Disclaimer : Blah blah blah... you know...
Title : The Sakuragi Cousins
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CHAPTER 4 : Transition
Hanamichi slumped down exhaustedly at the cool silky sheets of his huge bed, groaning miserably and with evident strains. He turned to his stomach and crawled weakly to the center, his head narrowly missing the mountain of pillows above him.
But he didn't mind; the bed was soft enough and he was just terribly worn out and confused to even adjust himself to a more convenient position. Needless to say, he wanted to take a break. From school, from basketball (really? strange...), from fighting and practicing, from everything, and most especially, from all the vexing hubbub that has been going on since Jeanteul's mysterious appearance last night.
Burying his face on the silky sheets, he tried to dissuade himself from thinking further.
Damn!
He swore, in the name and sacredness of basketball, that from the past seven years or so of his life, he had not thought of anything else as deep and grave as this. Well, actually, he wasn't sure of the time interval. But then why should it concern him? The predicament he's in can not allow him to think of such petty notions. By God! And he wonders why matters relating to his collateral almost always never fail to make him think deep thoughts on almost everything, regardless of the triviality involve. So he acknowledge that being generally vague was better than being specifically false; therefore, to be more chronologically sure, he restated that he hadn't been thinking much in the past few years (he pertains to the time interval).
His eyes were irritating him; mainly because he had not slept a wink last night from too much thinking (and one would wonder why his head did not explode). Heaven knows how he tossed and turned until 5:00 in the morning, unable to attain the slightest joy of sleep, heedless of his large and very cozy bed. Actually, call it modesty of some sort, the bed was just too large and too cozy for his now overly sensitive taste. Not only his bed, but the whole damn room was simply too much for him to take. He felt like he was laying on a vast field and that the entire ceiling seemed to loom threateningly over him.
He was dizzy from looking up, but still his consciousness persisted up to 7, the official hour of waking up. And so started the whole day with Jeanteul, as if from a de javu or a nightmare from Hanamichi's past, came marching to his room, yanking aside the curtains to let the piercingly blinding daylight pass through, pulling his covers nonchalantly and almost literally dragging him down to the lower floor of his apartment for a healthy (I wouldn't count for it) morning breakfast.
If the person who had done all this, and add up that he had strapped him to a chair at the breakfast table because the young grumpy lad refused to substitute maple with honey, or who, in a vicious attempt to cleanse the overly reacting and reluctant red head, nearly drowned him in the bathtub filled with fragrant bubbles (with the red head insisting and whining that no man in his right sense would want to smell like a girl since that was the fragrance he had associated with the bath), or the person who took the pain-- mainly this was felt on Hanamichi's part -- to literally dress him up in sole purpose to make him look more of a noble creature rather than the savage that he seems to be: if he were not Jeateul, that person concern would have been, no doubt, absolutely dead by now.
He didn't go to school that morning for they went to some office to arrange what Jeanteul had continuously stated along the way as 'his' papers; so he had to sign them and properly acknowledge them with his presence. It definitely surprised him when that smug old man-- may it be his character to vex Hanamichi out of his wits or it comes with the job-- nonchalantly said that he, Hanamichi, was to go to Okinawa for more or less than a month's visit.
Though these were almost the exact words the old man had given him, his interpretation drove him in a different perspective; a more foreboding light on the statement: He was to go see his mother, AGAIN. He was to go back to Okinawa where his mother had been residing all these years.
He stifled a groan underneath the sheets and tried to grab a pillow from above him to cover his head which was throbbing painfully. He badly needed aspirin.
After banging his head on the mattress ten times -- and finally deciding it was useless so he tried the floor--, groaning for a hundred and cursing for who-knows-how-many-coz-I-lost-count-of-them times, he willed himself to stand up and head for the bathroom.
The journey from the bed to bathroom was like travelling from baseline of the back court to the other of the forecourt or possibly more. And if he were to walk on the right wing of his room, he would literally have to travel from baseline to baseline in order to get to the other side since the right wing really IS a basketball court!
Hanamichi was deeply overwhelmed, speechless even, when he saw that his new apartment was in the new 12 story building that had appeared suddenly in their district. A lot of people had been wondering about the purpose of the structure; mostly they'd thought of it to be some elegant office but it looked too comfortable for office use. Then it showed itself to be some stylish condo unit, with them occupying the whole two floors from the top. And what's more is that each floor would be equaled to the size of about six times that of Shohoku's sports hall. To top it all, his room occupied half of the top floor with a real court and complete basketball accessories.
