Title: Stranger
Rating: T, although given my main characters, this probably ought to be K -.- Just in case, though.
Disclaimer: I do not own La Corda D'oro or any of the characters mentioned here. Except Takano and Usaki, but you probably knew that.
A/N: Oi, almost three months. How did that happen? I am so, so, sorry. I don't even have an excuse this time, as exams ended mid-may, and I've had plenty of time to recover. But I plan on being more diligent in updating from here on out, and I hope this chapter fits seamlessly enough with the others and manages to be enjoyable.
And thank you so much for all the support! ImEmoCuzMySisSaidSo, the fate of the chocolate cake is now revealed. Dream Cager, I am, as always, grateful for your support and advice. I probably don't edit things as much as I should. I can't believe I forgot Tsuchiura -.- Though Shoko's addressing of Kazuki-kun was intentional, as I'd gathered from the manga they'd known each other for some time since he calls her familiarly at the training camp, but still, she would address him at the very least as Kazuki-senpai, so my mistake! I'll endeavor to remember next time.
Again, thanks to everyone else who reviewed - I'm glad to know you all are enjoying it, and hope you continue to do so.
"Sorry for the wait, I had to clean something up, here's y- Oh, hey! Welcome back," the waitress, who's name, Shoko noted, was Sachiko, broke into a grin when she looked up and saw them.
It faded into a perplexed line upon closer examination.
"You guys . . . were you out in the rain for a long time? Um . . . I can see if I can find some towels . . ." she offered, setting down their menus.
"No, thank you. It's fine." It was Len who spoke; Shoko still couldn't quite find her voice. Though, now that the waitress mentioned it, she probably looked like a drowned kitten.
And so, she thought glumly, the day worsens.
"Alright, if you're sure. Well. Something to drink, then?"
Len gave her a brief, assessing glance, and ordered tea for the both of them.
Sachiko frowned, eyeing Shoko speculatively, but apparently decided it would be too bold to ask.
"I'll have that right out," she told them, and hurried off.
Shoko almost wanted to call her back. It somehow felt acceptable to say nothing as she trailed after Len in the rain, but once they were actually sitting down to dine, she felt obligated to break the silence. At the same time, she was even less sure what to say.
Len didn't pin her with any uncomfortable stares, though; he simply picked up the menu and scanned it, movements hinting at a hidden impatience.
How surreal everything felt, from the time she'd left Kazuki's to now, where she was for the second time this week sitting in this restaurant with Len, uncertain what to say. She herself felt a little strange, like she was and was not there. Partly living it, partly watching from a distance.
She sat, wondering if she should try and explain, not sure how to, twisting her hands together in her lap while she counted the breaks in the seam of her hem.
He was tapping his fingers on the table again. She wondered if he really didn't like sitting still, despite evidence to the contrary.
Or he couldn't wait to get rid of her and do something more entertaining, like going home and watching water boil.
33, 34, 35 . . .
The seconds seemed endless. Len, she reflected, was not the type to ask questions, even if he was certainly entitled to.
But maybe he wasn't even curious.
But surely, if he would go through all of this trouble, he'd at least ask something? Why she didn't tell anyone? Why she left her shoes? Did she really crawl out the window?
Her shoulders hunched slightly. She was beginning to have trouble coming to terms with that one.
Plink.
"Here's your tea. Careful, it's hot . . . though, you're probably still cold from being out in the rain. Are you ready to order, or do you want a few minutes . . .?"
Len looked at her questioningly.
Her voice, it seemed, was still broken, because she continued to stare at her fidgeting hands.
Though she couldn't see it, she felt his gaze for a few moments longer before he finally looked back at the menu.
"Two bowls of miso soup, I suppose."
He and the waitress waited for her to object, if necessary.
She did not.
"Okay, two bowls of miso soup . . . um, is . . . is she . . . well, nevermind. I'll take that up, and it should be ready soon."
And once more, she was left alone with him and her thoughts.
Not only had he been made to bring her her stuff and then take her somewhere in order to get her out of the rain, he'd been forced to order for her.
Any minute now, she thought numbly. Any minute, and it will all hit, and I'll be a flustered, blushing, stuttering mass of mortified jello.
The minutes ticked by, and she grew somewhat anxious. He wasn't saying anything. Just looking in the general direction of the wall with his trademark face - was it just her, or was his expressionlessness beginning to become an expression in and of itself? - and tapping his fingers on the scarred wooden tabletop.
She wasn't sure how long had passed before she finally broke the silence.
"I-I'm s-sorry."
The tapping stopped.
"It's fine."
"I s-suppose I should t-tell you what h-happened."
