffles his weight from one leg to the other, causing the tails of his suit to accent his hip. Trust Sorata of anyone to wear a jacket with tails to Mr. Noventa's wake, and look so damn clueless and sexy in them.
I remember to look. By the hos devours stands a young couple conversing with Heero and Hilde. They are clearly from the Noventa's circle of aristocratic friends. The gentleman in question apparently listening to Hilde's conversation, but his eyes scan the crowds as if scrutinizing everyone's relevance with one appraising look. His black hair reflects the somber light even as it is pulled back from his forehead into a severe rat- tail. The woman next to him twirls the end of her honey-brown hair around one finger, digging her toe into the hardwood floor in school girl fashion while trying to engage Heero in the conversation. Heero managing to scowl quite becomingly at the attention.
Distracted by the scene, I find myself regaining my immediate five senses. Intuiting first that Sorata is standing very close, feeling the breath of his silent chuckle. Then I ask, "Heero and Hilde, you mean?"
"I think he played intramurals with Heero, Duo and I back in the day." Sorata tips his head to look over and down at me. "Chang something or other like that."
"The prudish sportsman?" I recollect some distant conversation about him.
"Gently now," Sorata laughs respectful of the setting, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. "Chang made sure we played fair and by the book. He's the one that would turn all red when the ref missed a call. He should have been the ref."
I'm vaguely recalling feeling very damp watching them play soccer or some other sport. Sylvia had always gone to their games armed with umbrellas. Which is how she came to know us all. And because of her, we should all know each other. And come to her father's funeral.
Sorata excuses himself to extend his sympathy to the family. I watch him for a moment, his unbound hair loose in natural black spikes. Comfortably keeping one hand in his pocket even as he walks toward Sylvia and her brother.
"You did good." Himeno says, and I realize that I had hardly been aware of her presence the entire time.
I have yet to shake this instinctual desire to become absorbed in Sorata and his well being whenever I see him. Something even Goh hasn't quite freed me from, I realize with a shadow of guilt at the thought.
***
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You're always wondering what might have been.
***
I'm already pulling off my tie as I close the apartment door behind me. Turning on the light, but not before the pathetic glow of the fish tank reminds me that I haven't fed them in a while. That had been Hayate's chore. When we'd split the tasks somehow he had taken the fish feeding while I had been drafted to vacuum those portions of the carpet not already being occupied by our organized mess. All the other common chores were spontaneously indulged when we couldn't ignore them any longer.
I break the flakes between my fingers and dust the surface of the water. Too weary to enjoy the frantic appreciation of their quickly moving tails as each and every one of them swims to the top.
I had stayed long enough to show support and offer it. But Sylvia wasn't one to need much assistance when she was in the limelight. That was always her opportunity to demonstrate independence.
The only message is from Goh, hastily reassuring me and half informing me to expect him at the actual funeral the next day. I sink heavily into the foot of my bed. Which someone, not me, had taken the time to make that morning. Come to think of it, quite a bit of the apartment had looked neater as I reflect back on the mostly cleared coffee table, the wiped down countertops in the kitchen, and the piles of "organized mess" that were stacked with lined corners and edges. It all begins to sink in.
I know that Hayate wouldn't have bothered even if he had stopped back by the apartment. It must have been Goh who'd tidied everything in record time.
Stretching full onto my bed, I pull in close the pillow he had used. Strangely comforting that smell.
But now, I don't really want to think about it.
***
Everything's different,
Nothing's changed, Only maybe slightly Rearranged.
You're sorry-grateful, Regretful-happy
***
It is the day of the funeral, appropriately grey and dismal, and I'm standing about twenty feet from where the pastor is giving final words before the military salute, the playing of the trumpet, and they lower the coffin into the ground. The gathering today smaller, more intimate. Immediate family and the most sincere of friends.
The Noventa's have a section of land on a hill over looking a winding country road parallel to a winding country river. Even Sylvia and her brother have tombstones waiting for them. An investment that unnerves me when I know that all it takes is a chisel to fill in the date after the recorded year of their birth.
The pile of roses are being distributed between the younger children. Sylvia's cousins. Mr. Noventa's nieces and nephews. The weather is turning a bit too warm and humid. I'm wilting like the flowers.
"Ready to go home?" Goh whispers, glancing down his angularly upturned nose. Reminding me a bit of Sorata's casual appraisal of me the night before. How can the same look from two different people mean nothing the same? "You seem really tired, Keisuke." He reaches out to feel my forehead. "Well, you don't appear to be experiencing the symptoms of fever."
I try to smile at that, managing to get an unsteady twitch in one cheek. A nervous tick under my right eye. "I feel rather drained." The immediate family are beginning to clump together and file to their vehicles. Sylvia far away the entire time under her black umbrella which Saitou's friend was holding for her as they neared their limo.
"I'd imagine so," Goh pulls me under his arm, "You've been putting this entire misfortune on your shoulders for too many hours now."
I'm about to suggest we go home, when I see Sylvia's great-aunt sitting alone watching the abandoned casket waiting for everyone to leave before sinking into it's final resting place.
"Hi." I say, sinking into the nearest empty seat, leaving Goh with Sasame and the others. Her silver-blue hair almost the same color as her skin in the reflected light of the tarp, set up as a shelter and canopy over the gravesite. The folding chair is cold, and I perch on the end of it. Wrapping the toe of one shoe around the other ankle, folding both of my legs under the seat.
