Warnings: None:
Lucky Child
Chapter 23:
"Like Recognizes Like"
Kaito looked me over as I trotted up the stairs toward him. When I skidded to a halt on the stairwell landing, he set aside his book, folded his hands, and placed his elbows on his knees. Light from the landing window caught his glasses, theatrically obscuring his gaze from view.
He said, "Are you unaware that you look like hell, or are the bags beneath your eyes an intentional aesthetic choice?"
I glared, flopping on the step next to him. "Shut up."
"Sorry, but silence is not in my nature."
"If that was an apology, it stunk."
"I'll work on my delivery."
"Or you could do me one better and tell me about Minamino Shuichi."
Fatigue had too tight a grip on me to allow for delicacy. My brazen, out of the blue request managed to catch Kaito off-guard. He blinked in stunned silence before shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He used his middle finger. I suspected this was not by accident.
"Come now, Yukimura," Kaito said. "Don't tell me you've become one of Minamino's groupies."
He pronounced the word with noticeable distaste. I frowned, partially because I didn't like the accusation and partially because, what groupies? I hadn't seen any groupies in my time stalking…um, observing Kurama. What did Kaito know that I did not?
"Pity. I pegged you as too smart to fall into such a trap," Kaito continued. "I might become a very bad friend after learning this about you. I do not take being proven wrong well. Sore loser, I'm afraid. It's one of my few flaws."
I couldn't suppress a snort. "And I suppose humility is one of your strong suits, in that case?"
"Of course. I am the paragon of the humble genius."
"Whatever you say, Kaito." His dry sarcasm would normally get me laughing, but my heavy eyes and muddled thoughts didn't leave much room for humor. "And no. I'm not a groupie. I've got too much pride to ever place myself at someone else's beck and call."
Kaito believed me, judging by his satisfied smirk. "As I suspected. I'm rarely wrong."
"Yeah, yeah, you're beyond compare." I leaned back on my elbows, shoulder blades against the stair above us. I stretched out my legs and crossed them at the ankle. "Some of my classmates tried to pry into my business yesterday. Minamino stood up for me. I'd like to thank him. Any idea where he hangs out?"
Kaito didn't answer my question. He merely replied with one of his own. "What business, pray tell?"
"None of yours, that's for certain."
Kaito was not phased. "Is it about your friend who died?"
I lurched off the step, eyes practically bugging out of my head. "How do you know about that?"
"I might not participate in the rumor mill, but that does not mean I am ignorant as to its machinations." He picked up his book, holding it open before his face. "You have my condolences, for the record."
I ducked my head and mumbled my thanks. I didn't like lying to people about Yusuke's return to life (albeit one lived in a coma), but Atsuko insisted we not make his resurrection public. Didn't want people swarming the miracle boy, asking too many questions about his return. Eventually I might tell Kaito, but after just a week of friendship, it didn't feel like the time.
"And in answer to your dubious inquiry…Minamino spends much of his free time on campus in the greenhouse." Without putting down his book, Kaito lifted a hand over his head and pointed out the window. "I believe I indicated as to its whereabouts earlier this week, as you may recall."
"I remember." Just as I suspected, natch. "Anything I should know about him, lest I make a babbling fool of myself?"
Kaito licked a thumb and turned a page of his book. At first I thought he intended to ignore me, but as I looked at him—studying his profile, his upturned nose, freckles, fluffy hair—I realized his eyes behind their corrective glasses did not focus on the pages before him. He stared without seeing, thoughts elsewhere.
His voice, when he spoke, held infinite, heavy gravity.
"Shuichi Minamino," he said, "is my nemesis."
Even with his deadpan delivery, it took me a minute to realize he wasn't joking.
"That's…a strong word," I said.
"Yes."
"Seems a little dramatic, don't you think?"
"As I despise melodrama," Kaito informed me, "I assure you I chose that particular descriptor with care."
"OK. I believe you. But what exactly makes him your nemesis?"
