Another year, another place to corral stray fic and fragments. Some of them may make it to AO3 eventually, some of them may not. Series, pairing, rating, and any relevant warnings in the subject of each comment.
"Happy day~ Happy day~ Happy day~" Hifumi sang as he set the table. Six months exactly since he and Doppo had moved into Jakurai's apartment, and he was determined to make it an anniversary to remember. He had called in favors and traded shifts to have the entire afternoon and evening free. He flicked a tablecloth over the table, smoothing out every stray wrinkle before he set out the nice silver. Champagne flutes were on the counter, and a bottle of sparkling (non-alcoholic) cider was already chilling in the fridge. He lit the flames on the warming trays he'd borrowed from work so that they'd be ready when the food arrived in fifteen minutes. Doppo and Jakurai would be home another fifteen minutes after that.
One last pass through the living room with a dusting cloth to make sure every surface shone. A bouquet of red roses split into smaller vases and arranged artfully around the apartment. That took fifteen minutes, but the food still hadn't arrived. He rearranged his list. Freshly washed sheets on the bed turned down, pillows fluffed, and a chocolate placed in the center of each.
Twenty-three minutes later, the buzzer rang.
Hifumi opened the door to a very sodden delivery person.
"Sorry I'm late. The weather is making a mess of traffic, and there's some sort of problem by the station. Half of the roads were closed."
"Don't worry about it!" Hifumi said, still high on excitement. "There's still time! I'll take these from you. Get home same!"
"Thank you, sir!"
Hifumi took the bags before the delivery person could try to be helpful and track water all over his clean floors in the process. He hurried back inside. Five minutes until Jakurai and Doppo should return, but that was still enough time to transfer the food from the bags to the covered trays on the counter. He finished with thirty seconds to spare.
He straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and leaned against the counter to wait.
Ten minutes later, he shifted to the table.
Ten more minutes, and he was on the sofa.
Thirty minutes after Jakurai and Doppo were due back, he was pacing the living room as he checked his phone repeatedly. It was unlike them not to at least send a quick message if they were significantly delayed, and it was even less like them not to answer their phones at all.
"Hi, Sensei. It's me, Hifumi. Just wanted to make sure you're okay; you're really late getting home. Give me a call or something when you get this? Love you. Bye-bye."
"Hey Doppo, it's Hifumi. The office didn't eat you or something, right? Send me a text or something when you get this? And just say the word if we need to come rescue you."
Nearly an hour later, Hifumi's path was showing in the freshly vacuumed carpet, and he was debating the merits of calling a certain member of a rival crew for help when the apartment door opened.
"Doppo, you're late! More importantly, you're soaked! What happened?"
Doppo stared blankly at him, blinked, then shook his head vigorously, sending water flying everywhere. "Someone dropped the month-end expense reports down the stairs by mistake on their way to deliver them. I had to put them back in order before I left. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Hifumi said, pulling Doppo in for a hug despite the wet. "I'm just glad you're safe. That doesn't explain how you ended up drenched though."
"The train wasn't working. I couldn't hear the whole message, but the conductors said something about an accident with something on the track? I don't know; they said it would be be faster to walk."
"Didn't Sensei send you out with an umbrella this morning?"
"The wind," Doppo said with a shudder. "It's awful; it's like a typhoon out. Sensei's umbrella died before I crossed the street. I'm sorry I broke it. I think I broke my phone too; it's all wet and not working."
"I'm sure Sensei won't care about the umbrella. Give me your phone; let's see if we can save it." Hifumi took the sodden square Doppo offered and carried it into the kitchen. He kept a container of rice in the back of a cabinet for exactly this purpose.
"Oh, you had something planned," Doppo said when he noticed the table. "I'm sorry I ruined your dinner. I'm the worst."
"Seriously, don't worry about it. We can eat later, or reheat it some other night. Sensei's not home yet either. Have you heard from him?"
Doppo shook his head. "I thought he had an early shift today?"
"So did I, but he's not here, and he's not answering his phone either. Something must have come up. Anyway, that should dry out your phone if it can be saved. Now, let's get you out of all these wet things. That can't be comfortable."
"I hadn't really noticed," Doppo said softly.
Hifumi sighed as he slid off Doppo's jacket and let it fall to the floor with a wet thud. For someone who spent so much time in them, Doppo really had no appreciation for nice clothing. If left to his own devices, he'd live in whatever ill-fitting, hideous suit he found on the discount rack at the thrift store. Hifumi knew; he'd quietly shuffled more than one truly atrocious businesswear abomination to the back of Doppo's closet and then out into the donation pile.
He undid Doppo's tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Doppo tried to help, but despite saying he wasn't cold, he was shivering too badly to be of much use. "Stay here," Hifumi ordered as he ran to the bathroom and returned with the biggest, fluffiest towel he could find. He stripped off Doppo's shirt and undershirt before wrapping him up. It was more difficult to get Doppo the rest of the way undressed around the towel, but at least he'd be warm.
"Sit down and let me take off your socks," he said as he ushered Doppo toward a chair.
"You don't have to."
"But I'm going to anyway. You'll feel better when you aren't all cold and soggy. How about we take a nice hot shower together while we wait for Sensei?"
"I think he's almost here," Doppo said as his socks joined the pile of wet clothing. "I just heard the elevator."
Hifumi looked up, and sure enough, he heard familiar footsteps coming down the hall. He jumped up and ran to open the door.
"Welcome home, Sensei--What happened to you too!? You're a mess!"
Jakurai stepped inside, then sagged against the door as he wrestled with his boots.
"Here, let me get those for you," Hifumi said, dropping to his knees. "You rest. You look like you were run over by a freight train."
"Not a freight train," Jakurai corrected. "A commuter train, and not me, a bus that broke down on the tracks."
"Oh, that sounds bad."
"It was. They've cleared it now. We rescued everyone and stabilized those who needed to be brought to the hospitals. The last ambulances left, and it's in the hospitals' hands now. Everyone should be fine; the train crews were moving the damaged train when I left."
“You’re freezing,” Hifumi said, holding Jakurai’s hands in his. “Stay here and get out of all of these wet things.”
He ran back to the bathroom for another towel. When he returned, Jakurai had stripped off his jacket and hung it by the door, but he seemed to be having some trouble with his turtleneck. “Sensei, do you need a hand?”
There was a bit more struggling and muttered curses before a quiet “if you wouldn’t mind, Hifumi-kun. I seem to have been entangled by my hair.”
Hifumi stepped closer and tugged on the stretchy fabric, only to realize that Jakurai had not been exaggerating. Somehow, his hair had managed to wrap around his wrists and trap them over his head.
“Give me a minute, Sensei, you’ve created quite the tangle here.” He pulled the turtleneck back down and tried to parse out which pieces of hair belonged where. It reminded him of the puzzles he had done as a kid tracing balls of yarn to their end. He had always been terrible at those mazes. “Why didn’t you pull it back first or something? Or at least tuck it into your jacket?” Hifumi muttered. “Doppo says it’s like a typhoon out there.”
"I had other things on my mind," Jakurai says, his voice muffled by the bunched up cloth. "And I wasn't wearing a coat; it would have been in the way."
"You're taking a bath," Hifumi announced. "You and Doppo both." After a bit more tugging, he finally managed to free Jakurai and extricate him from his tangled shirt. "I'm going to go start the bath now, and when I come back, I want you out of the rest of your clothes. Here's a towel."
"That sounds lovely, Hifumi-kun. Thank you. Did something happen to Doppo-kun?"
"Just getting caught in the rain. He's as wet as you are."
"Make sure he doesn't catch a chill," Jakurai said. "You know he'll forget to change on his own."
"He's in the kitchen now and already out of his wet things. We were about to take a shower when you walked in. I'll be right back. Get out of your wet pants before you get sick."
Hifumi hurried to the bathroom and turned the tap on almost as hot as it would go. One of the definite perks of Jakurai's apartment over his old one was the bathtub. It was dark marble, and plenty big to hold all three of them together. A wide lip around the edge was perfect for storing toiletries and spare towels, and with the touch of a button, it could be converted into something more akin to a hot tub with water pulsing through jets around the edge. The bath was a little warm currently, but he didn't know how long it would take to herd his boyfriends in the right direction, and he also didn't want the water to chill too much once he dumped two human-shaped ice cubes into the tub.
He left the bath running and returned to the living room. Jakurai was no longer in the entryway, and while his turtleneck was still a soggy puddle on the floor, his pants did not appear to have joined it. Hifumi frowned and turned to the kitchen. There, he found Doppo apologizing for transit delays out of his control and the umbrella he had broken. Doppo was still sitting in the same chair he had been in when Hifumi left. Jakurai knelt beside him, speaking softly and drying Doppo's hair with the corner of his towel. His pants were starting to leave a puddle on the floor under him.
"Sensei, what did I say?" Hifumi said from the doorway.
"I was just helping Doppo-kun for a moment. It seemed more pressing than clothing."
"And now it's bath time. Come on, both of you. Sensei, pants off before I take them off."
With a combination of nudging, pleading, and gentle threats, Hifumi managed to herd his boyfriends into the bathroom, and then into the bathtub. He checked he hadn't forgotten anything, then climbed in after them. He handed a bottle to Jakurai. "Here. Detangler. Use it and leave it in or we'll be here forever. Doppo, scoot over and let me wash your hair."
He grabbed the shampoo and slid in close to Doppo, wrapping their bodies together as he worked stray leaves and bits of mud out of Doppo's hair. He had never figured out how Doppo's hair managed to attract so much random junk. He was convinced it had to be part of the same supernatural magnetism that left flyaway bits no matter how much product he had used to try to smooth them down.
Doppo relaxed into him as he worked his fingers through Doppo's hair. It was a favorite trick of his for relaxing his permanently stressed friend; nothing like a good scalp massage to turn Doppo into a calm puddle. By the time he finished, Doppo was half asleep against him. He propped him up against the side of the tub and hoped he wouldn't slip down while his hands were full elsewhere.
Jakurai's hair was going to take awhile. Not that it didn't always take awhile solely by virtue of its length and thickness, but there was a difference between normal maintenance and the rat's nest it had currently turned into (he really roped there weren't any actual rats in the mess; he hated rats). He picked up a corner of the tangle and started to work, combing out a small section and laying it over the edge of the tub before moving on to the next.
There was something almost meditative about the process. He lost track of how long it had been since it started, but at some point, Doppo began snoring softly behind him. Jakurai was silent too, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He worked steadily, watching the tangle in front of him shrink under his hands.
When he finally finished, he let his head fall forward. He'd just rest for a minute here, surrounded by the familiar smell of Jakurai's shampoo and cologne.
He must have nodded off, because the next thing he knew, he was being lifted out of the tub and wrapped in a soft robe. Still half-asleep, he pushed against Jakurai's chest. "I can do it myself," he mumbled.
"There's no need for that. You've earned your rest."
Hifumi tried to fight it, but the fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face were too compelling, and he drifted off again. It was safe here curled up against Jakurai's chest. Suddenly, they were moving, and he clung on more tightly until they stopped and Jakurai uncurled his fingers from the fabric. He whined at the sudden loss of warmth.
"I'll be right back," Jakurai promised. "I'm just getting milk for you and Doppo. Milk is good after a bath."
