The Feeling of a Mouse

Chapter Two

"Time's up. Put your pencils down, and hand over your quiz to the person seated next to you."

Bewildered, Randy stared at the incomplete quiz on his desk, his stomach tight with shame. Just looking at the empty spots beneath the cold printed numbers made him want to run away.

He envied the carpet beneath his sneakers. At least it didn't have to feel so afraid of being in this room. Plus, it did its job right, and nobody ever judged the dirty piece of fabric.

"Randy, your time is up. Hand your quiz over to Debbie."

He looked up at his fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Wolfe. She glared back at him, as if she was staring at a hardened criminal.

"Sorry," he mumbled, sliding his quiz over to the desk on his right. Another paper was passed over to him.

"All right, class. When you get a crayon, you can write your name on the bottom of the quiz, so I know who graded it. I'll go over the answers as soon as everyone gets a crayon."

Randy looked down at Debbie's paper. Although the entire quiz had been written in pen, the paper still looked flawless. Debbie's handwriting was not only legible, it was neat. Even her name was written in perfect cursive.

It must have been nice for Debbie to be good at everything. Mrs. Wolfe adored her, and the teacher let everyone else in the classroom know it. Debbie was always praised, always called on, always given special privileges. She was the only one in class allowed to write in pen, and she was always receiving rewards for her "hard work".

Randy wished he could at least be a little smarter, at least enough to blend in with the rest of the class. Every moment he wasn't in school, he dreaded going back. Mrs. Wolfe always picked on him. Whenever he thought about school, he felt helpless and alone. He couldn't even stay home and avoid it, because he had already faked being sick several days this year.

Yet, it wasn't like Randy could blame Mrs. Wolfe for the way she treated him. He knew that he was stupid. He couldn't even memorize his times tables, even after he had tried.

His mother had insisted that it was easy, that it was "just" memorizing.

But it wasn't easy. Not for him. He absolutely hated memorizing. It was just so boring. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could never keep any of the information in his head. He felt so helpless whenever he was asked to memorize anything. The whole ordeal of "memorizing" was just so overwhelming, because he was always reminded of what he could not do.

Randy knew that there was something wrong with him.

Maybe that was why Mrs. Wolfe hated him.

Or, maybe, that was why his dad had left. Maybe he had grown sick of raising such a stupid kid.

A black crayon was dropped on his desk. Randy picked it up, and sloppily scribbled his name down at the bottom of the quiz. When he was done, he put the crayon down, resting his head in his hand. He stared at the name tag on his desk, tracing the "R" of his name with his eyes. His teacher had written all of the name tags for the students, in her perfect, almost computer-like hand writing.

Randy frowned. He wondered how some people could be so good at producing good handwriting. He couldn't keep good handwriting, because it always took so much time, and his teacher hated "slackers".

"Psst."

Randy flinched when he felt a sharp poke to the arm. He turned his head to the right, his eyes meeting with Debbie's. She pointed at the paper on her desk. Randy couldn't help but notice that there were already some answers crossed out by neat, waxy pink X's.

"Oh."

He picked up his crayon and looked up at his teacher, who was writing numbers on the board. He looked at the numbers and started comparing them with the numbers on Debbie's quiz.

He was able to finish grading the quiz quickly, as there were only a couple of wrong answers.

Randy was about to put his crayon down, when took another look at one of the answers that he had crossed out.

That was weird. He thought multiplying five and six together would create the number 30. Why had his teacher said the answer was 25?

He was about to check the board again, wondering if he had made a mistake, but Mrs. Wolfe was already erasing the answers. As his teacher began to speak again, he felt his face flush hotly, knowing he had done something wrong.

"Hand the quizzes back to the person you traded with."

Randy quickly pushed Debbie's quiz back to her desk. His own quiz was passed back to him. Immediately, he turned it over, too ashamed to look at the pink X's that he knew would be on almost every answer.

He swallowed down hard on the lump that was growing in his throat. His mother was going to be angry. She had not gotten angry yet, but he knew she ought to be. He felt like a failure, both as a son, and as a person.

"Randy."

Randy snapped his head up, looking at his teacher, who was standing at his desk. She was holding a handful of quizzes in one hand, and a separate quiz in the other. He recognized Debbie's handwriting on the separate paper.

"Y-yeah?"

Mrs. Wolfe snatched Randy's quiz. She looked at it for a moment, before glaring back at him. Randy shrunk, sliding deeper into his seat, wishing he could slip into the carpet beneath his feet.

