notes: 天 : ten no ryuu, 地球 : chi no ryuu, CCD : CCD era

(11/09/05 : 11/50) 天

The following week, the episodes continued, nightly. Without his tranquilizers, Kamui was a mass of frayed nerves--hands tangled tightly with Nokoru's as he fought for and against exhaustion. Some nights, slipping bodily into his bed was the only way to help the boy sleep--letting thin arms wrap around him like some metaphorical anchor of sanity. Still, the nightmares only worsened, and Nokoru began to voice his doubts about the aborted sedatives. But Kamui disagreed, more afraid of the chemical blanket trapping him inside his own mind than the dreams, themselves.

"Just... be here. So I can wake up."

(11/08/05 : 12/50) 地球

They like to talk. About everything and nothing at all. Government, ecology, philosophy... There's precious little Monou won't engage, granted it isn't about himself.

Once, Keiichi asked for his number. It was indefinitely out of service. Another time, he offered to accompany him off-campus, home. Monou claimed appointments of a sensitive nature. Finally, he asked him over for dinner. As expected, he was met with resistance, but he barreled ahead, unsatisfied with the noncommittal meetings, set to Monou's noncommittal schedule--determined to get in. "You are my friend, after all."

"We're friends?"
"If that's all right."
"...Yeah, I'd... like that."

(11/11/05 : 13/50) 天

The problem with progress, Nokoru thinks, is that matters only grow worse before they become better--a sad fact Kamui's condition lends screaming testament to. Of course, he has every confidence that Kamui will--is... getting better. Sorata believes, too. He smiled through his own reluctance when Nokoru asked to keep Kamui in his company a little while longer. He understood.

Suoh doesn't understand. But what else could you expect? Emotions were never his strong suit. He couldn't possibly grasp why this mattered so much. All he saw were the wrinkled clothes and bloodshot eyes.

He didn't see the healing.

(05/14/06 : 14/50) 地球

Perhaps it was that Segawa Kaede was beautiful, in every sense of the word.
Perhaps it was that she was everything he'd come to idealize in a mother.
Perhaps it was that he just missed the feeling of family, a little.

Whatever it was, in that house, he felt strangely touched and warm. For the first time in months, he felt a genuine smile curl into his eyes. They ignored Keiichi's flustered outburst when Kaede claimed him a "workaholic" who never visited anymore. And when she requested that Fuuma continue to take care of him, he agreed. And meant it.

(11/13/05 : 15/50) 天

At length, the relations between the chairman and his advisor became so strained, Kamui couldn't object to being moved into Nokoru's rooms. Suoh's routine visits had become his daily torment--watching them eye each other with barely-contained resentment and knowing he could do nothing to mediate, since it was all his fault.

But relief came: Suoh backed off; Nokoru slept at night; and Akira visited instead, offering pastries and chatting with him quietly while Nokoru dozed in his arms. "I'm happy," he whispered, once, as though sharing a precious secret, "he's making friends again... He never had any, before Takamura-senpai."

(05/16/06 : 16/50) 地球

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Segawa wasn't the Sakurazukamori--in either incarnation--and that he should be handled more carefully. Their first Korean lunch date was nearly ruined when he choked on the kimchee, turning red to the tips of his ears. Amused, Fuuma plucked some ice from his tea, licked it clean, and held it to his mouth. Keiichi grimaced but, having exhausted all his own water, didn't refuse. His teeth closed around it, then nipped irately when it wasn't surrendered. Fuuma snatched his hand back, laughed, and then sucked his injured fingertips.

Keiichi looked away first.

(05/17/06 : 17/50) 天

The third step of rehabilitation was physical therapy. Normally, such extensive trauma had graduated treatments. But fractures, punctures, contusions and all, Kamui was up and moving in just a few weeks' time.

One morning, with the excuse of fresh air and stretching his legs, Nokoru came to accompany him, jogging. The sun had yet to rise, but somehow Kamui wasn't surprised when Suoh approached during warm-ups. The chairman, busy with stretches more enthusiastic than useful, didn't notice.

"Take care of him. He's... very clumsy."

Kamui turned to ask what that was supposed to mean, but Suoh had already walked away.

(05/18/06 : 18/50) 地球

After the kimchee incident, there was an unexpected--or not so unexpected--week-long break in their routine. But when Segawa did eventually return to the gazebo, there were no apologies exchanged. Instead, he quietly invited the other up to his room. Distracted and clearly agitated, he said nothing else until he clicked his bedroom door shut behind them.

"Monou-san, why do we have religion?"

Fuuma hesitated, for once appearing unsure of the conversation. "Religion... is a lifelong preparation for death. People fear dying with regrets."

"If you died right now, would you regret anything?"
"No," he answered, much too slowly.

(05/19/06 : 19/50) 天

The chairman was a perpetually busy individual. There was never a time when someone or something didn't require his attention. But he bore everything with tireless grace, his good nature seeming to overcome the most trying details. Perhaps he was biased, but Kamui saw differently. The smiles were washed-out. The interest overdone or flat.

Only during physical therapy did Nokoru appear genuinely energetic. So even after Kamui recovered, they continued their routine. Noticing this, Suoh's attitude changed. He seemed less angry and more confused. Wistful.

"Why only now?" he sometimes wondered, aloud.

Somehow, Kamui knew there'd never be an answer.

(11/10/05 : 20/50) 地球

It came to Fuuma, almost as an afterthought, that he was caught in one of those life-defining moments. Sprawled on his back, on a dorm bed littered with textbooks, discussing religion like any other student, on any other weekend--the exact same way he and Segawa had been carrying on for weeks, now. It was all so damned normal, the notion was almost perverse.

"I'm not concerned about dying," he scowled, unsettled.

"Liar," Segawa returned, unexpectedly grating. His eyes were piercing--knowing--and somehow, Fuuma understood that he meant more than just this. Wordlessly, he rose and let himself out.