Hifumi let go reluctantly. He pulled his robe closer too him and looked around, still trying to clear the sleepy fog from his brain. Doppo looked equally forlorn sitting in the chair next to him. Without thinking, he slid his chair around the corner of the table and pulled Doppo onto his lap. Luckily, Doppo seemed to be just as in want of cuddling as he was.
Hifumi heard Jakurai's warm laugh behind him when he returned. "There have to be more comfortable places to sit than that," Jakurai said.
"It's fine," Hifumi replied, but Sensei clearly wasn't convinced, because he picked up the both of them and carried them to the sofa. Then, he wrapped them both in blankets before carrying over their mugs of warm milk and settling himself between them.
"You're both such good boys," Jakurai said softly. "I'm lucky to have found you."
Hifumi leaned against Jakurai's chest, surrounding himself with Jakurai's familiar scent. "We love you, Sensei," he mumbled.
"Rough day?" Sakura asks as Ino ducks into the tent. Not that she really needs to ask; the only time Ino ever sets foot outside of the bathroom with her hair that mussed in when she's been running her hands through it all day without realizing.
"Do you have any idea how much intelligence planning a campaign takes?" Ino asks. "And how much useless dross we have to sift through to get anything even slightly useful? I'm pretty sure Naruto could go out, demand every person he meets tell him what they're planning, and come up with at least as much as we have with an entire unit and all of our fancy tricks."
"They say 90% of war is in the waiting," Sakura replies as she unzips Ino's jacket and tosses it aside. "So, are they summoning you back at some unholy hour again, or do you finally get a break?"
"Officially, that's up to Ibiki; he's heading the field teams since we reshuffled. Unofficially, unless something big breaks, I'm not setting foot back in there for at least eight hours. Three consecutive nights on top of normal days is enough when we're still in the oh-so-lovely waiting mode. If anyone comes looking, Shikamaru's going to cover for me. He still owes me for last month."
Sakura laughs. She wasn't there, but she's heard the story of the near-miss with Kiba from all parties. It's a bright moment amid the grim monotony of looming war. It reminds her of their genin days--back before they really understood what it meant to be a ninja, and what it cost.
Fingers brush Sakura's cheek. "You look tired too," Ino says. "Did something happen that I missed?"
"Genin shouldn't be sent off to clear brush around the camp without anyone checking that they know how to use the tools first. Anyone who's been on duty for more than twenty-four hours a) should have been relieved at least eight hours ago, and b) most definitely should not be handling explosive tags. Oh, and two scouting parties were caught in a rockslide up on the mountain; the road is completely impassable now. So no, nothing of note, just the standard accidents that have us at capacity before the fighting even starts."
"You're still short healers, aren't you?"
"We sent a group of trainees out to Sunagakure for some hands-on training with poisons. They were supposed to bring some reinforcements from Suna with them on their return, but they're pinned in place by a sandstorm. Five days already, and the latest report says it's showing no signs of abating. With Tsunade stuck in Konoha, Shizune's taking the lead in the field, but that means she's spending more time coordinating than treating. I'm the next most senior healer after her."
"Let me help."
"You're needed elsewhere."
"I could come when I'm free."
"You need rest," Sakura murmurs, stepping closer and pulling Ino in until their foreheads touch. "We both need rest, but too many people are counting on us, right?"
"Yeah. Damn it! How did this happen to us?" Ino asks. She runs a thumb along the edge of Sakura's hairline. "Remember when I used to tease you about your forehead?"
"We were terrible, weren't we? And painfully naive."
Ino shrugs. "I mean, I still think it's true. You could do your hair like mine."
"And spend even more time than I already do getting blood out of it? I'll pass."
They stand as they are for another moment. Here, out of sight of the rest of the armies with no one looking to them, they don't have to pretend. They're tired. War is tired, even if no one will admit it. Long gone are the days when new genjutsu were the highlight of the week and shiny, unused kunai were strapped proudly into holsters. Now, whatever shine there once was is hidden under scratches and dents and layers of tarnish. Or maybe, the shine was only a decorative veneer, and now it's worn away to reveal the cold, dull steel below.
"Hey," Sakura says, "what about a girls' night tonight? Just the two of us."
"Out here? What are we going to find in the middle of this forsaken mud puddle? And what if someone shows up looking for us? Can you imagine if Kiba walked in on us with face masks on? Or Neji? We'd never hear the end of it."
"I know a place. I was out here on a mission with Tsunade once in conditions a lot like this."
"What if we're needed?"
"Shizune will know where to find me, and do you really think no one in your unit could get a message to you if they needed, oh mistress of messing around in people's heads?"
"Fine, but whatever this is, it had better be worth keeping me out of bed for a second longer than necessary."
"I think it will be. Come on, follow me."
Sakura shoves their toiletries and a couple of towels into a bag before slipping out of the back of their tent. After a furtive glance around, she sneaks down a path to the rear of the camp.
"You could just ask you know," Ino whispers. "There's one sentry two hundred meters ahead, but that's it. They decided the river was enough protection back here for now."
"Anyone we know?"
"Nope. I think he's one of the new chuunin. You may have crossed paths with him in the village sometime, but no one we've ever had a mission with."
"Good," Sakura replies. "Leave this one to me."
"Why do you get to have all the fun?"
"Because I have to be nice and reassuring to people all day. You don't."
They turn a corner and the sentry jumps to attention, knocking over a pile of stones in his haste to make it look like he hasn't been inattentive on the job. "State-, state your names and orders," he stutters.
"Haruno Sakura, lead medic on base, and Yamanaka Ino, head of Konohagakure Intelligence Division's Analysis Team leaving camp."
"De-, destination and anti- anticipated return ti- time?"
"Destination is classified. Return, before dawn."
"I'm not supposed to let anyone leave without recording where they're going. I need to check with my commanding officer," the sentry says. Sakura gives him credit for standing his ground even though his knees shake.
"Look, kid," she says. "If we had really wanted to, we could have slipped right past your checkpoint and your little game of go without you even noticing, so I'll make you a deal. You let us through now, and no one knows you were distracted on watch. If anyone tries to give you a hard time for not pressing on classified information, you tell them to bring it up with Shizune or Ibiki. Sound good?"
The sentry scrambles for his log book. "Yes, ma'am! Have a nice night!"
They make it just around the next bend in the path before Ino doubles over with silent laughter. "Classified my ass," she says, "but you scared him pretty good."
"Then it's a good thing we were friendly. Hopefully he'll learn his lesson and not turn into a statistic in the casualty reports."
"Do you think someone will tell Shizune and Ibiki on us?"
"Nah, he might bring it up with his commanding officer, but my guess is the top of his command chain is either equally scared of those two and won't mention it, or someone we know who won't waste their time. Can you imagine someone like Genma bringing this report all the way to Ibiki? Plus, even if it does make it all the way up, this isn't the first war for any of us. Do you really think Ibiki would take you to task for what you do with your down time right now? I know Shizune won't."
"And people say Kunoichi are weak," Ino mutters. "I'd love to see them try you. You were terrifying there." She straightens and pulls Sakura in for a quick kiss. "So, where are we going?"
"To the waterfall."
"The waterfall? Really? I know some of you sage types are into it, but just for the record, meditating in cold water that's trying to drown you is not my idea of relaxing."
"I know. Just trust me." She leads Ino farther down the path away from the camp. It's not long before the last echoes of blades being sharpened and shinobi training are drowned out by the growing roar of water. The waterfall isn't the biggest she's ever seen, but it's large enough to dwarf the trees growing along the riverbank. The rocks at its base churn the water into an angry spray that drenches the path.
Sakura continues through the mist. When the path ends, she starts picking her away across the boulders piled at the base of the cliff, remnants of past rockslides and stone swept away by the river in storms.
Ino stops and stares at her. "Seriously? Rock climbing also not my idea of relaxation."
"Two more minutes and you'll see," Sakura promises. "Trust me, I was equally skeptical the first time Tsunade brought me here." She works her way nearly to the waterfall before she finds what she was looking for. It's completely hidden from view from the path, but there's a narrow opening in the cliff face. She squeezes inside and gestures for Ino to follow.
"I'm just going to trust we aren't exploring caves either."
"Technically, that one's actually correct," Sakura says. She can't see Ino's face in the dark, but she can imagine her expression, and that's almost as good.
The passage is less than ten meters long, and then it suddenly gives way to an open chamber. Sakura steps aside to give Ino a better view as she emerges.
Ino gasps as she steps out of the tunnel. At some point, erosion and wear carved a large cavern into the space behind the waterfall. The ceiling is high enough they could barely reach it if they stood on each other's shoulders. The front of the cavern is open but covered entirely by the roaring waterfall. The spray drips from the stalactites and stalagmites near the opening, but it doesn't reach to where they now stand. At the rear of the cavern, ringed by stones that glow a pale blue with some sort of otherworldly phosphorescence, is a pool of still water. Steam curls gently over its surface.
"Is that a hot spring?" Ino asks.
Sakura nods. "And not just any hot spring. Tsunade found it while she was researching chakra imbalances. Whatever makes the rocks glow is in the water too. Not only does it restore depleted chakra, it also can rebalance chakra points if you have any that are blocked or overly active."
"It's not going to make us glow or anything, is it?"
"Nope, but personal opinion, it's also great for your skin."
Sakura has barely finished before Ino is shedding her clothes and climbing into the pool. Sakura follows as quickly as she can.
"Oh, this is good," Ino says. "You were right; this was worth staying up for."
"Told you so," Sakura says, but her heart's not in it. All she really wants to do right now is float, and relax, and forget about everything outside, at least for a few minutes.
If Ino's long sigh is any indication, she feels the same.
"Welcome home, son!" Inui exclaimed, crushing Kinjou in a tight hug.
"Hey," Kaidou echoed from a safe distance.
"It's so good to see you!" Inui continued. "I've missed you even more than last time."
"I'm not that far away, Dad," Kinjou said quietly, "and I already see you more weekends than not."
"That's different," Inui countered. "Coming back for dinner once a week to escape your roommate's poorly designed, non-double blind studies involving cooking is one thing. Coming back here for a full two weeks is entirely different. Just think of how much data we could work through in that amount of time."
"Dad, did you not see my reply to your first message?" Kinjou asked. "I know we've always worked on these projects together since I the minute I was old enough to assist, but I won't be able to do that this time. I have term papers I need to finish before I return." Kinjou paused for a moment as the first inkling of an idea began to take shape. "I don't think I'll have the time for your projects this year, but how you would feel about assisting me with a research project of my own? As part of the child psychology class I'm taking this summer, I need to visit a location geared toward children and write a report on it. A lot of my classmates are planning to look at playgrounds and amusement parks, but I thought I'd do the science museum. It'll be interesting revisiting it from a more academic perspective rather than just as a recreational visitor."
"When are you going?" Inui asked.
"I was thinking Saturday, at least for the initial visit. I may need to do a few follow up trips later."
"Admission's free Saturday; it'll be busy," Kaidou said, still lingering in the doorway. When both Inui and Kinjou looked up at him, he shrugged. "It's on my running loop; I saw the signs outside this morning."
