Hello, little darlings. I want to give a special thanks to zealith, ktoll9, NewUserNamesAreHard, sunshinehat, CarolinaEirasSa, WOLFJADE28, 2 angryunicorns (thank you, by the way, Ren DEFINITELY is suited for the sociopathic role, I have no doubts), and Guest! So sweet of you guys to read and review. I appreciate it!
A special note to 'Guest',
My immediate thought after reading your review… "Say that to my FACE, ya limp noodle!" Ahaha, but I know you didn't mean any harm by it, so I'll put my Mushu doll away.
As for what you said about the pairing not being especially rare, I understand what you mean, but I also think it's a matter of perspective.
Lol, I assure you I am aware that Sho is the second most shipped. To be honest, he wasn't my first choice and is by no means my favorite side character. However, it was the most developed idea I had created at the time.
I consider it rare because, while I have read just about every Sho x Kyoko story out there, it would take my entire life to read all of the Kyoko x Ren stories available. In my mind, any non Kyoko x Ren ship constitutes as rare.
Ahaha, but because I would hate to threaten the integrity of the Rare Kyoko Love Fest Challenge, I removed it from the challenge for the time being. I will return with something a little more unusual and you'll wonder what kind of monster you created!
So without further ado, Part 2!
Loosely inspired by the Song, 'Like I'm Gonna Lose You,' by John Legend and Meghan Trainor.
I woke up in tears
With you by my side.
A breath of relief
And I realized
No, we're not promised tomorrow…
Shotaro jerked awake.
His heart raced, like it was trying to beat a hole through his chest. He gasped for air, gripping the armrests on the sides of the bed, tense and shaking.
"Oh… my god…" He groaned, after a wave of intense pain ran up his back and through his skull.
"Watch it, now. I'm not someone to be so casually addressed."
Shotaro jumped, looking for the source of the gravelly voice. His eyes landed on an old man in the corner of the room, resting in a plush chair. The man wore a white physician's coat and had an unusual, gold stethoscope hanging from his neck. He was sturdily built, with deeply tanned skin, a salt and pepper beard, and a weathered face.
"Wh-what?" Shotaro managed, struggling to sit up in his bed, but unable to bear the pain shooting up and down his spine.
"I'm just pulling your leg, son. So serious. You'll be a wrinkled old fart by the time you're twenty with an expression like that." The old man chuckled, "Try to relax." He stood from his chair and set down the paperwork in his hands, approaching the bed in the center of the room.
"Ah, Shotaro Fuwa… Age 19, Blood Type O, talents… singing and songwriting, notable instrumental skill… favorite food, strawberry pudding… distinguishing character traits… narcissism and obsessive behavior… I'm just kidding, it doesn't say that… well, technically, it does, but-"
"Who are you? Where am I?" the singer demanded, struggling to regain his bearings. He recognized nothing around him. This wasn't Shoko's place. Where the hell was he?
"Well, this isn't hell, Shotaro. And you should thank your lucky stars that it isn't, with your rap sheet." The older man responded glibly, tucking a hand in his coat pocket.
The boy blinked, trying to shake the disorientation that seemed to muddle his brain. "I didn't say anything about…"
"Nevermind that," the man interrupted with a sigh, inspecting a pair of monitors mounted beside the narrow bed. His amused expression grew solemn very quickly. "That was quite the final act, kiddo. You always had to go out in style, didn't you? Though I'm sure that's not what you had in mind."
"What are you going on about?" Shotaro complained, agitated by his own confusion and discomfort. The sparse white room was unfamiliar. He was sure he'd never been there before. Unless… he slowly took in the monitors covered in stats and charts he didn't understand. The bed underneath him, with its thin sheets and tough mattress. The shiny, tiled floor. The skinny little tube taped to his arm.
"What is this!?" He shouted, jerking the offending tube and nonplussed to find it still firmly attached to his skin. "Is this a hospital? Why am I here? I was supposed to… I was… I was…"
Where had he been? How did…?
"Well, technically speaking, you've died." This was a new voice.
Shotaro froze, unable to process the words. Died. Died... Died?
A younger doctor approached, the clothes under his white coat more casual and mussed than his companion's. . "Believe me," He lifted his eyes from a white clipboard and faintly smiled. It wasn't exactly a happy smile, but rather more… understanding. "I know a thing or two about death… but yours was rather gruesome, as far as they go. I'm sure you feel like crap."
"Really," Shotaro let out an incredulous breath, followed by a hiss of pain. "I hadn't noticed."