She puts one paper light hand onto my closest knee and pats it solemnly, "Tell me Keisuke, why wasn't it me? Why not me?" She closes her eyes, withering eyelashes softly resting over her already ghost white cheeks.
Putting my hand over hers, I don't know what to say. What do you say to that? Always the good questions are the hardest ones to answer.
We wait until one of her other relatives remembers to come for her. I help her out of the chair and watch as they impatiently stay two paces in front of her own ginger steps. Trying to lift the metal walker one step at a time.
Linking his arm through mine, pressing his shoulder into my back, Goh doesn't seem surprised as I say dryly, "I need to go get drunk."
"Four Doors?"
"Transylvania." I feel a wash of agitation, directed nowhere and everywhere.
Checking his watch, Goh says without emotion, "They're not open just yet. But I'll drive."
***
Why look for answers where none occur?
You always are what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
***
When I'm disagreeable, it's a bit hard to temper. I have very little practical experience with irritation. The complaints from the store serve more to amuse or inconvenience me by demonstrating how an angry customer can single-handedly undermine the one person willing to help. Mishearing every word that I say, misconstruing my assistance until it matches the insult they're imagining.
One woman mistook the coupon I gave her as an extra charge on top of her purchase. That had caught me so off guard I hadn't been able to sensibly explain the nature of a 'discount' to her before she'd forced her way through the sliding glass entryway since it obviously wasn't opening fast enough for her.
My problem. Not being able to manipulate the universe. Not being able to keep people from dying, growing old, making mistakes. Then I'm bitter that I even thought I could make a difference.
Wiser than he can know, Goh doesn't say much and lets me brood.
Somehow, between the hours that I began to stare out my apartment window and when I turn back to look inside, the same can of beer balancing in one hand against my knee, Goh's managed to clean just that much more of my home.
I can't decide if the next feeling is another degree of annoyance or gratitude. Funny how both of those can feel almost the same. And Hayate thought I was supposedly the housewife-type. I don't have anything on Goh.
He gives me a sloppy, but affectionate kiss on my forehead, tipping my chin up in order to christen me. Then he finally speaks, "That beer apparently isn't working. If I take you to T.C. now . . . will you dance with me?"
"Wow. I suppose I owe you for cleaning the apartment," I try to joke, but it's terribly forced we both know, "But I'm a lousy dancer."
"Then no one will try to steal you away from me," Goh glibly spins my insult into a more positive one. Heck, that's supposed to be my job.
***
Then she walks in. And still you're sorry,
And still you're grateful,
And still you wonder and still you doubt,
And she goes out.
***
It takes quite a bit of alcohol these days to make me tipsy. All those casual beers has pushed my tolerance level too high, but I think I could have gotten giddy all on my own by the strange desire Goh's fixed on me through his possessive glances. Otherwise, one would say we'd undergone a complete role reversal.
I'm the one who can't stop invading his personal space, "Hey, gorgeous." I snicker, sliding up next to where he's resting against the bar. Looking intelligently out of place among the others, even though he's sporting one of his more memorable outfits. I'm the one that always dresses like a college boy, although I never was one. Fighting back the urge to brush my fingers across his attractive stomach. Inhibitions are something I'm vaguely recollecting, although I'm not certain exactly what that's supposed to mean when I know exactly what I'd like to be doing right then.
And whatever drink the bartender has handed me, Goh eyes it with suspicion.
"You are soooo sober." I observe, occupying my fingers with the stripe of crimson hair furthest away from me. Pressed against him, I can't decide where I want to start kissing him first. His jaw, or ear, or his chin or . . .
"You are soooo drunk." Goh echoes my comment. Of course, he's right. So I nod. Using the momentum to swallow more right from the bottle. I'm not tasting it any longer. Smacking my lips, I contemplate trying something harder, more noticeable.
"Keisuke?"
I almost fall into Goh even as I'm trying to see who's called my name above the throbbing dance music. Looking up, up and further up I see a perplexed smile.
"Sano." I recognize, grinning ear to ear.
"Hey man," Sano taps my shoulder, which is enough to make me stumble into Goh's arms again. I feel a bit left out as I hear Goh explaining that I'm alright and just enjoying the liquor a bit more than usual.
"Enjoying?" Sano laughs boisterously, so much so that it sounds like he's laughing in my skull, "Sounds like our good ol' Keisuke. Well, I should go back to Imari."
I think about saying something to Imari, but even if I manage to slur a word or two past my drooping eyelids, all I feel is Goh's grip tightening me against him. The wonderful feeling of not being alone. Breathing deeply the space where his neck meets his shoulders.
"Keisuke?" His voice rumbles a bit and I feel it in my chest against his. Somehow becoming more alert in that moment. Coming back from the blur that had brought Sano and then taken him away.
"Coming," I say, finding my voice again. I push against him, balancing once more.
"Are you ready to go home?" His voice trailing off before supplying the comment, 'yet.' My face is inches from his and I focus on one steady dark eye and then the other. I have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind if I manage to get home and I'm still conscious.
"Home?" I've got most of the control of my lips back, "Together?" I wiggle my eyebrows in my best Duo impression. Fleetingly I'm distracted, wondering where Duo is.
"You're not . . . no." Goh leans up from his elbows, taking a more authoritative position above my eyesight giving me a close up of his smooth chin, "Not when you feel like this, Keisuke."
