-/ Chapter 8 \-

To his own surprise, Doumeki finds he likes walking to Watanuki's house much better when he is in Kohane's company than alone. He doesn't know when going to the wishing shop became an onerous task, but it had. Kohane doesn't chatter like other girls he knew, certainly not like Himawari. Ever since Kohane had come into obaachan's care she was more relaxed than before, and smiled more often. It meant so much because Kohane would never smile if she did not mean it from the heart. To Doumeki it was like a ray of sunshine, and no matter how cliché the description, that was how he would always think of it. To notice her smile never ceased to be a happy surprise, inexorably lifting his spirits and warming him from the inside. It was irresistible. It was because of her company, he was sure, that the stress of the past year was finally beginning to leach out of him. It was because of her that he had begun to know how bereft he had become.

It wasn't just Doumeki. Watanuki perked up when she was around, and his irritability became gentle. Although Watanuki was apathetic towards most news of the outside world, with which he would likely not participate anytime soon, he was desperate to hear about everything that happened to Kohane. He could not watch her grow from day to day as Doumeki did, and Doumeki's proximity to her irked him—not as much as when Doumeki met with Himawari during high school, but enough to make Watanuki impatient when he thought they were too close together.

One of the things Doumeki asked Kohane help convince Watanuki of was the importance of keeping a guest book in which Watanuki's clients would sign their names and leave behind their current contact information and their profession or specialties. That way, Watanuki could slowly build and keep track of a network of people who could help him with common problems—or assist in the event of accidents.

It was a good thing that Watanuki had taken Kohane's suggestion, because disaster struck only a few weeks after Watanuki made contact with his first doctor, a kind and quiet broad-shouldered man named Shuuichirou Kudou.

When Doumeki hears about this, he peers at the family name in the little leather book with interest. The most recent name must have been left that afternoon. He surreptitiously marks the page with a folded-corner (if Watanuki saw he would pitch a fit). "What did he want?" he asks, mostly out of curiosity.

"Nothing, really," Watanuki says, lounging on the couch. "He had a question; he wanted to know where his mother was."

Doumeki turns. "But his wish?"

Watanuki throws himself back on the pillows. "It turned out he had the answers in himself. I told him she was on another plane of existence, and asked him a few more questions. It turned out, he already visited her regularly. So I told him to simply go to the place where he felt her most strongly, because his instincts were right."

"Did that require payment?"

Watanuki shook his head. "He was satisfied with that. And I only told him what he already knew deep down. If he had asked why his mother disappeared, I could have done more, but that question would have required payment. Some customers—like you—" Watanuki waves in Doumeki's direction "—decide that they don't like wasting magical power on questions they think they could find out through normal means. They would rather save it for dire emergencies. In this case, he couldn't know the answer to his question otherwise, but how was he to guess that?"

"Sounds like a good man."

"Yeah." Watanuki stares into space. "But he probably won't require my services again. He might not even remember coming in."

"But what if you need his?" Doumeki asks pointedly.

Watanuki levers himself up to look at Doumeki for one long moment. Then he falls back on the cushions. "Why are you so interested in him? Don't be ridiculous. Hitsuzen doesn't work like that."

Or maybe Watanuki just had a blind spot. Himself.

In any case, Watanuki ate his own words. About a month after Watanuki's first meeting with the doctor, Doumeki returned alone on his usual after-school routine and found Watanuki lying on the ground and covered in blood from multiple slash marks, breathing shallowly, and floating in and out of consciousness—possibly dreaming. Knowing him, it was entirely possible that the incident had occurred while in the land of dreams, but this made it very hard to tell if he was about to die or not, and he couldn't tell how much time had passed. Doumeki checked Watanuki's wrist for a pulse. He did not know what rhythm was healthy, but it was surely there.

Doumeki gritted his teeth, ran for the guest book, crammed it open, and dialed the doctor Shuuichirou's number as quickly as he knew how.

Shuuichirou came running with emergency medical supplies—by coincidence, he had taken the day off from the office. Shuuichirou directed Doumeki on the preparations to make, but did the majority of the stitching himself. At the end of the day, Watanuki was stable, but he hadn't yet woken up. Shuuichirou suspected he had a concussion, perhaps from falling over backwards.

Doumeki decided he liked the doctor. He didn't ask questions. He simply accepted what had happened.

When it became clear that there was nothing else he could do, Shuuichirou went home—there was little they could do, as the wishing shop was hardly a hospital and Watanuki was unable to leave it—and Doumeki stayed up all night by his side. Once again, Watanuki had met death. This was simply the first time during his tenure as the wishing shopkeeeper.

Doumeki could not have been more upset.

Doumeki was beginning to think that he could count the number of times he had done this vigil on two hands now. If this rate continued, by the end of a century, he calculated twenty total times...24 hours x 20 days of lost sleep... That meant, 400+80... 480 total hours...80 minutes of lost sleep? He had made a calculation error somewhere along there. That result didn't make sense. 480 hours, 24 days... 480x60, not divided by sixty...what did that make? Yes, 480 divided by 60 was 80—no, 8. And 480 hours x 60 minutes was—was—years. 480, 480 hours by 365 days in a year—no, 365 divided by 480—what...?

Too long, at any rate, for him to keep in his head, and Doumeki didn't want to bother getting out the pen and paper. It was all morbid anyway.