He didn't say anything for a moment.
"Perhaps."
Did he want to know or not? She didn't think she'd ever met someone who wouldn't be fit to bursting with questions at this point. But Len, it seemed, was entirely disinterested in her and what she had to say.
And yet, here he was.
She wished he weren't so confusing.
" . . . Are you feeling better, then?"
She blinked, and looked up to find his gaze had moved from the wall to her. She resisted a shiver.
"I . . ." She had not expected that question. "Y-yes. I think." Maybe. Maybe she was feeling worse.
He nodded.
"You should drink your tea. You were in the cold for a long time."
He picked up his own without waiting for a reply, and took a sip.
Grateful for a chance to think a little more about what to say, she followed suit.
Conversation was considerably more stilted than it had been on Wednesday. Though she supposed it was to be expected. Neither of them were the type to handle circumstances such as these very well.
She cleared her throat, unsure. It didn't seem like he was expecting her to explain herself, and yet, she felt guilty, taking advantage of his time and consideration without even telling him why she had crawled out of a window.
Yep, that was definitely eating at her. She could still feel the mud from the ground below the window sticking her stockings to the soles of her shoe.
"I . . ." She began. But she wasn't sure where to go from there.
He surprised her, though.
"It's not really any of my business. Hihara-senpai said you were ill, and you already said you didn't want to disturb anyone. Anything else is of no interest to me." He exhaled, resuming the tapping. "What I mean," it sounded like he might be gritting his teeth. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
She tried to remember having heard him talk at such length before, but she was having trouble.
She swallowed, and fought the impulse to cry. He was being so . . . so kind. For no apparent reason. She didn't understand. He didn't have anything to gain from it, and he didn't seem like the type to pity her.
But then, there were many things about him that she wouldn't be able to figure out even if she wanted to.
So she settled for saving those questions for another time when he wasn't sitting in front of her and she wasn't still faced with the dilemma of what to say next.
"Th-then . . . if I don't o-owe you an explan-nation, I, um, I do want t-to say thank you. I d-don't know why, b-but, that is, y-you . . . it wasn't n-necessary, yet you . . . um, s-so . . . I, just, I'm g-grateful."
Possibly the most clumsy, botched attempt at expressing gratitude ever, but she was fairly certain she'd hit the basics.
On the bright side - or not, depending on how you looked at it - the color was back in her cheeks.
Interestingly enough, she noted, it was in his, too.
"Think nothing of it." It sounded like he meant it, too. Apparently, Len was as reluctant as she was to offer any explanations for mysterious behavior.
"O-okay. Th-thank you," she said again, that persistent uncertainty halting her words. He simply nodded, and they descended into silence once again. Shoko, unsure what to do with her hands, reached for her tea and took a slow sip. So preoccupied with the astonishing turn of events, she had not realized how cold it was until now, and was grateful for Len's foresight in requesting tea.
She would have told him so, but knew she'd just make the situation even more awkward.
Instead, she let the discomfort in the silence shrink to a manageable amount, and quietly drank her tea as he did the same, peering over the rim every now and then and studying the graceful lines of his face.
She'd pay almost anything to know what was going on in his mind right now.
Don't bother wondering, she told herself. Didn't he say to think nothing of it?
"There you are, then. Two bowls of miso soup," Sachiko announced, carefully placing a steaming bowl in front of each of them. A rush of steam warmed her face, and despite polite, tentative consumption of party snacks, she felt hungry.
"Th-thank you."
"Certainly. Can I get you guys anything else?" she queried, and the pair shook their heads. "Great. Let me know if you change your mind," and with a warm smile, she had hurried off.
Which left Shoko to nervously brace herself for the inevitable ordeal that was eating her soup without making any horribly embarrassing slurping noises. Or somehow managing to send the heavy bowl flying across the table into his lap.
If anyone could do it, it would be me, she reflected glumly.
The soup, whether by the cook's skill or the emptiness of her stomach, was delicious, and exactly what she needed right now, despite a few near-misses with the spoon and the constant worry that she might be eating too fast or too slow or doing some other impolite thing that she would have to profusely apologize for by shooting herself in the foot, if she hadn't already stuck it in her mouth during said apology.
Len, that jerk, ate flawlessly.
There is no justice.
They both quietly finished their meal, and sat in silence for a few minutes before the waitress skidded to a halt next to the table.
"Ah, that was quick. You guys didn't really talk much . . ." she coughed. "Ah, right, do you want anything else or should I grab the check for you?"
Len looked at her questioningly. She shook her head, heat rising in her face. And all he'd had to do was look at her. There really was no justice.