Neither doctor commented, instead opting to examine the screens on the wall.
Irritated at being ignored, Shotaro cleared his throat. He regretted it immensely, though, as it felt like swallowing sandpaper. "What hospital is this? Where's my manager? Where are we?"
The older gentleman finally turned around and shook his head. "It's not where you are that's the question, but where you're going."
"Don't talk in riddles, old man!"
The doctor grinned, rubbing a hand along his bearded chin. "Old? I think I look rather fetching for my age." The younger doctor snorted at this. "Hush, you." The older man said, before turning back to Shotaro.
"What I am trying to tell you is important, so pay attention, little brat." How the insult could sound so endearing coming out of this guy's mouth, Sho had no idea. "I am giving you a choice. Most people don't get this option, so you're quite lucky I didn't stick you at the bottom of the pile with the others. I am giving you this choice for one simple reason."
He now had the singer's attention.
"You done messed up, that's why."
"I what?" Shotaro responded, not really following.
The older man grimaced, looking to his companion for help, who only shrugged in reply. "Getting mowed down by a speeding vehicle was not my intention for you, kiddo. Being a giant butthead wasn't in the plan, either... Nor was tossing away the girl I gave you as a soulmate… excuse me, intended soulmate, for groupies and bimbos. Now I feel bad I stuck her with you, bless her little heart."
"Are you… are you talking about… Kyoko?" When he said the name, a fresh wave of pain washed over him. This time, it wasn't only physical. Then the rest of the man's words caught up with him. "Wait. Mowed down? What do you mean mo-"
"I mean flattened. Kaput."
"Like a pancake." The younger doctor added.
Shotaro cringed. "I still feel very much alive."
The older man ran a hand absentmindedly over the stethoscope on his neck. He turned to the screens on the wall in silence and began scrolling through what appeared to be a video timeline. The stills flashed by so quickly that Shotaro could barely make out what they were. The doctor tapped the spacebar on his keyboard fervently until he found what he'd been searching for.
"Ah, here it is. December 21st... 8:00, no, 8:01 p.m. Watch carefully."
Shotaro craned his neck, with much discomfort, to see what the man was referring to. What he saw made him blanche the color of his bedsheet. The busy intersection. A light turning green. A speeding vehicle. A dazed fool stumbling into the street in a flashy white suit.
Blood.
So much of it, so suddenly. Shotaro wanted to avert his eyes, but found he could not drag them from the carnage on the screen. The SUV barrelled into the person like he was made of paper and string. He flew into the air, slamming into the windshield, over the roof of the car, and rolled back onto the concrete like a weightless doll, but the mess left behind proved he was very much a human being. Vehicles slammed to a stop, onlookers screamed, pointed, and livestreamed. No one approached the broken heap sprawled out on the pavement.
The pristine white suit had been so easily painted a gruesome, crimson red.
Shotaro's heart seized in his chest, as he grasped the armrests of his bed in viselike grip. His breaths wouldn't come regularly. Each one seemed to trip over the next, in a fight to escape his lungs. Seeing one's own demise had a tendency to do that to a person.
"So you see?" The older man paused the video, turning back around. "Kaput. Any questions?"
Shotaro shuddered in the bed, struggling to wrap his mind around what he had seen, trying to fight the increasingly apparent and horrifying truth.
He was a dead man.
"Son," The older doctor interrupted his thoughts and sat down beside him. Sho couldn't meet that deep, searching gaze, opting instead to study the generic pattern on his blanket.
"Son." The older man repeated, brushing sweaty strands of bleach-blonde hair from the singer's face. Shotaro didn't understand why he was comforted by the action, and by a stranger no less. He looked up hesitantly. The man gave him a soft smile. What seemed to be lifetimes of hopes and regrets swam in his dark gray eyes.
"I didn't want that to happen. You understand? That wasn't what I wrote. I wanted more for you. I still do. But I need you to tell me something."
"What?" Shotaro replied, surprised at the dryness of his throat.
The man picked up a glass that rested on his bedside table. It was filled with cool water, its surface slick with condensation. Sho hadn't noticed it before, but accepted the gift gratefully.
"Can I trust you, Shotaro?"
The singer coughed on his water, sloshing his glass precariously. "Trust me with what?"
"Can I trust you not to make the same mistakes twice?" The man sat back, staring at him contemplatively. "Can I trust you with her?"
Shotaro knew what he meant, this time, and didn't have to ask. "Why bother giving me another chance?" He glanced away, trying to hide the weight of his embarrassment and regret. "If you know so much, then you'd get that she doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm sure she's happier now with me gone. It's pointless. This is beyond fixing, old man."