He eyed me askance, lips pursed. "Minamino routinely bests me on placement exams." Kaito spoke with obvious effort, uncomfortable admitting his own defeat. "Not in literature, of course. No one outranks me on the literary portion of exams. But in math and science I am afraid he possesses an edge." He licked his thumb again, turning a page he hadn't read. "Unhappy consequence of so thoroughly applying my intellect to one subject."
"Jack of all trades, master of none, is oftentimes better than master of one," I said, in English. Felt good to speak my native tongue for once.
Kaito frowned. "I follow the grammar, but the meaning eludes me. Translation?"
"Just an idiomatic version of what you posited. You specialized your interests to the point of neglecting others. That gave Minamino an overall edge, no matter how slight."
"Ah." He closed his book with a clap and handed it to me. "If you would turn to page 394. We have more important things to discuss than my nemesis."
"Nemesis, nemesis. You talk like you think you're a super villain." I laughed, nudging Kaito in the shoulder with my elbow. "Does Minamino wear a cape when you two battle it out over exams?"
"Ha. Very funny. And no. He wears a polite smile. I assure you that that is infinitely more infuriating than any cape."
He didn't look amused at his own joke, for once. Whoops. Because I was such a good friend, I stopped teasing Kaito (for the time being), and listened as he explained his latest theory regarding the intersection of solipsism and literary analysis.
…it was way less boring than it sounds, I promise.
Light hit the greenhouse at an angle, illuminating the glass structure from within. It looked like it had been carved from jade, colorful panes of glass cupping the darker of the plants inside, shielding them from the crisp day beyond the crystalline walls.
Sort of magical looking, if we're being honest.
Exactly the kind of place I'd imagine a kitsune disguised as a teenage boy to hang out after school during club period, if you want to get specific.
Hot air and distinct humidity suffused my face when I pushed open the door. While the greenhouse was not large, tall cases of succulents, troughs of seedlings, and mazes of hanging pots obscured my view of all but the nearest plants. It smelled of earth and damp, of growing things pushing their roots deep into dark soil. Olive light filtered in from overhead. The air held a luminous, thick quality, like I moved through thin water instead of heavy air.
I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and smiled.
A greenhouse like this had kept my original grandmother's favorite orchids alive in wintertime. I'd spent many hours in the greenhouse with her, wrapping pots in old socks when the weather dropped into the 20s. She rewarded me with hot cocoa and cookies for my efforts, chafing my small, chilly fingers with her withered hands—
"May I help you?"
I opened my eyes.
Kurama—Minamino, I reminded myself—had stepped out of the heart of the greenhouse on silent feet, a dryad observing an interloper in a sacred forest. The green atmosphere erased the red pigments in his hair, turned his magenta uniform a shade of muddy brown, but his eyes…
His eyes glowed like chips of razor seaglass, in this light.
My own eyes hurt. I squeezed my lids together, moistening dry irises.
"I'm sorry to intrude," I said, "but your name is Minamino, right?"
"Yes." A polite, if not hollow, smile. "And you are?"
"Yukimura Keiko." I bowed at him, as was customary upon introduction. "We're in the same history and biology classes."
"Ah," he said, returning my gesture. "I thought you looked familiar. It's nice to meet you." Despite the apparent recognition, his not-smile and even-toned speech did not warm up. "What brings you to the greenhouse?"
I took a deep breath of comforting, humid air.
"I wanted to thank you," I said. "For yesterday."
Kurama reacted by frowning—but the expression came a split second longer than seemed natural. A split second most people wouldn't notice, I was certain, but one I could not miss.
I'd had too much practice faking smiles to miss that telltale delay.
"I'm sorry," Kurama said, "but I don't know what you mean."
If it had been anyone but him, I'd have sworn he was telling the truth. He sounded so earnest. Like he really, really didn't know what I meant, and was trying very, very hard to understand, because that's what polite people did, and gosh golly gee, he was so confused by me!
