Chapter Three: Books and Pages
"Every book is a quotation; and every house is a quotation
out of all forests and mines and stone quarries; and every man
is quotation from all his ancestors."
He found comfort in his books. Nothing made him feel at ease except for words, words scribbled in such a way to tell a story and to express emotions. They traveled him to a different world—worlds full of happy endings and friendship.
The blue-haired man sighed heavily as he sagged against his chair, his locks allowing themselves to cover his eyes as he closed his book.
A clatter of pots came from his kitchen. "Utau," he said. "What are you doing?"
"I'm cooking!" she replied cheerfully. "I'm making octopus noodle soup."
His sister never created anything tasty, even try all she might and follow the recipe exactly. There was always something off, he thought, but he never knew what.
He sighed, pondering, before picking up his coat from the arm of his chair as he stood up, sending his sister a bored glance. "I'll be back for dinner, Utau," he said. "Once I get home, we need to talk."
Her face paled as she called his name, but he had already shut the door and left.
:.:
Amu hung her head like a small child as Kuukai scolded her, his face red with anger. Kuukai, who was never angry, seemed as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Nagihiko, on the other hand, was breathing sighs of relief and gripping her hand tightly, as if he couldn't believe she was there.
"I'm glad you're well, Amu," he whispered as Kuukai stormed towards the kitchen for a drink of water. "Really, I am. I was so worried something happened to you that I—"
That you what? she thought, but she was interrupted.
"And I'm glad that son of a bitch didn't meet me eye-to-eye otherwise I woulda' punched him." He bared his teeth, coming back with a glass of water gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were white.
They were all in Kuukai's spacious living. She knew his apartment like she knew her own soul—she knew that under the TV stand he hid his game consoles and Xbox; she knew where he always hid his nachos and chocolates, up above the fridge, in the cabinets where she could not reach; she knew why he had implanted the shelf on his living room wall—to show off his soccer trophies.
"Even when he didn't do anything?" Amu squeaked. There was a nasty feeling curling up in her stomach, a feeling where she felt like defending the man but too scared to.
"Amu." His voice had softened just a teeny bit, but his eyes were hard. "You can't trust a man, especially when he's nice to you. He has ulterior motives."
She couldn't help but blush as she said, "Then what are your motives, Kuukai? And what about you, Nagihiko?"
They both seemed stunned for a second, so stunned that Kuukai had loosened his hand of his water, letting it splash across Amu's bare legs and her carpet and Nagihiko's grip on her hand was less firm. She saw both of them blush slightly.
She heard Kuukai curse quietly as he bent to pick up his cup.
"We're your friends, Amu," Nagihiko replied quietly. "Friends don't have ulterior motives."
She felt herself slump against the couch. I made them worry again, she thought. She didn't know why, but lately she had felt so stupid, like everything she said, everything she did was wrong. Strangely, her mind told her to snap back, to say, "A man and a woman are never just friends," but she resisted the urge and instead said, "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I'll promise to be careful," she sighed, letting her hand out of Nagihiko's grip carefully. "I want to go home. I'm tired. I'll-I'll call you two later and then we can do something, maybe." She smiled as she stood, settling her feet into her flip-flops. "You know, like play Halo 3. It came out like months ago, but we've never played it."
They both nodded, but it was Nagihiko who seemed to walk forward, his face serious. "You must be careful from now, okay?"
Kuukai nodded. "Yeah, Hinamori. No joke."
Something warmed up inside of her, a swell of such happiness that she wanted to turn and scream through the wall. These boys, these two boys loved her so much that they were so worried to the point of near panicking, and she felt as if to kiss them both on the cheek. A blush rose on her face at the thought, and she bit her lip.
"Yeah," she whispered, leaving the room and closing the door firmly behind her.
She stood outside Kuukai's door for what seemed like fifteen minutes before she opened her eyes and walked down the hall. Shoving her key into her lock, she opened her door, the smell of lavender and clean soap wafting through her nostrils. Though it had only been about twelve hours since she had not stepped into her house, she felt as if she had been aching for her room, her couch, her TV as if she was someone who had left their home forever, only to find out that they were able to come back.
Shutting the door quickly behind her, she bolted the lock and slipped the chain in its place. There was her living room—a mix of soft cream and a light purple and her kitchen, small but sturdy and packed with food. She walked down the narrow hallway towards her left, peering into her bathroom and then at her library space and bedroom.
Amu's library was not really a library, but what she imagined it to be. She bought at least six large cabinets and lined them against the wall. Books were filled from top to bottom, not one space empty or disused; her desk, a dark mahogany, located in the center if the room with large windows behind it, was usually clean and clutter-free, but now had books stacked so high that she could not make out which part was the desk and which was the books. The only empty space seemed to be the small area in the middle of her desk, in front of her chair, but even that seemed to be cluttered with papers.
When had she become so cluttered? she thought. She was usually very neat and organized, but as she saw herself these past few weeks, her organization skills seemed to have weakened.
Moving down to her room, she wasn't surprised to find her bed not in the least bit made; it was still messy as she left it when she had left for Rima's party in the morning for planning. Her vanity mirror was also littered with things, however not with make-up (oh, she barely even had any) but books. Her bedroom also seemed to be scattered with books—books were stacked on her mahogany night stands; on her pale purple bed sheets; on her floor, and even in her closet, lined against the wall.