"That may be better for me, actually," Kinjou said. "The more visitors at the museum, the more data points for my observations, and the easier it will be to distinguish between personal preference and exhibit design in the way said visitors interact with the exhibits. The museum opens at 10, and I'd like to be there as close to that as possible to make sure I have plenty of time should observation take longer than anticipated."
"Would you like cameras?"
"No. We will not be recording other visitors."
"Are you sure?" Inui asked. "I've been working on some enhancements to existing glasses cameras to increase resolution and decrease weight and bulkiness. The newest prototype, finished less than twelve hours ago, features a fifty megapixel camera powered either by a behind-the-ear battery for up to one hour, or connected by a single wire from the back of the earpiece to an external battery pack for up to eight hours. It can also record audio independently and features a heads up display for the wearer with full internet connectivity. The camera lens sits nearly flush with the frame. It's no more visible than the attachment for a pair of magnetic clip-ons; the vast majority of people would never even notice its presence."
"That's exactly the problem," Kinjou said. "You can't just go around recording people for research purposes without their consent, especially not when the individuals in question are minors. I had to have my study proposal reviewed and approved by an ethics panel at school before I could even move forward with the study; there's no way they would have approved it if I had mentioned using the technology you proposed without significant additional work and permissions."
"But you didn't know about this technology then. Now you do, and it can save you considerable time compared to writing all of your notes out yourself. What if you forget something and want to refer back to it later? Or what if information you felt was irrelevant and did not note initially turns out to be a key data point for a future research question?"
"That's the way research works, Dad. If I want to do follow up studies later and feel a recording of interactions would be helpful, then I can submit a new proposal for approval. Until then, we're taking notes the old-fashioned way."
"Well that's less interesting. Can I at least bring the new pen I've been working on? It writes in three colors, but instead of three separate inks, it uses a single ink passed over three different catalysts to generate the color shifts. In theory, it should even be possible to create such novelty inks as glow-in-the-dark or fading with this technology. There were some kinks to work out along the way, as there always are, but I believe the prototype is now ready for field testing."
Kinjou winced. He knew how Inui's experimental process usually ran, and all he could say was he was glad he hadn't been home for this particular round. "You're sure it's stable and not a fire or explosion hazard?"
"The current model is, yes. One of the early models did have a faulty battery design, and some of the prototype compounds became unstable over time, but I've corrected those issues. The new prototype has shown no warning signs on any stress-testing so far. Unless you wanted a pen that could double as a detonator or a distraction? The same catalysis mechanism could be used for any number of processes, including the conversion of a stable compound into a less stable one."
"Not in the museum, Dad. If you're certain it won't pose an elevated risk to anyone else, then you can bring your prototype with you, but if there's any chance of it exploding, leaking toxic chemicals, or otherwise putting any museum visitors in danger, then it stays home."
"I am certain to within an acceptable margin of error of the safety of this prototype for normal use. I can show you the data if you would like. I have a second completed prototype if you would like to try it yourself."
"That's okay," Kinjou said. "I have my own pencil. Father, would you like to come along too?"
"Science Museum?" Kaidou grunted without interrupting his doorway pull ups.
"Yeah. We used to go all the time, but it's been years since we went as a family. Supposedly they have a new exhibit on physiology and exercise; I thought you might be interested."
Kaidou hissed.
"Great! I'll have an overview of my project, observation forms, and tally sheets prepared by Saturday. Even if you don't want to assist, I'd still welcome either of you."
"Of course we want to help," Inui said, adjusting his glasses so that the light glared off of them. "If you provide copies of your forms and your experimental methods by Friday, I would be happy to review them for you."
"I may take you up on that," Kinjou said, "but it can wait until later. I brought your favorite cakes from the bakery near campus that you liked. Let's eat before they go stale."
When Reiji wakes, it's still the middle of the night. There's no fire alarm, no earthquake, no one screaming—nothing that would explain why he woke so suddenly with his heart pounding in his chest. He would write it off as a bad dream, except he doesn't remember any dream, and the feeling isn't fading with distance from sleep. If anything, it's growing stronger—a deep-seated anxiety that won't be ignored.
He's felt this feeling before. Only once. On a day he doesn't like to remember.
He climbs out of bed, already thinking about what to say to Ai. This isn't a rational feeling. It's not anything he can explain to his painfully rational roommate, but that doesn't make it any less real, or any less all-consuming. He doesn't have time to try to explain it right now; he needs to find whatever is wrong and fix it before it's too late.
Somehow, he makes it to the doorway without bothering Ai. He's halfway out the door before the relief turns into a new spike of worry. Ai is the lightest sleeper he's ever known, if he even sleeps at all. He's never so much as stirred at night without Ai noticing.
He turns around and pulls back the curtain on Ai's bed.
It's empty.
His world narrows as he bolts for the door. He has to find Ai. He has to find Ai now.
Ai could be anywhere, but his feet pull him down the hall to the practice rooms.
It must be nearly three, but the lights are on in the basement corridor. He follows them down the hall and around the corner to the one lone practice room in use. He doesn't even stop to read the sign-up sheet before he throws open the door.
Ai is at the piano playing the new song they've been working on.
"What are you doing!?" Reiji asks, snatching the music away.
"Practicing?" Ai replies, as if there isn't anything at all unusual about practicing a duet alone at three in the goddamn morning.
"It's the middle of the night! You need rest!"
"But it's not right," Ai says. "I can't pinpoint what's wrong with it, but something is off. I was collecting more data in hopes I could fix it."
"Leave it," Reiji orders. "We'll look at it tomorrow. Together."
"The evaluation is at the end of the week. If we don't pass, then you could lose your place in Shining Productions."
"We'll do fine," Reiji promises. "We'll make it work. You can't do a duet alone; you need both people for it to fit."
"Is it the way the sound resonates?" Ai asks. "I tried to take that into consideration with the piano. According to my analysis, the accompaniment I provided fills the same musical position as you would."
"It's not the sound," Reiji replies. How can he explain this? How can he explain it without saying the one thing he promised himself he'd never say to Ai. "It's the connection two singers make with each other in a duet. I feel what you're singing and respond to it; you feel what I'm singing and respond to it. A duet isn't a duet if there's no feeling shared between the two people."
"I think I will need to study this further. I do not understand the feelings you speak of. How is the connection I have to your voice any different than the connection I feel toward a piano or any other object that generates a sound. When I sing, am I not interacting with whatever may be in my environment?"
Reiji lets the sheet music drop the floor and grabs Ai in a tight hug. "It's different," he whispers. "I can't have a conversation with a piano. It doesn't disagree with me. I don't see it anywhere outside of the room that it's in. We don't have the same sort of shared memories and experiences. You're special, Ai; there's nothing I could replace you with that would be the same."
"I'm...still not sure I understand entirely, Reiji."
Reiji flushes. Here he is doing the one thing he said he'd never do again, not after Aine. "Forget it," he says. "Just, come back to bed? You need rest."
"I'm fine."
But I'm not, Reiji thinks. "Give it a break for awhile at least. You'll probably have better luck coming back to it in the morning with a fresh set of eyes."
"I don't understand," Ai says softly. "What does luck have to do with my ability to analyze music and develop an appropriate progression of notes, and what do you mean by fresh eyes? My eyes will be exactly the same tomorrow."
Reiji chuckles around the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "Never change," he whispers, "but please, come back to bed. The room feels wrong without you."
Maeryu wanted to scream as another flat note (or was it a missed step this time) from across the room had them starting the encore song again from the beginning. He was so close to freedom, and yet as they started over for the umpteenth time, freedom had never felt so far away.
It took another three runs before the director was finally satisfied, but the minute they were released, Maeryu bolted for the changing space and showers as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion. As soon as he was presentable, he shoved all of his things into his bag and walked out the door before anyone else could come up with a reason to stop him.
"Oi, Ryuu! Are you leaving already?"
He turned; he had been so close to making it out of the building too.
"Want to grab dinner with us?" Taka asked, jogging up beside him. "I asked Yuusaku, and he agreed, but then he invited Toshiki, and, well.....you know. So I'm asking you. Consider it a trade for that time last year you still haven't paid me back for."
"Sorry, I can't. I already made plans."
Taka stared at him. "Other plans, huh? Fine, I guess. God, who else can I bring?"
"Shougo?"
"Absolutely not. A rock would be a less awkward dinner companion; you know how he gets around those two."
"Dai?"
"Maybe! I don't think he's left yet. Quick, what gossip can I use to bait him?"
"Toshi-kun was looking at camping gear on his phone during break yesterday," Maeryu said with a smirk. "I saw it in the mirror."
"Perfect. Wish me luck. Oh, and by the way, your other plans's charger is about to make a run for it."
Maeryu fumbled with his bag, shoving the offending cord back inside and wrestling the zipper shut the rest of the way. Maybe someday he'd finally return the charger Fuuma had accidentally left in the Rikkai dressing room during the last run. He kept meaning to, but then it inevitably slipped his mind, and this many months later, would it be weird to admit to still be carrying the thing?
He'd deal with the charger later, he decided. Right now, he had ten minutes exactly to make it to his destination. He slipped out the side of the building, sparing a quick glance around for anyone else who could try to waylay him. Satisfied the coast was clear, he turned down a side street. The chain stores and glass-walled restaurants of the main road gave way to market stalls, used bookstores, and cramped cafes in the labyrinth of side streets and back alleys.
He waved off a fishmonger, skirted around a couple of tourists blocking the street with their suitcases, and ducked into his goal. The cafe was tiny, but the bold, Ghibli-inspired fabric hanging from every surface had a certain charm, and it afforded privacy that could be hard to find elsewhere.
"Maeda-sama?" the woman behind the counter asked.
He nodded.
"Your friend is at the table in the back corner."
"Thanks." He hoped the massive grin threatening to split his face wasn't too obvious to everyone else. He sauntered casually to the table. "Hey," he said as he dropped into the open chair, "sorry I'm late. You know how rehearsals get near the end."
Fuuma looked up from his book and cocked an eyebrow. In Fuuma-speak, that was pretty much the same as a smile. "So who was it this time?" he asked.
"Who wasn't it might be the better question. Toshi-kun belted out a beautifully flat note the first time. Then Aoki tripped over his feet. Then Shou-chan got flustered by Toshiki being Toshiki and mixed up his rights and lefts. Then Shitenhouji came in a half-measure early for their verse. And then we were finally free. I'm pretty sure the encore is now permanently seared into my brain."
"It's a new song this time, right?"
"Yep. " He made a heart out of his hands. "I like you, Fuuma Fuuma. I need you, Fuuma Fuuma. I wanna meet agaaaaiiiin." He extended a hand toward Fuuma on the last note.
Fuuma raised his napkin to his mouth, but he wasn't quite quick enough to hide the smile sneaking out from the corners of his lips, and he'd need a much bigger napkin to hide the way the tips of his ears turned pink. "You're joking," Fuuma said once he recovered.
"Dead serious."
Fuuma still looked skeptical.
"Promise, but if you don't believe me, you'll just have to come see for yourself."
"Maybe I will."
"I bet everyone would like that." I'd like that could remain unsaid. "Anyway, how have you been?"
Fuuma shrugged. "Same as usual. Rehearsals are ramping up now. I know we weren't together for that long, but it's still weird being with a different cast."
"You'll get used to it. Trust me. Plus, after awhile, you start knowing everyone anyway; it's bigger than one team, but it's not that big a world."