The doctor rubbed his hairy chin. "Beyond fixing is my specialty."
Sho grounded his teeth in frustration. "Kyoko hates me. No, worse than that - she doesn't give a damn about me! She's got a fiance, an amazing future… Her world is a better place without me in it. Don't you get it?" He was disgusted to hear his own voice crack and see his vision swim. Tears? What the hell? How embarrassing.
"Ten bucks says you're wrong."
Sho glared at the man, trying to force the wetness from his eyes. "Excuse me?"
The doctor shook his head, as if Shotaro were being impossible. "Just watch."
"Watch what?"
Instead of answering, the older man leaned over and unpaused the screen beside them. Shotaro had no further desire to see what he looked liked splayed across the concrete, but was shocked into silence to see the frames that followed.
A flash of pale pink crossing the screen. The hem of a fluffy tulle skirt soaking up the blood - his blood. Amber eyes widening with horror and disbelief. A delicate face twisting into an expression of pure panic... a shrill scream that pierced him to his core.
"Sho!"
"Kyoko…" He breathed, unconsciously leaning towards her voice.
"What... have you… what have you done!? SHO!"
He flinched at the heart wrenching cry, almost unable to believe it was coming from the same girl who had once glared at him with such unquenchable hatred. Shotaro glanced anxiously towards the doctor, willing him to make the painful sound stop, begging him to turn off the images of her clutching his bloodied coat and begging him not to die.
It was too much. It was all too much.
"I don't understand." He whispered hoarsely, the dryness of his throat back with a vengeance.
"Well, you never really understood women. So that doesn't surprise me." The older man took pity on him and put an end to the timeline, making the haunting scene fade back to a generic screensaver. "Kyoko spent all of that time angry with you because she was hurt, kiddo. For all the raging, theatrical diatribe, she never truly hated you. At least, not from my perspective."
"Are we talking about the same girl?"
"Oh, trust me," The doctor chuckled, "She believed she hated you. That, I can't deny. The power of human belief works in mysterious ways… However, I've seen a lot of hatred in my day… and true hatred doesn't kneel in blood before dozens of onlookers and cry their heart out." He looked at Shotaro sympathetically. "Before you were her enemy, or her prince, you were her dear friend and childhood companion. That hasn't changed. Her anger and disappointment just kept it subdued for a very long time. I don't think she ever really wanted to see you hurt... Consider yourself lucky. This is something I can salvage."
Sho could hardly wrap his brain around the idea. The words bounced back and forth in his mind, slowly beginning to flow together and make sense. Before he could formulate a proper response to the outlandish explanation, the doctor adjusted his coat and strode across the room.
"Well, I suppose that's that, then." He stuck his head out the doorway of the modest room. "You got that wristband ready, son?"
Until that point, Shotaro hadn't noticed the younger doctor had left the room. Now he reentered, with a clear plastic bag holding the wristband in question.
The older man nodded to the young doctor and gestured in Shotaro's direction. "You can take it from here."
Sho watched in confusion as the younger man approached and knelt down by his bed. The guy's brown eyes were warm and empathetic. "This is going to sting just a bit."
"More than getting flattened like a pancake?" was the sardonic response.
He laughed lightly, "Not quite."
Shotaro watched in confusion as the young doctor pulled the simple white band from the bag and tightened it around his right wrist. It showed only his full name, in bold, blocky letters, a date, and a small number. 182.
"What is - AAGH!" Sho jerked his arm back, startled by the shock that rippled up his arm when the ends snapped together. He tried to shake the buzzing, electrifying sensation, but failed. The wristband seemed even tighter than before. He couldn't even fit in a finger to separate it from the raw skin beneath.
"This is going to serve as your reminder, Shotaro." The younger man said. "See the date beneath your name? That's the date you expired, putting it mildly. And that is the date you will return to if you fail. Everything that has happened up until this point will stay the same." He reached down and began carefully removing the tubes from Sho's arm. "However, you see that small number? 1-8-2?"
Shotaro nodded.
"That's your due date. 182 days adds up to roughly about six months from now. Or rather, six months from where you're going. If you can prove to myself, my father, and our associate, that you've changed and turned it around, you get your life back."
Sho blinked disbelievingly. "I… I get what?"
The young doctor proceeded without a hitch, all business, as he rearranged and unplugged contraptions that were connected to Shotaro, the bed, and the equipment around them. "If we can see that you've fundamentally changed, become someone worthy of having a girl like Kyoko, your second chance becomes permanent. But let me warn you…" The guy gave Shotaro a solemn look, "if you don't take this seriously, you won't much like the alternative."