The sight brought a smile to her lips. Being without surrounded by books seemed to have made her nearly ill. There was, as some had commented, a smell in her home that seemed to be different than other homes. It was like dust and sunlight, ancientness and eternity.
She knew exactly what they meant.
Her stomach rumbled suddenly, and she nearly laughed. She hadn't eaten since last night and it was late evening now. Just as she prepared herself to cook food, her doorbell rang.
"Who is it?" she called out.
A deep, throaty voice had replied, but she hadn't heard what he'd said. It was almost like a rumble, just a jumble of words.
But she knew the voice.
She glanced down at herself, relaxing when she seemed to be in good, modest clothing. Her hair had fallen around her, surrounding her like a halo.
It was strange and frightening.
She wanted to open the door to him. It was such a weird feeling she wasn't used to. She liked him, she thought, as she liked Saya when she had been in college. Her mind screamed at her to be quiet and to move back, but she felt her feet propel her forward. Amu stopped right at the door.
"I can't open the door," she whispered, almost to herself.
He heard it. "Why?" he replied, his voice softer.
Her conversation from Kuukai and Nagihiko replayed though her mind. Being bold, she replied, "I don't trust you."
He sucked in his breath. A part of him called himself stupid—Why had he come here in the first place? Why did he bother, when he knew he shouldn't associate himself with her?—and yet, he was here. He was worried about her well-being; he wanted to see how she lived, if she was all right and if she had forgotten. Perhaps if he found her happy, he could try to move on and forget also.
He needed to see her. He had to.
"I won't hurt you."
That was it. He said it. If she didn't open the door now, she never would. And he would never have his peace.
Minutes ticked by, and he couldn't help the clenching of his heart. Deep inside, he thought she really would open the door, but she didn't. He turned, his hands shaking, before he felt the swift air push against his back. He inhaled, the scents of lavender and soap wafting through his nose.
"You can come in," came her soft voice from behind his back. "but only if you can keep your distance."
He swirled around, then, looking at her, and his eyes widened slightly. Behind her, books were piled high over everything—her couch, her TV, even on her kitchen bar. And now, as he realized, there had been another smell. It was the smell of books, of dust and words wafting through his nose. A smell he knew so well.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Amu move aside, gesturing him to walk in. His eyes shifted to hers, but she was watching him keenly, despite the blush on her cheeks.
He walked slowly, having no intention of doing anything to her. He saw her move away quickly as he strode in her living room, shutting the door behind him. Ikuto noticed vaguely that she hadn't locked the door, but his eyes were still roaming around her house. Everywhere he looked—books, books, books. Pages were spilled, bookmarks littered here and there. Other than the overflowing number of pages, her house was clean and neat.
Not helping himself he asked, "You're a book reader?"
She blushed, lowering her eyes and yet moving even farther away from him. "Yeah." She gestured to her books and flushed even darker. "I'm sorry about the mess. Listen … I-I'm not used to this, but I just wanted to thank you for … saving me."
His eyes slid over hers, his voice distant. "It's nothing," he said. She was doing surprisingly well for someone who had lost her parents just six years ago. There was nothing of her family, no pictures, and no mementos in her living room.
Noticing the distant look in his eyes, she didn't know what to say. He was so aloof, and she was about to say something but he had already spoken. "I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for?" she asked. "You didn't do anything."
He turned his gaze to hers, burning into hers furiously. "You don't know that," he said, suppressing the urge to glare at her. "You don't know anything I've done."
She seemed to read through him, as if the block he'd set was never there at all. Her face fell with sadness. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean—"
Wanting to change the subject, he abruptly said, "Let me see your library."
Amu's eyes suddenly changed, her eyes widening in surprise. "How do you know I have one?"
"You have to put these books somewhere," he said, smiling a little. "I can just tell."
Her breath hitched. There was something about him that made her want to cuddle him, to hold him close to her, to comfort him. Who was he? He set off an aura that made her think that he knew everything about her, even the little things. It didn't scare her—actually it did quite the opposite. It made her feel protected.
And did she mention that he was so breathtaking when he smiled?
She blushed furiously, and pointed down the hall, towards her left. "Last door on the right."
Either he didn't realize her blush, or he chose to ignore it. Either way, she mentally thanked whoever created the universe that he didn't comment.
She followed him shortly, her arms crossed over chest as he paused right at the door, hand on the knob. "May I go in?"
She started to smile a bit, her composure falling. "Only if you tell me your name."
His eyes glinted, and there seemed to be a sparkle of admiration in his eyes before it was quickly replaced by mischievousness. He strode towards her, his hands in his pockets. She could feel herself tense, but there was nothing in her heart that told her to run away. She stood her ground, her smile suddenly wiped away as his face leaned close to hers. Close enough that she could feel the minty freshness of his mouth.
Her mind was clogged with the scent of him, his cold breath, his cologne, the smell of his locks. Her eyes drooped suddenly, and she thought she saw him widen his eyes. But when she stepped out of her drunkenness, she found him staring at her amusingly, a smirk taunting her.
"Why," he whispered, his eyes shining. "My name is Tsukiyomi Ikuto."
a/n: OMG I UPDATED. Actually, I don't think anyone has been viewing fanfiction SC! Forums. Perhaps because it's been so long since the show ended … But, I'll still like to finish my stories. (: If you reviewers are still out there and alive, at least.
Quotation from Ralph Waldo Emerson.