Too bad this wasn't anyone but Kurama.
"Yesterday in history class," I said. "Junko-san started grilling me. You distracted her."
Green eyes widened one astonished fraction. He nodded as though at last remembering the incident, that big faker. I bowed again, lower this time.
"Thank you for distracting her," I said, staring at his polished shoes. "I appreciate your actions."
By the time I straightened up, Kurama already wore an apologetic smile.
"I'm afraid you've misunderstood," he said, voice tinged with precisely-measured regret. "I spoke to Junko simply because I wanted to borrow her notes."
Damn, he was good. He looked totally sincere. "Is that right?"
"Yes."
When he did not elaborate—just looked at me with that same reticent expression, damn him—I crossed my arms over my chest. "So you distracted her at that exact moment, because…?"
"I confess I wanted her notes because she has the most legible penmanship in the class," he said, as though admitting something mildly embarrassing. It was his turn to bow. Hair fell over his shoulder in a glossy wave. "I apologize for misleading you. Whatever ulterior motive you ascribed to my actions, I assure you it doesn't apply."
"…uh huh." I breathed a snort through my nose. "Well. OK, I guess? Whatever. Just…thanks."
"I really don't deserve thanks," Kurama insisted. "My timing was mere coincidence. I didn't do anything." He spared me one last bow, still wearing that infuriatingly regretful expression—like he'd just had to tell a delusional child there was no Santa, sorry to burst your bubble. "If you'll excuse me…"
He turned to go. Vanished around the side of a trellis of creeping vines.
Call it exhausted bravado. Overtired overconfidence. Fatigued swagger, audacity born of an insomnia-caused loss of my faculties—whatever.
I waited a beat. I gently sat on the edge of a long trough of blooming irises, because my legs were tired.
I spoke.
"So does the plausible-deniability act work on anybody, or just on idiot teens?" I called into the greenhouse. "Because I'm afraid I'm neither."
For a second, nothing happened.
And then Kurama stepped around the edge of a trellis. His earlier smile had vanished. Now he wore a thin-mouthed grimace, eyes wary and alert as he looked me over. He studied me more thoroughly than he had before, I noticed. Like he'd actually noticed me at long last, or had realized whatever earlier assumptions he'd made about my character weren't valid, and must be readdressed.
Something, anyway.
Despite the increase in my heartrate, and the cold sweat beading on my cheek under the chill of his stare, I had to fight back a yawn.
Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all. How could I hope to keep up with him when my eyes felt so damn heavy?
"I'm afraid," Kurama said after a moment's exchanged glance, "I don't know what you mean."
"How's your English?" I said.
One thin brow arched. "It's decent."
"Good." I shifted on my perch, hands digging into the trough's rough wooden slats. "Ever hear the saying 'You can't play a player'?"
That brow arched further. "I'm afraid not."
"Well, add it to your repertoire." I tossed my bangs out of my eyes and attempted a laissez faire smile. "Your polite, top-of-the-class schoolboy act might have everyone else fooled, but you'll find I'm not so easily duped."
He took one, slow step toward me.
My heart beat a little faster. My fatigue abated just a smidge.
He said: "Oh?"
I hummed an affirmative. I wasn't capable of much else.
"So you accuse me of being dishonest," he said with his cool, musical voice. He sounded amused—but wary. "I can't fathom why."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Be that way. Keep on denying it. But I know what I saw."
His head tilted to one side, almost imperceptibly. "And what do you believe you saw, precisely?"
"I saw a person who never does anything accidentally, accidentally help someone in trouble."
Kurama did not blink at my accusation. "And how, exactly, do you know I'm that kind of person?"
"Occam's Razor. Intuition." I pointed two fingers at my eyes, then pointed them at him. "Like recognizes like. So don't bother playing."
At first Kurama held his wary expression—but slowly, bit by bit, the look dissolved into amusement. Amusement with a razor's edge, yeah, a hair-trigger breath away from turning savage, tension coiled behind his eyes like a jack-in-the-box spring…but still. His full lips curled into a smile.