"Why did you grade Debbie's quiz incorrectly?"

"What?"

"You marked correct answers as if they were wrong."

"I-I," Randy stammered.

"Mrs. Wolfe, I don't think he—" Debbie started.

"Debbie works hard to get good grades. Maybe if you put in the effort, you wouldn't have to lie to feel better about your own failures. You're banned from grading quizzes for the rest of the year."

He opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Wolfe turned around, and finished collecting the rest of the quizzes. Randy bit his lip, his thoughts suddenly turning hazy. The only thing that he could think about was the idea that he was a failure. This single thought repeated in his head over and over again, like a broken record that was set to repeat itself for eternity, if nobody bothered to stop it. Of course nobody would stop it. Compared to the rest of the records in the world, it was as if this single record was being muffled beneath a pillow.

Randy wrinkled his nose, unable to stop the tears—

SCREEEEEECH!

Randy gasped. He yanked the blankets away from his clamy body, and shot up, completely pencil straight. He pricked his ears, trying to figure out what had woken him, when he registered a loud buzzing sound going off underneath him. Grasping on to the railing, Randy leaned over his bed, looking down at the floor. In the darkness of his room, he saw a bright red glow flashing wildly on his bedroom floors.

"What the hell!"

Randy quickly crawled over to the ladder of his bed, before scurrying down it as fast as he could. He rushed over to the source of the bright red light, scooping it up into his arms. It shrieked loudly, as if it was a child that had been struck.

"Stop! You're gonna wake my mom up!"

The Nomicon trembled violently in his arms, continuing to flash uncontrollably. Randy held on to it tightly, hardly able to keep his grasp on the book. He sat down on a bean bag, putting the book in his lap. The Nomicon let out another howl. Randy squeaked, and pulled the book close to his chest, trying to muffle the sound.

"Randy? What is going on in there?!"

Randy yelped, dropping the book onto the floor. He heard his mother knock a couple of beats on his door.

"Ah jeeze, sorry! I, um, I left a movie on!" Randy placed his other beanbag on top of the Nomicon. "I-I must have fallen asleep on the remote. I just turned the TV off, so everything's fine, Mom."

From behind the door, he could hear his mother let out a deep sigh.

"Okay. Go to sleep, all right, honey? I know it's a Friday, but you have a lot of homework to do this weekend."

Randy resisted the urge to whine.

"Okay. Night."

A few moments later, Ms. Cunningham's footsteps trailed off into the house. Randy sat still, until he heard a door shut at the end of the hallway. Then he pulled the beanbag off from the Nomicon. It was still glowing, but it had become mute.

He picked up the book and placed it back on his lap.

"What the juice, Nomicon," Randy said, exasperated, pulling the cover of the book open. "The neighbors probably heard you."

He was sucked into the Nomicon, and fell through the usual vortex, before landing into a pond, the water splashing loudly under his weight. He sank a couple of feet underwater, before he swam back up to the surface. Randy crawled out of the pond, getting up on wobbly feet, then shook his arms, trying to shake water droplets from his clothes.

"Okay, couldn't this wait until morning?" Randy huffed, feeling cranky now that he was wet and cold.

But there was no response. Looking around, he saw that he was completely alone. Even the sky was empty, aside from the moon, which appeared to be doodled into the sky with black and white ink, jutting out absurdly from the night sky.

Randy raised a brow, feeling the discomfort of confusion settling deep into his gut.

"Hello?"

...

Elsewhere within the Nomicon, there was another person, who was also unaware of there being a separate presence inside. The small, redheaded boy was sitting under a tree, his knees drawn close to his chest. Although he appeared calm on the outside, his heart was pounding sharply in his chest, and he was struggling to keep himself from screaming once again.

Shuddering, the boy closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Usually, it was not this hard to avoid moments like this, at least inside the Nomicon. Inside, he was safe, safe from harm, and safe from his own inner demons. But now, he could not avoid it. It was even a fight to keep himself from getting sick.

The boy shuddered again, burying his face within his knees. He wanted it to go away. He wanted it all to go away. There was just so much pain—

"Hello?"

He gasped. Without thinking, he stood, and bolted into the nearest set of bushes, burrowing himself deep inside. He dared to peak through the leaves.

Standing only a few feet from him was his pupil, who was looking around, unaware of the redhead's presence.