I feel my brows try to knit together over my nose, frustrated but not quite sure why. The rush of annoyance clearing my mind a bit. "Fine." I step back, only wobbling a little to hurt my surfacing pride, "I'd rather stay here a bit longer, thank you." Then demonstrating my coordination by walking backwards into the fray of younger dancers, only jostling three or four of them and I try to keep Goh's eye. Willing him to come to me.
Which he doesn't.
I usually hate dancing, alone and with anyone else. But tonight I simply don't care. Just trying to keep out of everyone's way and on my own two feet is exhilarating in a way. Now and again, I'll realize that I'm smiling at the same person who's grinning back at me. Smiles are contagious. One girl had a tongue piercing that I found incredibly fascinating as she balanced it over her teeth.
"Are you really all pure, innocent, and perfect?"
I almost didn't realize she was speaking to me. I stop staring at the ceiling to see two incredibly augmented blue eyes blinking at me. She has her arms balancing on my shoulders and rocks her hips against me for a moment, tilting her head back and showing a very slender throat. When she flips her hair forward, she squeals above the music.
"Does he make love to you all night and then pick up your messes all day long?" She has her head tilted to one side, and I'm wondering how my hands put themselves onto her girlish waist. She's wearing a strange sweater that looks like a wooly pillow and a pleated skirt. Quite a strange teenager contrast to the narrow, worldly look she's evaluating me with.
"What?" I say rather dumbly, not quite certain who she is and why she's there and what she means. Then in a flash of white light, I finally notice the telltale signature of violet hair.
Drunk as a skunk, and with about half a wit to realize it, I've just met Shiori.
***
You're always sorry, You're always grateful,
You hold her thinking, "I'm not alone."
You're still alone.
You don't live for her, You do live with her,
You're scared she's starting to drift away
And scared she'll stay.
***
"Girlfriend!" She bounces a bit as the song changes, "You've got Goh-Goh." Her hair more or less secured in a pink ribbon to accent her deviantly naïve appearance. "How does it feel? Do you like him? Does he look at you like this," she demonstrates, "and then just leave you wanting him?"
"Excuse me?" I manage that much, a bit nonplussed by her unveiled comments that could have been heard by anyone but weren't. I'm no longer blinking in confusion and stop letting her move me with her, taking my hands away and holding them in the air as if to ask her to stop. The way she's rubbing the flat of her palm lower down my back is unnerving. "Stop, stop, stop." I reach around myself to grab her arms.
"I'm sorry." She almost asks, "Was I bothering you? I'm sorry." She backs off about three inches, "Hayate was just telling me that you and Goh- Goh were an item now."
"Hayate?" I shake my head, trying to clear it and learn what I can, "Is he here?"
"He's darling cute himself, you know." Shiori winks, still moving a bit with the music and spinning her bangle bracelets around delicately slender wrists, "Quite the prince charming yearning after his true love and all. Sad that."
I wonder how much she knows. I have a strange feeling that this Shiori isn't the one that convinces Hayate to stay with her. Coerces him to share things with her. What little I remember seeing of her involved a lot of bare leg and coy flirty-ness. Nothing spiteful. What had Goh said, she wasn't vindictive?
"I'm not bothering you, am I?" She asks, and I can't accurately describe the look she's giving me. Her mouth parts open and she has a very pink tongue.
The next thing I know, I'm staring at the back of Goh's leather vest. His shoulders pulling forward to apparently cross over his chest. Suddenly able to let go a little, my forehead rests between his shoulders for support. I hear and feel him say her name, but by the time I feel less dizzy and look over his shoulder, she's gone away.
He does manage to turn all the way around and catch me before I slump forward again. "Okay, Keisuke, my silly friend. Time to go home."
And he does exactly that, somehow maneuvering me away from the mass of dancers, home and the next thing I know I'm in my own bed.
***
Good things get better, Bad get worse.
Wait--I think I meant that in reverse. You're sorry-grateful, Regretful- happy,
Why look for answers where none occur?
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
***
I'm slow to wake with a funny ache in my head and a sour taste in my throat. The most comforting and unexpected aspect of waking was having Goh near. The flush of embarrassment of obviously making him escort me drunk out of my mind nearly balances with the simple, nice security of how he holds me snuggly against his chest. Breath warm against the back of my neck like the promise of unfathomable forgiveness.
His hair is sort of ticklish however.
Twisting, mostly my neck, I risk kissing him. Feeling a bit indecent that he was spending his time watching over me.
Practicality returns to my nature instantaneously. While I know I'm free of responsibilities until the next Monday, I fear that the full sunlight through the blinds means that he's missed something important.
I'm trying to figure out the quietest way to panic when I realize that he's watching me, already awake.
"How's the noggin?" He says quite unromantically, smirking at me, quite unlike the calm and pleasant countenance that I had adored moments before he woke. "You are the most stupid and stubborn drunk I've seen in a long time."
"Takes a bit for me to get drunk," I frown, not certain who I'm disappointed in, but I'm feeling better than when I first woke up and consequently, more agreeable in general. "You're one of the lucky few to see me far gone."
"This is twice now, I do believe." Goh sits up, running his fingers up through his hair succeeding in making it stand in even more gravity defying angles. As he does so, the sun falls across my eyes unblocked.
"Ack, I need sunglasses . . . or something." I fold my arm over my eyes. "I think I have this obnoxiously large pair from my sister just in my top drawer if you don't mind getting them for me, sweetie." I tease.