Most definitely none in the whole Kanagawa or probably the whole of Japan, less he be a super rich basketball fanatic, has had this outstanding privilege of having a real basketball court in his room, nor has anyone in a thousand (and to think that this may be a numerical understatement) had as much luck conceived overnight.
But there were of course setbacks he had to deal with. Like being eternally lost in the sea of thoughts and perplexity which being Hanamichi, the simple idiot that he was suppose to portray, renders him almost incapable of coping with the situation. But thanks to his 'Ore wa Tensai' song that he kept in mind and constantly sang whenever he felt the need to, he was able to maintain his confident bearing and comical stunts throughout that morning.
Also the catch includes the fact that he hadn't had a decent sleep for about 48 hours, thus the reason for his headache.
He staggered on his way across the room to where the bathroom and the closet were located. After he accidentally hit himself with the door while opening it, then cursing, shut the door fiercely, the main door cracked open.
***
"K'so!" Hanamichi shouted out loud inside the bathroom.
The search for the needed aspirin could be considered chaotic, as well as painful and, well... this is Hanamichi we're talking about after all. Neway, to cut the story short, he somehow got himself pathetically tangled in some clothes rack and while struggling vainly to get out, he knocked himself silly on another clothes rack, further inflicting him more than before. Then after releasing himself from all those garments, he literally got lost from the sea of mess that was his closet. He couldn't think of anyone to blame for his misfortunes so he vent it on whoever had thought on making his closet this big and setting the bathroom somewhere inside the closet. A half an hour later, he finally found the stupid door he was looking for on the spot where he, in his blind rage, threw all the clothes together with the rack, blocking the door out of sight. How'd he found it? He was pacing irritably back and forth and tripped himself on the rack, colliding with the unsuspecting door itself.
From the moment he had set one foot inside the bathroom, he thought he wouldn't have as much bad luck as then. Not actually.... He set his other foot on the shimmering white tiles and that got him slipping on the floor, switching off his senses for a while. He thought he was blind when he woke up. Everything was stark white and being as, er, slow to comprehend as Hanamichi (*I can't believe I'm saying this to Hana-kun*), he actually thought he was dead. That was until he stumbled on the bathtub did he finally realized his entourage. He hadn't remembered it to be there. He hardly ever remembered this place since that morning his mind was preoccupied on thinking whether he should bash Jeantuel's head or not. So he hadn't paid attention on what the bathroom looked like.
He began to look for the medicine cabinet, condemning his headache as he left puddles on the floor. At last he found it. He proceeded to open the full length mirror only to be faced by what seemed like hundreds of little bottles containing stuffs he didn't know. There were pills, liquid substances and creamy white things. Each were labeled but Hanamichi got so frustrated to even bother to read that he decided to bang his head on the tiles and to his relief, the headache was gone.
He stepped out merrily from the bathroom, kicked the rack that had caused him much pain then headed for the door to be knocked again on the head. Just his luck, the headache came full force. Now do you really think he'll bother to go back? ..... Nah! Really now?
***
Hanamichi slept his headache as soon as he had returned from his mishap adventure inside the bathroom. It was half past ten when he woke up. A little too early for him to get up since he's been stressed all throughout the day. Yet that short rest seemed to have revived him enough.
He adjusted his eyes to the partially lit surrounding before settling his feet on the carpeted floor. He went to the kitchen to grab a bite, then afterwards, went back up to his room, careful not to make too much noise along the way.
Balls that were once scattered across the room were now placed neatly in a basket along a sideline. It must have been Jeanteul, for who else? He haven't seen that pleasant faced woman who had served them this morning come in his room; and definitely it couldn't be that strange driver whose face he had tried to get a glimpse only to be averted continuously: thus he only saw his back.
Feeling his half renewed strength, Hanamichi decided to spend sometime playing basketball before he could continue the remainder of his sleep. It was a cold night, making Hanamichi's polo shirt dampen with cold sweat. A half an hour had passed when he aimed for his last three-pointer, and due to his rebuking fatigue, the ball hit the ring instead and bounced away to the other side of the room.
Before Hanamichi could run after it-- because he was feeling dizzy at the moment-- the ball rolled and toppled over an unmoving table and its contents. It took him some seconds to gather up his wits, then groaning, he went lazily over the scattered things. Hesitantly, he picked them up, cursing everything and the stupid ball. It was then in the middle of another batch of rude curses when he noticed a picture frame laying among the debris.
