FLEDGLING: Part II

Shin's friends were over as usual, for English-studying purposes, or so Shin claimed. "I hope you don't mind," he had said to Touma. "I know you also have work to do, so if we get too loud, feel free to use my room."

And that was exactly what Touma ended up doing. He could still hear the ongoing chatter in the living room, even with the door closed—an unpleasant mix of Japanese and bad English. Not that his own accent was much better. Shin, on the other hand, well… As much as Shin needed to expand his English vocabulary, he managed to imitate a British accent to near perfection. Touma concluded that Shin watched way too many English movies in his spare time. Not that it was a bad thing.

He pulled Shin's covers tighter around his shoulders and stared down at the plain sheet of paper in his hands. The calculations had been simple—he knew exactly how large the wingspan should be proportional to the plane's length and where to place the ailerons in order for the plane to perform the stunt he had in mind, but coming up with a foldable paper airplane design was more challenging than he expected. If only I had a strong background in something like origami, he thought. Yukawa-san would've liked to hear that he was trying something new for the science project.

But instead of trying to come up with plane designs, he found himself thinking of Yamamoto, and whether or not the man had written that letter to his father yet, or if he even planned to write it at all. Touma hoped he did. It's been nearly a week. He pictured how his father might react. Maybe he'd call the principal immediately, in utter disbelief that his son would ever hit another student. Maybe he'd come to visit to see if his son was all right. Or maybe he'd just throw the letter aside with all the other mail. It made Touma sad to think that he didn't really know what his father would do.

Shin was now going on and on in English about Japanese tea, probably just following an exercise from his textbook. Somewhere in the middle of it all, he had lost his point, and ended up in a euphonic clash of confused verbs, nouns, and tea ceremony terms. Touma smiled and closed his eyes, allowing the sound of Shin's voice to wash any stray thoughts away. He kind of wished Shin would speak to him in English sometimes. They'd have all sorts of entertaining conversations about tea and flowers and the weather outside.

Speaking of the weather, it was raining again. The rain seemed to have fallen in love with Tokyo lately—the crowds, the colors, the commotion. Touma hoped it would stay that way. In the living room, Shin's friends were saying their goodbyes. Books slamming, jackets and bags zipping, the casual claps of two hands belonging to more than one person. When the talking and laughter finally died, Touma pushed the door open to see what Shin was doing.

Hiroko was still there, helping Shin carry the trays of leftover food into the kitchen, humming an old song, her pretty knee-length skirt swaying back and forth to the movement of her pretty butt. Stunning. Touma watched her through the open crack of the door, knowing he probably shouldn't be, but doing it simply because he could and had nothing better to do.

"Leave the trays," Shin was saying from the kitchen. "I'll take care of them."

Hiroko continued to clean the table, brushing the crumbs of food onto an empty plate with a napkin. "Stop being so polite," she said. "It's the least I can do after all the help you've given me."

"You know," said Shin, reappearing and snatching the plate from her, "I'm starting to think you never needed all that help."

"Maybe you're right. And I'm starting to think someone has a little crush on me."

Touma almost laughed out loud, having just enough decency to close the door before they could hear him snickering. They were both about as subtle as wild animals in heat. What happened afterwards, Touma had no curiosity for. It wasn't his business anyway.

He climbed back into the bed and buried his face into the pillow, Shin's familiar salty-sweet scent filling his lungs, and thought of his father, his mother, his friends, Nasuti, Jun, the librarian, all those other people he didn't know the names of that made a difference in his life, until the pleasant lull of rain put him to sleep.

- - -

"Touma… Touma!"

Someone was shaking him gently, playfully. Touma opened one eye to find Shin hovering over him, dressed in pajamas. "Oh, it's you," he murmured, promptly rolled over and went back to sleep. Dim light from the bedside lamp filled the room. It must've been late.

He felt something warm press against him, cozy and delightful at first, which soon became angry and hostile. A hard thump woke up him before he realized he had made the sound when that something had shoved him off the bed and onto the floor. He stood, shivering, looking around. "Gee, what a great way to wake up."

"You deserved it," said the lump that was now under the covers. "Put on a jacket. Dinner's on the table. Heat it in the microwave. Don't be lazy."

"Lazy? Who's lazy?" Touma put on his best scowl, despite the fact that Shin couldn't see it. "What about you?"

Shin rolled over and blinked, as if blinking took more effort than shifting his weight. "I ate already. Thanks for asking."

"Don't flatter yourself. I meant—"

"I know." A knowing smile. Effortless.

Completely unsatisfied, Touma left the room. Ten-thirty. What kept Shin so busy for the past six hours that he forgot to pull a certain friend out of bed? Oh, right... Hiroko. Touma glanced at the dinner on the table and decided 'leftovers' was a better word. Not the he was complaining, because it smelled delicious. He grabbed a piece of teriyaki chicken with his fingers and dropped it in his mouth. Take that, Shin, my oh-so-loyal-and-compassionate friend. Who the hell needs a microwave?