"The check, please," he requested, and the waitress smiled uncertainly and scurried off once more.
Shoko fiddled with her hands nervously.
You musn't do that, dear, or you'll always looked worried. Even if you're alright with that, it makes other people feel ill at ease . . .
Her hands stilled. It had been a while since her mother's gentle reprimands had flitted through her brain. Shoko had given up trying to remember and follow the endless bits of well-meaning criticism that seemed to constantly be falling all around her ears years ago, but they tended to break through when she felt especially stressed.
And what was more stressful than the walking fire hazard seated calmly across the table - but for those tapping fingers - seemingly unaware of his inexplicable behavior and overall effect on her ability to function? Fire hazard, because she had no doubt she'd spontaneously combust in his presence one day.
Regardless, her hands began to move again. Nevermind that, she thought, I am not and never will be the automatic hostess that she is, and that's okay.
But sometimes, in situations like these, she wished she could assume a brilliant smile and draw even the reclusive Len Tsukimori into her dazzling web as she entertained him with scintillating conversation.
She laughed out loud.
The tapping stopped, and he was staring at her in that dreadful, unnerving, lovely way again.
Somehow, it made her laugh harder. Why not laugh? The sheer ridiculousness of the situation she had managed to get herself into after years of successfully avoiding anything like the outings she'd been on in the recent weeks, the string of today's events in particular, had rendered her numb to the usual awkwardness and embarrassment that normally would have killed her laughter the moment his expression changed. She buried her head in her arms as she giggled, somehow feeling refreshed and sick at the same time.
"Here's the check . . . ah, is she going to be alright?"
She was not numb, however, to outside interruption, and her laughter faded as her cheeks warmed. Somehow, it was one thing for Len to see her hysterical laughter, for it seemed to her he'd seen every unattractive side she had to offer, even those previously undiscovered, but different for this self-assured, at-ease stranger to note her undoubted craziness.
In fact, it almost seemed like Shoko had become sort of . . . comfortable with Len.
She stared wide-eyed at the table she couldn't really see, her arms blocking out the light.
How strange, she wondered. When had that happened? Certainly, he still could fluster her and reduce her to a stammering, senseless mess, but at the same time . . .
"I . . ." From the dark, she heard him falter, before resuming in the cool, even tones she was used to. "Yes, excuse me. Thank you."
She waited until the waitress hesitantly departed before slowly lifting her head.
"I . . . er, it was . . . I'm s-sorry, I just, and, p-please excuse me,"
"It's fine." She swallowed, nodded, and leaned back against her chair in relief. Len had taken it in stride, as he had with everything that had happened today.
Like the indisputable fact that she crawled out the window.
Oh, how it still stung.
Her mental reenactment of the stunt could wait, however, as Len was taking out his wallet.
She quickly shook her head.
"N-no, that's okay, I'll take c-care of it," she protested. It was her fault that they had ended up here, and for his kindness, she at least owed him as much as a bowl of soup and some tea.
"It's fine," he said, but she scrambled to get out her purse anyways.
"R-really, I'd be unc-comfortable if you d-did, um, I was s-such trouble today, I, that is, it's the l-least I can do, so please . . ."
He hesitated for a long moment. Who knew he could be such a gentleman, even if he was brutally honest?
"Fine, then."
Relieved, she managed to count out the total and tip without dropping anything, and set it on the table. They both stood up, pushed their chairs in, and headed for the door, passing the waitress as they exited. She waved.
"Ah, thank you for coming, see you two later!"
Shoko nodded and smiled tentatively in return, despite thinking that the odds of her and Len ending up back here together a third time were extremely low, and moments later, they were standing outside in a burst of cold, damp air. It was still raining slightly, she noticed, and it was cold, especially for having a short sleeved blouse on.
And now, she realized, it's time to go home.
She really didn't want to yet. Somehow, despite the long silences, her inevitable failures in acting like a normal human being, and Len's sometimes terrifying demeanor, she wanted to stay out. More specifically, she wanted to stay with him. Anywhere was fine. Just not home, and just not by herself.
She swallowed. Unfortunately, that was not an option. She'd already inconvenienced him plenty.
"Ah, then, th-thank you very much f-for . . . for everything. You probably h-have things to do . . . I'm so s-sorry for the trouble."
He studied her for a long moment.
"It's fine. I don't have anything else to do, and parties are tedious anyways."
She nearly started crying again. Why was he being so nice?
Or was it that he always had been, even if reluctantly so? And Shoko had avoided noticing that, because for Len Tsukimori, on top of everything else, to have such a winning trait as inherent if somewhat stilted kindness, was the last straw for her.
And suddenly he was talking again, instead of bidding her farewell and making his escape.