The older man returned to his bedside, nodding in agreement. "This is going to take more than some sweet nothings and a love song, Shotaro. The person she was is going to make it a lot easier on you than the person she is now. We won't let you off easy, even if she tries to. Don't think about how to best improve your life, kiddo. Think about how to improve hers."
Sho had too many questions. There was too much he didn't understand. But he couldn't voice them or demand any kind of explanation, as he found a mask being strapped to his face immediately after. He thrashed and pulled away in panic, but the younger doctor was surprisingly strong and subdued him easily, though not painfully.
Even as his vision blurred and eyes grew heavy, he could hear the old doctor's parting words, as he felt the man's weathered hands stroke his head.
"Remember, love isn't about what you can get, but rather what you can give. Even if the bigger picture doesn't necessarily include you in it... Think about her, and the rest will come easy… Good luck, buddy."
And the world around Shotaro disappeared.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"Oh, good! You're waking up!"
Jerking awake in a panic was becoming a new trend for him, it seemed. Sho gasped and shot up in the bed… the unusually comfortable and spacious bed. What happened to his itchy sheets and generic, mint-colored blanket?
"I was so worried last night, Sho-chan… you came home in such a funk, and then your forehead was hot and you didn't even know where you were and then you went to bed and you wouldn't even wake up for your soup and I wanted to call the doctor but I'm a little short on money right now because rent is coming up and I know we lost your insurance card in the move and - oh, I'm sorry! Here I am rambling when you're feeling poorly. Here, let me change that cooling pad..."
Shotaro could barely understand the jumbled speech. Something about the cheery, worker bee tone struck a cord. Where had he heard it? His vision was blurry. He could see the outline of the person buzzing around the room. A dark ponytail and horrendously yellow cardigan. Tiny, bright, and energetic.
"K- K…." No. It couldn't be. Surely not. He was back in Shoko's place. He must have been. This whole night had just been a jumbled up series of bad dreams. He'd eaten something rancid and lost his mind for 12 hours. That's all it was.
"Ah… " The busy bee squatted by his bedside and pulled away the pad stuck to his forehead, replacing it with fresh, cool one. "Much better, right?" She stood back up, wiping her hands on her little waist apron and pulling a thermometer from one of its pockets.
That wasn't right. He didn't think Shoko owned an apron, much less knew how to use the old fashioned glass thermometer currently being shoved under his tongue. "Mmmph!" He groaned, everything in him wanting to spit the horrid thing out.
"Now, Sho," The bee said placatingly, "I know you don't like things stuck in your mouth, but it's going to help you. We need to see if your fever is down. You've got a gig tonight, remember? You'll be really upset if you miss this one. You wrote that new song and everything…" Her voice faded as she fiddled with the glass tube and pushed it farther under his tongue. He wanted to gag.
As the bee carefully kept time on her outdated leather watch, the blinding light around her and their surroundings began to softly fade. The room was simple. Beige walls. A keyboard here, a guitar there. A haphazardly placed stool in the corner. Crumpled notebook paper covering nearly every visible square inch of the flooring. An overturned trashcan that had no doubt been raided for a misplaced page of sheet music. Emptied strawberry pudding packs piled up on the dresser… Strawberry pudding? He never ate that in front of-
"All done!" The death stick - also known as mercury-in-glass thermometer - was thankfully removed from his mouth. "Oh, good… 37 °C. Looks like you're much better than before!" She wiped the device on her apron and tucked it back in the pocket. When she squatted down to his level with a small bowl of soup in hand, the glaring light outlining her features faded.
Sho's heart seized in his chest; his muscles seemed paralyzed. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
It was her.
It was really her. Her hair was so long. Had it always been that way? He'd forgotten. Her face was softer, rounder than he remembered. But her eyes - those big, honey brown eyes - were exactly the same. Well, almost. They stared at him, innocent and wide, practically a doorway to the pure, sunny, and unscathed soul behind them. On impulse, Sho reached out and buried his hand in her loose ponytail. It was silky and soft. Why had he never noticed these things?
Her wide eyes were comparatively much wider at this point. She jerked back slightly, pulling away from his hand. He hadn't tried to touch her that way before, had he? Was I blind?
"Did you hit your head? You need to be more careful when you're riding that motor bike, Sho-chan. I know you think it's uncool, but it's not safe not to go without a helmet!"