"It feels big," Fuuma said softly, "and now we're the newcomers again."
"Hey," Maeryu tapped him on the forehead. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're a Tenimyu alum now; I'm sure you'll do great."
"That's one person at least," Fuuma said. "I'll do my best."
"Yuuya-san doesn't believe in you?"
That startled a silent laugh out of Fuuma before he caught himself. "That doesn't count, and you know it."
Maeryu raised his hands in surrender. "So, will rehearsals free you this Saturday?"
"Movement practice in the morning, but I'll be free in the afternoon. Why?"
"I thought we could go somewhere."
"The Ghibli Museum again?"
"No, but close. Well, sort of close. There's this museum I heard about; it's not really Ghibli, but it's that same sort of style, and they have a new exhibit opening this weekend, and they're doing a special event for it." He cut himself off. "Anyway, it seemed like something you'd like."
He handed over his phone with the website open and watched for the little twitch of a smile as Fuuma scrolled through the page.
"I'd love to," Fuuma said.
"Cool!" He smiled. "But there's one condition."
"Oh?"
"None of this face," he said, reaching over to tap Fuuma's lips. "I'm not saying it's not a charm point, but you're allowed to smile once in awhile you know."
"It's part of my image."
Maeryu raised his hands. "I know; I'm just saying you can let it go sometimes. So, condition: we go to the exhibit opening, and while we're there, none of this. Deal?"
Fuuma seemed to contemplate the idea for a minute as he continued to look through the site. Then, he leaned in with a quick, startling kiss. "Deal," he said as he broke away with one of the wide, genuine smiles that made Maeryu giddy. "I can't wait."
"Masa-kun, again. Sell it." Ueshima's voice carried from the audience up onto the stage where they were squeezing in a last few minutes of rehearsal before the house opened. Opening night wasn't for another couple of days, but today was the preview press performance, and in the true style of an artistic director, Ueshima had come back from the final dress rehearsal with pages of corrections and moments he wanted to rework.
Masa moved back to the starting position for his final solo. They had rehearsed it hundreds of times before Ueshima had decided, less than twenty-four hours before the press performance opened, that it didn't work for the climactic moment of the show, and he and the choreographer had restaged the entire piece to be more dynamic.
He liked the old staging more. It had been comfortable--something he was confident he could perform.
But Ueshima had a vision, and that vision involved a running leap landing on center stage as he drew his sword.
It was fine, he thought as the opening bars played. His ankle was fine now, well, fine enough, but really, what was the difference? He could land it, and then he had a full eight counts for his heart to stop pounding before his first line. It was. Fine.
Wait 1...2...," Ueshima called, "step 3...4... Run 5 and 6. Jump 7. Land 8. Draw 1. Hold 2. Lunge. Recover. Forward. Forward. Turn and strike. Better. But the jump's still short. Start back in the wings for step, step. 5 and 6 to quarter; jump land center. Again. Explode."
Masa walked back to the wings. It wasn't exploding that was the problem per se, it was what came after.
As the opening bars played again, he caught sight of Bachon in the the opposite wing. Of course he'd show up now; he was probably wondering what the delay was. Much longer, and it would tight to get into makeup and costume in time. Masa gritted his teeth and stared at the X in the middle of the stage. This was his first chance at a lead role since...since that. He couldn't blow it. One. More. Time. On the count, he drove off of his mark and landed dead center right as the spotlight locked onto him.
"Good. Do it just like that tonight. Now go get ready."
Masa bowed. "Thank you, Sensei," he said as the curtain closed.
Bachon strode onstage, and Masa turned to glare at him. "What?"
"You okay?"
Masa raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been up here for awhile, and the new staging seems--" his eyes flicked down and back up "--challenging."
"It's fine," Masa snapped, sharper than he intended. "Ueshima-sensei's just particular. You know how he gets."
"You're sure? It's a lot of shows, and you're still......" He trailed off, now pointedly staring past Masa's shoulder.
"Still what?" Masa pressed. It was just like Bachon, wasn't it? At least he didn't say it outright, but you couldn't miss the concern rolling off of him...until something shiny in a window distracted him and he hared off after his own whims. He always came back though, as if nothing had happened, and it hadn't been an hour standing in the freezing rain waiting.
"I'm not the only one worried about you, you know," Bachon said as he stepped closer.
"If there's a problem with my performance, Ueshima-sensei can talk to me. Beyond that, it's not your concern." He turned and tried to walk away, but Bachon caught him by the wrist.
"You're scared."
"I'm. Fine." Masa yanked Bachon close and there, on center stage in the last thirty seconds before the stage crew kicked them off, he kissed him. "See?" he said when he broke away. "Now go get ready."
Weddings sucked. Well, maybe not all weddings--the one he had fantasized about privately for years wouldn't have sucked if it had ever come to pass. But the wedding he was currently at? That one definitely sucked.
Maybe that was an unfair judgement The bride and groom seemed to be having the time of their lives. The guests had no end of compliments for the space, the food, and the nearly married couple. Maybe he was the only one currently nursing a massive hangover, not enough sleep, and a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn't seem to get rid of.
Maybe that was just what happened when one's best friend and the man one had loved for years married someone else. He wouldn't know. This was a new experience for him.
He put on his best smile as yet another group of fellow actors and musicians came over to exchange greetings. No matter what his manager might say, he did know how to behave himself properly in public. That last lecture before he left had been entirely unnecessary.
It was hard to keep track of who he had already spoken too and who he hadn't--so many people he had crossed paths with at some time or other, and so little variety in the topics for passing conversation.
"You holding up okay?"
He turned at the hand on his shoulder. Kamimiya Ryuji stepped into the space just vacated by Kazuki and offered Yone a glass of milk.
"I'm fine," Yone though the sound wasn't convincing, even to him.
"Still have your phone this time?"
Yone glared and dangled it between them. He could already he wouldn't be allowed to forget any part of that story for at least three years. He snatched his phone away and moved on before Ryuuji (or anyone else) could come back with more points of irritation.
It wasn't until many hours later, after most of the guests had departed, that he finally found the groom alone and not in the middle of haring off to whatever new person or thing demanded his attention just then.
"Congratulation, Kenken," he said.
"Thank you. I'm so happy you could make it, and that you made it back to the hotel safely last night."
"It was a day," Yone said quietly.
"Tell me about it; I don't know about you, but I could use to just sit for a minute. Here. Come with me; I know a nice spot in the garden."
Yone followed Kenken through the open doors, across the stone patio, and into the small, enclosed garden behind them. When Kenken sat on a bench, he sat next to him, the rules of propriety warring with his desire to sit as close to Kenken as possible.
"So how have you been?" Kenken asked. "I feel like I've barely seen you since we made the wedding announcement. I guess wedding planning does that to a person."
Yone laughed at that. Of course. It had been Kenken's wedding planning and rehearsals schedules that had kept them apart for the last several months. It had absolutely nothing to do with him. "Fine. It's been busy juggling Yousuke Kousuke and shows. You know how it is."
Now it was Kenken's turn to laugh. "Do you remember our music days? I don't think I'd go back, but those are some good memories. I'm glad everyone could make it today."
"Hey, on a related note, are you free the first weekend in November?"
Kenken blinked and cocked his head. "Off the top of my head, I think so. Why?"
"I'm doing a live show that Saturday. We just got confirmation from the place for two shows. Want to be a guest?"
"Sure. Is there a theme?"
"Thanks! You're a lifesaver!" Yone leans in close and kisses Kenken on the cheek, throwing propriety to the wind. It may have been Kenken's cheek, but his lips remembered Kenken's, even though it had been years now. "It's going to be called 'Kiss Me'."
Kenken laughed again. "Never change," he said. "Of course I'll come." Then, he leaned in, and the taste of his lips was no longer just a memory.
If it weren't for the likelihood his boots would have sent him sliding down the stairs on his ass, Daisuke would have run down them the second the curtain closed for intermission (seriously, would no one ever come up with a way to make costume boots that didn't leave them with zero traction and even less support?). The dressing rooms were already a bit tight at the best of times; with the full double cast present now, they'd be packed. Intermission was twenty minutes long, but once he factored in the time to elbow Hirose Yuusuke out from in front of the mirror, it was just enough time to fix his makeup and be ready to go again.
In his haste to make it back to his dressing room (and his towel, which he had forgotten to bring up to the wings with him again), he nearly crashed into Yuuta, who was currently pacing the back hall and humming to himself.
"Yun?" he asked. "What are you up to?"
Yuuta stared at him like a deer in the headlights. He wouldn't be making his appearance until the curtain call, but he was already in costume and ready to go. The wardrobe department would probably thank him for making their lives easier during the already chaotic second act, but Daisuke knew that was the last thing on Yuuta's mind.
The silence stretched between them, and in it, Daisuke heard the faint sound of the music coming from the headphone Yuuta had dropped. "Aimer, really?" he said. "How many hundreds of times have you rehearsed this already?"
Yuuta snatched the earbud back from him. "It's different."
"It's not that different. No more different than the preview concerts were."
Yuuta just stared at him.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's different?"
"'Aimer' is a duet. It's always been a duet."
Now it was Daisuke's turn to stare. "Of course it's a duet, and it's still a duet."
Yuuta shook his head. "It's not. Usually it's two duets: Romeo and Juliette and Furukawa and Aoi, or Kinoshita, or Ikuta. Today, at the very least, there's a quartet and four duets. Romeo and Juliette, but also Romeo and Romeo and Juliette and Juliette. The pairs switch partway through, so there's the lingering harmony of the contrast between the two pairs. Ohno-san and myself have two different relationships with Romeo, and they've never had cause to meet. What if they turn into dissonance instead of harmony?"
Daisuke blinked. Now his head was spinning. Yuuta had that effect on people. "You're overthinking things again," he said. "Do it just like rehearsals, and you'll be fine. The audience is going to love you no matter what; they'd be thrilled even if all you did was walk onstage and bow."
Yuuta was clearly unconvinced. He didn't cut off the conversation entirely, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere, still running through the song yet again with his remaining earbud.
"Look at me," Daisuke ordered, putting his hands on Yuuta's shoulders and turning him until they were facing each other. "You go onstage, and you perform your Romeo, and you don't worry about whether it does or doesn't match the way anyone else plays him. The audience? They love you for you, so go give them what they want.
He pulled Yuuta in close to whisper in his ear. "You know, this reminds me of old times; all you need now is a racket in your hand instead of a rose."
That startled a quiet laugh from Yuuta. Then, it was his turn to surprise Daisuke as he turned his head to steal a quick kiss. "For luck," he said softly. "Just like old times."
"For luck," Daisuke echoed, giving Yuuta's shoulder one last squeeze before he left him to his practice.
The box sits in the back of a closet, buried under enough other boxes, spare blankets, and old clothing no one has discarded yet that it would be difficult to stumble upon it accidentally. So far as Jakurai knows, he's still the only one who knows it is here. He'd be happy if it stayed that way.
Right now, he's alone in the apartment, and the box is calling to him. He doesn't like to talk about it, but the box is always there at the back of his mind like an echo--sometimes faint and easily ignored, other times repeating itself over and over until it's heard. Maybe he shouldn't give in so easily. Maybe he should finally discard the box the next time they clean, but the box is part of him, and it's why he is the way he is now. Things could have turned out so differently without the box.