Barely awake, slumped against the wall, he daydreamed about a thousand other lives he could have led... In the dead of night, under the dark reddish backdrop of his closed eyelids, they all seemed much happier than his current life. Doumeki wished...but this was the one, the one he had a duty to save...

Finally, Watanuki woke up. Doumeki tested him for concussion the way Shuuichirou had told him to, and Watanuki seemed okay, but groggy. He lay awake for a while, until finally Doumeki flopped on the floor opposite him and ordered Watanuki to wake him up in the event that he started puking or having any problems at all. Doumeki probably should have fetched a blanket or something, but he didn't know where they were, and he had no energy, anyway. Exhausted, Doumeki rolled over and went to sleep. After a while, Watanuki probably did too.

Doumeki phones Kohane and Himawari the news as soon as he was able and out of Watanuki's earshot. Watanuki surely wouldn't want anyone else to know. But this was important.

Kohane receives the news without question or comment, and only asks what she could do for them both. At a loss, Doumeki requests that she cook something.

When he hangs up the phone, he is a little puzzled at himself for asking her to do that, but what was done was done. It was a spur-of-the-moment answer to her question. It wasn't as if Watanuki should be allowed to cook in his condition. And he might try, if someone else doesn't come to do it for him...

He dials. Himawari answers the phone and turns so quiet after his terse explanation that Doumeki begins to think she might have hung up. But finally—

"Watanuki?" Himawari's words tickle with static. "He's all right?"

Doumeki assures her once again that he was as well as could be expected with sixteen separate gashes and slash marks, some of them quite deep, a probable concussion and fractured memories of the event of the "accident." His tone may have been a little frosty.

Himawari surprises him. "You've been afraid of this all along."

"Un. Yes."

"I, too."

They both had...

"Watanuki...I mean, Doumeki-kun, you're in the best place to judge—do you think he's been taking care of himself? Not...taking risks, or anything like that?"

"Probably not, I think."

"I see." Himawari sighs.

"He's still getting used to his job, though. And still in mourning."

Himawari exhales. "Then probably not."

"Yeah."

"What was it about this time?"

Doumeki turns in place, staring at the wall, twisting and unwinding the phone cord between his fingers. "He said he had someone to save, and they resisted. Although he got the job done, he says."

Himawari taps the side of her phone with her finger.

"Other than that, he doesn't remember."

"Don't worry about it, Doumeki-kun. I have a plan."

Doumeki scratches his head. "Okay."

"He's not listening to you because you're too close. You always have, but now, more than ever... It'll take—well, you know how he adores me. And I don't think he'll expect that I know what's going on with him."

"Sure..."

"A good shock is what he needs. Don't you think? Do you trust me?"

"Please. And thank you, Kunogi."

Her breath catches. "No, it's nothing. I thought— I thought it was for the best, but I feel like I'm the one who bailed out on you both... I'm so thankful to be helpful in a small way. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Doumeki shakes his head, forgetting that she isn't there see him. "No, you never," he forces out, but he's a moment too late. Call you later. Bye! The phone is beeping softly in his palm. Now she probably blames herself. Doumeki regrets that.

Doumeki replaces it on the cradle and wonders when Himawari's plan will come to fruition. Hopefully when Watanuki is a little stronger. Right now he would probably faint at the sight of a fallen leaf in the wrong season...

Kohane arrives ten minute later. She cooks and Doumeki helps her while Watanuki is weighed down with one irate Black Mokona sitting square on his chest, and the girls nearby whispering, "Dame, dame! Bad! No good!" whenever he moves. Watanuki gets a little peevish, but it serves him right.

Doumeki expected dinner to be merely tolerable, but he is reminded once again of Kohane's exceptional nature. Kohane brings her own flavor to the meal, one that is wholesome and kind and a little comforting—like a warm, heavy blanket of cloud is the way he would describe it—just like a grandmother might, but that's a flavor that usually takes years to learn trying to emulate, and Kohane has only been with obaachan for a few. Moreover, it's not quite the same as Obaachan's. Kohane uses a little too much salt, just the right amount for warm tears, whenever she makes the miso or the broth; she probably doesn't realize she's doing it, but it makes him feel a little melancholy. Everything about it is designed to be soothing and calming. Watanuki has the opposite tendency when he cooks. Doumeki is not exactly sure how he achieves this when Watanuki doesn't believe in condiments. He wants his food to be exciting all on its own.

It's a nice change.

Doumeki holds out his bowl for seconds.

"Oi, Doumeki." Watanuki's eyes are closed but his face is scrunched up thinking about something.

"Yes." Doumeki collects Watanuki's used dishes and places them on a tray.

Watanuki shifts restlessly, and his eyes lift just a little. "I know I can't do anything about it right now, but I really need to get back to the Ame-Warashi sometime. Could you look into that artifact I was talking to you about, you know, earlier, for me?"

"Oh," says Doumeki, and pauses while he considers this. "I forgot."

"No you didn't you big oaf," Watanuki rants without the usual heat, muttering quickly out of the corner of his mouth, and his eyes fall shut again. "Now write it down or something so I can rest." His face smooths.

Doumeki sighs. He had actually forgotten in the recent excitement. "I'll do what I can," he promises, picking up the tray. And he walks away.