The very Kyoko-like speech - albeit more mild than he was now accustomed to - was strangely comforting. She hesitated, looking like she expected to be reprimanded for the reprimand. Seeing her look so uncertain, so concerned, without a hint of resentment or suspicion, he had to admit was undeniably cute.
Sho found himself smiling, unable to resist reaching out and brushing the dark, disheveled bangs from her eyes. "You're right… I'm glad you're here… Thank you… for everything." He wasn't sure where he was going with this, but the words came tumbling out of his mouth without warning.
This proved too much for Kyoko's pure heart, it seemed, and the hair touching - combined with a selection of words that had probably never before escaped Shotaro Fuwa's mouth in the same sentence - was enough to make her dump half a bowl of miso soup across the comforter.
"Agh! I'm sorry!" She yelped, forgetting her initial shock and springing into action. Thankfully, the soup she'd been holding onto had had time to cool before decorating his lap, so Sho was saved from an unexpected, early morning scalding.
In what seemed merely an instant, Kyoko had gathered his heather gray comforter by its four corners and removed it swiftly, before it could stain anything else. And as he'd done since his childhood, the soft white sheets he'd slept in had been effectively kicked to the foot of the bed, leaving whatever he happened to be wearing in plain view. Seeing the baggy white tee and Soul Eater boxer shorts, Shotaro felt his own face heat up to match the scarlet hue of Kyoko's.
I don't even remember putting these on… Did she... change me? The redness crawled up to the tips of his ears at this notion. He could hardly believe himself. What're you, thirteen? This is Kyoko we're talking about. Get a grip!
"Ugh, what a mess. I'm so sorry. I'll get this in the wash right away. Are you okay, Sho-chan? It didn't burn you, did it? I can't believe I did that… what a waste!" The rambling escaped with its owner down the hallway before Sho could even formulate a response. He immediately attempted to go after her, suddenly panicked at the idea that, if she disappeared from sight now, she would somehow evaporate altogether from this new reality.
Sho didn't get far, though, as he had the misfortune of stepping directly on the tip of a mechanical pencil discarded on the floor. And seeing as that the sensation was right up on the pain index between stepping on a lego brick and being stabbed in the leg with a prison shiv, one could easily excuse his muffled scream. He stumbled across the hazardously littered floorboards and grabbed onto the nearest piece of steady furniture - his dresser, in this case.
However, his pain was quickly forgotten when he got a good look of himself in the mirror.
"...the hell?" Shotaro breathed, reaching out to touch the startling image across from him. "When did I shrink!?" He was a good seven, eight centimeters shorter than he ought to have been. That extra height had been hard-won and and slow-going; to him, the idea was akin to losing an entire limb. On top of that despair, his hair was much shorter, his face much softer. Combined with the uninspired white tee and embarrassing boxers, he looked almost entirely ordinary. The realization was enough to make him want to collapse again.
Sho lifted a hand off of his dresser when he noticed the papers he had unwittingly crushed under his palm. Unfolding them, he wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar, messy words scrawled across the pages. "Did I really write this garbage? Geez…" Fully prepared to ball the nonsensical waste of time back up, something out of the corner of his eye commanded his attention.
There was an exotic sports car themed calendar on the wall just a few feet away. Nothing all that extraordinary about it. It hung crookedly and had clearly been tacked back into the wall a handful of times. What stood out to him wasn't the sleek lamborghini or its questionably dressed driver… but rather the year that was printed in bold letters under the word December.
"What?" He murmured.
That was… one, two… three years ago. How could… surely it wasn't… he wasn't… Sho's eyes dropped down and scanned the dates circled throughout the month. Vaguely familiar names and places were scribbled in every circled space… names and places he hadn't thought about in ages. A nightclub he had faked an ID to perform in… the cafe where he'd held his first regular gig… the open mic nights at that one western-style restaurant… addresses for potential recording opportunities. The schedule was hectic, disorganized, and irregular, yet he still knew it like the back of his hand.
Dear God, it really is… Wait. What's today's date?
His eyes frantically followed the red marker that X-ed out each day from the 1st to the… to the 21st.
The memories came rushing back in like a deluge. The award ceremony. The ring. The accident. The hospital. The warning. It pounded his skull like a meat cleaver. He momentarily lost control of the pace of his breathing.
"If we can see that you've fundamentally changed… become someone worthy... your second chance becomes permanent… let me warn you… don't take this seriously… won't much like the alternative... " The words resonated in the forefront of his mind like the beating of a drum.