"Sweetie?" When he repeats it, the endearment sounds different. And I'm re-remembering my earlier concerns.
"Do you have to be somewhere?" I sit up, but he's already pulling on a spare shirt of mine and walking around in those pajama bottoms he liked to borrow.
"Don't worry." He glances over with a grateful smile, "I've got enough time." Then crossing out into the hallway, he adds, "I'll be back."
I slip into the kitchen and shake the box of cereal Hayate left. Thinking there might be enough for two if I use extra milk to make up the difference. It's too late for Friday morning cartoons, and I debate turning on the news or not.
"Keisuke?"
I call to him from the kitchen, letting him know where I am. When he doesn't appear, I peek around the corner to see him standing in the hallway brushing his teeth. Even in the shadows of the hall, I can see his silhouette from the light in my room. He's studying the pictures on the wall. My heart beats a step faster. Ready and willing him to ask me about Sorata.
"Yeah," I call weakly.
"Shiori . . . didn't say anything to upset you last night, did she?" He ducks into the bathroom a moment and comes out demonstrating his clean smile even as I hand him breakfast. He chuckles, eating it anyway, then chewing more somberly, waits.
"I can't remember too much," I think back, finding I'd only a few images and impressions of her really. "I didn't realize it was her until she mentioned Hayate."
"She put you and Hayate together?" Goh asks.
"Apparently," I shrug, "Or maybe it was her hair that gave her away. What's with the purple?"
"Why do I dye mine red?" Goh unexpectedly responds, and I have no answer even though he continues without waiting, "Do you have anything to drink?" He's draining the milk from his bowl already, and I've yet to really start mine. Pulling open the kitchen door I nod consent as he takes the milk, "Strawberry soda?" His eyebrows lift as he closes the refrigerator again.
"It's Hayate's?" I weakly protest, clearly lying. It was a silly summer addiction Miaka had introduced me to when I spent most of the warmer months commuting to stay with my family. When I had less persons to consistently entertain me during the summer months.
As he moves around the apartment looking better in my pajamas that I ever could, I indulge in thoughts that he might always stay with me here. Replacing in pieces everything I thought I needed from other means. Now and again he gives me a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow as if waiting for me to explain. But what he expects to hear, I'm not certain. And what I want to say, that I'm uncertain of as well.
Since he doesn't tell on his own, I want to ask him more about Shiori, but I can't seem to . . . yet.
Walking past each other becomes some strange dance of getting ready for the day. Meeting eyes and saying nothing or very little. Putting our daily camouflage on in layers. Goh saying something about needing to pick up his text before going to class. I mumble about needing new cereal.
In one pass, I realize that there are messages on the answering machine from the night before. First I listen to Goh's earlier recording that I hadn't deleted. Then three messages of equal anxiety and excitement from Duo who was insisting I come to his next concert with Kazuma and company. And to bring Goh if I wanted to and could.
Fixing the laces on his shoes, sitting on the couch with a bag of his things to return to his own apartment, Goh nods enthusiastically, "I'd love to be there."
Then hoping he gets my drift, I wave him out the door, "I'd - love - for you to be there too."
I lean against the door long after he's gone. Unable to think.
***
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, All to do with her.
Nothing to do with, All to do with her.
***
Author's Notes:
I had a terribly hard time writing this, probably because I was miles away from my computer when I was inspired to do so. I'm thinking that Duo's next concert should be interesting and I hope will allow me to reintroduce some of the missing characters. *crosses fingers*
Kathy: Thanks for the continuing support. I was expecting a confrontation this time around, but it seems that unlike Sorata, Shiori was the one wanting to initiate confrontations this time around. I'm usually able to channel one chapter a week, but the holiday really threw me. *chuckle* Again, thanks.
Kay: *runs to rescue Kay* I've grown addicted to ~your~ enthusiasm. It's delightful to know that someone's regularly having fun with this particular fic. I hereby dedicate all happy Goh and Keisuke moments to you. Although, I have no idea what's in store for them next. ~looks in back pocket for conflict~ *shrugs*
In the meantime, if you're looking for extra Half-Baked goodies. I currently have two pre-Half-Baked stories written: "An Affair on 8th Avenue" details the high school adventures of Duo, Sorata and Keisuke. The new one, "Violently Happy," peers a bit into Goh's past and how Shiori tangled into it. The pre-H-B'ed stories are nice to flesh things out a bit and I'll probably write a few more of them.
Thanks for reading.
(Disclaimer: I went away for the weekend and was just itching with story ideas. I come home, exhausted. Sit down to type at long last and then . . . nothing. *sigh* Another one of those life experiences I guess. Characters-not mine. Lyrics-not mine. Where did little pessimist Jillian come from? My apologies. *bows* Better chapters will come. Anyway, here is chapter . . . er, 14? Something like that. Much thanks to Alithea for the help to boost me past the dreaded writer's block. Enjoy!!)
***
After inadvertently staring at the sun, I am always fascinated how, by blinking, I can still see the image of that brightness burned into my vision wherever I turn.
Seeing Sorata now is a little bit like that.
Funeral atmosphere must be engaging the little poetic spot on my soul that is sore today. We're entertaining some idle, visitation-esque conversation. How has the weather been holding up? How's work, oh fine style chit-chat. I'm glad you're here, me too. Of course, I'm thoroughly unconscious through the entire thing. Blinking mostly.