"All right." He spread his hands, palms up. "You've caught me. I did help you on purpose."
I smirked; finally, I'd worn him down. "There. See how easy that was?"
"You're very forward, Yukimura-san," he said. Did he sound bemusedly impressed, or was that the fatigue talking? "I suspected as much after yesterday, but now…"
Kurama moved to stand across from me. He leaned back, half-sitting on the planter box opposite mine. He crossed his arms over his chest and placed one ankle atop the other—a perfect mirror of my current position.
…interesting.
I'd studied this in psychology class. Mirroring a person while having a conversation made them subconsciously approve of you, want to help you, want to please you.
Had Kurama just mirrored me on purpose, to curry my subconscious favor? I wouldn't put it past the fox to know manipulation tactics like that, and to use them to his advantage.
Before the silence could stretch too long—and to cover the fact I'd been psychoanalyzing Kurama's actions—I tossed my hair and smirked. "Those girls from class would probably say I'm so forward because I hang out with too many delinquents. And they're not wrong."
"I see. But may I ask—how did you know I was helping you?" His eyes narrowed, expression terrifyingly contemplative (a thinking Kurama was a dangerous Kurama). "I thought I was being appropriately subtle."
Although he smiled at me, once more I saw the smile did not approach his eyes. He had phrased his inquiry politely enough, but I knew my answer would determine much of his opinion about me: whether or not I was a threat, an ally, or maybe just an eccentric classmate.
I wasn't sure which one I'd prefer.
"Like I said," I said. "You can't play a player. Like recognizes like and all that." I shrugged. "I do enough of my own faking to recognize another creature just like me."
His polite smile faded.
"Just like you?" he repeated.
"Yup," I said. I waved, indicating him head to toe. "We both wear a mask at school, if not for different reasons."
He started to say something, eyes narrowing above his open mouth, but calling the two of us alike already toed the line of saying far too much. Time to show him I didn't mean we were both old souls trapped in young bodies, nooooo, not us. Time to show him I just meant we were both fakers in school. That's all. Of course that's all. I rolled to my feet, dusted the back of my skirt, and bowed again—and I pasted on my most brilliant class-rep-Keiko smile.
"Thank you very much for taking care of me yesterday, Minamino-san," I chirped, sunny and sincere. "I appreciate your efforts and will repay you in kind when I am able."
Kurama looked at me a moment, brow knit—but then his mouth curved.
"I see," he said. He looked almost impressed. "Perhaps this is a rather crass compliment, but your societal mask is nigh flawless."
I let the smile drop, grinning for real this time. "Thanks. I've worked hard on it. Just don't go telling anyone I'm a liar, OK?"
"Only if you afford me the same courtesy," came his smooth reply.
"But of course." I jerked a thumb at the door. "Anyway. I'll get out of your hair. I just wanted to say thanks and introduce myself." I glanced up at the rafters and downed another lung full of warm, earthy air. When I looked at him, I smiled my real smile—the one from my past, right corner of my mouth a hair higher than the left. "Take care, Minamino. See ya 'round."
He stood, too, but before I could reach the door and make my exit, he called my name. When I turned, he dipped yet another bow—the lowest I'd yet seen.
"I apologize," he said, voice softer than before, "but I confess I overheard Junko-san. Your friend died recently, correct?"
I inclined my head. "Correct."
When he stood, sadness adorned his features. It looked real. But with him it was hard to tell.
"I imagine it has been difficult for you, lately, to lose a friend and switch schools in such a short amount of time," he said.
He had no idea my friend wasn't actually dead, of course, but he was right—switching schools wasn't fun. I opened my mouth to say as much, but as I did, a yawn surged up. My eyes squeezed up so tight they started to water.