There wasn't anything really special or outstanding about the picture frame, nor was it made of gold and diamonds to make Hanamichi's eyes seem to widen marginally in an expression of amazement, surprise and... affection.
Slowly yet surely, he reached out a hand to touch the frame, caressing it as if finding out if it were for real. He picked it up.
A warm smile greeted him. Actually there were two smiles that were there, but he already knew too well of the other one; it being a five year old boisterous redhead whom he could not be mistaken.
The other one was a smile he had not seen for a long period of time; nevertheless he had kept the memory of it somewhere in the very depths of his heart and mind.
"It was you... wasn't it?" he pointed a finger at the picture, bestowing it with a soft wistful smile that was only reserve for the blue-eyed boy in front of him. He drew the picture to his chest affectionately, reveling on any imaginary warmth it could give him.
"Baka... You brought me here..."
Usually any retrospection involving his family gives him insufferable sadness and remorse. This though was one exception to the rule. He kept 'his memory' in him.
"You miss him, don't you, Hanamichi-sama?"
Jeantuel startled him. He turned around, not feeling the urge to bash the old man for his sudden intrusion. It was more of his tiredness and giddiness that rendered him to shut up, so he resolved to give the old man a mild (not maniacal, mind you) smile.
"I decided to place this picture in your room," said he, moving towards the uncharacteristically benevolent-looking redhead. "I noticed that you didn't have any picture left with you, so I have thought of giving mine instead since I don't think I'll be needing it now."
Sincerity touched those wrinkled features. Hanamichi was moved beyond words. He nodded his head in gratitude; that was all that he could think of doing.
"You should go to sleep now, Hanamichi-sama. We have a long day ahead and don't forget we have to prepare for Okinawa tomorrow. Goodnight," he then proceeded for the door. He was already in the door when Hanamichi's voice stopped him.
"Anou... Jeantuel.."
"Yes, Hanamichi-sama?"
"Will he be there?" There was a struggle in him, the old man could tell.
Truthfully, the dedicated man answered, "I'm afraid he won't be there."
The sadness was evident in those expressive eyes, but Jeantuel was quick to console.
"But I'm not so sure either. I've heard from your Aunt Veronica that some of your cousins had returned to Japan recently. And there seemed to be a reunion going on in the household and probably that's one of the reason why you're being called to Okinawa. But I reiterate that I am not really sure of the information I've heard. You know it's not my business to mingle too much with the family affairs unless I am directly needed and informed. I hope that satisfies your question."
"Aa," Hanamichi replied absentmindedly.
"Oyasumi nasai, Hanamichi-sama." and he closed the door, leaving the fiery head boy with his own thoughts.
***
The basketball team of Shohoku high continued on with their usual practice. Together with Akagi, Kogure, Mitsui and other former seniors, they helped the team prepare for the upcoming game with Ryonan. Even so the day seemed long for them.
They played along with an eerie silence. It was unexpected though; having the redhead absent was not such a drag back then when he was out for a considerably long time. He had an excuse then. Unexcused absences would only cause captain Akagi to pop a vein or two and some painful head punch for the redhead the next day. That only for a day of absence; but this one's different and it definitely extends more than a day. It was for a week or two. And what's bothersome is that no one knows where or why he's gone.
Hanamichi had been away for some months already because of the Sannoh accident and his return brought great joy for the team. Afterwards, Rukawa Kaede came back from the All-Japan team. Nobody knows why he came back, but then why question? For as long as the two were there (and so long as they can keep a safe distance from each other), the team has another chance to win it all on the Inter-High and probably, the Nationals. An incredible transformation though has happened: the two rivals, after the Sannoh incident, had strangely manifested, only in very minimal circumstances, a certain unspoken teamwork or bond (if you must call it). Of course, the usual brawl was there, occurring every minute or so; but there also was that bond that seemed to ease a little of their hatred towards each other.
A new change was felt though and they don't know what will happen next.
***
"Hanamichi-sama, we're here."
Jeantuel held the car door open. Startled, the redhead raised his head from the book he was reading to look at the old man. Time stopped for him during the journey.
They took a flight early morning in a private plane which was destined for Okinawa. By that time, Hanamichi had regained most of his energy and began to be his usual loud self again. A lot of passenger turned their heads disapprovingly towards the hyperactive boy. He was practically jumping up and around, bumping on numerous people and their luggage, arguing with some officials and making a commotion freely in public with no one to stop him.
