Author's notes

My knowledge of pro soccer is limited, so I apologize if I make a fool of myself when I talk about it. Feel free to shoot me a PM if you spot something blatantly ridiculous.

At the time of this writing, I have just finished watching Marimite OVA 5. God help me, I giggled like a little girl. I wish I was lying, honest I do. Go get it.

In Japan, there are many hotels whose toilets are western-style. The girls are staying at one of them.

I have to apologize for the…3 month delay. About half of this has been done for about a month, and then school took over. I'm a 3rd year engineering student at this point—it's getting pretty intense.

If you're ever lost, there's work to do.

Chapter 14
Brainstorm
(First part: With the lights out, it's less dangerous.)

One
All of these years I've been wondering around; wondering how come nobody told me…

For a second, Sachiko wasn't sure where she was.

Scratch that. Sachiko wasn't quite sure of anything for a second. She felt as though she might be floating, but rationalized that that ought to be impossible. She felt as though something was hitting her head, but heard no impact. It was entirely possible that she didn't even have ears. Her eyes weren't working, either. She opened them and saw a thin blackness which seemed to promise light if one could only move past it, through it; if one could only do the impossible. Was that really impossible? Nothing was certain. It made Sachiko feel considerably less insecure than it ought to have.

The only thing that was entirely certain was the pain. She had felt as though somebody was hitting her head because of the thumping, constant pain underneath her forehead.

"The only certain thing is the pain." Isn't that a little melodramatic? Sachiko thought, sleepily bemused. After all, I'm quite certain that I'm warm. I'm quite certain that I'm laying next to a heater, in fact. It's a hot summer, but it's really quite pleasant on top of the air conditioning. It doesn't balance out the pain in my head, but it certainly helps.

See? Right there, I've become certain of two other things. I'm in a room, because I can feel the air conditioning circulating through the room, and I'm laying next to a heater. I bet I could even feel it if I tried.

Sachiko was suddenly struck with the strange idea that if she could, in fact, touch the heater, she might be able to move past the thin blackness above her. Presuming anything was above it in whatever room she was in. Beyond the first, thin blackness could just be another blackness, thicker this time, more impenetrable. Maybe beyond this blackness, her head didn't even hurt. That would be nice. Unlikely, but nice.

The first thing was to locate her hand. Easy; it was still attached to her body. That was good. Another thing certain; she was not floating, ephemerally, above herself. This whole thing, in fact, seems quite ridiculous. Why don't I just reach out and touch—

And then she stopped thinking and froze, because as she considered this, she did reach out and touch the heater, which was, in fact, nothing of the sort, unless the new trend in heaters was to build them fleshy.

The night before came rushing back to her in a broken torrent of half-convoluted images, like watching an unfocused, muted film that one kept nodding off in the middle of. It was hard to track, especially so since somebody kept knocking what was behind her forehead around like a soccer ball.

A pass to midfield.
Sachiko begins to drink, and then
a feint left, dribble forward
Yumi points at her nose as though she has something on it, and when she tries to brush it off her nose goes all crooked and Yumi snorts a laugh and then
a steal, suddenly driving the way it came
Rei and Sei are ushering them out of the room, telling them something about partners and problems—boy, if I had a nickel for every one of those—partners, not problems—somebody says, and it might be Sachiko but it might not, but Sachiko laughs anyway, it feels so damn good to just laugh and
a slide which is very nearly suicidal and very nearly red-carded but in the end neither, and then it's going the other way again
then Yumi is sliding out of her bra in the moonlight
the way the ball is dribbled past the defense is nothing short of genius and
then Sachiko is slipping out of her shirt in the moonlight
suddenly there's nobody left between the ball and the goalie who possibly for the first time in his life feels a trickle of fear in his gut, wondering if maybe missing this isn't the worst thing that could happen to him, but rather catching it is because it may just kill him
and Yumi's lips.

Goal. And by golly if the goalie's shorts ain't wet.