He kneels in front of the closet and slides the front panel open. Everything inside ends up in neat piles around him until, finally, all that remains is a single cardboard box. Its sides are battered, and its corners have been crushed for years, but it's still intact. Jakurai has lost count of just how many times the box has moved with him. He slides it out, opens the flaps, and lifts out a wooden trunk that just barely fits.
Perhaps trunk is the wrong word. It's really more of a briefcase or carrying bag. It is scuffed and battered just like the box, and in places, the leather looks as if it was singed once upon a time. Despite the wear, the structure is sound, and despite its apparent age, it is still obviously well-maintained. The leather has the faint sheen of something recently oiled, and the metal fastenings shine with evidence of recent polishing.
Almost reverently, Jakurai sets the case on the floor in front of him and opens the lid. Once upon a time, the entire case was filled to bursting with his medical instruments and supplies...or rattling with an ominous clatter as the battles dragged on and the supply chain failed. There's no need for it hold supplies anymore, but most of his instruments still gleam in their place. He's replaced them since, but any one of these holds more memories than an entire operating room with its trays of cold, sterile steel.
He touches each of them in turn, letting the memories flow through his fingers as he opens himself to the stories they wish to share. These shears cut loose a paratrooper who had become entangled in a tree on his landing. This clamp sealed a torn artery long enough for him to tie it off properly, stemming the pulse of blood until he could save the boy (and he had been little more than a boy; his collar still freshly-starched and his shoes barely broken in before they sent him out to the front of the battlefield). This probe had traced the path of too many bullets, helping him determine which ones were superficial wounds that could wait, which ones needed his immediate attention before a sharp piece of shrapnel tore through delicate arteries and organs, and which ones were beyond anything he could treat in the field--like the boy he had treated the day the armistice was signed; a bullet had torn through his kidney and shattered his spine. They had saved him, in the end, him in the field and the whole team of trauma surgeons and specialists that had come after him, but at what cost?
When at last he returns the final tool to its place, his head spinning with every story and half-forgotten memory now brought back to the fore, he sets aside the entire case. Underneath it lays his old uniform. It's folded into a perfect rectangle, virtually identical to how it looked when he first received it so many years ago. The folds have laid deep creases into the fabric over time, but the material still feels the same under his fingers.
He unfolds the jacket and runs his fingers along the buttons. How many times had he done just that, letting the smooth metal be an anchor as he broke down a plan of attack for an especially challenging problem, or even when he just needed a few seconds of his own before delving back into the fray.
It has been years, but the ghosts of the past still speak through his fingers. It has been years, but he can still picture the child he once was, almost as if he has summoned a ghost. He was smaller then, not of height but of build. The pale face that stares back at him is thin and drawn with the weight of responsibility and too many nights of little sleep. The apparition (or is it a memory?), reaches into the bag at his waist and takes out a scalpel handle.
Knowing what is coming next doesn't make it any less painful. His former self slides a new blade onto the scalpel, and suddenly his demeanor shifts. No longer is he a healer, burning himself out to save even just one more soldier. Now, he is the assassin. His accuracy with his weapon of choice is just as technical and precise as his work in the medical tents. He is nothing if not a living study in contradictions. By day, he heals every soldier who comes before him, regardless of rank or allegiance. Once he is freed from the medical tent, however, the scalpel he has used to heal so many, and will use to heal so many more, becomes the very antithesis of what he works for. The blades he uses now are dark as night; only their razor edges glint in the moonlight.
His past self is one soul torn in two directions. Everyone's hands have the capability to both hurt and heal; his are an anomaly in their extremes. The blood that covers his hands by day becomes a holy water that washes away the sins committed in the dead of night when the blood of his targets stains his hands black.
He holds the jacket to his chest, as if he could fold the apparition into his embrace. Gently, he presses his lips to the memory's shadowed face. It will be okay, he wishes he could tell his past self. You'll find yourself eventually.
"But do we have a clear definition of what kissing even means?" Yata asks, waving his pen in the air. They're sitting on the floor of Hideya's room studying, as they often do the night before their assignments are due. In Hideya's opinion, "How do you feel about kissing?" wasn't an overly esoteric question to ask someone one had been dating for nearly six months (well, not technically dating; dating was an overly complicated and excessively binding social construct according to Yata. They were "enjoying one another's company in a relationship that existed in spheres that were not only platonic" to use Yata's words. To use his own words, they were dating).
In retrospect, he probably could have phrased the question better, or at least asked sometime when Yata wasn't in the middle of writing a philosophy paper.
"Did you know there's no universal definition of a kiss?" Yata continues. "Does it require contact between two pairs of lips, or is one set of lips anywhere on another's body sufficient? What about blown kisses? Is a kiss still a kiss if there's no physical contact? Historically, the answer has been "all of the above" and then some. Take Plato, for example--"
In a show of great restraint, Yata cuts himself off when Hideya groans loudly and rubs his temples. "Drop the philosophy for a minute," Hideya says. "You personally. Kissing. Yes or no?"
Yata blinks as if he'd just been asked the flavor of moon rocks. "That depends on context, of course. How well do I know the person I'm kissing? What is the nature of our relationship? Where are we and who else is present? Kissing a romantic partner in private is very different from kissing in public, though one could argue that the acceptability of public displays of affection is itself a social construct to be--"
The rest of his sentence is cut off by Hideya leaning in and pressing their mouths together.
"Like this," Hideya says when he breaks away. "You and me, here, now."
To: Megatron Subject: Door Inspection Report Megatron, inspection of all doors in the research wing damaged by Overlord was completed this morning at 03:00. Please review the full report attached at your earliest convenience. In summary, ten doors fail to meet the enhanced specifications outlined in the Engineering Protocols for the Lost Light: Building Protocols and Specifications for Construction 2.25.6.8. Three of the aforementioned doors also fail to meet the basic specifications outlined in the same section. Of those three, two are currently undergoing repair, with an estimated completion within the next thirty hours. As for the third, please remind Brainstorm to consult all relevant regulations before undertaking his own construction projects. A door that generates different noises depending on who walks through it is in violation of noise pollution ordinances and may also run afoul of several anti-discrimination regulations.
To: Ambus Minimus Subject: Re: Door Inspection Report Noted, with thanks.
To: Megatron Subject: Medical Bay Personnel Inspection Report Megatron, attached please find the summary report of the personnel inspection of the medical bay carried out yesterday at 16:00. Of most concern, Ratchet has returned to work despite not being fully recovered from injuries sustained during Overlord's escape and while lacking appropriate clearance from qualified medical personnel.
To: Ambus Minimus Subject: Re: Medical Bay Personnel Inspection Report Noted, with thanks.
To: Megatron Subject: Request for Leave Megatron, I, Ambus Minimus, do hereby submit a request, in writing as specified in the Personnel Manual 14.26.7.3a, for 48 hours' leave beginning tomorrow at 09:00.
To: Ambus Minimus Subject: Re: Request for Leave Request denied. Due to casualties and damages caused by Overlord, the Lost Light cannot support additional discretionary time off. If necessary, resubmit request with additional explanation. Otherwise, the request will be approved once more autobots have been cleared to return to duty. Your understanding and cooperation is appreciated.
Megatron frowned as he hit send. Minimus knew the personnel requirements and the duty rosters of the Lost Light better than anyone else with the possible exception of Rodimus. As such, he would be fully aware of the strain Overlord's attack had put on the system. Frivolous requests were unlike him, which meant either it was a test or there was something more to the request. He expected he would find out which within five minutes. Just enough time to read one more poem.
Four minutes and twenty-three seconds later, the intercom on his door sounded. "Ambus Minimus to speak to Megatron."
"Come in, Minimus."
The doors slid closed behind Minimus who stood stiffly at attention in front of Megatron's desk.
"There was something you wished to speak about?" Megatron prompted when nothing appeared to be forthcoming.
"Ah, yes. About the matter of leave..." Minimus's gaze darted nervously around the room. "I'm afraid it really is necessary."
"Do you care to share the reasons why?"
Minimus stared at the floor. "This suit, it sustained some damage from Overlord."
"And this was not reported in your initial report why?"
"I was...otherwise preoccupied at the time and failed to notice the issue until recently."
"The medical bay is beginning to empty. Report there for repairs. If it's minor, any of the engineers they've pulled in should be able to fix you up in a flash."
"With all due respect, Megatron, it's not that simple. A few bearings have been bent out of shape, but according to Brainstorm, they're a custom design. He can replace them, but it will take a couple of days, and he needs to suit during that time to use a model for the machining."
"Ah," Megatron said as he sat back. He did see the shape of the problem now. Still, there were standards to uphold. "Request still respectfully denied. Forty-eight hours is too long for you to spend in isolation in light of current events."
"The suit needs repair, Megatron, and I can't just go wandering around the ship without it with my alt form being...what it is."
"Of course not, which is why you will report to my personal quarters at 08:30 tomorrow, and I will deliver your suit to Brainstorm myself."
"That isn't necessary, Megatron. I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to. Take your desk, for example. The angle of the workstation is fifteen degrees to shallow for the current angle of your seat, and the overhead lighting is in a sub-optimal position and using sources that do not conform to the most recent addendum to the lighting regulations."
"Nonsense, Minimus. There is nothing more pressing for me on this ship currently than ensuring the well-being of one of my most valued crew-mates. You will report here tomorrow and remain until repairs are complete. That is an order."
"Very well then," Minimus said stiffly. "In that case, I will take my leave until then."
"I do look forward to your company," Megatron said as the door slid closed. Now to determine where he could find a bed suitable for a turbo-fox on short notice, and look over the circulars he had been ignoring until he found the new lighting regulations.
Jakurai stumbled out of the conference hall, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Maybe it was just the hours spent in an overly air-conditioned room under jarring fluorescent lights with not enough water, but the world was beginning to spin around him. Inside, most of the presentations had concluded for the day, but the night, and its chance for mingling with other doctors and comparing notes, was just beginning.
He ducked into an alley beside the building and leaned against the cool brick wall. After a furtive glance around, he took a slender silver case from his pocket and lit a cigarette. Hypocritical for a doctor perhaps, but one had to allow oneself the occasional indulgences in life. He exhaled, letting the lightheadedness and fatigue that had settled over him escape alongside the smoke. It curled around him in snaking tendrils, caressing his face one last time before it dissipated into the ether.
By the time the cigarette had burned down to a stub in his fingers, he felt back to his normal self. With any luck, he would be able to slip back inside before anyone noticed he was missing. He lifted his water bottle to his lips and drained the rest of the contents. No use courting another dehydration headache, especially not when he had just fought one off.
He made it nearly to the end of the alley before another wave of disorientation hit and his knees buckled. He stumbled back into the wall, the bricks scraping down his back even through his dress shirt. The water? Would someone really go that far? The face of the waiter who had handed him the bottle swam behind his eyes, hovering infuriatingly just out of focus. No one else had seemed affected in the hall, no one else joining him in the alley...he was the specific target then? Why couldn't he remember the server's face. Whether the man had been a part of the entire plan or simply a convenient target to follow orders, he would be a key witness in identifying the perpetrators.
