06 In The Name of Love
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What the fuck?"
"What the fuck—ow!"
Miyako withdrew her fork, looking half-accomplished, half-pissed off. "I want some answers, Takaishi."
Takeru merely scowled, rubbing his arm. It was the same one as before, too - damn it. "You should be asking Iori."
"Iori?" the girl repeated, eying him with suspicion and curiosity. A short pause followed and Takeru sent a prayer out to whatever deity listening that Miyako would stop abusing him, but the thought was promptly shot to hell when the plastic fork made a vengeful return. "Takaishi Takeru, stop trying to blame the innocent!"
Torn between laughing and crying at the pure ridiculousness of it all, Takeru settled for jumping back instead. "Innocent?" He repeated the motion to avoid Miyako's weapon of choice. "You think Iori's innocent?"
Ha. Ha.
Ha.
"Yes!" Miyako began attacking with increased vigor, and Takeru gave up on trying to dodge and settled for fighting back instead, trying to wrestle the fork from her hand.
"Assuming, sadistic—" broken by a yelp, "bitch!"
"Imbecilic chauvinistic bastard!"
"You don't even know what that means!"
"Are you doubting my intelligence?!"
Catfight, commence.
From the window, the remaining four Chosen watched the spectacle.
"My money's on Takeru," Taichi said, eyes not once leaving the scene.
"Miyako's vicious, though." Koushirou winced slightly, watching as the dreaded plastic fork met its target enough times to cause even viewers extreme discomfort.
Taichi shook his head. "But Takeru's related to Yamato. And if he's anything like his brother... he's going to put up more than just a tough fight." As if to prove his point, Miyako swore loudly and creatively, audible even through the separating glass. All four flinched.
Sora coughed into a fist, averting her gaze. "Don't you think we should break them up?"
No response. Sighing, the girl occupied herself with watching again. At least she had tried.
Off to the side, Iori had taken the role of cheerleader, with encouraging remarks such as, "that's it, Takeru, make her regret ever messing with one true love!"
The other three, wisely, didn't comment.
In the bathroom, true love had its own fair share of problems to deal with.
"Wow, um, wait, Daisuke—"
"Something wrong?" Ken asked as he moved to lock the door, brushing past the now shirtless Daisuke.
Unable to stop staring, Yamato managed to reply with a faint, "no." Daisuke grinned over his shoulder, bright, confident, and padded over to the sink, humming.
The act of cleaning up was quickly set into motion. Ken's arm was relatively easy to take care of; a few wet paper towels and voila. Daisuke, however...
His discarded shirt was doused in water, courtesy of Ken, who kept on watching Yamato with an amused and suspicious enough look that was enough to make him uncomfortable. Once the soda was properly washed out (they rinsed six times to be safe), the shirt was then directed towards the blow dryer, which Ken insisted on doing so that Yamato could wash Daisuke's hair.
Yamato was beginning to suspect traces of a conspiracy.
"Bend over," Yamato said, a bit hesitant. Daisuke did so without any qualms, ridiculous smile obscured from view as he positioned himself as directed. "No shampoo," Yamato continued, trying to be casual, "Guess we'll have to improvise. Is soap okay?"
"No problem," came the light reassurance.
"You should hurry up, Yamato," Ken called out from next to the blow dryer. He wore a poker face, but there was a soft smirk in his voice.
"Don't rush him, Ken," Daisuke grinned.
"Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry at all.
Exhaling deeply, Yamato turned the water on.
"Hey, Tai..."
Taichi remained riveted on the ongoing fight. "Sora?"
The girl glanced to the side nervously, biting her lower lip. "I think the manager is going to call the police."
A beat.
"... oh."
Watching the battling pair warily, Taichi paused for a long moment before finally moving away from the window. The other three followed after him as he strode outside purposefully to assert his unquestioned authority over—
"Ow—crap! Damn it, Miyako, watch where you stick that thing!"
"How are you doing, Daisuke?"
Daisuke flashed a v-sign behind his back.
Ken sounded thoughtful. "It looks fun."
"… Ken," said Yamato.
"Daisuke has nice hair. Don't you think so?"
"Ken."
Silence. Yamato breathed out in relief. Too soon, however.
"Do you think you could wash my hair too, Yamato?"
Yamato swore quietly. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, hands soapy and wet; regardless, he managed to make a rude gesture at Ken's general area. "No, I'm not going to wash your hair."
"That's too bad." Ken smiled lazily. "You seem like you're really good at it."
Daisuke's voice was a little muffled, dreamy; his body was pliant with undisguised contentment. "Leave 'im alone, Ken…"
"Sorry, Daisuke," Ken apologized, and couldn't help but add, "I just thought, since Yamato looks like he's enjoying it so much…"
Yamato glared. "For Christ's sake…"
Ken finally backed off. "Right. Sorry."