Sachiko had thought she had kissed people before. She had certainly given her share of theatrical kisses to Suguru when everybody was looking, and once when
not thinking about that
they weren't. She thought she had kissed before, really kissed, but she was wrong, and her throbbing, muddled head still could not comprehend the scale on which she was wrong. She wasn't really, wholly sure how to react to it, therefore.

Embarrassment? If there was one thing a Lady should never show, it was embarrassment. Embarrassment was an admission of guilt, and while nobody ought to be accusing a Lady in the first place, if they did, the last thing that Lady did was admit to it by blushing. Such things were best saved for private encounters with men who liked their girls innocent and stupid—and one should only be having such encounters with one man: The husband.

Happiness?About kissing your petite soeur? Are you out of your mind?

Why not?

Youare out of your mind.

Fear?

That one seemed appropriate.

No, that one seemed likely. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

Yumi stirred next to her.

Yes, fear seemed entirely likely. The next thing to squirm through her slushy brain was simple enough to be repeated over and over again without much pain: Does she remember?

Yumi's voice. "Onee-sam—owowowow…"

For a moment, Sachiko could not speak. And then, much more groggily than she had intended: "Are you awake then, Yumi?" More groggily, and sharper. Harsher.

"Yes,Onee-sama." If Yumi noticed, she didn't show it. If Yumi felt anywhere near like Sachiko did, she was probably too busy watching a play-by-play of a basketball game in her head to notice. "My head…hurts."

"I'm afraid mine does too. I suppose we must have had too much to drink last night, and now we're paying our rightful due." Amazing. Even with a hangover the size of Honshu, you can still wax irritable.

"Should we get out of bed?"

"I suppose."

And then, something strange happened: Sachiko tried to get out of the bed, which was comfortable and warm; she tried to greet the day the same way she always did, with a sense of grim determination that she showed to nobody.

But unlike most days, she failed. That small thing inside of her that always pushed her, refused to let her flag or rest, even for a moment; that thing that had failed only once or twice before today, failed. She tried to push herself out of bed, moved a couple of inches, gave up. She tried to roll, made it halfway, found herself on her face. Gave up. She tried simply willing the bed to roll out from under her. It mocked her, unmoving. Gave up.

"Yumi, are you having trouble getting out of bed?"

"Mmm," Yumi replied.

"I think we're stuck."

"I do, too."

For some reason, this was unbearably funny, and they laughed a few moments before the pain in their heads forced them to squeeze their eyes shut and hide under the covers. There, they found each other again.

Though Sachiko was only able to open her eyes about halfway without splitting her temples open, she looked at Yumi hard, trying to gauge whether or not the other girl remembered anything about the night before. If she did, she was hiding it well.

"Good morning, Onee-sama," Yumi said half-brightly.

The most Sachiko could manage was a half-smile. Perhaps it could be just a half-day, and the two of them could go back to bed after six hours or so.

Then the door began to thump, and Sachiko had a strange, off-kilter thought: I wonder if the door is soundproof?

A moment later, the painfully cheerful voice of Satou Sei came through the door, as unfettered as if she had been standing right next to them. "Wake up, kids. Can't sleep all day, can you?"

"I could, if you left us alone," Yumi called back, and Sei laughed. The noise hurt Sachiko's head.

"That'll never happen and you know it. You've got about ten seconds to get out of bed or else I'm coming in there."

"The door's locked."

"I pilfered one of your keys last night."

Yumi's eyes went briefly wide, and Sachiko was sure the shock showed on her face as well; she wasn't quite ready to put on her face that day. Not quite yet.

"You're lying," Yumi called back. "Aren't you?"

"Am I?"

Yumi looked at Sachiko, asking silently, do you have your key?

Sachiko had no idea. After a moment, Yumi caught onto this, and whispered, "The only way to know is if we get out and check."

"That would give Sei an unbearable victory," Sachiko whispered back, and Yumi nodded.

"I'll be very quiet. She won't hear," Yumi assured her.