"I'm watching you."

That voice was too close to be from the next room. Touma spun around and found Shin leaning against the doorframe. "You!" he said, pointing a sauce-covered finger at Shin. Then, he turned away, disinterested, and picked up another piece of chicken. "Oh, it's just you."

Shin looked around, confused. "Um… yeah?"

"Chicken Teriyaki Attack!"

Before Shin could figure out what was going on, the piece of chicken had landed squarely on his chest. Still a little stunned, he looked down and touched the sauce on his otherwise spotless pajamas. "Ew. That's disgusting. What did I do to deserve this?"

Touma shrugged.

"By the way," said Shin, as if to answer his own question, "your dad called earlier today, while you were sleeping. I was debating whether or not to tell you tonight. He says he's traveling up to Hokkaido for research-related reasons and just wanted to make sure you were okay. I asked if he wanted to talk to you, but he said—no, insisted—not to wake you up if you were sleeping."

Hearing no response from Touma, Shin continued.

"We ended up chatting for a little longer than an hour. Mostly about you, but about some other things too. We actually might have kept talking if he didn't have to leave to catch his flight. I guess the reason I didn't want to tell you today was because you rarely have the chance to speak to your dad. I feel kind of like I took something from you, and if I did, I'm really sorry."

Touma stared at his hands, then at the floor.

"The thing is, I had actually just come home from a walk, and your dad was just beginning to leave a message on the answering machine. I should have let him just leave the message, but I realized it was too late the moment I answered the phone. So I pressed 'record.' I recorded our entire conversation, Touma. I didn't think it would last that long, and I didn't think you wouldn't get the chance to talk to him. I left the tape next to the phone because I think you deserve to hear it. It's my fault."

Touma didn't look. He couldn't. He knew it wasn't such a big deal, that he could probably guess what they had said anyway, but his hands shook and he was crying. Shin gripped him by the shoulder and apologized again. Touma shook his head. I'm not angry, he wanted to say. I'm not angry. But why? Why does it feel like I am?

He couldn't understand what Shin was saying anymore, and he wasn't sure what he was yelling about either, but the last thing he heard before Shin left the room was, "Your father cares."

- - -

November 25th, 1992 – 5:10 pm

Hello? Is anyone home? Is this Shin's number? (pause) This is Touma's father. I'm guessing no one lives here anymore, but if you're still here, Touma, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving in a few hours. I'm going to—

Otou-san? I'm so sorry, I just got home. I think Touma's sleeping right now. Let me go wake him up.

No! No, it's fine. I don't think you would be able to anyway. (laughter)

(silence)

So how have you been? Shin? This is Shin, right?

Yes, it is. I'm having a great time in college. Not much written work, really great professors, so many opportunities… Are you sure you don't want to speak to Touma? Maybe he can tell you what's going on in his life right now.

It's okay. Let him sleep. I'm sure he's tired. pause Can you talk right now? Are you busy?

Oh, no. Not at all. I have all the time in the world.

I was hoping you could tell me what Touma's been up to these days. If you don't want to—

I don't understand. I'm sure Touma would gladly talk to you right now, even if he's asleep. But if you insist, I'll tell you what I know. I just think it's better if you talk directly to him.

(silence)

I'm so glad Touma has a mature friend like you. To be honest, I just received a letter from his school principal. A friendly letter. He is a high school friend, after all. Or just an old classmate, perhaps. Memories tend to deceive. It's just that… oh, never mind. Has Touma been acting different lately?

Different?

I don't even know. What's 'same' for him anyway?

Touma's always different. (laughter) It's something I admire about him. If he were acting the same, I'd be worried.

(silence)

You seem like a very nice boy, Shin. Can I tell you something? It's something about Touma. I mean, it's not a secret or anything, and it's not that I suspect you might be judgmental about it… I know it won't change anything if I told you—

I'm a little reluctant to hear it. There are some things Touma doesn't want me to know, which is why he doesn't tell me.

Please, you must understand that it's difficult for me to communicate with him, or anyone. But I hear your voice, and it reminds me of something I never had. Do you know what I mean? (pause) What am I saying… you're only a teenager. My son's age. A boy.

(silence)

I'm sorry, Otou-san. I'm—

No, don't be. It's my fault. I shouldn't have mentioned it.

—making things difficult for you. If there's something you feel you need to tell me, I'm listening. But I might not be very helpful.

Well, now that you offered, what I'm about to say seems minor. I don't know if Touma told you this, but he recently got into trouble at school for hitting another boy.

Oh, yes. He told me the sarcastic version. I'm guessing it was a bigger deal than what he made it to be?

I don't know. His principal briefly mentioned it in his long greeting letter. Mostly questions about my research, my career, my so-called success. I don't understand. It's like he glossed over the whole letter. Is it a big deal? You can't trust people anymore. Everything is written in code nowadays. I can't tell if he's hinting at something, or if he's simply informing me, or if he's just trying to make conversation.