The boy placed a gloved hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle any whimpers. He hadn't remembered letting Randy inside. How on earth had he managed to pry the Nomicon open on his own?

To his horror, Randy stepped closer. He wasn't even a foot away now.

This was all happening too fast. He couldn't do it. Not now, not ever.

...

Randy sighed, frustrated. He was starting to wonder if he had just dreamed that this whole thing had happened. Maybe the Nomicon hadn't really woken him, and he was sleepwalking.

He shook his head. No, that was a stretch.

"Hello?"

He heard a gentle rustle of leaves to his right. Turning, he noticed a patch of bushes. He started walking over to them, spotting a shock of orange through deep green leaves. The odd color shone a different consistency from the leaves, and it looked soft.

It almost reminded Randy of hair.

"Hey. Is someone here?"

He thought he heard something resembling a whimper. Randy stepped closer to the bushes.

"Are—"

There was a loud splash. Before he could react, he felt something cold and wet wrap around his waist. Randy looked down, and saw a pale green tentacle squeezing him tightly. He tried to pull away, but he was yanked several feet backwards, and then submerged into water. He cried out, but the water muffled his voice, filling his mouth, nose and lungs. Randy clawed at the tentacle gripping him, but it would not budge, instead squeezing him even tighter. Another muffled cry escaped his lips, as he felt all the air being harshly wrung out of him. He couldn't even get a good grip on the tentacle, because it was too slippery. It was like trying to grab on to a wet bar of soap.

Another tentacle wrapped itself around Randy's eyes, although its grasp was much looser. Desperately, he wrapped his fingers around the tentacle, and with all of the strength he could muster, he tugged at it, successfully removing it from his face.

But when he opened his eyes, he was back in his bedroom, lying down on his stomach, his chin sticking to the hard wooden floor.

Randy pushed himself up, leaning back into the beanbag. He squinted, looking for the Nomicon in the moonlit room. He spotted it on the floor at his feet. The book was no longer glowing.

Leaning forward, he scooped it up into his arms and set it down on his lap.

"What the juice has gotten into you?" he whispered. "First you wake me up, and now you kick me out? What was the point in calling me if you didn't want me?"

The book wouldn't respond. Not even a glow or a twitch. It just sat quietly in his arms, making him momentarily wonder if for the past two years, he had just imagined the Nomicon.

Randy exhaled. He rubbed his belly gently with the tips of his fingers, still remembering the sensation of the tentacles squeezing all of the air out of his body.

"You scared me."

Still no response.

He frowned, brushing the cover of the Nomicon carefully with the pad of his thumb.

"I think I'll just take you to bed with me tonight. I don't want you waking my mom again. You know what she would do to me if she thinks I'm still up."

Randy tucked the book into one arm, before walking back to the ladder. He climbed up carefully, only using one hand to pull himself up. Reaching the top of his bed, he put the Nomicon down on top of the mattress first, before pushing himself up to the bed. Then he picked up one of his pillows, and placed it down beside the other pillow. He took the Nomicon, and set it down gently on the pillow closer to the wall, before lying down next to it, pulling the blankets up with him.

Randy glanced at the book for a moment, before turning away, getting comfortable on his other side.

"Night."

He was not sure if it really made a difference, speaking to the Nomicon. Although it made him feel good, as if he were talking to someone who could keep him company. He liked pretending that he wasn't alone in his room. It made him feel safe.

Randy closed his eyes.

He was able to fall back asleep within minutes.

...

It was a late Saturday afternoon, when a man in a cowboy hat entered McFist Industries.

As he stepped inside, he peered around rapidly. Hidden partially by his hat, he had a pale face, resembling a sheet of paper. The man stood at the center of the waiting room, his gut tossing and turning with nausea. Even though he knew where to go to confirm his appointment, he looked down, pretending to be in deep thought.

"Are you here for an appointment?"

The man jumped. He turned to face the robo-ape seated at the receptionist desk. Just as he had remembered it from the last time he was here, the robot's face was caked in heavy layers of makeup that not even a clown could be proud of.

"Err, yes. I'm here to see Mr. McFist. My name is Charlie. Charlie Mclean."

"I'll let him know you're here. You can sit down in a chair, if you would like."

Charlie nodded, taking the seat to his right. He kept his back straight, becoming completely stiff in the chair. Trying to let his mind wander, he looked down at the carpet at his feet. Yet, it was still hard for him to relax, as he knew what was under that carpet.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the office's smells. The smell reminded him of a doctor's office, full of "clean" chemicals. He slowly exhaled, feeling his heart rate beginning to return to a normal pace. Taking in another deep breath, he felt the air fill his lungs up. He hadn't realized until now how little he had been breathing.