"Do you remember where the florist is?"
She blinked, momentarily forgetting her miserable contemplation of how the closer she got to him, the stronger the pull, him becoming less a curiosity and more someone she genuinely liked.
"The f-florist?"
He seemed to be silently warring with himself.
"Yes," he finally affirmed. "My . . . my mother is returning from overseas tomorrow. While we're here anyways, I might as well buy her flowers." He ground out the last sentence like it pained him, and Shoko tried to visualize Len making such a gesture as buying flowers for his mother.
It was impossible. It almost seemed like he sensed her reluctance to go home and was making an excuse so she wouldn't have to . . .
But that was ridiculous. Kind he may be, but that was not . . . and it couldn't be it. She didn't want that to be it.
Rather, she did, and because she did, she absolutely hoped it wasn't.
He's going to make me crazy, she thought dazedly. No, he already has.
"I, um, yes, it's . . . ah, if w-we're here, then it's . . . d-down that street, an-
He nodded, and cut her off.
"You can just show me, then," and once again began walking without waiting for her to respond.
Once again, she followed.
"Hello, welcome," the clerk called, turning her head with a friendly smile before returning to the arrangement she was currently working on. "If you need any assistance, it'll just be a moment," she added.
"Th-thank you," Shoko returned, still shivering slightly from the cold walk, but feeling generally relieved that she didn't have to go home. At least, not yet. The most the florist's could possibly buy her was half an hour, and that was unlikely. She suspected Len's head would explode if he tried to spend thirty minutes examining flowers and contemplating the best combination to get for his mother.
"Ah, w-what kind were you thinking o-of getting?" she asked, before a long silence could ensue with them still standing in the doorway of the shop. He blinked, cleared his throat.
"I don't know yet."
"I s-see, then let's look a-around,"
"Fine," he agreed, and seemed to be waiting for her lead, as if he thought she would know her way around the florist's.
Although, she probably could navigate it better than he could.
She blinked, and moved her feet towards one of the narrow aisles, lined with various groups of flowers, and spoke as she slowly perused them, one eye on the bright array of colors, the other on Len, to gauge his patience level.
"S-so, do you k-know what kind she usually l-likes?"
He stared at her.
"No," he said finally. As if he needed to say it.
"O-oh, okay, th-then . . . um, were you th-thinking s-something simple, or c-complex?"
"I don't know."
"Th-then . . . ah," she scrambled to think of another question that he might, perhaps, have an inkling of an answer to.
She couldn't really come up with one, and was ready to thrust her head into one of the water-filled cylinders when he sighed.
"I'm open to suggestions. No doubt you're more competent at this sort of thing than I am."
She might have been flattered, but knew it had nothing to do with his perception of her.
Which left her to try and choose an appropriate bouquet for his mother. She thought she might throw up.
"I-I-I . . . that's . . . b-but," Oh, how to politely express that she would rather leap in front of an oncoming train than be responsible for such a task.
"Then what kind do you like?" he asked impatiently.
"W-what kind d-do I . . . w-what?"
"What kind do you like?" he repeated.
It was unexpected, which left her to try and find an answer. She'd never thought about it before. What kind of flowers did she like?
For that matter, she realized, halting, what kind of anything did she like?
It seemed as though no one had really ever asked her. After all, she was Shoko. She was so dull and difficult to talk to, why would it even occur to someone to ask?
The world, she marveled, is becoming a very strange place. But was it a good thing or a bad thing?
"I . . . the k-kind I like . . . um, that's . . . oh, I d-don't kn-" she thought about the cheerful, one thousand yen bouquet of daisies that she'd found charmingly simple, before they'd been crushed. "I like d-daisies."
He nodded.
"Then I'll get daisies."
She looked at him in horror. The thought of presenting a plain, simple bouquet of daisies to the elegant, beautiful Mrs. Tsukimori was nearly enough to send her running out the store and into the rain-slicked street.
"N-no, that's not s-suitable at all!"
He stared.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I-I, that is t-to say, they wouldn't match a-at all, your mother is s-so . . . and, it's . . . they j-just won't do," she stumbled all over the sentence, uncertain how to explain something that should be so obvious.
"I assure you, it doesn't matter."
"It d-does!"
"It doesn't. It's not like it's a permanent arrangement for the parlor or anything. It's a small gift for my mother," he explained irritatedly. "I could pick her dandelions and she'd still faint from the shock," he added, muttering. Shoko would have laughed had she not been preoccupied with trying to convince him that daisies were absolutely not acceptable for Mrs. Tsukimori, who no doubt received far more elaborate bouquets on a regular basis from fans.