My first rational thought, even though I'm performing quite well I must admit since it seems no one's noticed I've fallen back on autopilot-anyway, my first rational thought is that I should no longer react this way. But after not seeing Sorata every evening for the past few weeks, I'm a bit taken back by the familiar dip of his neck into the yellow shirt, hidden for the occasion under a black suit top. How his cheek bones are so prominent and his jaw so limber during speech. Features that I'd been intoxicated with, familiar with, adoring of.
Damn crush.
Of course, Himeno elbows me gently while I roll my shoulders, missing the question.
"I'm sorry." I rub the back of my neck, feeling the rising temperature there and extremely grateful that it seems to have satisfied itself with just turning the lower portion of my hair into a damp sweat.
"I was curious if you knew who the Chinese guy is that they're talking to." Sorata shuffles his weight from one leg to the other, causing the tails of his suit to accent his hip. Trust Sorata of anyone to wear a jacket with tails to Mr. Noventa's wake, and look so damn clueless and sexy in them.
I remember to look. By the hos devours stands a young couple conversing with Heero and Hilde. They are clearly from the Noventa's circle of aristocratic friends. The gentleman in question apparently listening to Hilde's conversation, but his eyes scan the crowds as if scrutinizing everyone's relevance with one appraising look. His black hair reflects the somber light even as it is pulled back from his forehead into a severe rat- tail. The woman next to him twirls the end of her honey-brown hair around one finger, digging her toe into the hardwood floor in school girl fashion while trying to engage Heero in the conversation. Heero managing to scowl quite becomingly at the attention.
Distracted by the scene, I find myself regaining my immediate five senses. Intuiting first that Sorata is standing very close, feeling the breath of his silent chuckle. Then I ask, "Heero and Hilde, you mean?"
"I think he played intramurals with Heero, Duo and I back in the day." Sorata tips his head to look over and down at me. "Chang something or other like that."
"The prudish sportsman?" I recollect some distant conversation about him.
"Gently now," Sorata laughs respectful of the setting, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. "Chang made sure we played fair and by the book. He's the one that would turn all red when the ref missed a call. He should have been the ref."
I'm vaguely recalling feeling very damp watching them play soccer or some other sport. Sylvia had always gone to their games armed with umbrellas. Which is how she came to know us all. And because of her, we should all know each other. And come to her father's funeral.
Sorata excuses himself to extend his sympathy to the family. I watch him for a moment, his unbound hair loose in natural black spikes. Comfortably keeping one hand in his pocket even as he walks toward Sylvia and her brother.
"You did good." Himeno says, and I realize that I had hardly been aware of her presence the entire time.
I have yet to shake this instinctual desire to become absorbed in Sorata and his well being whenever I see him. Something even Goh hasn't quite freed me from, I realize with a shadow of guilt at the thought.
***
You're always sorry,
You're always grateful,
You're always wondering what might have been.
***
I'm already pulling off my tie as I close the apartment door behind me. Turning on the light, but not before the pathetic glow of the fish tank reminds me that I haven't fed them in a while. That had been Hayate's chore. When we'd split the tasks somehow he had taken the fish feeding while I had been drafted to vacuum those portions of the carpet not already being occupied by our organized mess. All the other common chores were spontaneously indulged when we couldn't ignore them any longer.
I break the flakes between my fingers and dust the surface of the water. Too weary to enjoy the frantic appreciation of their quickly moving tails as each and every one of them swims to the top.
I had stayed long enough to show support and offer it. But Sylvia wasn't one to need much assistance when she was in the limelight. That was always her opportunity to demonstrate independence.
The only message is from Goh, hastily reassuring me and half informing me to expect him at the actual funeral the next day. I sink heavily into the foot of my bed. Which someone, not me, had taken the time to make that morning. Come to think of it, quite a bit of the apartment had looked neater as I reflect back on the mostly cleared coffee table, the wiped down countertops in the kitchen, and the piles of "organized mess" that were stacked with lined corners and edges. It all begins to sink in.
I know that Hayate wouldn't have bothered even if he had stopped back by the apartment. It must have been Goh who'd tidied everything in record time.
Stretching full onto my bed, I pull in close the pillow he had used. Strangely comforting that smell.
But now, I don't really want to think about it.
***
Everything's different,
Nothing's changed, Only maybe slightly Rearranged.
You're sorry-grateful, Regretful-happy
***
It is the day of the funeral, appropriately grey and dismal, and I'm standing about twenty feet from where the pastor is giving final words before the military salute, the playing of the trumpet, and they lower the coffin into the ground. The gathering today smaller, more intimate. Immediate family and the most sincere of friends.
The Noventa's have a section of land on a hill over looking a winding country road parallel to a winding country river. Even Sylvia and her brother have tombstones waiting for them. An investment that unnerves me when I know that all it takes is a chisel to fill in the date after the recorded year of their birth.
The pile of roses are being distributed between the younger children. Sylvia's cousins. Mr. Noventa's nieces and nephews. The weather is turning a bit too warm and humid. I'm wilting like the flowers.
"Ready to go home?" Goh whispers, glancing down his angularly upturned nose. Reminding me a bit of Sorata's casual appraisal of me the night before. How can the same look from two different people mean nothing the same? "You seem really tired, Keisuke." He reaches out to feel my forehead. "Well, you don't appear to be experiencing the symptoms of fever."