He took another, stumbling step. He had to get away. Didn't matter where, anywhere other than the conference hall. Someone (or something) wanted him out of the picture, or they wanted to make him suffer. Neither was ideal, but both could be thwarted by a well-timed escape.
He stumbled out of the alley and onto the main road. Another hundred yards to the subway station. He could make it that far. Maybe.
Fifty yards and his vision was going grey. He stumbled, fell to his knees. Around the ringing in his ears, he heard footsteps, many of them, closing in quickly. The first blow hit him across the face, whipping his head to the side.
"Sensei!?"
The figures around him froze. In a split second, another set of footsteps closed in. No yelling, no fuss, just a few well-placed strikes that had his attackers falling back. Those that didn't go down turned and fled into the subway.
"Sensei?"
Jakurai turned toward his savior, blinking until a face swam into focus. "Riou?"
"Sensei, are you okay?"
"Poison," Jakurai rasped.
"Can you walk?"
"I think," Jakurai said. He started to stand, but the world spun around him, and he buckled again, scraping his knees against the sidewalk.
Riou dropped down beside him, lifting him onto his shoulders without hesitation. "Come."
Unwise, perhaps, to allow oneself to be carried off by a rival crew member to an unknown location while incapacitated, but given the circumstances, better options were few. Given the rival, a better option yet. A life debt wasn't a payment easily forgotten, especially not to one such as Riou.
From his current vantage point, it was difficult to see much beyond the fabric of Riou's shirt. The inversion wasn't helping his disorientation either, so eventually Jakurai gave up and closed his eyes. He trusted that Riou would not feed him to the jaws of the enemy.
It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before they paused. Riou shifted, and then a door creaked open. As soon as they were inside, Riou bolted the door and sat Jakurai carefully on the ground.
"Conscious?"
Jakurai opened his eyes. "Yes, somehow."
"You said poison."
Jakurai nodded, then regretted the motion as it set his head spinning. "Added to a water bottle."
Riou swore softly. "Jyuuto said new poison. Clear, colorless, undetectable in water. Sometimes deadly. Here, drink." He offered a glass of water, but when Jakurai was too weak to hold it, he sat behind him and raised the glass to his lips. "Drink," he ordered, "flush out the poison."
When the glass was empty, he set it aside and helped Jakurai lean against the wall in the corner of the small, bare room.
"Where are we?" Jakurai asked.
"Yokohama still. Always good to have secure shelters throughout one's territory."
"Thank you, Riou."
Riou shook his head. "May not thank this soldier soon," he said before he raised his hands to Jakurai's bruised face.
Jakurai hissed and pulled away, but Riou stopped him with strong fingers on the back of his head. "This soldier apologizes, Sensei. Hold still."
Riou walked his fingers across Jakurai's face, feeling for breaks under the rising bruises. How many times had Jakurai done the same, crouched on the darkness of the battlefield judging who could wait and who might die? In a way, it was easier to be on the other side, to be the one assessing, not the one with vulnerabilities being laid bare before them.
Riou stepped away for a moment, returned with a cold cloth he pressed to Jakurai's face. The coolness soaked into his battered flesh, soothing the worst of the aches and smoothing out the sharpest edges.
"It's not much," Riou said softly, "but this soldier is not so skilled as Sensei."
"It is appreciated, Riou. You have already done more than I could." Riou pressed a hand to Jakurai's forehead, and Jakurai laughed softly. "I'm not ill, Riou. I doubt if I'm running a fever."
Riou flushed and turned away.
"Not a criticism, Riou. Your assistance and concern is appreciated," Jakurai said. He pressed two fingers to the pulse in his own neck, pleased to note that it had settled back into a more normal range.
"Who attacked you?"
"I don't know, but your presence thwarted their plans, whatever they may have been."
"This soldier can ask Jyuuto to investigate."
"That won't be necessary. I'm sure he has more pressing investigations to undertake," Jakurai said. As much as he may have trusted Riou, the same did not hold true for Riou's crew mates. He had trusted before, perhaps a little too easily, and he could still taste the cotton candy sweet betrayal that had followed. Better to keep one's distance. Better to survive on one's own.
"They hurt you, Sensei," Riou said, his eyes shining with the puppy dog loyalty Jakurai had thought had been beaten out of him years ago. "They would have killed you."
"We don't know that for certain, Riou, and no matter, they failed in their aim. I consider that assistance enough."
Riou looked up sharply, held Jakurai's eyes for a long moment before looking away. Not acceptance then, but an agreement to let the subject drop. "Can you move, Sensei?"
Jakurai stood slowly, pausing until he was sure the world would not begin spinning on him again. "Whatever they used, it appears to have been short-acting. I assume they never entertained the possibility of their would-be assailants failing. I feel nearly back to normal now."
"This soldier will escort you back to your territory. This soldier will also notify your crew mates of your arrival if you desire."
"Thank you, Riou." Jakurai paused. It would be reckless to turn down Riou's offer of accompaniment, but the words to decline notifying Hifumi and Doppo had been ready on the tip of his tongue before he stopped. Would it be so hard, to accept the offer of assistance? Would it not be a bad idea to have company for the night when he had been poisoned and possibly mildly concussed? They would worry, but perhaps that was acceptable, given the circumstances. "I will call Hifumi myself."
Riou held out a phone, blocky, military issue technology, nothing like the sleek lines of Jakurai's own. "Use this," Riou said. "Not much signal down here."
"Koushi," Kuroo called as he stepped inside the apartment, "I'm home."
No reply. He called again, but still received no response. The sun had set nearly a half hour earlier, but the inside of the apartment was dark. If it had been two years earlier, he might have worried. Now, he knew better. He set down his bags, crossed the apartment to Suga's bedroom and flipped on the light. "Koushi, I'm home. You're going to ruin your eyes studying in the dark like this."
Suga blinked as he looked around the room. "Is it that time already?"
Kuroo sighed, taking in the piles of textbooks and reams of notes stacked in precarious towers around Suga's laptop. "It's time. How long have you been studying?"
Suga looked down at his watch. "About ten hours?"
"Did you remember to take a break at all?"
Suga looked away. "There wasn't time. The exam is in three days, and I'm behind."
"Koushi, if you don't at least take breaks to eat, you're going to study yourself into the ground. All the studying in the world won't help if you can't get out of bed when exam day comes. What do you want for dinner?"
"I don't know. I'm not really hungry. I just want to finish this chapter, then I could maybe break for a few minutes."
Kuroo kissed the top of Suga's head. "You can keep studying, I'll call you when dinner's ready."
Luckily, he had planned for this, since it happened without fail every time exams rolled around. Suga may have claimed he wasn't hungry, but Kuroo knew better, and he knew one meal that would catch Suga's attention, and his appetite, every time. He unpacked the grocery bags he had brought home, setting the tofu out to drain while he prepared everything else.
Before long, he had oil shimmering in a pan, ready for him to add chilis and peppercorns, twice as many of each as he would have if he had been cooking for himself. Then, it was time to add the rest of the ingredients. As the pork sizzled and crackled, he heard a rustling from the bedroom that told him his plan was working.
"Is that what I think it is?" Suga asked, poking his head through the door just as Kuroo added the tofu to the pan.
"Super spicy ma po tofu, just the way you like it."
Suga shuffled closer, closing his eyes as he breathed in the smell of the kitchen. "It smells amazing," he sighed. His stomach growled loudly.
Kuroo laughed.
"Point taken," Suga said. "I guess I could take a few minutes."
"Should be ready in ten. I'll clear off the table if you grab dishes."
"Sorry Sasuke, maybe next time." He flicks two fingers, gently, against Sasuke's forehead. It's still bare, for now. Soon, that will change. As soon as the graduation ceremony takes place, he'll be flicking the cold steel of his little brother's hitai-ate instead of the warm skin he's used to.
"You're no fun anymore. You sound like Father," Sasuke says, turning away to sulk.
Itachi sighs. "Well, maybe just a little can't hurt," he says. "But don't tell anyone." He reaches over and ruffles Sasuke's hair. The thick strands stick out between his fingers, flying every which way in their usual unruly tangle.
"Itachi...Itachi..."
Itachi blinks, reaching out as if he could grab onto the fleeting fragments of the dream and hold them close.
Kisame's face swims into view in the dim confines of the cave. "Pain summons us. In person."
Itachi sits up and reaches for his robe. Even in the darkness, it doesn't take him long to dress; he trusts his fingers more than his eyes these days.
They step outside as soon as he's ready. The sun shines bright overhead, but it doesn't make much difference to him. Everything is blurred these days. How long has it been since he saw the sky clearly? How long since he last saw his little brother? Some memories fade with time, but he still remembered Sasuke's face as clearly as ever. Still remembered the way Sasuke would run over to hug him when he though no on was looking.
How long had it been since he had last touched someone like that? How long since he had felt the simple affection of a passing hug or fingers ruffling through messy hair?
Too long. The hugs had gone first, when Sasuke began to worry about appearances, and when their father began policing perceived weakness more strictly. The smaller gestures lasted longer, but there came a time when they were entirely one-sided. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, it wasn't the same when they were brushed aside instead of reciprocated. "It's okay, Sasuke," he had wanted to say, "you're not alone," but he had missed his chance then. Out of all of his regrets, the biggest was that his best intentions had stilled failed his little brother.
"Itachi," Kisame repeated. He placed a cool hand on Itachi's shoulder to catch his attention. "Pain is waiting."
Itachi pulled himself together. Kisame tried, though he was never sure whether it was instinct or some unspoken awareness that drove Kisame's occasional touches and good-natured pushing. Kisame tried, but it was never the same. Whatever lay between them, it was the function of proximity and shared cause, not the deep, immovable bond he felt with Sasuke. Kisame might ease the worst of the ache for a time, but he could never heal it entirely. If anything, it served as a reminder of what he had lost, of what he had given up for Sasuke's sake.
He didn't hope for much anymore, but he hoped from the bottom of his heart that he would have one last chance to see Sasuke. That he would have one last chance to hug his little brother and tell him how much he meant.
Rom types angrily at his keyboard, ignoring the dirty looks his office mates send him for the clatter. If their shoes were a size too small, they'd be grumpy too.
It's not his fault his shoes are a size too small and far too narrow. It's all the shoe store had when he made his emergency run before the 9am corporate meeting.
As to why he had needed new shoes in the first place, well, that had everything to do with a certain prissy, sparkly, insufferable irritation. When Shuuzo appeared out of nowhere, what else was he supposed to do but follow him down the street until he disappeared into a dance club. Of course, one thing led to another, and he couldn't just leave at that point, so he'd followed Shuu inside.
As it turned out, business dress shoes were terrible for dancing. They'd been quickly abandoned under a table in the corner as he danced his way closer to the stage, but in typical Shuu fashion, he'd ended the set and vanished into the back as soon as Rom was within reach.
What had transpired in the alley after...Rom shivers at the memory of Shuu gasping under his rough tongue and of Shuu's teeth digging into his shoulder. The shoes never even crossed his mind.
Until this morning when he was already late out the door, only to discover his nice shoes were nowhere to be found and the polish for his spare pair dried out and unusable, and so he'd foregone breakfast and coffee to stop at the single solitary shoe store open before 8am and buy the closest he could find to a replacement.