Something about this seemed not-quite-right to Sachiko, who acquiesced, regardless, with a nod. A moment later, Yumi was very clumsily making for the edge of the sheets. Sachiko closed her eyes again and, for good measure, covered them with her hand, a move brought on not so much by fear as by the light let into her sanctuary by Yumi as she adjusted the covers, trying to escape.

A moment later she heard the distinct sound of something sliding, a brief squeal of surprise, and a thump. Yumi groaned pathetically, and Sachiko sighed in defeat.

A moment later, Sei laughed again. "Got you," she said. "May as well get up now, huh?"

Another voice from outside, very distinctly Rei's: "Sei, let them be. Yoshino wanted to lie down, so they can sleep for another hour or so."

"You're ruining my fun so early, Rei?"

"It's nearly ten."

"That's early enough."

"Let them be, Sei. Remember the first time you got drunk?"

"No, and I think that's the point." A moment of silence, and then, "Fine, fine. I'll be back, you two."

The sound of retreating footsteps.

Silence. Blessed silence. A wave of peace washed over Sachiko, relative though it was. (The soccer match in her head was, after all, far from over; it seemed the goalie had changed his shorts and was ready for another round.) She laid like that, her hands over her eyes, buried in the covers, for a period of time she was never quite able to track—it felt like a long time, but the sun, so far as she could tell, had not changed positions when she finally did get up.

After a bit of this strange, flexible time had passed, she heard movement in the room, and a moment later, a gentle hand touched her side.

"Onee-sama," Yumi's voice murmured, "we should get up."

"Do…"do we have to? Pretend for a moment that you're older than seven, Sachiko. "Yes. You're right. Of course." Sachiko rolled over, an act which churned her stomach just a little.

Yumi said, "Don't be alarmed, Onee-sama. I'm going to pull the sheet back slowly."

"Must you?" Sachiko's tone sounded more like a whine than she would have wanted, but she supposed that was the thing about whining; one could rarely help it.

"I can't very well let you take it to the restroom while you brush your teeth," Yumi said patiently. "I imagine it would be rather difficult to get at your mouth."

Sachiko giggled in spite of herself, but a moment later, had a thought which squashed any urge to smile: Yumi is handling me, isn't she?

Sometimes, people must be handled. Didn't they teach you that?

Difficult people.

Her train of thought was interrupted as a small sun rose in her field of view, going from dark to blindingly white in the span of a second. Done slowly or not, crossing the threshold of light to dark was almost unbearable to Sachiko as her head seemed to try to burst from the inside.

And then her stomach churned, and then it kicked. Familiar. Too familiar.

Sachiko's eyes widened and her hand went to cover her mouth, and her mind blanked except for a single, pervasive command,

GET OFF OF THE BED YOU'LL RUIN IT

which she was powerless to resist as she scrambled blindly, fumbling over herself trying to get off of the faux-silk sheets with only one hand and the kind of white panic that accompanies the sick churn of a violent stomach. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she was certain she must look wholly foolish, but that single, undeniable command

GET OFF THE BED YOU'LL RUIN IT

said nothing about grace. Only

GET OFF THE BED YOU'LL RUIN IT.

She made it to toilet and threw the seat up, her hair in her face, smelling of sweat and beer, her eyes stinging, her gullet working violently, and heaved, dry, once; twice; and then she heaved whatever was in her stomach—very little, it seemed—into the toilet. Her stomach settled only just, and then a hand was there, pulling her hair out of her face, gently as it could, perhaps, but still roughly, focused on getting all of it. A moment later, her stomach lurched, and she vomited stomach acid, and then her stomach was calm. Her throat burned, the stench from the toilet was positively vile, and her head swam, but her stomach settled, and her headache began to retreat.

A small, pale hand reached from behind her and flushed the toilet. It left a residue on the handle that Sachiko had to turn away from, but the sudden rush of cool water beneath her was relieving all the same.

A rustle, and then a handkerchief in her peripheral vision.

"Please use this, onee-sama," Yumi said, and the sound of her voice brought the world back into focus.

Sachiko turned to look at the handkerchief for a moment, tentatively. It was white, with a heart in the corner; nothing overly complicated, but not bare, either. It was Yumi's, after all.