I try to smile at that, managing to get an unsteady twitch in one cheek. A nervous tick under my right eye. "I feel rather drained." The immediate family are beginning to clump together and file to their vehicles. Sylvia far away the entire time under her black umbrella which Saitou's friend was holding for her as they neared their limo.
"I'd imagine so," Goh pulls me under his arm, "You've been putting this entire misfortune on your shoulders for too many hours now."
I'm about to suggest we go home, when I see Sylvia's great-aunt sitting alone watching the abandoned casket waiting for everyone to leave before sinking into it's final resting place.
"Hi." I say, sinking into the nearest empty seat, leaving Goh with Sasame and the others. Her silver-blue hair almost the same color as her skin in the reflected light of the tarp, set up as a shelter and canopy over the gravesite. The folding chair is cold, and I perch on the end of it. Wrapping the toe of one shoe around the other ankle, folding both of my legs under the seat.
She puts one paper light hand onto my closest knee and pats it solemnly, "Tell me Keisuke, why wasn't it me? Why not me?" She closes her eyes, withering eyelashes softly resting over her already ghost white cheeks.
Putting my hand over hers, I don't know what to say. What do you say to that? Always the good questions are the hardest ones to answer.
We wait until one of her other relatives remembers to come for her. I help her out of the chair and watch as they impatiently stay two paces in front of her own ginger steps. Trying to lift the metal walker one step at a time.
Linking his arm through mine, pressing his shoulder into my back, Goh doesn't seem surprised as I say dryly, "I need to go get drunk."
"Four Doors?"
"Transylvania." I feel a wash of agitation, directed nowhere and everywhere.
Checking his watch, Goh says without emotion, "They're not open just yet. But I'll drive."
***
Why look for answers where none occur?
You always are what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
***
When I'm disagreeable, it's a bit hard to temper. I have very little practical experience with irritation. The complaints from the store serve more to amuse or inconvenience me by demonstrating how an angry customer can single-handedly undermine the one person willing to help. Mishearing every word that I say, misconstruing my assistance until it matches the insult they're imagining.
One woman mistook the coupon I gave her as an extra charge on top of her purchase. That had caught me so off guard I hadn't been able to sensibly explain the nature of a 'discount' to her before she'd forced her way through the sliding glass entryway since it obviously wasn't opening fast enough for her.
My problem. Not being able to manipulate the universe. Not being able to keep people from dying, growing old, making mistakes. Then I'm bitter that I even thought I could make a difference.
Wiser than he can know, Goh doesn't say much and lets me brood.
Somehow, between the hours that I began to stare out my apartment window and when I turn back to look inside, the same can of beer balancing in one hand against my knee, Goh's managed to clean just that much more of my home.
I can't decide if the next feeling is another degree of annoyance or gratitude. Funny how both of those can feel almost the same. And Hayate thought I was supposedly the housewife-type. I don't have anything on Goh.
He gives me a sloppy, but affectionate kiss on my forehead, tipping my chin up in order to christen me. Then he finally speaks, "That beer apparently isn't working. If I take you to T.C. now . . . will you dance with me?"
"Wow. I suppose I owe you for cleaning the apartment," I try to joke, but it's terribly forced we both know, "But I'm a lousy dancer."
"Then no one will try to steal you away from me," Goh glibly spins my insult into a more positive one. Heck, that's supposed to be my job.
***
Then she walks in. And still you're sorry,
And still you're grateful,
And still you wonder and still you doubt,
And she goes out.
***
It takes quite a bit of alcohol these days to make me tipsy. All those casual beers has pushed my tolerance level too high, but I think I could have gotten giddy all on my own by the strange desire Goh's fixed on me through his possessive glances. Otherwise, one would say we'd undergone a complete role reversal.
I'm the one who can't stop invading his personal space, "Hey, gorgeous." I snicker, sliding up next to where he's resting against the bar. Looking intelligently out of place among the others, even though he's sporting one of his more memorable outfits. I'm the one that always dresses like a college boy, although I never was one. Fighting back the urge to brush my fingers across his attractive stomach. Inhibitions are something I'm vaguely recollecting, although I'm not certain exactly what that's supposed to mean when I know exactly what I'd like to be doing right then.
And whatever drink the bartender has handed me, Goh eyes it with suspicion.
"You are soooo sober." I observe, occupying my fingers with the stripe of crimson hair furthest away from me. Pressed against him, I can't decide where I want to start kissing him first. His jaw, or ear, or his chin or . . .
"You are soooo drunk." Goh echoes my comment. Of course, he's right. So I nod. Using the momentum to swallow more right from the bottle. I'm not tasting it any longer. Smacking my lips, I contemplate trying something harder, more noticeable.
"Keisuke?"
I almost fall into Goh even as I'm trying to see who's called my name above the throbbing dance music. Looking up, up and further up I see a perplexed smile.
"Sano." I recognize, grinning ear to ear.
"Hey man," Sano taps my shoulder, which is enough to make me stumble into Goh's arms again. I feel a bit left out as I hear Goh explaining that I'm alright and just enjoying the liquor a bit more than usual.
"Enjoying?" Sano laughs boisterously, so much so that it sounds like he's laughing in my skull, "Sounds like our good ol' Keisuke. Well, I should go back to Imari."
I think about saying something to Imari, but even if I manage to slur a word or two past my drooping eyelids, all I feel is Goh's grip tightening me against him. The wonderful feeling of not being alone. Breathing deeply the space where his neck meets his shoulders.