They continued in silence. Yamato dug his fingers back into Daisuke's hair, caressing his scalp. His hands were soft. Daisuke groaned happily. Ken rolled his eyes and hid a smile behind his hand. If he was humming very obvious love songs in the process, it wasn't because he was trying to drive Yamato crazy.
Much.
Five minutes and two bruises later, Taichi managed to breakup the catfight before Miyako came any closer to tearing out the other's liver and eating it. Not that Takeru was any better - gone was the kind and mild-mannered blonde, replaced with the human equivalent of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth.
"I won," Takeru spoke up suddenly, interrupting Taichi's mental rehearsal of an appropriate reprimanding lecture.
"Did not," came the grumbled negative as Miyako sunk deeper into her seat.
"I broke your fork! I won."
"You're more hurt than I am!"
"Doesn't matter. I still broke your fork."
"Ladies, ladies," Taichi sighed, running a hand across his face. Screw the lecture. He needed aspirin.
The bathroom trio paraded out just before round two could start, and Miyako gave up her scramble for another fork in favor of waving at Daisuke, who, despite his slightly damp shirt and hair, looked incredibly pleased.
Taichi mustered a smile as Miyako's lust for blood disintegrated. "Thank god."
Iori winced as Miyako directed her attention onto harassing Daisuke and Ken instead. "Oh, god."
"Daisuke looks good, doesn't he?"
Ken choked on his own saliva. "What?"
"Daisuke," Miyako continued. "You know, the wet-and-sexy look. He does it pretty well."
Ken refrained from saying anything. "... you're insane." Well, maybe one thing.
Miyako motioned towards Daisuke. "You don't think he does?"
Ken opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again when he found himself being hauled off abruptly by the arm.
"Sorry, Miyako-san," Iori called out over his shoulder, and offered her a polite smile, "but Ken really wants to send Yamato-san his best wishes. Right, Ken?"
Startled, Ken could only allow himself be dragged. "Yamato. Right."
Miyako, ever a faithful advocate of maturity, stuck out her tongue in response.
Yamato currently had his arms full of one Motomiya Daisuke, though it's not like he was complaining much. Casting Akira a couple stray glances, ignoring the guitarist's teasing gestures from inside the car, he looked back down at Daisuke and grinned helplessly. "I really should go, though, Daisuke..."
"You can ride on the train with us!"
Takeru rolled his eyes. "Come on, Daisuke."
Though disappointed, Daisuke relented, allowing Yamato his own personal space again. "Fiiiine. Good luck, Yamato!"
"You'll do great, 'niichan," Takeru smiled, and ducked his head as Yamato thoroughly ruffled his hair.
A chorus of goodbyes followed, and Yamato returned the sentiment before heading off towards where Akira was waiting. Daisuke watched him longingly. "There he goes."
Takeru sighed and took Daisuke by the elbow. "Let's go, lover boy."
The train was incredibly crowded when they boarded, and after a moment of getting situated, the problem became apparent.
Daisuke bit his lip, glancing around at the lack of unoccupied seats, hands jammed in his pockets awkwardly before he decided to grasp one of the rings hanging overhead. Miyako, however, knew an opportunity when she saw one.
"Daisuke, you don't want to stand the whole time!"
The boy blinked. "I don't?"
"You don't," she repeated, and gestured towards Ken. "The ride's too long. Go sit in his lap."
Ken frowned. "This again?"
At the same time, Iori shot up from his seat, shaking his head adamantly. "He must be bored of Ken's lap by now. Here, Daisuke can sit on... Takeru!"
Takeru immediately meshed his fingers together and folded them in his lap, as if to say: off limits.
Sensing the mounting tension, not to mention the fact that the passengers on the train were starting to stare, Taichi decided that it was part of his responsibility as the leader to interrupt. "Hey, it's alright. Sora can sit in my lap, and then Daisuke can take her seat." He glanced across at the girl sitting at his side, "Sora?"
Sora nodded, making a move as if to get up.
"No, it's okay!" Miyako flailed. " Daisuke can sit in Ken's lap."
"It's no problem," Sora reassured, "Tai and I have done this before…"
With a roll of the eyes, Daisuke interrupted before the ridiculous argument could be drawn out any further. "Forget it, guys. I'll just sit in Ken's lap."
Ken opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it grudgingly and shifted to accommodate Daisuke as his friend sat on his knees, still holding onto one of the poles near the door. Miyako was smug. Iori was frustrated. Takeru was going crazy.
The rest of the evening couldn't go by fast enough.