Len took in her panicked face with great annoyance.
"Fine. Choose something more suitable, then."
She flushed, realizing that not only was she turning the sweet gesture towards his mother (which he hadn't even wanted make) into a tiresome ordeal, she was arguing with and making things difficult for him when all day, he had been unfailingly considerate of her. He didn't want to be here; he'd made this excuse so she wouldn't have to face going home just yet.
"I'm s-sorry, I didn't m-mean to be s-so . . . I'm t-terrible, I just h-had been w-worried, and . . ." She was very much afraid she'd start crying. Evidently, Len was, too, for he suddenly looked at her with alarm, as though she'd turned into a ticking explosive. He opened his mouth to say something, but apparently couldn't figure out what, which made her feel even worse, because of course Len Tsukimori would be at a loss in the face of tears, and she was the worst for putting him in such a situation!
"I'm sorry, Ts-tsukimori-senpai, t-today isn't a g-good day for me, I . . . um, h-how about we just p-put something else with the d-daisies?" Changing the subject seemed like a good idea, for the more she apologized and tried to explain, the worse she felt and the more uncomfortable and worried he looked.
He looked like he might say something, but instead pinned the wall with a fixed stare and nodded mutely.
Footsteps sounded behind them, and Shoko swiveled, relieved to have some kind of distraction.
"Sorry, I needed to finish an arrangement. May I help you with anything?" the woman queried.
Shoko was about to shake her head and politely say, "No, but thank you," when Len started talking.
"Yes, please. I . . . I would like a bouquet for my mother," he explained, as though the words were being dragged out of him like a fish from the water. "Do you know what would go well with daisies?"
She looked thoughtful.
"What colors does she like?"
He stared at her blankly. She got the message.
"Hm. Well, then. Daisies . . ." she continued to ponder this. "A spring-y bouquet fits that. Mothers usually like those. Here, she might like this one," the woman said, beckoning for them to follow her to the front desk. Once there, she flipped open a binder filled with laminated pages, and began looking.
"Aha. Here, what do you think?" she pointed to a picture of an arrangement, and Shoko identified white and yellow daisies, pink roses, and small lavender carnations sticking out of a cluster of fresh green sprigs of something she could not for the life of her name.
Len was looking at her expectantly. She blinked back at him questioningly, fighting the impulse to blush.
He tilted his head towards the picture.
"O-oh. Y-yes, I think s-so," she agreed, nodding rapidly. Still nowhere near as nice as some that Misa Hamai received, but Len was her son, not a fan, and this was not a special occasion.
Not to mention, as he had pointed out earlier, she'd be stunned that he'd randomly decided to get her anything, whether it was three dozen giant roses or a rumpled daffodil off the roadside.
"Can you do those now, or will I need to come back tomorrow?"
"I can do them now."
"Then those, please."
"Very well, it'll be ten or fifteen minutes. You can wait in here or there's a bench outside, if you don't mind the cold." She eyed the window. "Or the wet."
He looked at Shoko questioningly.
"U-um, either is a-all right." She thought she might end up feeling slightly closed in inside while she and Len stood in silence, with only the rustle of flowers disrupting the stillness, but on the other hand, she might feel equally suffocated sitting alone on a bench with him.
"Outside then, so we can sit. We'll come in if it's too cold."
She nodded, and followed him out the door into the cool air.
Fortunately, the bench was shielded from most of the rain by the awning on the window, and they were able to sit without soaking their clothes through.
The silence was punctuated only by the sound of passing cars as they rolled through the wet street.
"I h-hope she likes them," she said. He gave her an odd look, but nodded.
She clutched the edge of the bench, racking her brain for things to say, wondering how other people did it.
But then, she thought, those people still didn't have success with Len, either. Actually, they didn't even have success with her.
I don't need to say anything, she realized. I hate it when people try and get me to talk, even when I make it clear I can't possibly. Tsukimori-senpai is the same way. Why would I think I had to say something?
Because she hoped if she talked, then he would. She wanted him to talk. She wanted to hear his voice, she wanted to catch a glimpse of what he was thinking. What was more, she wanted to force him to take note of her, and she hoped that somehow she could leave an impression. Any at all.
If anything could do it, crawling out the window probably did, she thought wryly.
She sat there, listening to him tap his fingers on the edge of the bench, slowly feeling more comfortable being there, and suddenly wished it wouldn't end. Len would probably go home and forget all about today, and Shoko knew with a certainty that she never would. And didn't want to, despite all the bad things that had happened. She wanted to remember the fact that for whatever reason, Len had willingly come after her, made sure she was okay, and given up so much of his time and energy just so she wouldn't have to go home.