He hisses as his feet twinge again in protest. The second he gets out of the office, he's switching to the sneakers in his bag. His feet had better stop hurting before rehearsal tonight, or he'll never hear the end of it. Even worse, Aion will try to convince him he needs a pedicure and a foot massage. His tail puffs up at that thought, and he quickly shoves it aside. Finance, he's looking at expense reports right now, no shoes, feet, or anything of the sort.
Edited 2019-11-06 03:49 (UTC)
A Smart Robot's Guide to Babysitting: Extended Snamily, G
"Come on, don't you think you're taking this a little too seriously?" Brainstorm asks, pointing to the folders, binders, and color-coded indices threatening to tumble off of the kitchen table. Even Percy looks a little pale at the sight.
"Nonsense. Do you have any idea how many potential hazards there are to a young child in the average household? Even after mitigating risks wherever possible, I still count one hundred and twenty-seven areas of increased risk. You will find the complete listing in Appendix B along with their locations overlaid onto the blueprints for the structure in Appendix C. Mind you, that only counts structural hazards; for a non-exhaustive list of behavioral hazards, you will want Chapter 2 of Binder C, or the summary index in Appendix H."
"Sadaharu," Percy says weakly, "this is longer than the Tyrest Accord. Is it normal for this...babysitting...to involve such extensive notes?"
"From my understanding, we have provided more documentation than is standard; however, Kaoru and I agreed that this is something of a special case. He is still not entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving Shingo with you given your...lack of experience with human sparklings. I hoped this documentation would help assuage his fears."
"We'll be fine. I mean, how wrong can we really go in two hours? Oh, look! Did you see that, Percy? He smiled at me! Hi, Shingo. Excited to spend some time with your dad's dads tonight?"
Inui turns to Perceptor. "Look, just try not to blow anything up, keep Shingo out of anything he is not supposed to be in, and for the love of Primus, if there are any minor mishaps, do not announce them to Kaoru, okay? He has not stopped worrying since his mother called to report a broken ankle and a need to cancel the planned babysitting arrangements."
Megatron sighs and sets his poetry aside as the intercom on his door signals a visitor.
"Enter," he calls, pushing the button to unlock the door.
"Megatron, I apologize for interrupting your time off-duty, especially as I know you worked an extended shift yesterday due to the fault in the gravitation sensors requiring Rodimus's attention. I would not have disturbed you with work-related matters at this hour--"
"Out with it, Minimus. What happened?"
"There's a bit of a disagreement taking place in the science quarters right now. I was hoping you could settle it before it spirals any further."
"While I appreciate the vote of confidence, I am not a scientist, Minimus. I'm not sure how much help I can be. Unless you need a captain, at which point I assume you would have sought Rodimus as he is the captain currently on duty."
"It's not that. It has to do with some of the mineral specimens brought back from the last planetary expedition."
"If there were concerns about potential biological contamination, proper containment protocols should have been initiated. As I have received no notification of quarantine of the science wing, I assume that is not the issue?"
"No, nothing so serious as that, sir. There's been a disagreement in the classification of some of the specimens; it's becoming quite heated."
"And this requires my attendance in what way, Minimus?"
Minimus shrinks back in the doorway. "Once upon a time, you were a miner, captain. I thought if anyone on the ship could make a definitive identification of the specimens in question, it would be you."
"Very well. Let's go look at some rocks, Minimus."
"I believe that they are minerals, sir. There were no disagreements as to the classification of the rock specimens."
Megatron sighs. His poetry book just keeps feeling farther and farther away. He braces himself before Minimus unseals the door to the lab.
Chaos crashes down around him. Brainstorm is on the ceiling, again, doing something with lasers that almost certainly violates at least three different safety regulations. Nautica is at least on the floor where Robots belong, but he is suspicious of what appears to be a vial of concentrated acid in her hand.
"I hear there is an issue with some recently collected minerals?" Megatron says.
"It's not an issue exactly," Brainstorm says. "There's nothing wrong with it. We just can't agree on exactly what it is."
"I see. So where is this mystery mineral?"
Nautica holds up a chunk of clear, colorless crystal. "Here, Megatron. We've carried out some initial tests. Measurements of dimensions, mass, and topography are on the screen. Density comes out to 2.16g/cm^3. We were just setting up to measure index of refraction when you walked in."
"Is that why Brainstorm is on the ceiling?"
"Minimus wrote me up last week for shining lasers through a doorway. Can't have lasers escaping the lab if they originate from the ceiling and there's a non-reflective surface below them."
"For the record," Minimus says, "standing on the ceiling is also a violation of multiple safety protocols, especially as you do not appear to be using any of the specified personal protective equipment for working from heights. Please come down before I am forced to write you up again."
"But how can we identify the mineral without sufficient data?" Brainstorm counters.
"Still looks like a big hunk of salt to me," Swerve mutters from the corner.
"Brainstorm, come down from there," Megatron orders. "We'll gather that data later should it be necessary. Nautica, may I see that for a minute?"
He takes the crystal and turns it over in his hands. "Hmm, clean cleavage along the exposed faces, appears to be a cubic structure." He holds it up to his eye. "Only one Brainstorm."
"Thank Primus for that," Highbrow mutters behind him.
"Does anyone have a flask and some distilled water?" Megatron asks. "And also a flame. I believe we should test solubility in water, and if soluble, perform a flame test. Perceptor, you do have a spectrometer somewhere in that scope of yours, don't you?"
"Yes. What am I looking for?"
"Wavelengths of peak bands in the emissions spectra. To limit noise, preemptively filter out spectra for any of the halides," Megatron says as he breaks a corner off of the crystal and dissolves it.
"All set," Percy says. "Is there a specific part of the spectrum I should focus on."
"Visible light. I don't want to influence the data by specifying further than that. Do we have a flame in here?"
"That's my cue!" Brainstorm announces. He holds up a finger, and a blue flame flickers from his fingertip. "Built in blowtorch. Isn't it cool?"
"It will do." Megatron dips a wire into the flask and holds it to the flame. For a second, the flames flicker a bright orange yellow. "Perceptor, did you get that?"
"589 and 589.6 nanometers."
"As I suspected. In that case--" he crumbles another corner of the crystal and licks it off of his fingers.
Behind him, Magnus chokes. "You can't just go licking experiments, Megatron! Do you have any idea how many protocols that violates? The safety hazards alone!"
"Megatron, that was the emission spectrum of sodium! Do you know what pure sodium can do?" Brainstorm yells at the same time.
"Salty," Megatron comments. "Your mystery mineral is halite. Also known as sodium chloride, or more colloquially, rock salt."
He turns and leaves in the beat of silence that follows.
"I find it relaxing," Yaku said in response to a question about his cosplay. "It's nice to have something that's not school to work on at night. Plus, it forces me to stay organized. If I start early, and keep half an hour free to work every night, then I'm not rushing at the end."
"One of my friends saw you at a con last year," another fan waiting for the Naruto panel to start commented. "She said you made your boyfriend's costume too. Is that true?"
"Yeah. He's here somewhere. I thought he wanted to see this panel, but he may have gotten distracted off in artists' alley. I swear he knows at least half the artists this year."
The previous panel finally let out, and a horde of Voltron cosplayers spilled out into the hall. Yaku was halfway to the door when he heard a commotion from the other end of the hall.
"GAARA!!!" a familiar voice shouted from across the con. "I LOVE YOU!!!"
He looked up, then braced himself as a spiky blonde barreled toward him. "Hi, Noya," he said as he caught Noya mid-leap.
"Guess what!? Guess what!? Everyone loves your cosplay! Believe it!"
Yaku stepped back to inspect said cosplay. After the repeated near-disasters the previous year of a spiked wig subjected to more backflips and running than he'd planned for, he'd opted for more drastic measures this year. It appeared that the wig tape was holding where several dozen bobby pins alone had struggled before. Good. Noya had been making noises about wanting a Nine-Tails Chakra Mode Naruto cosplay for the past several months, but Yaku had resisted until he worked the wrinkles out of the current one. Maybe he'd surprise Noya with the sketches for his birthday.
"Of course they love you. You're a great Naruto!"
"Believe it!" Noya yelled, kissing him on the cheek. "Let's go! I want good seats for this, No Eyebrows."
Kaidou glared at the piece of paper. Too casual. He crossed it out and moved to a fresh line.
My favorite doubles partner,
Too revealing. Inui didn't have enough doubles partners to stay anonymous that way. More crossing out.
To a dear fellow student,
Kaidou grimaced and tore the page in half. Way too formal.
Dear Inui,
That should do. He turned back to the dozen tabs open on his computer screen. "How to Write a Successful Valentine," "Love Letters in Six Easy Steps," "Your Guide to Confessing to Your Crush," and so on. They were all agreed on the next most important part of his message.
"Tell him how he makes you feel," Kaidou muttered.
The examples onscreen were less helpful. "You make my heart skip a beat." "My stomach flutters when I think of you." "You take my breath away." If he tried any of those, Inui would be concerned. He didn't want to be subjected to a new and improved variation of Inui Juice. He'd drink it, for Inui, but why invite it?
I see more clearly around you.
That should do. How many lines to go?
Two hours later, he held the finished card in trembling hands. The wastebasket beside him overflowed with discarded drafts and typo-ridden cards. All that remained was to seal it in its envelope and slip it into Inui's locker the next day without being noticed.
He was halfway through licking the envelope when he stopped. He'd written the card. Inui had seen his training reports. Inui knew his handwriting. Inui would know the card was from him.
He cursed under his breath. Already past 2am. He was running out of time.
His eyes landed on the unwieldy pile of biology handouts on the corner of his desk. No other class generated as much paper. No one would miss a few words from the lecture notes and lab procedures. He dug a pair of scissors out of the bottom of a desk drawer and set to work.
To a data-driven researcher, What is your blood type? Are the types compatible? The retina transmits images to the brain through the optic nerve. Seeing is a complicated process. Scientific research is cooperative. Peer review and collaboration strengthen the scientific process. The heart is a muscle. Muscle fibers become stronger through use. In various historical traditions, the heart was considered the seat of the soul. from a research partner.
Perfect. Inui would never know. He waited for the glue to dry before folding his letter and sealing it into a clean envelope. He cut the letters of Inui's name out from the titles of lecture slides and glued them on the front. Finished, and with nearly three hours to spare.
The next morning, he waited for his opening. At least Inui's locker was not being swarmed by hordes of girls like some of the others. His chance came when Fuji drew everyone's attention to other way with a dramatic reading of old poetry outside of Tezuka's homeroom door. Fuji couldn't possibly know, could he? He made his move, shoving his letter through the front of the door as he casually walked past. He dried his hands on his pants and made his way to his classroom. No one seemed to notice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inui stopped him outside of the club room that afternoon. "AB. B," he said.
"Huh?"
"My blood type. Your blood type. Not a match, but not entirely incompatible either."
Kaidou could feel his face flushing. "You knew?" he mumbled.
Inui held out the letter. "Your biology notes," he said. "We reviewed them together before your last exam. The intersection of students in the class that gave out these notes and those who would address a letter to "Inui-senpai" is one. You."
"Sorry, Inui-senpai," Kaidou mumbled.
"No need. Probability sentiment expressed in the aforementioned letter is not unrequited: 100%."
Kaidou's head jerked up. "Really?"