It was also in the airport where Jeantuel gave him his first cellphone: a Nokia 7650. Of course, he was *overly* excited that he nearly broke the thing into pieces when he tried to grab it out from Jeantuel. Excruciatingly, the white haired man taught the technology nescient teenager on how to operate the cell. This irritated the self-proclaimed tensai so he refused to listen and pressed down some button that almost caused the phone to malfunction.
Inside the plane, Hanamichi acted more enthusiastically than ever. The crew was on the verge of jumping off the plane. They could handle a tireless four years old kid but a seventeen years old was too much. If Hanamichi lasted like that the whole course of time, then there won't be a single person on board leaving that plane with his sanity or eardrums still intact.
Half an hour later, feeling that there was nothing interesting to do, he indulged himself on looking for a pastime. He saw some books and magazines placed on a shelf and amazingly, he gave thought on reading them. They were all in English texts from various authors and publications, both famous and not. The magazines were usually of the business and high society class; the novels of classics and prominent forms of literature coming from acclaimed international writers. There were such works as The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, The Stranger by Albert Camus, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, Crime and Punishment by F. M. Dostoevsky, Eugenie Grandet by Honore de Balzac, and Frankenstein by Mary Shelley; contemporaries, considered they were from authors who are yet living or had lived to see the turnouts of the 20th century, had titles such as The Joyluck Club, Dolley: A Novel of Dolley Madison in Love and War, The Onion Fields, and a lot many Stephen Kings novels which were adjacent to the Harry Potter ones and the Sidney Sheldon line.
Hanamichi, of course, in normal circumstances and expectations of people around, would not be caught dead reading a novel, much more of an English origin; unless for instance you think that the world is about to be annihilated within twelve hours upon seeing a shocking sight of the redhead ever holding a book: for you might think that he did so as an oath to do the things he had yet not dared to do so in the entirety of his life.
Hanamichi picked up a book-- Lo and Behold!: a Don Quixote by Cervantes, and no less indeed! Probably out of curiosity, for it must have been, he proceeded to read it almost leisurely. Something must have gotten into him when he decided to indulge himself with that preference; or more appropriately guessed, he must have not been thinking at all. But incredible as it is, he continued, seemingly absorbed through out half of the trip, finishing a few chapters at length. Not one could have guessed that Hanamichi can read in English; and by God! surely no one will ever believe it. He doesn't look like someone adept with such linguistic skill, nor can he speak it fluidly just like the majority of Japanese. In his junior years, he had been flunking the subject; what more right now? Though of course, he couldn't flunk any more subjects since he started basketball for fear of being kicked out; but the point is Hanamichi can read serious and high sounding English! What more is he CAN actually understand what he's reading!
He was in the part where Don Quixote was deliriously attacking a wind mill out of thought that it was a dreadful monster he's facing at, when in a disrupted dream, Jeantuel called him out of the trance.
"We're here,Hanamichi-sama."
Getting out of the remorse sensation he felt for the character of Quixote, empathizing more on the person's vivid and hyperactive imagination, Hanamichi reluctantly stepped out to reality with the book held closely to his side as he giddily grazed over the towering mansion in front of him. Jeantuel signaled the chauffeur to get the luggage; and obediently, the chubby man in black complied.
They walked on a path headed for an enormous mahogany-colored two door. Instantly a servant opened the door for them. Inside and out the mansion was of a Victorian type. Seemingly old and enchanted like the ones seen on cover papers of classical books: the draperies of the parlour were of light cream color with a touch of rosy linings on the sides; the flooring was variations of mahogany ; the walls white. A chandelier hangs brilliantly above each velvety davenport set. The salon was a long one, fit for utmost thirty people to sit in: one for each chair; and they could run wild as much as they desire without even bumping on each other.
The two of them, after passing the waiting room, came to an opening and turned right at it, venturing once more on a solemn hallway. On every intervals there would be a intricately carved desk or chair and on the same intervals were murals, finely painted and curved, rendering an almost severe atmosphere on every passage of the house.
"Is there anything bothering you, Hanamichi-sama?" Jeantuel broke off the eerie silence.
That got Hanamichi started, withdrawing once more in his trail of thought. "A-anou.. betsuni..."
The old confidante chuckled lightly. "For a moment you seem to be brooding over something. This was like you when you were a child; nobody knows what you were thinking or what you will be doing. And your change of mood was also very puzzling, indeed." He seemed to say this more to himself than to Hanamichi. The latter opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again as if finding nothing to retort with.