"Charlie."

His head snapped up in the direction of the source of the voice. Across from him was Willem Viceroy, who was stepping out of the elevator on the opposite side of the room.

"Oh. Good afternoon, Will. Anything new?"

Viceroy shrugged.

"Not really. Hasn't been for months. You?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Well, no, not really."

He expected Viceroy to respond negatively, but to his surprise, Viceroy's face stayed the same. His features were calm and relaxed, almost as if he was bored.

Viceroy shrugged again.

"I'm not surprised. It's not an easy job."

Charlie relaxed a bit, leaning back into his chair.

"It really isn't. I knew it was going to be difficult, but not like this. I mean…"

Someone entered the building. It was a man, holding a large red microwave.

Viceroy shook his head, hints of a scowl starting to form on his face.

"I probably have to go fix that. You can go up. I'll meet you there. You know which floor, right?"

He nodded, pushing himself up from the chair.

"Good luck," Charlie said.

"You too."

Sluggishly, almost like a zombie, he walked up to the elevator, and pushed the button with the arrow pointing up. He waited a few beats for the elevator to open, and once it did, he entered, the doors quickly closing behind him. He pressed another button, and just like that, the elevator started to move up. The wait almost seemed too short, because he was on the right floor in just under a minute. The elevator hadn't even stopped to let another person in from a different floor.

With a shaky breath, he stepped out of the elevator, into the hallway. At this point, he was on the floor that was McFist's living quarters of the very large building. Although, had this been Charlie's first time, he would never have guessed that. The walls, like the rest of the building, were made completely out of steel, and there was hardly anything in the hallway to decorate the place. Just looking around made him feel empty inside.

As he looked around, he noticed Marci McFist walking towards him from the other side of the hallway, wearing a huge grin on her face. Even though he had been doing this job for almost two years now, it still astounded him every time to see his boss's wife so cheerful. She knew what her husband was up to—how on earth was she so "happy" with it?

He cleared his throat as Marci finished making her way over to him.

"Why hello there, Charlie. You can follow me right this way, if you will."

He nodded silently, allowing Marci McFist to lead the way. They walked through two sets of steel hallways, before reaching a door. The door was also made from steel, and engraved into it was the title "McFist's Study". Nailed next to the door was a keypad with numbers. Marci pressed a few buttons, and the door opened with a loud crack that made Charlie flinch.

"Have fun up there," Marci said sweetly, before walking away.

For a few moments he remained still with shock at the bizarre comment.

He took another deep breath, before entering the stairway. The door slammed shut behind him. He walked up the stairs, until he got to the top, entering McFist's study. It looked different from the last time he had been there. Peering down, he noticed the new carpeting at his feet, which was a deep shade of velvet red.

"Why hello there, Mclean."

He held his breath, resisting the urge to shout in surprise. Feigning a smile, he turned to face McFist, who was sitting at his desk.

"Good afternoon, sir. Mr. Viceroy said he would be up in a few minutes. There was a customer with a question about a product."

"No need to wait," McFist said, a large, almost maniacal grin etched on his face. "I've been waiting a long time, and I want to get started. Sit down."

Charlie nodded, taking a seat across from McFist. The chair was soft and plushy, a difference from the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room.

"So, um, Mr. Viceroy didn't seem satisfied with the information on his end. What's going on with that?"

The grin slipped from McFist's face, his face contorting into a nasty scowl that resembled an angry bear.

"Our little freak is close to breaking. But the last time I interrogated him, Viceroy interrupted. He thinks I went 'too far', and is worried I almost killed him." McFist shook his head in disgust. "He won't let me see him for another week. By then he could be too healthy, and all of that time I invested into him will be wasted."

"Well, what has he been saying during your, er, sessions?"

McFist scoffed.

"The same lie as before. That he has no idea who the ninja is. How convenient that he had all of that information about the Necro Nomicon, or whatever the hell it's called, and yet he has no idea who the ninja is. Speaking of which, did you find the book?"

Charlie was still for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No. I looked everywhere. I even used the description that the prisoner gave me, but I can't find a book or anyone here who looks like what he described."

McFist grunted.

"He must have given us false information."

Charlie was silent, unsure of how to respond.