Touma had his reasons. I wouldn't worry too much about it. The principal probably misunderstood, or felt the need to exercise his authority in some way.

It's funny to think that you have more confidence in him than I do. You don't think he's violent? Maybe a little immature for his age? I'm only worried that this abnormal life is having some sort of adverse effect on him. I don't even know my own son anymore, but I try. I really do—

- - -

Bullshit. Touma ejected the tape and raised his arm to pitch it across the room, but dropped it back on the table instead. He'd listen to the rest later. He wasn't even frustrated anymore. Just defeated. Failure at life seemed to run in his blood. He crossed his legs on the couch and hugged himself tightly. Stupid heater hadn't quite been working properly, after he left those books there. His blanket was gone, and he didn't have the nerve to go back into Shin's room to ask for it. Everything was hopeless.

He thought of Shin and Hiroko, and for the first time, jealousy hit him. Not because they had each other, but simply because everything was so simple for them. He often wondered how Shin did it, how he had such a natural flair for conversation—whether it be expressing concern or hitting on hot girls. Hiroko had the same speaking talent, so talented in fact, that Touma could say her perfection made her less attractive. To him, at least.

Shin was a completely different matter. Touma was well aware that his friend was far from perfect. He could break Shin to pieces if he wanted to, knew exactly how each limb and organ would come apart, had almost seen it happen. It made him shiver with an odd delight, even though Shin could easily do the same to him. They were all capable of destroying each other out of admiration and longing. They knew too much about each other's flaws and strengths, kept their envies quiet, some more than others. But Touma was not heartless, contrary to popular belief. He smiled grimly, less weak, more confused, not feeling much better. Partly because a certain influential figure still lurked in the back of his mind.

He was the exact replica of his father. Obsessive, reckless, socially inept. His father was not unprone to emotions, love, all that crap—he just had no idea what to do with it. What was he thinking, marrying a woman nearly twenty years younger than himself? A teenager, his own student, for heaven's sake. A brilliant beautiful one, but a girl nonetheless. She must've fallen in love with his vulnerability and intellect, he with her youth and originality. And most of all, they were both in love with their love for each other. Touma was willing to bet that someone could write an entire novel about it. Scratch that. Someone already had.

So what if Shin asked him to sleep with him right now? Would he object?

Of course. Maybe. Touma rolled his eyes. Who was he kidding? He'd probably strip his clothes off and jump right into bed. But he didn't have to worry about that happening. All he had to do now was make sure he wouldn't get lucky like his father did. He'd have to be extra careful though. It might happen in twenty years, catch him unaware, knock him off his feet. Then he'll end up with a crazy kid just like himself.

He finally got up to make himself a hot cup of coffee. He wasn't going to sleep tonight anyway. Science project was due before the new year, and he had a little less than a month to finish. He turned on the stove to boil some water, standing near it to stay warm. Who was he doing the project for? Certainly not himself. It was to prove he could, to meet expectations, to give the sweet old librarian something she could be proud of. And maybe, just maybe, because Shin had brought it up in the first place.

Funny how all these thoughts connected so easily in his mind. There had been a point in his life when he believed they were separate, and were to be kept that way. It seemed almost ridiculous now.

As Touma sipped his scorching over-sweetened coffee and tried to think of his project, he found himself uncomfortably aroused. It must've been that shameless thought of Shin asking him to bed. Or it could just be that he was a pubescent teenager who didn't masturbate enough. He could vaguely recall Shuu telling them all five years ago, when the five of them had hardly known each other, that if a guy didn't masturbate enough, he could spontaneously combust. "It's happened before," Shuu had told him. "I've read it in the papers."

Ryo had laughed nervously, Seiji and Shin looked at each other and shrugged. "You're an idiot," Touma remembered saying. And now that same voice saying those same words echoed in his head, directed at himself, as his hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers.

He pictured Shin, naked, writhing beneath him, moaning in pleasure. He pretended Shin was a girl. He imagined Shin's warm mouth all over him. Nothing worked. Maybe I'm not in love with Shin after all, he thought. Almost laughing out loud. Continued to touch himself fruitlessly. He finally decided he was never going to come like this and fell back against the couch, motionless, aching, staring at the ceiling.

Except he saw Shin instead, felt their sweaty foreheads pressed together, strong hands gripping either side of his face, held even tighter by the familiar heated gaze, and bit back a cry as his orgasm took him by surprise. When he opened his eyes, the image was gone, and he was alone again. Alone and sticky. Great. At least he was warm.

He wondered why he didn't get an erection every time Shin look at him. Now he probably will.

Anyway, back to the science project.

- - -

I'm back after nearly two months, with a new style and a new attitude. I'm trying to make my writing bolder, faster, more effective. Tell me if it works for you! All other comments and feedback are appreciated too!