Having gone through some series of unending staircases, they stopped at last by one of their large two door rooms. Like the stairs which were unceasing, the panels of rooms were like so. It must be really hard to keep such a big house for one could easily get lost through its labyrinth. Even so, Jeantuel's years of servitude must have paid off; after all, they didn't get lost-- though its seems Hanamichi did, in a mental sort of way.
The room was considerably grand... and companionably cozy. Light shoot right out of the glass walls-- or were they windows? Whichever they gave the room a warm atmosphere, a stark contrast to that of the other rooms. Hanamichi noticed his luggage neatly piled on one side of the room, near a table close to the windows.
"Well, I think I shall leave you here for now. I'll send tea for you here. If you need anything, there's a phone right there near the computer table." With this he bowed politely, directing towards the door.
"Matte! Jeantuel..." The man stopped to close the door.
"What is it?" The redhead remained silent. Taking the opportunity, Jeantuel spoke for him. "You need not worry, young master. No more hostilities will walk these halls. Nor sufferings will smudge the pillars of this family for I think they have matured through time."
Hanamichi could only stare dumbly as the reply for the prophetic speech given him. What the hell does this old man mean?!! Annoyingly the said old man only laughed, not at all answering the young man's confused thoughts. He closed the door before Hanamichi could even raise an obnoxious tone at him.
"Arrrgggh! Smug old man! What does he mean by that?!"
Left alone in a room eerily sounded and vaguely familiar, Hanamichi began to think again-- an occupation that was though of as something way beyond his bounds of normality but was capable of doing so within the premises of old relations. He opened one of those large windows-- or were they doors? and found himself in a veranda. He fancied sitting on a nice peach plushy chair near the banister, enjoying the overview of the beach near the mansion.
The house itself still holds invariably that invincible hands: imposing and stern. In its solid self, it can't possibly contrive such rule; yet in the Sakuragi mansion, one does not need verbal affirmation for rules, at least for its residents. One could feel the rules as it begins to automatically work itself upon the kin; and it also holds a Sakuragi once he is within the same vicinity with another Sakuragi. Hanamichi had thought of it and realized that he had not been himself lately. He has been brooding too long and too often! That's more than enough of confirmation besides the fact he had been totally quiet for an hour. A deep sigh followed these thoughts. Jeantuel was right: when he was a child nobody knows what he's about to do or what he was to think, a seeming contrast with what his Kanagawa friends think of him: a readable simpleton and a do'aho. Well, if you were a child who started playing piano at the age 1 1/2, began to comprehend or read things when he was barely one, and only started speaking when he reached two, one wouldn't quite know where to categorize Hanamichi as a child. Everybody thought he'd grow mute (who could possibly think of Hanamichi being mute!), dumb even (no surprise, really...). Nevertheless, he showed understanding of things through gestures and expressions which coordinated suavely through the given situations.
Almost all his memories of childhood were forgotten; yet some he purposely retained. Among those memories were that of his mother. He could only recall them in blurred pictures: her figure, her mien, her benevolent voice and caresses. Hanamichi knew that she loved him. She was the one who arrange things for him in Kanagawa, giving him the financial support he needed after his father's death but not the emotional comfort that he had craved for so long. He once was angry at her; although now he couldn't say if he still feels the same. If anything, he felt alleviated.
A contented sigh escaped his lips while contemplating this. Recollections of the mansion began to flood his thoughts. It had been seven years after all; the walls and panels of this building were long forgotten jigsaw puzzle rebuilding itself on his mind. He has regained some of those long lost pieces, enough to sustain information of his family history. The door to the balcony opened quietly and the person went in unnoticed by the redhead.
"Hanamichi-sama," the smooth voice of Jeantuel fleeted to his ears, making Hanamichi start involuntarily and turn to him. "Madame Remedios wants to talk to you." His eyes sparked with unsuppressed anticipation though his stance was still conserved underneath his black Armani clothing. Hanamichi blinked at the man in front of him. Did he just hear him right? He nodded in response, not knowing what else to say or do.
Instantly, Hanamichi found himself trailing familiar stairs and passages which his young self had traveled so many times in the past. They stopped at a huge white door, finely craved and grand. Inside was something more than grand: walls were cozy white and cream; draperies and the pieces of furniture looked unpretentious yet held elegance in their own charming way. Cool air passed through the curtains comfortingly, soothing every corner of the room.