Remarkable, she thought, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. And it wasn't just he who was behaving out of character. Shoko herself felt like an entirely different person. She was actually grateful for the company of someone else, actually wanted to make an effort to talk, actually forgetting her self-consciousness, actually wanted to make herself more interesting, to become someone he wouldn't write off. She wanted to do the opposite of fade for once, and she wanted to stay. Even when she was embarrassed or nervous or afraid she'd upset him, even after a series of events that should have had her shutting down in tears by now, she'd plowed through and wanted to stay with him longer. Him, of all people. He wasn't even someone who was sociable and easy to get along with. He was her worst nightmare, and she wanted to prolong it.
She'd known she should have stayed away, that this was a dangerous road to go down. Not only was she being upended, as she'd thought she'd be, she was unexpectedly starting to like it. He still made her feel crazy and nervous and inside out, but he was slowly dissolving the sense of danger and pulling her in. She was behaving recklessly, she was feeling contradictory, and she had a good idea what lay ahead and was running towards it anyway.
This is bad, she thought dazedly. This is really bad. This is wonderful, and that's bad. I should not be here, should not want to be here, and I'd give anything to stay. There's something horribly, brilliantly wrong with me.
She wasn't making any sense, and it was far too late to talk herself out of it, whatever it was. So when Len tapped her on the shoulder, jolting her from her thoughts, she firmly brushed all of those contradictory, worrisome things aside and decided not to think about it at all.
A few minutes later, they were standing outside the shop once more, and Shoko was forcing herself to come to terms with the fact that it was time to go home.
"U-um, I sh-should probably h-head home now," she finally said, after they'd stood there for a minute shifting uncomfortably.
He scrutinized her, and she looked at the rain-darkened pavement underneath her.
"Are you sure?"
No. But she would not be so unkind as to take advantage of the offer he might feel obligated to make.
"Y-yes, I couldn't t-take up more of your t-time." She was slightly appalled at herself for having taken up as much of it as she had.
Not that he'd originally given her much choice, but still. Where was the girl who persisted in saying, "No thank you, I'll be fine," even when she was sure she'd break?
He continued examining her face, and she did her best to cover her reluctance to leave. She would have tried a carefree smile, but the thought of leaving him and going home to the quiet house made it impossible, so she settled for trying to look blank.
"All right, then," he finally said, and her stomach sank a little in disappointment. She would have berated herself for the unfair feeling, but didn't have the energy. "Would you like me to walk you there?"
"N-no thank you, it's s-still light out, I sh-should be fine." She had to force the words.
He hesitated for a second, and nodded, and she abruptly remembered the extra cake. She quickly set the bag down, leaned over, and pulled the cake out before turning back to him, trying to figure out what to say.
"Ah, um, th-this is f-for you, a-as a th-thank you for W-wednesday, um . . . I g-guess for t-today, too, now, so, ah, th-thank you, and p-please enjoy it," she stammered out, hoping he got the general message in spite of the unusually numerous starts and stops.
He stared at it, clearly not having expected it.
"I . . ." he blinked, and she congratulated herself on having put him at a loss for words for once. "Yes. Thank you, I will," he said after a few moments, and accepted it gingerly. She paused, unsure what to say. It would probably be best to leave now. The longer she stalled, the harder it would be to turn around and go home.
"O-okay then, I'll g-go now. Th-thanks again, Tsukimori-senpai. B-bye," she managed to get out, then swiftly turned around and tried to walk back down the street like a normal person.
She was several steps away when he called after her.
"Fuyuumi-san!" She halted, and thought her heart might have as well. She turned, and he moved rapidly to catch up with her.
He looked like he was arguing with himself for a few seconds before he let out a breath and spoke.
"I can't eat this by myself. Would you come back to my house with me and have some before you go home?"
She nearly fell over. It couldn't possibly be Len Tsukimori extending such an invitation. She'd thought he'd been out of character today, and this proved that he'd been possessed. There was no way . . . and she would die of nervousness within seconds of passing through the front door, so she should definitely not . . . even if declining an offer it had probably taken a lot for him to make would be horribly awkward, it was for the best.
"Y-yes, if that's o-okay!" someone, surely not Shoko's, earnest voice stuttered out in acceptance.
He nodded, that rare red having crept into his cheeks, and gestured for her to follow him, and she went, fighting to keep up with his brisk pace.
She hated chocolate cake, but right now, she could not care less.
The walk was chilly and quiet, but not uncomfortably so for either. She suspected they both felt too awkward and embarrassed to say anything, he because to extend such an invitation was so unlike him, and she because, well, it was him. Enough said.