Suddenly they heard the sounds of a door opening. Viceroy entered the office.

"Viceroy, we can't wait a full week," McFist said, standing from his desk. "I think the freak gave us false information."

"Sir, I told you, if you keep this up, you will kill him! Then you'll have no information you can use! He's closer to cracking than he has been. You must—"

"No! For Christ's sake, you're too soft!"

Viceroy was visibly tense, his shoulders hunched close together. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists.

"Fine. Let's say I am too soft on the kid. Let's say I let you interrogate him today. What happens if you end up killing him because he pisses you off again? What do you do then?"

McFist growled.

"I don't know," he spat.

"Exactly. That boy is the best chance we have on finding the ninja. Without him, we're right back where we started. So you need to be patient if you don't want to end up losing him."

McFist stood still, glaring at Viceroy for several seconds. Charlie watched the display in silence, wondering if he should do something. McFist was looking at Viceroy the same way a lion looked at a deer, as it was preparing itself to catch its next meal.

Finally, McFist's features relaxed, and he sat back down at his desk.

"Fine." McFist looked up at Charlie. "Come back a week from today, after closing time. He should be ready by then."

Charlie stood from his own seat.

"I'll try to see if there's anything more I can find before I see you again."

He started to make his way out of the room, anxious to leave the building, when he stopped, his hand on the railing of the stairway.

"Oh. When can you send me my next paycheck?"

McFist paused for a moment, before opening his desk. He pulled out a piece of paper and held it out for Charlie to grab. Viceroy reacted first however, taking it from McFist and bringing it to Charlie.

"Thanks for reminding me."

…

Nomi woke with a start. He shot up, panting, helpless to the grisly images that were racing circles through his mind. It took several minutes for him, until his shallow panting slowed, and he was able to breathe normally. He inhaled deeply, quietly listening to the crickets chirp outside. He tried to ignore the sounds of his own heart pounding frantically in his chest, and exhaled slowly.

As he gradually became more and more aware, his mind kept rapidly jumping back and forth between the images of the nightmare and his fruitless attempts to distract himself. When he looked out the window and tried to figure out how dark it was, he managed to relate that back to his nightmares, when he spotted the full moon.

Nomi shuddered violently, his gut twisting and churning awfully as he remembered the pain. He could still feel every punch, every kick aimed right in the stomach, the telephone wire, the fire.

He coughed quietly, his gag reflex responding to the vivid memory. With a pained grunt, he took another deep breath, desperate for the nausea to go away. He was about to lie down, when he realized he was sitting on a beanbag.

"What?" he thought.

Nomi looked around, noticing the TV on the other side of the room, and the table in front of him. Turning his head behind him, he saw the computer chair, and the frame of the bed against the wall.

With a deep sigh, he slapped his forehead with a gloved hand, shaking his head in frustration.

He didn't know how, but somehow he had managed to change forms in his sleep.

He let out another sigh. At least Randy hadn't brought him to bed this time. He wasn't sure how he would have been able to explain himself if Randy had suddenly woken to some stranger sleeping next to him in bed.

Nomi was ready to turn himself back into the Nomicon, but after a few moments, he realized that he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even though he knew that he was safe here, he felt vulnerable, and he was afraid of turning back. But at the same time, he wished he hadn't changed into his human form. He was already starting to feel the anxiety kick in, and once that was around, it wouldn't go away for a very long time. It usually was easy to prevent the feeling inside the Nomicon, but it was harder to forget once it started. And then the events from last night were floating around in the back of his mind, quickly and quietly adding to his anxiety.

He needed a distraction, and he needed it now.

It was decided. He would go out. Just for a little while, until he felt normal again.

Nomi got to his feet, pushing himself off of the beanbag that Randy had set him down on earlier. A part of him wondered if Randy would wake up while he was gone, but Nomi quickly shook the thought off. Based on the deep breathing that he heard from the bed above him, Nomi figured Randy was already in a deep sleep. Usually nothing really woke his student up—not even that bad thunderstorm from last week. So it was unlikely that Randy would wake until morning. Even if he woke early, he would probably fall right back asleep without even noticing that the Nomicon was gone.

That was the one benefit to the young ninja's lack of organization. He could never remember where he put anything, and it was a good extra cover for Nomi to step out every once in a while. It had definitely been easy to sneak out last year…

He walked over to the window, stepping carefully on the tips of his toes. Although it was highly unlikely that Randy would wake, Nomi was careful, mostly for his own comfort.