"Keisuke?" His voice rumbles a bit and I feel it in my chest against his. Somehow becoming more alert in that moment. Coming back from the blur that had brought Sano and then taken him away.
"Coming," I say, finding my voice again. I push against him, balancing once more.
"Are you ready to go home?" His voice trailing off before supplying the comment, 'yet.' My face is inches from his and I focus on one steady dark eye and then the other. I have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind if I manage to get home and I'm still conscious.
"Home?" I've got most of the control of my lips back, "Together?" I wiggle my eyebrows in my best Duo impression. Fleetingly I'm distracted, wondering where Duo is.
"You're not . . . no." Goh leans up from his elbows, taking a more authoritative position above my eyesight giving me a close up of his smooth chin, "Not when you feel like this, Keisuke."
I feel my brows try to knit together over my nose, frustrated but not quite sure why. The rush of annoyance clearing my mind a bit. "Fine." I step back, only wobbling a little to hurt my surfacing pride, "I'd rather stay here a bit longer, thank you." Then demonstrating my coordination by walking backwards into the fray of younger dancers, only jostling three or four of them and I try to keep Goh's eye. Willing him to come to me.
Which he doesn't.
I usually hate dancing, alone and with anyone else. But tonight I simply don't care. Just trying to keep out of everyone's way and on my own two feet is exhilarating in a way. Now and again, I'll realize that I'm smiling at the same person who's grinning back at me. Smiles are contagious. One girl had a tongue piercing that I found incredibly fascinating as she balanced it over her teeth.
"Are you really all pure, innocent, and perfect?"
I almost didn't realize she was speaking to me. I stop staring at the ceiling to see two incredibly augmented blue eyes blinking at me. She has her arms balancing on my shoulders and rocks her hips against me for a moment, tilting her head back and showing a very slender throat. When she flips her hair forward, she squeals above the music.
"Does he make love to you all night and then pick up your messes all day long?" She has her head tilted to one side, and I'm wondering how my hands put themselves onto her girlish waist. She's wearing a strange sweater that looks like a wooly pillow and a pleated skirt. Quite a strange teenager contrast to the narrow, worldly look she's evaluating me with.
"What?" I say rather dumbly, not quite certain who she is and why she's there and what she means. Then in a flash of white light, I finally notice the telltale signature of violet hair.
Drunk as a skunk, and with about half a wit to realize it, I've just met Shiori.
***
You're always sorry, You're always grateful,
You hold her thinking, "I'm not alone."
You're still alone.
You don't live for her, You do live with her,
You're scared she's starting to drift away
And scared she'll stay.
***
"Girlfriend!" She bounces a bit as the song changes, "You've got Goh-Goh." Her hair more or less secured in a pink ribbon to accent her deviantly naïve appearance. "How does it feel? Do you like him? Does he look at you like this," she demonstrates, "and then just leave you wanting him?"
"Excuse me?" I manage that much, a bit nonplussed by her unveiled comments that could have been heard by anyone but weren't. I'm no longer blinking in confusion and stop letting her move me with her, taking my hands away and holding them in the air as if to ask her to stop. The way she's rubbing the flat of her palm lower down my back is unnerving. "Stop, stop, stop." I reach around myself to grab her arms.
"I'm sorry." She almost asks, "Was I bothering you? I'm sorry." She backs off about three inches, "Hayate was just telling me that you and Goh- Goh were an item now."
"Hayate?" I shake my head, trying to clear it and learn what I can, "Is he here?"
"He's darling cute himself, you know." Shiori winks, still moving a bit with the music and spinning her bangle bracelets around delicately slender wrists, "Quite the prince charming yearning after his true love and all. Sad that."
I wonder how much she knows. I have a strange feeling that this Shiori isn't the one that convinces Hayate to stay with her. Coerces him to share things with her. What little I remember seeing of her involved a lot of bare leg and coy flirty-ness. Nothing spiteful. What had Goh said, she wasn't vindictive?
"I'm not bothering you, am I?" She asks, and I can't accurately describe the look she's giving me. Her mouth parts open and she has a very pink tongue.
The next thing I know, I'm staring at the back of Goh's leather vest. His shoulders pulling forward to apparently cross over his chest. Suddenly able to let go a little, my forehead rests between his shoulders for support. I hear and feel him say her name, but by the time I feel less dizzy and look over his shoulder, she's gone away.
He does manage to turn all the way around and catch me before I slump forward again. "Okay, Keisuke, my silly friend. Time to go home."
And he does exactly that, somehow maneuvering me away from the mass of dancers, home and the next thing I know I'm in my own bed.
***
Good things get better, Bad get worse.
Wait--I think I meant that in reverse. You're sorry-grateful, Regretful- happy,
Why look for answers where none occur?
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with,
All to do with her.
***
I'm slow to wake with a funny ache in my head and a sour taste in my throat. The most comforting and unexpected aspect of waking was having Goh near. The flush of embarrassment of obviously making him escort me drunk out of my mind nearly balances with the simple, nice security of how he holds me snuggly against his chest. Breath warm against the back of my neck like the promise of unfathomable forgiveness.
His hair is sort of ticklish however.
Twisting, mostly my neck, I risk kissing him. Feeling a bit indecent that he was spending his time watching over me.
Practicality returns to my nature instantaneously. While I know I'm free of responsibilities until the next Monday, I fear that the full sunlight through the blinds means that he's missed something important.