"I couldn't ruin your handkerchief."

"You won't. Promise." Sachiko could hear the smile in Yumi's voice.

Sachiko took the handkerchief and used it to dab at her mouth. It came away a shade of yellow that made Sachiko want to look away. She folded it neatly and set it on top of the toilet. "You can let go of my hair now, Yumi."

"You'll ruin your nightgown."

"I won't. Promise." Sachiko thought that echoing Yumi's obviously flawless argument might be enough.

"You will," Yumi said. "If I can use a towel, I can cover your hair long enough to get you out of it and into the shower without ruining anything."

A dozen counter-arguments popped into Sachiko's head, which was working just well enough to recognize that none of them made a lick of sense. She blinked, and the world seemed to flash white as her eyes closed. She blinked again and the world behaved itself. A good start.

"Onee-sama…" Yumi sounded tentative, a little unsure for the first time all morning. It was almost strange, though it was more her norm. "Do you think you could…grab the towel? My hands are—er—stuck here."

"Stuck?" This made no sense. Did her vomit have some sort of strange adhesive property? Had she eaten glue?

"If I let go, that ruins the point."

Another clever argument. "I'll stand up slowly." We've seen whereslowly gets us already. Just do it, like a band-aid.

I think I might fall if I did that.

She stood, and walked slowly to the towel rack. Yumi followed in easy step with her. Yumi seemed to be taking to the morning much more quickly than she was—wasn't this her first time drinking? It couldn't be.

Why not?

Because it was Sachiko's first time drinking so heavily.

And so?

And so…

That would make you a step behind, is that it? The sharp voice of her manners coach: My dear, that is where you have been your whole life. That's where all Ladies walk. It's nothing to be ashamed of.

…Was it?

Sachiko grabbed the towel, now in reach, and passed it to Yumi, who used it to wrap Sachiko's hair. After she had done this, without warning, she began tugging at Sachiko's nightgown.

Sachiko's reaction was less startled than it ought to have been. In fact, the first thing that came to her mind seemed to make absolutely no sense:If you want to do it here, may I at least clean my hair first?

As Sachiko clumsily moved her arms up, with this one thought in mind (possibly all her mind could handle at this point) she began to laugh. Politely, at first—truly a reflex for her at all times but her most inebriated— quiet and virtually motionless, only a small smile on her face to show that she was, in fact, amused. But as she struggled to keep her hair in the towel as Yumi struggled to move the nightgown over her head—If you want to do it here, may I at least clean my hair first?—and past Sachiko's extended arm, far too long to make such an operation graceful at a hungover ten o'clock, she began to laugh.

"What is it, onee-sama?"

At first, Sachiko wasn't even sure if she could say it aloud. When she opened her mouth to try, though, it was easier than she'd expected. "If you want to do it here, may I at least clean my hair first?"

As she said this, the nightgown dropped. She began sliding it off her other arm, letting her hair drop again—certainly disgusting, but she thought she might be able to handle it for the half-minute before she got into the shower if it meant letting that arm rest. Yumi was silent throughout, and as the nightgown finally fell to the floor in a heap, Sachiko's smile faded.

Sachiko turned around to face Yumi, entirely naked in front of the girl for the second time in less than twelve hours. Yumi's face was wholly serious, a combination of fear and…and what?

"I suppose," Sachiko murmured, "That it was more amusing in my head."

How much of last night does she remember?

And then, almost thirty seconds late but acting as though the time gap didn't exist, Yumi smiled, big and confined to the lower half of her face, and said, "That's funny."

Sachiko looked at Yumi for a moment, and then something basic and uncontrollable inside of her rebelled and she said, "If you don't mind, I think I'll shower first."

"Please do," Yumi said, and then, with a look at Sachiko which lasted a good ten seconds, and went to the sink, washed her hands, and left the room.

I think, maybe, quite a bit.

Doing her best to put it out of her mind, Sachiko stepped into the shower and turned the water on. The water was soothing, but the thought never left.