As Nomi started opening the window, he paused. He realized he had no idea where he wanted to go.

There was Smith's house, but it was dark. Nomi wasn't sure if he had gone to bed at this point.

Of course, there was also the park. Nobody would likely be there, but it was an interesting place to look at during the night.

Although, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure he wanted to go there. It was still cold and wet outside, and probably even more so at the park. The snow had melted, but Nomi hated the cold.

He sighed. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go to Smith's house. Besides, sometimes he was still up this late. Smith had told him that he liked the quiet of the night, and that there wasn't enough of that during the day. Sometimes when he couldn't sleep, he took advantage of it.

Nomi just hoped he wasn't being rude or pushy.

He pushed the window open all the way, before climbing out, setting his bottom on the ledge. He looked down for a moment, preparing himself for the drop, before pushing himself off. With a pained gasp, he landed hard on both feet. Nomi grimaced, wobbling unsteadily as he waited for the pain to subside from the balls of his feet. After a few moments, he walked up to a tree next to the house. He got down on his knees, sticking his tongue out in response to the wet grass that he could feel soaking through his pants. He placed his hands at the base of the tree, feeling around for a minute, before curling his fingers around uneven pieces of bark. With careful fingers, he pulled a large chunk of bark from the tree, revealing a small compartment. From the compartment, Nomi pulled out a plastic bag. Reaching into the bag, he took out a navy blue sweatshirt, which he placed down beside him. Then he brought his fingers up to his neck, looking for the clasp to his cloak. When he found it, he loosened it, before pulling the garment from his body, placing it on his other side. Next he removed his gloves, and placed them on top of the cloak. Turning to the clothes he had removed, he wrapped the mess into a ball, and shoved it into the plastic bag. Finally, he put the bag back inside the trunk, and placed the bark back in its place.

Nomi stood, grabbing the sweatshirt. He slipped it on, and looked down at his body, trying to get a decent look at his clothes. Although it was not the ideal outfit, it was enough to allow him to blend in, especially at this time of day.

He looked down at the trunk one more time, double checking that everything was in its right place. When he was satisfied, he began walking, stepping over to the sidewalk.

As he adjusted to a quick pace, he started to feel his spirits lift a bit. The more Nomi walked, the more energetic he felt. It took only a few minutes until he felt so good that he was almost ready to start skipping like a little kid.

The last time he had stepped out in his true form was before the snow had even started to fall.

However, he didn't mind staying as the Nomicon for long periods of time. He had done it several times before. It wasn't often that he actually felt bored inside. The inside of the Nomicon provided Nomi with everything that he needed.

No, he couldn't complain. The Nomicon was peaceful and safe, for the most part.

But as Nomi continued to walk down the streets, he could feel a pleasant difference in his mood. Especially now that the weather was changing. It was still cold out, but this wasn't as bad as it had been this last winter. The best part was, the outside smelled like rain. He always loved that smell. It reminded him of his childhood, when he and his brother would play out in the mud after a good storm.

Suddenly, he felt his toes stick to an uneven piece of pavement. He yelped, trying to stay on two feet, but gravity got the better of him, and he fell forwards, hard on the cement ground. His hands and knees immediately burned from the impact.

Nomi was still for a few moments, before he felt his lips crack upwards, and he started laughing. He couldn't explain why, but for some bizarre reason, the little episode was just funny to him.

He sat there for a few minutes, waiting for his giggling to cease.

Before standing, he looked down at his hands, making sure they weren't bleeding. Luckily they seemed dry, although his left hand had a chunk of skin that was peeled back.

Nomi wrinkled his nose, carefully getting on his feet, using the backs of his hands to push himself up.

It took just over half an hour to get to Smith's house. By the time he reached the steps, Nomi was shivering. He quickly marched up the cement stairs, before pressing the doorbell, twice. It took a few minutes, and he was about to press the doorbell again, when the door opened.

"Who is it?"

"It's me, Nomi. Sorry, I know it's late."

Smith frowned. He scratched the back of his head.

"It's been a while since you stopped by, boy. Shut the door behind you."

Nomi followed Smith inside, shutting the door as told. He followed Smith all the way into the kitchen, then took a seat at the table. Smith walked past the table, walking until his cane hit the stove. Nomi watched Smith feel around on the stove, until he grabbed a kettle.

"I'm making tea," said Smith. "Want some?"

