Later, we were snuggled up in the futon. Voices occasionally floated up from the living room, but I could not make out their words and I was glad. I impatiently waited for Nowaki to ask me whatever he was wondering about. Now that I was in his arms, I could feel sleep tugging at me. He was probably choosing his words carefully. In the past, I may have reacted to his curiosity by taking his head off, once or twice . . . .

"Hiro-san," he began tentatively.

"Hm?" I said calmly.

"Who are those other people down there?" Ah, so he was going to lead up to it.

"The woman is Akihiko's editor. The man is head of sales for the publisher."

"Oh. You seemed to know him." Nonchalant, but transparent. Baka Nowaki.

"He's a childhood friend to Akihiko's brother."

"Oh." Oh, he says. He isn't sure what to do now. I am trying to decide if I'm going to make him ask, or just explain it. Nowaki's grip seems tighter than before. He's worrying.

"He has a lot of nerve coming here," I said grouchily. Nowaki, I spoil you.

"Why is that?"

"He's a pain in the ass that is way too nosey and talks too much." He also likes to embarrass Akihiko and me at every opportunity. "I don't know how Akihiko handles working with him." By having panic attacks before each event, apparently. It hadn't happened in a while, but I used to get frantic, rude phone calls from Isaka when Akihiko shut down before event. It usually ended with me dragging myself away from my studies and halfway across Tokyo to shout some sense into the both of them. I hoped Nowaki would understand that it was sympathy I felt for my childhood friend. Akihiko is the closest thing I've ever had to a brother.

"It's hard to imagine Usami-san being bullied," Nowaki commented neutrally.

"He's a pretty tolerant guy until he's pushed too far, then, watch out!" I said with a chuckle, remembering a particularly interesting altercation between Akihiko and a guy who picked on me when we were in high school.

"It's hard to imagine you two as friends," Nowaki observed stiffly.

"We didn't have anybody else at the time." I turned in his arms and pressed my throbbing forehead against his chest with a groan.

"Alright, Hiro-san?" his hand cupped my cheek.

"Head hurts. Stress." I thought about Isaka's hazardously loud mouth. "This is like the family reunion from hell." Nowaki got up and rummaged around in the dark. I heard the rattling of a medicine bottle. He sat down and dropped two pills in my hand.

"I always keep a bottle of aspirin in my pocket," he murmured. I sat up and swallowed the pills. He put an arm around me concernedly.

"Why's that?" I asked as little alarm bells went off in my head.

"It's easier than tracking down a bottle when I'm working," he said with a shrug. I needed to know more.

"Headaches?" I pressed.

I felt his hesitation. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"What's the matter, Hiro-san?" he asked, avoiding the question.

"I wish you'd slow down," I muttered gruffly. He seemed to digest what I was saying for a moment. "It's good to pursue your dreams, but it's no good if you kill yourself in the process," I couldn't help adding. Suddenly, he lifted me into his lap. "Hey!"

"Hiro-san!" he gasped passionately.

"Calm down, idiot," I muttered as the side of my face was plastered with kisses. While I don't often express my worry for him, it's not because I don't care. He's a grown-up and I try to treat him like one. He is also an idiot. "It's time for bed; some of us have to work in the morning."

"Okay, Hiro-san," he murmured giddily.