Len's house, she noted with guilt, was quite a ways away in the opposite direction of the shopping center than hers and Kahoko's. If she'd known, she would have run as fast as she could without waiting before she let him walk her home on Wednesday. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised. Sociability did not equate gentlemanliness, nor the lack of it the lack of the other.
She studied the building as he opened the gate. It was far more understated than her own, but of comparable size and craftsmanship. It simply sought more to blend.
He frowned at the light streaming through the window as he unlocked the door.
"I don't think I left the light on . . ." he murmured to himself, opening it and walking in. Shoko followed, and almost plowed into his back as he stopped short.
"Ah, Len, you're home!" Misa Hamai's voice carried across the room, and Shoko almost dropped her bag from the shock. His parents weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow . . .
Wait. Len's parents. Horror filled her, and she almost turned and ran back down the drive. His parents. It was one thing to be here with Len - although now that she thought about it, she hadn't realized yet that she would have been completely alone with him in his house - but to be here with his parents eying her curiously and asking questions, as parents were wont to do, and oh no, she should probably move out from behind Len and greet them -
"Ah," she stepped forward before she lost her nerve.
"Oh? You have someone with you . . . Hello." And there it was. Misa eyed her curiously. She quickly bowed.
"S-sorry to i-intrude, um, h-he said his parents w-weren't home, so,"
Both parents raised their eyebrows, and they took note of the bag she'd set down. Dual frowns appeared, directed towards Len, who had set the flowers down and was rubbing his temples.
"Len," his mother said frostily. "Would you care to explain? I'd like to think I'm misunderstanding the situation, and hope you'd confirm that."
"What?" he said, looking baffled. Recognition dawned, and Shoko, who had no idea what was going on, watched in fascination as he turned a shade of red to rival her own. "No, of course not, don't be - I would never."
The two exchanged looks uncertainly.
Oh, dear. It looked like she was causing trouble, whatever was happening, after all. She knew she should have said no.
"I'm s-so sorry, I d-didn't know it w-would be a problem, I'll l-leave," she stuttered, reaching for her bag. She should get out of there as fast as possible.
He swiveled to face her, looking irritated.
"No, don't, they're just being . . . it's fine, you can stay," he ground out, traces of red still in his face. He turned back to his parents. "She's here to eat cake, not . . . she's here to eat cake," he finally reiterated, crossing his arms.
"It's o-okay, here, I'll j-just give that t-to you, and go, um," she quickly pulled the cake out and thrust it towards him, anxious to exit the strange atmosphere. "Th-thank you for t-today, I'll, um, I'll s-see you at s-scho-"
He quickly shut the door.
"It's fine. They just misunderstood. You can stay." Somehow, it sounded more like he was commanding her to. She nodded, too terrified to speak. This was too weird.
His mother cleared her throat, she looked over at his parents, who were looking slightly embarrassed and uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry, Len. It just . . . you're right, you wouldn't use our being away as an excuse to bring a girl over, and I'm sorry, miss, if I embarrassed you. It simply came off as being . . ."
Shoko was not really paying attention. She was frozen in horror. They thought . . . Len's parents thought . . . thought Len had brought her here to . . . to . . . that they came here to . . .
Oh God. Oh God, kill me. Please. Please, let me cease to exist, she pleaded with whatever divine forces would listen. If she moved fast enough, she could probably open the door and make it out without him blocking her.
"Er. Well," Misa let out an embarrassed laugh. "Here, if you bring that into the kitchen, I'll cut it and you can have cake as planned. Again, I'm so sorry, that makes things awkward. Please, have a seat, . . ." she trailed off, looking at Shoko questioningly, as her husband headed into the kitchen, looking relieved to escape.
"Fuyuumi-san," Len supplied, bringing the cake over to his mother. "She participated in the concou- Fuyuumi-san, are you going to be all right?"
"I," she squeaked, still in shock. She tried to cough, but ended up wheezing, so she nodded instead of trying to speak. He looked briefly concerned, but turned to his mother and handed her the cake. She accepted it quickly.
"I'll take care of that then, so please have a seat with your friend," she told him, and hurried into the kitchen.
He glanced back to where she was still frozen in the doorway, and looked pained.
"I apologize. You no doubt wish you'd gone home."
She still couldn't talk
"Here, sit," he gestured towards a chair.
She could not move, either, as it happened. He waited a few moments before briskly walking over, taking her arm and pulling her to the chair with surprising gentleness.
She stumbled the first few steps, and sank into the chair, thinking it was odd she hadn't caught fire somehow, because if she was going to spontaneously combust, now would be a good time.