It was then that Hanamichi noticed the lone figure sitting near an open glass door. Her back was to him while a curtain floats lively between them, rendering her person almost totally hidden. For a nanosecond, the curtain that had stood between them parted and gave Hanamichi a glimpse of the sedentary figure. She-- as her lineament obviously defined that she was a lady-- was seemingly indulged in a Japanese embroidery at hand. But that was not of concern at the moment; for what arrested Hanamichi's attention was something part of her peculiar physicality: She has red hair.
***
Rukawa Kaede handled the ball wryly at his right hand. His fox eyes darted for enemies and possible allies from side to side before staring straight at his captain in front. Miyagi front, Kakuta right and Yasuda left; all enemies, no opening whatsoever. But then the aspiring freshmen, Kobayashi, came clearly into scene and promised an excellent outcome for the offensive team.
Upon the temporary distraction brought about by Kobayashi, Rukawa moved in for a fake, averting Miyagi's advances; and all the while everyone thought he was going to pass it to the freshmen, the arrogant ace player did a jumper selfishly by himself.
"Brat!" Mitsui hissed, nodding his head disapprovingly. "Selfish brat."
"Well, that didn't change."
"Hm.. That's odd, Kogure-sempai. For sometime I thought he did," Ayako contemplated.
"Well, he didn't. He's still arrogant, selfish and goddamned good. But, of course, not as good as me, that is," Mitsui snorted.
"Rukawa!" Akagi suddenly barked from beside them. Obediently, the sophomore approached.
"Hai, sempai."
"Rukawa, basketball is a team sport, not a solo sport. I guess I have to remind you again that you still have other team mates inside the court playing with you. I thought you've changed, Rukawa."
The raven haired boy attempted to speak; but closed his mouth and uttered something else in a low hesitant voice, "Gomen nasai, sempai..." He spoke nothing more.
Akagi heaved up a heavy sigh and dismissed the youth immediately.
***
"Something's wrong with Rukawa, sempai. He's acting a bit weird during practice today; have you noticed?"
"But Aya-chan, he's always weird."
"Ryota, do me a favor and shut up."
"Ok ^_~ *grin, grin*"
"Yes, that's definite." Akagi's deep bass replied. They were left in the gym after practice, deciding that the upper and former classmen were to discuss some matters of their own, one of which was of a certain raven haired boy.
"He seems to.. close himself even more, don't you think?"
The others acquiesced at what the spectacled man said.
"Something must be troubling him. Probably family problems, if not school problems...," Kogure thought for a while. "Nah.. definitely not school problems."
Silence reigned for some moments. "Emotional problems?" Everyone gave Mitsui a stern look. "Hey, maybe he got sick of being Mr. Ice Block and realized that he needed a friend after all. There are lots of possibilities. Who knows what that kid's thinking? Maybe he didn't have any problems at all and just became more arrogant, that's all."
"Wow! For a moment I thought you actually cared. That coming from an ex-gangster sounds really out of place," Miyagi commented.
"Hey, what do you mean by that?!!"
"Stop it already, you two!" Kogure intervened; then he looked at Mitsui and smiled. "But maybe you're right."
"Yea, yea... " Miyagi rolled his eyes. "What is wrong with Rukawa?" And without thinking, he added, "He was normal then... right before Sakuragi was still here."
Akagi stared pensively at Miyagi; Ayako paused.
"What if..," she whispered to herself. Not one heard her but they sure noticed her when she was a meter behind.
"Neh, Aya-chan?"
"Ah, g-gomen..." she stuttered, walking briskly towards them.
"Ok, why don't we just drop the subject and have a bite at Danny's. We might as well discuss some other things there while we eat," Mitsui suggested. All others agreed and they continued their walk to the said place. Ayako, on the other hand, was absorbed on a thought; she was still thinking of the blue eyed boy and was summing up her own conclusion on the former subject. It surprised her a bit on the out come; and if her hypothesis proved correct, then the subject will include not only the raven haired boy, but a redhead as well.
I'll soon find out, she thought, planning seriously for the future ahead.
-_-; TBC
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(~_~) I'm delayed again. My alibi: a broken modem and a term paper. Neway, this chapter's a bit long and lame. I love Hana so much I probably won't even pair him to someone else..... just kidding... or probably not. I haven't been in love enough to write something about it so my attempts would just be miserable, if not disastrous... as always. Well I figured, I need Hana to be OOC in this fic... can't be helped... bwahahaha... to my best friend, rys-chan, i luv ya... this is for you.... hope you read it.... (*_*)