I'm trying to figure out the quietest way to panic when I realize that he's watching me, already awake.
"How's the noggin?" He says quite unromantically, smirking at me, quite unlike the calm and pleasant countenance that I had adored moments before he woke. "You are the most stupid and stubborn drunk I've seen in a long time."
"Takes a bit for me to get drunk," I frown, not certain who I'm disappointed in, but I'm feeling better than when I first woke up and consequently, more agreeable in general. "You're one of the lucky few to see me far gone."
"This is twice now, I do believe." Goh sits up, running his fingers up through his hair succeeding in making it stand in even more gravity defying angles. As he does so, the sun falls across my eyes unblocked.
"Ack, I need sunglasses . . . or something." I fold my arm over my eyes. "I think I have this obnoxiously large pair from my sister just in my top drawer if you don't mind getting them for me, sweetie." I tease.
"Sweetie?" When he repeats it, the endearment sounds different. And I'm re-remembering my earlier concerns.
"Do you have to be somewhere?" I sit up, but he's already pulling on a spare shirt of mine and walking around in those pajama bottoms he liked to borrow.
"Don't worry." He glances over with a grateful smile, "I've got enough time." Then crossing out into the hallway, he adds, "I'll be back."
I slip into the kitchen and shake the box of cereal Hayate left. Thinking there might be enough for two if I use extra milk to make up the difference. It's too late for Friday morning cartoons, and I debate turning on the news or not.
"Keisuke?"
I call to him from the kitchen, letting him know where I am. When he doesn't appear, I peek around the corner to see him standing in the hallway brushing his teeth. Even in the shadows of the hall, I can see his silhouette from the light in my room. He's studying the pictures on the wall. My heart beats a step faster. Ready and willing him to ask me about Sorata.
"Yeah," I call weakly.
"Shiori . . . didn't say anything to upset you last night, did she?" He ducks into the bathroom a moment and comes out demonstrating his clean smile even as I hand him breakfast. He chuckles, eating it anyway, then chewing more somberly, waits.
"I can't remember too much," I think back, finding I'd only a few images and impressions of her really. "I didn't realize it was her until she mentioned Hayate."
"She put you and Hayate together?" Goh asks.
"Apparently," I shrug, "Or maybe it was her hair that gave her away. What's with the purple?"
"Why do I dye mine red?" Goh unexpectedly responds, and I have no answer even though he continues without waiting, "Do you have anything to drink?" He's draining the milk from his bowl already, and I've yet to really start mine. Pulling open the kitchen door I nod consent as he takes the milk, "Strawberry soda?" His eyebrows lift as he closes the refrigerator again.
"It's Hayate's?" I weakly protest, clearly lying. It was a silly summer addiction Miaka had introduced me to when I spent most of the warmer months commuting to stay with my family. When I had less persons to consistently entertain me during the summer months.
As he moves around the apartment looking better in my pajamas that I ever could, I indulge in thoughts that he might always stay with me here. Replacing in pieces everything I thought I needed from other means. Now and again he gives me a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow as if waiting for me to explain. But what he expects to hear, I'm not certain. And what I want to say, that I'm uncertain of as well.
Since he doesn't tell on his own, I want to ask him more about Shiori, but I can't seem to . . . yet.
Walking past each other becomes some strange dance of getting ready for the day. Meeting eyes and saying nothing or very little. Putting our daily camouflage on in layers. Goh saying something about needing to pick up his text before going to class. I mumble about needing new cereal.
In one pass, I realize that there are messages on the answering machine from the night before. First I listen to Goh's earlier recording that I hadn't deleted. Then three messages of equal anxiety and excitement from Duo who was insisting I come to his next concert with Kazuma and company. And to bring Goh if I wanted to and could.
Fixing the laces on his shoes, sitting on the couch with a bag of his things to return to his own apartment, Goh nods enthusiastically, "I'd love to be there."
Then hoping he gets my drift, I wave him out the door, "I'd - love - for you to be there too."
I lean against the door long after he's gone. Unable to think.
***
You'll always be what you always were,
Which has nothing to do with, All to do with her.
Nothing to do with, All to do with her.
***
Author's Notes:
I had a terribly hard time writing this, probably because I was miles away from my computer when I was inspired to do so. I'm thinking that Duo's next concert should be interesting and I hope will allow me to reintroduce some of the missing characters. *crosses fingers*
Kathy: Thanks for the continuing support. I was expecting a confrontation this time around, but it seems that unlike Sorata, Shiori was the one wanting to initiate confrontations this time around. I'm usually able to channel one chapter a week, but the holiday really threw me. *chuckle* Again, thanks.
Kay: *runs to rescue Kay* I've grown addicted to ~your~ enthusiasm. It's delightful to know that someone's regularly having fun with this particular fic. I hereby dedicate all happy Goh and Keisuke moments to you. Although, I have no idea what's in store for them next. ~looks in back pocket for conflict~ *shrugs*
In the meantime, if you're looking for extra Half-Baked goodies. I currently have two pre-Half-Baked stories written: "An Affair on 8th Avenue" details the high school adventures of Duo, Sorata and Keisuke. The new one, "Violently Happy," peers a bit into Goh's past and how Shiori tangled into it. The pre-H-B'ed stories are nice to flesh things out a bit and I'll probably write a few more of them.
Thanks for reading.