The clock on the mantle ticked, a painful reminder that she was still there, sitting in the Tsukimori's parlor, and that she had not managed to dissolve or wake up from what she prayed was just a really awful dream.
He didn't say anything, and she was glad, because she'd have no idea how to respond.
The kitchen door swung open, and his parents hesitantly came out, carrying two plates, which they set down on the coffee table.
"Ah, forgive us if we don't join you, but we should really unpack."
"It's fine," Len said quickly. His parents smiled weakly and quickly made themselves scarce.
As relieved as she was to see them gone, she really didn't want to be left alone in tense silence with Len, at a loss for what to say.
In the end, they both quickly ate their cake without saying anything at all. She was eager to get home so she could throw herself off the roof. Though, with the luck she seemed to be having, she'd probably live.
"Th-thank you for h-having me," she said, setting down the fork and standing up. "I sh-should head h-home now, or T-takano-san will be w-worried."
He hesitated.
"Thank you for the cake. I'll walk with you."
"N-no, that's not n-necessary," she shook her head in protest, and gestured to the window. "S-see? It's n-not quite d-dark yet."
"That doesn't matter. It will be soon, and it's a lot farther than from the shopping center. I'll walk you." He walked through the door, clearly not willing to argue with her. Even if right now, she wanted to be as far away as possible and slightly resented him ignoring her wishes, she liked that he would insist on seeing her home safely. It said a lot about him.
She'd followed him to the door and retrieved the bag, which was now empty except for her purse, when footsteps sounded on the stairs.
"Ah, sorry, I came down to get my purse. Are you going home, then?" Misa asked, the usual warm smile on her face in spite of the fact that she was still feeling embarrassed over her earlier mistake.
"Y-yes, th-thank you for letting me s-stay," she said, bowing. She wasn't quite sure what to do.
"Certainly, I'm sorry I made things uncomfortable for you. Ah, don't forget your flowers," she said, gesturing to the table, then looked amused. "How unusual of you to buy flowers, Len."
"We should go before it gets dark," he said, ignoring the comment. But Shoko had already started to reply.
"Th-they're not mine, he g-got them for y-you."
Len was definitely at the tree stage of irritation. She blinked. Could it be that he hadn't intended to really give them to her? Admittedly, it was hard to see him going through with it.
Oh dear, she thought miserably. She should have waited for him to handle it.
Misa looked at Len, openmouthed. He looked at the wall behind her.
"Len?"
"Yes," he ground out. "Now we need to go," he said, opening the door and seizing Shoko's arm.
"I . . . what? For me? I . . . oh, here, I'll drive you," she broke free of the shock as she saw him pulling Shoko out the door.
"No, we'll walk," he insisted, and shut the door with a little more force than necessary, dropping Shoko's arm and increasing the speed of his steps as he opened the gate and started down the sidewalk.
She half-ran to catch up, and they continued at the pace in silence for some time before he finally slowed, letting out a breath.
"I'm sorry. I should have let you decide whether you wanted to walk or not."
"N-no, no, that's all r-right, h-honestly it would have been a-a little awkward t-to h-have her d-drive me. I p-prefer to walk."
He nodded. "Still. I just was . . . unprepared for the situation."
Above them, the streetlamps flickered on in preparation for night, and she fiddled with her hands.
"I u-understand. I'm s-sorry, I shouldn't h-have said anything about the f-flowers."
"I didn't tell you not to, so it's fine."
He says that a lot, she thought, almost laughing at the realization. She wondered if he knew any other word to use, or if that was the only one that ever applied.
The walk ended up being roughly half an hour, and it was dark by the time they arrived at her house, having been quiet since the mutual apologies.
She bowed quickly.
"Th-thank you v-very much for t-today, I'm s-sorry for being so m-much trouble. I'm s-sure you wish y-you'd stayed at the p-party."
"It's fine," he said, and she hoped the dark concealed her smile.
"G-goodnight, then, Tsukimori-senpai," she said, and turned to go up the walk.
A few seconds passed before he spoke.
"No, I don't wish I'd stayed. Goodnight," and he turned and started towards home.
She stared after him a few seconds, stunned, and then quickly ran up the steps and into the house, thinking she shouldn't feel this light and happy, that tomorrow she'd wake up and the full reality of the day would sink in, and that honestly? Who cared.
(Please Note: Shoko's surprise at his 'gentlemanliness' was not intended to imply that boys should pay for dinner, as I don't think that, nor do I believe if they don't, they aren't gentlemen. Actually, I don't really think gentlemanliness is a quality exclusive to men, even. In any case, this is basically a disclaimer in case anyone was offended. That was certainly not the intention.)