Kurama was smiling when I finally opened my eyes—a pitying smile, but an understanding one. I think? Hard to be sure. Must, take, nap…
"I don't mean to be rude," he said, "but you look tired. Have you and members of the deceased's family been sleeping well?"
I snorted. "What, the bags under my eyes aren't obvious?" I pointed at them, grimacing. "I have it on good authority I look like I've been in a prizefight."
Kurama chuckled—a melodic sound, velvet made audible. Oooh, boy. Now that was a laugh to weaken your knees. That said, I did my best to look unmoved.
"I didn't want to make assumptions," he said, "but I do suppose your condition is rather obvious. Apologies. I will, in future, be more direct with you. That seems to be your style." He held up a hand. "Wait here a moment?"
"Sure."
Kurama turned to a nearby plater box. He lifted a pair of pruning shears from a crate below the box and snipped at a plant dripping with sprigs of blue flowers, blossoms still clamped tight in new buds. Once he assembled a small bouquet, he wrapped it in a bit of newspaper and twine from the crate, fingertips ghosting over the petals in a lingering caress. Eyes like living emeralds glittered with the colors of the forest made flesh.
"I apologize if this is forward," Kurama said as he handed me the bouquet, "but if I may, I'd like for you to have these."
I froze.
Because honestly? I didn't want those flowers.
Allow me to reiterate: I did not want to fucking touch, smell, or get within ten feet of any and all plants that had been in, around, or adjacent to the immediate presence of Kurama, the plant-manipulating fox demon.
Allow me to further clarify: I didn't want that.
Keiko, however?
Keiko was a normal teenage girl. Keiko was a normal teenage girl who, supposedly, had no knowledge of demons, let alone Kurama's predilection for plants that could eat your fucking face with gigantic plant-y teeth.
I didn't want those flowers…but what I wanted didn't matter, when Keiko had no reason not to take them.
Still…oh my god. My heart beat like a whisk in cake batter. No. Nope. Please, don't make me—
Kurama frowned. He held the flowers out a little farther.
"I assure you, these flowers do not represent a declaration of romance, if that is the reason for your hesitation."
Well thank god Kurama came up with that excuse for me, because I sure as hell was too tired and freaked to come up with one myself. I tried to look like he'd caught me red-handed (easy enough just then) and gingerly took the flowers. Was super careful to keep my fingers away from the greenery, of course, but despite my efforts to keeps fingers firmly on newspaper, the jostled blossoms released a familiar scent. I held my breath, but too late. The scent wafted from the closed buds on an unseen breeze, sweet and delicate and familiar.
Kurama said, "In English, they are called—"
"Forget-me-nots," I grated out.
Kurama looked pleased. "Correct. Do you like flowers?"
I shifted the bouquet under my arm, moving it as far away from my face as I could. When the scent of the flowers abated, I let myself relax.
"My grandmother was an ikebana champion," I said—and this was sort of true. My grandmother in my past life had arranged flowers at state fairs, winning awards and earning catalogue features many times. "She used to give seminars on wildflowers, and always scattered seeds in winter." Despite how uncomfy I felt, I smiled at the memory of days spent in her greenhouse, labelling plants and hearing their stories. "She taught me their names and meanings."
"I see." Something moved behind his eyes before he smiled. "Then you must know the legend of the forget-me-not."
I frowned. "Can't say I do."
Kurama's lips ached.
He said, "Well, that won't do at all, now will it?"
Kurama, despite his pretty face, looked like any average teen—but in that moment I could believe he was an older person trapped inside a younger body.
Specifically, I could believe he was a little old man on the inside, excited to tell a young whippersnapper a story long forgotten by today's youths. Kurama eerily resembled my past-life-dad just then, when Dad wanted to tell me one of his favorite fishing stories (the kind in which the fish got bigger with each retelling).
"May I tell you the tale?" Kurama asked.
"Um. Sure."
Kurama nodded. He took a deep breath.
Oh god. He was really going to tell me a fucking fairy tale, wasn't he?