"Please. Do you need any help?"

Smith set the kettle under the sink. He put his cane against the counter, before removing the lid of the kettle and turning the sink on.

"You can get the cups and some teabags."

Nomi pushed his seat back from the table and stood. As he went to the cabinet for the cups, Smith put the kettle down on the stove and turned the stove on high. By the time Nomi found the tea, Smith was already sitting at the table, having set a bottle of honey in front of himself. Nomi took the seat across from Smith, placing the cups and tea near the honey.

"So what brings you here tonight? It's not like you to sneak out just to visit."

Nomi bit his lip. His thoughts trailed back to last night.

"Well, uh, I would have actually stopped by last night, but I couldn't risk it. Y-you know, because the ninja still doesn't know about me."

"Mmhm. You know, I don't think this boy is like the last one you exposed yourself to. The Ninja can be immature, but his heart seems to be in the right place."

Nomi shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I-I know. But, I'm just not sure if there's really any benefit from revealing myself. Besides...Mikoto was always better at talking to the students."

Smith raised a brow.

"Did you find him?"

Nomi looked down at his hands. A lump was beginning to form in the back of his throat.

"I'm starting to wonder if he's even alive anymore. I mean, last night..."

Nomi wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. Although Smith couldn't see his tears, he knew he would hear it in his voice.

"Last night?" Smith gently prodded.

Nomi took a deep breath, hoping his voice wouldn't tremble too much.

"I was in the Nomicon. And, I was starting to fall asleep, because it was late, when I, I saw him."

"You saw your brother?"

"Yes. But, he didn't look like himself." Nomi rubbed his eyes again, rubbing them so hard that Smith became blurry. "He was so frail. And it looked like he was losing feathers. His body was covered with injuries. I-it looked like he was dead."

He was starting to shake. It had suddenly gotten so cold in the room. Nomi hugged his knees, pulling them close to his chest, in an attempt to warm himself up. He wanted to stop his body from shaking, but when he tried, he just felt worse. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, desperate for relief.

"Nomi?"

Nomi opened his eyes. Smith was frowning. Nomi cleared his throat, praying that his voice wouldn't crack.

"I'm fine. Really. I just..." Nomi sighed. "I don't know what to do."

But before his companion could offer any words of comfort, the kettle on the stove started to let off a high pitched squeal, alerting the two that the water inside was boiling.

"I can get that," Nomi said weakly.

"No. I've got it."

As Smith went back to the stove, Nomi watched him, wiping his eyes once more, the lump in his throat shrinking. He was starting to feel the comfortable numbness return.

When Smith came back with the kettle, Nomi helped him pour the boiling water into the cups. Then Smith handed Nomi the bottle of honey. Nomi took it, but didn't pour it yet, waiting for the water in his cup to absorb the contents of the teabag.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Nomi tried to distract himself with the sounds of the crickets outside, but the dull ache in his heart still persisted stubbornly. He missed his brother terribly, and he didn't even know if he was dead.

That was the worst part. Not knowing whether to mourn or to continue searching.

Nomi picked up the bottle of honey and poured some into his cup. Grasping the warm cup, he then took a sip of his tea. The hot drink went down his throat soothingly, and he started to relax as he felt the calming effects of the tea work on his body.

"Maybe I should start looking for him again," Nomi wondered out loud. "I mean, I haven't looked in a while. What if I just missed him somewhere?"

Smith set his own cup down on the table.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Nomi looked down at the amber liquid in his cup.

"I don't know."

"Look. I understand why you would want to do it. But you still have a duty to keep up with. You can't do that if you continue to let this eat you alive."

"I know," Nomi said helplessly. "You're right. I just..."

"I know," Smith said. "It's hard to let go."

...

Author's Note:

Well, I hope you guys enjoyed chapter two! Thank you all so much for reading, following/favoriting, and reviewing! I was thrilled with the feedback I got, and did my best to improve any issues you may have spotted in chapter one!

Please feel free again to give me constructive criticism, or anything else you have to say! I really appreciate everything so far!

I'm not sure when chapter three will be done, but I have already started a good chunk of it. I just might be a bit busy since school is starting soon and I have not finished my summer reading homework. (Although at least I got some of it done already! Usually I end up putting it all off until the last day and will literally read 500 pages in less than 24 hours. And no, it is not impressive, because that is why I failed the impromptu we had the second day. XD So this year for once I actually might finish a good week or two before school starts.)

Take care!