They looped and replayed in his head, refusing to release their hold on him. Shotaro was unable to look away from the uncrossed date before his eyes. The blank, white square pulsed in his vision, as thick black lettering began to slowly appear across the empty space.
LOG: Day - 1
...
Remaining Days - 181
...
Consider me unimpressed.
Surely you can do better, Sho.
...
-Dr. G
"What!" was the irate response from the not-quite pop star. "It's only been a few minutes! You try waking up three years in the past and eight centimeters shorter! See how well you take it, geezer!"
The only response Sho received was a jarring shock to his right wrist. Looking down, he was unnerved to see the snug white wristband exactly where they had left it. The name and date were still the same... but the small number blinked once, the bold 182 changing swiftly to a 181.
"Dammit…" He growled, shaking away the pain and glaring at the calendar in vexation. So this was how it was going to be? He'd barely even had the opportunity to-
"SHO-CHAN!"
Shotaro jumped a whole foot in the air, whirling around, but not before guiltily shoving the offending hand behind his back. He didn't know how to explain the bizarre new accessory.
"Y-yeah?" So much for subtlety.
The Kyoko bobbing in his doorway was now fully devoid of all embarrassment or discomfort the last fifteen minutes had culminated between them. She was bouncing from foot to foot, her sparkling aura almost tangible from across the room.
"You have to pick up the phone! Right now! There's a man on the phone and he said he's with Akitoki! Akitoki, Sho! Hurry! Pick it up! Pick it up!"
Her words just barely registered in Shotaro's mind. Seeing Kyoko so absolutely happy for his sake was alien, mind boggling, nearly incomprehensible. This was how things used to be? Why were his memories of the time before their separation so vague? A familiar guilt gnawed at his conscience.
"Shooo-chan," She practically howled, "The phone! Hurry!"
He didn't know what Kyoko was referring to until she flapped her arms in the general direction of his bed. Beside the bed was a table, and on that table was a cordless landline, the keys flashing green with a waiting call.
He moved hesitantly towards the phone and lifted it from its dock, staring at the familiar name and number displayed across the screen. He glanced back up at her, uncertain. If this was three years ago, if he was still playing cafes and restaurant venues, then he hadn't been signed yet? Had he even auditioned?
Kyoko widened her eyes at him, as if trying to telepathically move his finger to the call button. He heeded the crazy expression and heard the line connect. He took a steadying breath.
"Hello?"
With a hand over her mouth in excitement, Kyoko quietly closed the door to give him privacy. Shotaro wished she hadn't gone. Whenever Kyoko disappeared from his sight, she seemed to take any fragile remnants of comfort and security with her.
"Fuwa-san?" A crisp, composed voice came through the speaker.
He nearly forgot to respond. "Speaking…"
"Ah, yes. My name is Kirihito Kaguragi. I am calling you on behalf of Haruto Edogawa, of Akitoki's singing division, to inform you that the agency has reviewed your demo and is interested in having you in for an interview."
Shotaro blinked, trying to connect names with faces and fit them on the timeline that he appeared to be repeating. A lot of change can happen in three years, after all. Was Edogawa even with Akitoki any more? Well, more accurately, was he with them three years from now? Sho seemed to recall some big debacle surrounding that one.
"Fuwa-san?" Kaguragi repeated, notably less patient than before. He was never an even-tempered man to begin with.
"Yes?" Sho knew he needed to focus if he was going to get anywhere. "I'm listening."
"Well, then..." Shuffling paper could be heard in the background, followed by a moment of typing. "Can we expect as soon as tomorrow morning?"
"Well, uh, I - maybe -"
"I'd take the morning slot if I were you, Fuwa-san... As we like to say in showbiz, the early bird catches the worm, but the slow, indecisive bird gets left behind in an endless cycle of disappointment and despair." This was followed by a queer little chuckle that Sho was all too familiar with.
As far as he knew, no one liked to say that, then again, no one ever accused accused Kirihito Kaguragi of being a little ray of sunshine either.
"Ah… well, in that case, tomorrow morning sounds great."
"Excellent. Be prompt. Lateness will be considered a withdrawal."
And the line cut off.
End of Part 2
Ah! I wasn't expecting it would be so difficult to finish this chapter. It's hard to find time to write, I've realized, lol, but I will persevere! Because of the way the pacing ended up, I imagine the story will be closer to 4 parts, now, minimum. I look forward to seeing how it goes!
As always, you are wonderful for reading all of that, and even more wonderful for taking the time to review. It really makes updating worthwhile. Thank you!
Love,
A Bagel