Given he began his story with "mukashi mukashi," the Japanese equivalent of "once upon a time", I realized pretty quickly the answer was "yes."
"Once upon a time," Kurama said, "a mother lost her child."
My internal, screaming jokes dried up at once.
"The mother grieved for weeks, refusing food and water," Kurama continued. He spoke softly, as steady and vital as a heartbeat. "Her child's spirit watched in anguish as his mother faded away. One night, when the mother's grieving reached its peak, the child shed tears for his mother. He wept at her side, begging her with words unheard to eat, drink, and set aside her heartache."
Kurama reached out a slender, silk-skinned hand. I held my breath as his fingertips brushed the edges of the forget-me-nots. The hue of the flowers brought out the color of the veins in his wrist, lapis set amidst smooth ivory.
He didn't look at me. He only had eyes—distant, emerald eyes brimming with emotions I suspected honored his own mother—for the flowers.
"The next morning, when the sun rose," Kurama murmured, "the mother woke. All around her forget-me-nots had sprung…an unending field of blue, the color of her child's eyes."
His eyes moved to my face, but he didn't see me.
"Their color comforted her, reminding her of the child she had lost," he said. "She carried the blossoms with her as she pieced her life together, in memory of her child. And she lived happily ever after."
We stood in silence for a time. Soon his hand dropped to his side again.
"Forget-me-nots were born of the desire to comfort and console," Kurama said. His eyes actually saw me, this time. "Place these flowers near the bedside of the bereaved, and they will ease a weary heart."
"That's a terrible story."
Kurama blinked, mouth opening with surprise. I resisted the urge to clap a hand over my mouth and instead waved a frantic, apologetic hand.
"Sorry, sorry!" I said. "It's just—her kid's still dead no matter how many flowers he gave her. It's sad no matter how pretty it sounds."
"Yes," Kurama countered, "but the ending is hopeful. The mother lived, and set aside her grief knowing her child lived on in some small way."
Remind me to introduce you to Atsuko.
I wanted to say that. Really, I did. There was no setting aside the grief of losing a child, no matter how many reminders of their life you received. I'd known parents of dead children in this life, and in my past. Their wounds healed, over the years. They grew accustomed to the void left by their missing child…but grief never, ever stopped. Not really.
I bit back the words, though.
Something told me Kurama had already made his choice, to sacrifice his life to save his mother's. His little fairy tale seemed way too allegorical for comfort.
"Well, even if you have a point," I eventually said, "that story sounds made up."
A reply as logical as it was silky: "Aren't all stories made up, at some point?"
"Sure. But yours sounds made up, like, as of two seconds ago."
That got a full-throated laugh out of him, an explosion of downy feathers as opposed to subtle velvet. Damn, he looked pretty with his head thrown back like that, eyes squeezed to glittering crescents in his flawless skin. Even behind Keiko's lovely face I felt self-conscious.
Eventually Kurama's laughter abated. With faux regret he said, "I suppose my skills as an orator leave something to be desired. But that matters little. The scent of forget-me-nots is a sleep aid, one I believe will benefit you."
Not for the first time, I wished for Google and a smartphone to fact-check his assertion. Instead I swallowed my skepticism and said thanks. Kurama seemed pleased, nodding and smiling at my willingness to accept his gift.
"It's nothing. Just a small token." He gestured at the greenhouse behind him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm afraid I have duties to attend to."
"Oh. Sure." I waved, turning to the door. "See you in class."
"Of course." He opened the door, ushering me out with a benign smile. "Be well, Yukimura-san. I hope the flowers help."
Knowing him, I'm sure they'd do something.
The way back to the main school building wasn't long, but the way I trudged down the sidewalk, you'd think the greenhouse lay a million miles away. It didn't, of course. It was all of a hundred feet from Meiou proper.
Too bad each step felt like a marathon.
Although the autumn weather, cool and bracing, revived me once I stepped outside the hothouse, my mood didn't lift along with my fatigue.
Kurama's fairy tale had been so dark.
Mothers and sons, death and grief, comfort and consolation…I'd never heard a story like that associated with the forget-me-not, and it aligned far too closely with Kurama's own situation to be anything but his own creation.
Was he rationalizing his decision, making up a story like that?
Was he comforting himself, creating a story with that outcome?
I had no idea how sick his mother was. Certainly she was ill, but how ill? How long did she have until the Mirror incident? And how would I find out the truth, short of asking Kurama outright? That would be way too forward, even for me. So how—?
"Yukimura? What are you doing here?"
I careened to a halt on the sidewalk, nearly losing balance in my insomnia-addled delirium. Took two seconds to orient myself and find the person who'd called my name.
About ten feet away, just outside the still-swinging door into the school, stood Amagi-san—my class rep, who hadn't talked to me since the first time I ditched her for Kaito at lunch.
Oops. I needed to apologize, didn't I?
"School is out for the day, and you haven't signed up for a club yet," Amagi said, looking me over through narrow eyes. "What are you still doing on school grounds?"
"Oh, um," I said. "Checking out—the botany club?" Oh, good, my blurted words made sense. I nodded vigorously. "The botany club. Yeah. It seems cool. I might join!"
Amagi-san frowned. "Really?"
"Yup. Mm-hmm. Love me some plants."
Her frown persisted, creasing furrows in her pale brow. Sunlight caught the teak highlights in her short black hair, illuminating her smooth skin and the curve of her ivory neck—oh. Amagi was sure pretty, wasn't she? Big dark eyes, full lips, oval face. Why hadn't I noticed that before?
"Gosh, what conditioner do you use?" I burst out. Amagi's eyes widened. I gasped. "Sorry, sorry. Your hair just looks so soft."
She blushed a pretty peony pink, hand coming up to touch her hair—but to do so, she had to juggle the object she carried over to one hand. Not an easy feat, considering it was a gigantic bento box wrapped in an oversized handkerchief. She handled it like it had been filled to the brim. There must have been at least three standard lunchboxes in there (enough to even feed Yusuke when he was going through growth spurts, by my estimates).
"Thank you," Amagi said when she recovered from my barrage of compliments. "I'll…I'll write down the brand for you, I suppose."
"Wonderful." I bowed as low as I could. "Thank you for all of your help, Amagi-san. I'm tired and delirious and rambling, so please excuse me. I need to go to bed so I can stop embarrassing myself. Ha!"
Amagi had no idea how to handle my exhausted exuberance, if her skeeved-out face indicated anything. She said something about it being nice to see me before walking past (and giving me a wide berth while she did it).
Whew. Crisis averted. Time to go home and go to bed. I sighed and trudged down the sidewalk again, heading like a defective bullet train toward the school.
I almost didn't look back before walking inside. On a whim, however, I glanced over my shoulder at the greenhouse for one last look at Kurama's hideaway.
That's when I saw something…odd.
Amagi stood on the greenhouse steps. She didn't go inside. She stared at the door for a moment, quiet and still, before bending and setting the bento she carried on the porch.
And with that, Amagi turned and marched in my direction.
My sleep-deprived, running-on-Paleolithic-instinct, fight-or-flight lizard brain reacted before my conscious mind made a decision. I jerked indoors like I'd been pulled by a stage hook and pelted pell-mell down the hallway toward the shoe lockers.
I'd had enough weirdness for one day, thank you. I'd deal with Amagi's mysterious bento when I wasn't carrying an armful of potentially demonic plants. Now it was naptime. Glorious, glorious naptime, reward for a death-and-dismemberment-free Kurama confrontation.
Call me simple, but sometimes, it's the little things in life.
NOTES:
Kurama's fairy tale was made up by me. Yes, it's cheesy. Sorry. I wouldn't be surprised if a tale like it exists in some fashion somewhere, but for our purposes, it's Kurama's.
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