Inui smiled. Usually an alarming expression. Not this time.
"Don't go, Toudou-san!" Manami cried, clinging to the sleeve of Toudou's jacket. "I love you."
"I know, Manami-kun," Toudou says as he detaches Manami's fingers from his sweater. "But I can't turn down this job offer. It's everything I could've hoped for. Fashion design! In Harajuku! Can you imagine?"
"I thought you'd stay here forever."
Toudou shuddered. "Stay in Hakone forever? Not going to happen. Have you looked around here lately? The fashion's at least a season behind Tokyo, and it's boring at that. Can't say I understand half of what comes out in Harajuku, but that's half the fun, isn't it?"
"Are you sure you have to go?"
"Hey." Toudou rests a hand on Manami's cheek. "Remember what I told you before the last day of the Interhigh?"
Manami sniffles. "That if the chance came, I should ride for the goal, even if it meant leaving the rest of the team behind?"
"Yeah, that. It's not bad advice for the rest of life either. Sometimes you just see that opportunity and know you'll regret it if you don't go for it."
"What if you come back and I don't love you so much anymore?"
Toudou pulls Manami into a tight hug. "We can cross that bridge if we come to it," he murmurs into the Manami's hair. "For now, know that I love you and I'll call you or message you whenever I can, okay?"
"I'll miss you, Toudou-san."
"I'll miss you too." He lets Manami cling to him for another minute before he peels himself away.
"Bye bye, Toudou-san," Manami says through his tears.
"I'll talk to you soon, Manami. Don't start skipping practices on me."
"It was what?" Hideya asked over his tea. "I don't think I quite followed that." A week left until Yata's show opened, and like usual, Yata had Opinions on the subject. Not so many Opinions as Flowers for Algernon had generated, but still enough that Hideya was on his third cup of tea.
"I said I don't understand why Shakespeare is held up on the pedestal he is. Prolific playwright? Definitely. Popular playwright? No argument from me. Great literature? That's where I draw the line. Have you read Shakespeare!? His humor is juvenile and frequently crass. He heavily on obvious tropes. Popular entertainment, yes. High literature, no."
"And his all connects back to Hamlet how?" Hideya asked.
"It's all part of the bigger picture. You can interpret the character however you like, but it will fall flat if you don't take the audience's perspectives into account. It's less of an issue with original or lesser known works where the audience comes in with fewer suppositions, but for well known works like Hamlet and the Scottish Play."
"Macb--"
"Don't say it!"
"I thought you didn't believe in curses."
"They've never been scientifically proven; there's quite a bit of evidence out there on the power of suggestion. But they haven't definitively disproven the curse on the Scottish Play either. Better safe than sorry."
"I love that brain of yours," Hideya said. "And you of course."
"Love is a social construct."
"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it can't also be real."
The first thing Megatron noticed was the ceiling overhead. Unexpected. He hadn't expected to open his eyes again at all.
The second was pain, so widespread and pervasive it hadn't even registered at first.
The third was a familiar, irritated voice grumbling beside him.
"Ratchet?" He tried to raise his head to see.
The grumbling cut off abruptly. "You shouldn't even be conscious right now. No, stop that. Don't move! If you insist on being difficult, you could disable your pain receptors, Primus knows I don't have the time or hands for that right now."
A seemingly simple order, and yet one that took longer to execute than it should have as he pushed through the haze of pain to catch hold of the steps that slipped past his fingertips. The pain ebbed to a steady rumble instead of the harsh roar of a whirlpool. "What happened?"
"I should be asking you that."
The memories inched back in to the space vacated by the pain. He jerked under Ratchet's hands. "Tarn!?"
"Defeated, but not before he almost did the same to you. Blasted a hole in your frame big enough Ravage could get inside, severed multiple primary energon lines, one of which is leaking into your exchange filters, and shattered your spark casing. What were you thinking, haring off alone like that!?"
"The DJD was mine. I helped make Tarn who he was. It's only right that he be defeated by my hand. The Autobots don't need to get involved in internal Decepticon conflicts; too many lives have already been spilled."
He gasped as Ratchet's fingers tightened over his exposed spark. "Nonsense!" Ratchet snapped. "Your poetic justice can go off with Magnus's rules and regulations. The Lost Light isn't abandoning one of its captains. Even said captain does his best to get himself killed out of a misplaced sense of moral duty. Captain goes off, discovers the Necrobot is real, has a quasi-religious awakening, and rather than any healthy response decides to throw himself in front of one of the most dangerous Decepticons out there. Always told Drift--"
"Ratchet, I have the reports you wanted, I'll--Ah, I'll just leave them on the desk here. I'm out front if you need me."
"Not now, Velocity," Ratchet muttered. "Now where was I?"
From the Archives: Transformers, Orion Pax/Megatron, G
The duty of the Librarians is to preserve all information passed through them. Librarians are not to to alter, destroy, or otherwise modify any data that passes through their possession. The Librarians treat all data equally without any sort of value judgement.
So Orion Pax had been trained, and so he tried to act during the time he spent on duty. Receive transmissions from the wavelengths to which he was assigned, attach the appropriate metadata to the record, and hand it off for further processing and storage. It was not his place to judge anything he might come across. In fact, in the interest of efficiency, he should not even play back the transmissions, except if he suspected they might be corrupted. His job, as a Librarian at the bottom of the ladder, was simply to pass information forward in a usable form.
He tried to follow the mandates of his job. He had no trouble in the beginning.
Then, his assignment shifted to the transmissions originating from a distant mining operation. In theory, there shouldn't have been much coming from the site. Transports to and from were infrequent, and the rest of the time, the location was silent.
At least, that was what the summary he had been given said. It never mentioned the transmissions he stumbled across on a little-used frequency that shouldn't have been transmitting at all. He received them, filed them, and passed them on, but he also listened. Five minutes in, and he was certain the transmission should be flagged for further review. Ten minutes, and he was doubting his earlier certainty. Thirty minutes in, and he was certain both that it should be flagged, and that he would not be the one to do so. He set the usual, nondescript identifiers on the file and shuffled it on into the system.
He assigned himself to an extra shift in accession processing at the time of the next transmission.
Several light years away, a relatively unknown miner continued the broadcasts that would bring them together before tearing them apart.
Re: From the Archives: Transformers, Orion Pax/Megatron, G
"Does it really require this much..." Inui waved his hand at the kitchen counters, which were currently covered with more cookie sheets, cooling racks, and bowls of brightly colored sugar and small sugar shapes than could possibly be required for such a seemingly simple process.
"Ya!" Shingo yelled from his perch atop a step stool at one end of the counter. By Inui's calculation, the quantity of frosting and decorative sugar currently in his hair and clothing was roughly equal to the quantity that had ended up on the cookies currently cooling by the sink. The quantity of spilled ingredients on the floor was at least equal to the sum of the former two. Kaoru had already used an entire two pound box of confectioner's sugar in the frosting alone, not to mention the five pound bag of sugar that had disappeared somewhere into the dough. Plus a truly alarming quantity of butter, and absolutely nothing that could be considered to have any sort of significant nutritional value.
"What about replacing some of the sugar with nutritional vegetable powder?" Inui asked. "I have a new formula to test, and it should make for a nice festive green color."
Kaidou hissed and stepped between him and the mixer.
"Maybe the frosting? By my calculations, up to twenty-five percent by weight could be substituted with protein powder without adversely affecting the consistency or structural integrity."
"MINE!" Shingo yelled, grabbing the pastry bag in his little hands and leaving another brightly colored trail across the formerly clean surface.
Inui held up his hands in surrender. Probability Shingo would throw a tantrum if anyone interfered with his process: 99%. Defeated, he turned back to Kaidou. "Okay, what do I do in this...cookie...process?"
Kaidou pointed to the sink, currently piled high with mixing bowls and measuring cups. "Wash."
Edited 2019-12-25 02:44 (UTC)
Re: Half-Baked: Tenipuri/Yowapedal, InuKai + Kinjou, G
Inui! What marvelous restraint! I commend you! And Kinjou is such a cute baby... with very good fathers. Kaidou, A+ management skills, this is why you got to be Captain.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Happy Day: Matenrou OT3, T
One last pass through the living room with a dusting cloth to make sure every surface shone. A bouquet of red roses split into smaller vases and arranged artfully around the apartment. That took fifteen minutes, but the food still hadn't arrived. He rearranged his list. Freshly washed sheets on the bed turned down, pillows fluffed, and a chocolate placed in the center of each.
Twenty-three minutes later, the buzzer rang.
Hifumi opened the door to a very sodden delivery person.
"Sorry I'm late. The weather is making a mess of traffic, and there's some sort of problem by the station. Half of the roads were closed."
"Don't worry about it!" Hifumi said, still high on excitement. "There's still time! I'll take these from you. Get home same!"
"Thank you, sir!"
Hifumi took the bags before the delivery person could try to be helpful and track water all over his clean floors in the process. He hurried back inside. Five minutes until Jakurai and Doppo should return, but that was still enough time to transfer the food from the bags to the covered trays on the counter. He finished with thirty seconds to spare.
He straightened his tie, adjusted his jacket, and leaned against the counter to wait.
Ten minutes later, he shifted to the table.
Ten more minutes, and he was on the sofa.
Thirty minutes after Jakurai and Doppo were due back, he was pacing the living room as he checked his phone repeatedly. It was unlike them not to at least send a quick message if they were significantly delayed, and it was even less like them not to answer their phones at all.
"Hi, Sensei. It's me, Hifumi. Just wanted to make sure you're okay; you're really late getting home. Give me a call or something when you get this? Love you. Bye-bye."
"Hey Doppo, it's Hifumi. The office didn't eat you or something, right? Send me a text or something when you get this? And just say the word if we need to come rescue you."
Nearly an hour later, Hifumi's path was showing in the freshly vacuumed carpet, and he was debating the merits of calling a certain member of a rival crew for help when the apartment door opened.
"Doppo, you're late! More importantly, you're soaked! What happened?"
Doppo stared blankly at him, blinked, then shook his head vigorously, sending water flying everywhere. "Someone dropped the month-end expense reports down the stairs by mistake on their way to deliver them. I had to put them back in order before I left. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it," Hifumi said, pulling Doppo in for a hug despite the wet. "I'm just glad you're safe. That doesn't explain how you ended up drenched though."
"The train wasn't working. I couldn't hear the whole message, but the conductors said something about an accident with something on the track? I don't know; they said it would be be faster to walk."
"Didn't Sensei send you out with an umbrella this morning?"
"The wind," Doppo said with a shudder. "It's awful; it's like a typhoon out. Sensei's umbrella died before I crossed the street. I'm sorry I broke it. I think I broke my phone too; it's all wet and not working."
"I'm sure Sensei won't care about the umbrella. Give me your phone; let's see if we can save it." Hifumi took the sodden square Doppo offered and carried it into the kitchen. He kept a container of rice in the back of a cabinet for exactly this purpose.
"Oh, you had something planned," Doppo said when he noticed the table. "I'm sorry I ruined your dinner. I'm the worst."
"Seriously, don't worry about it. We can eat later, or reheat it some other night. Sensei's not home yet either. Have you heard from him?"
Doppo shook his head. "I thought he had an early shift today?"
"So did I, but he's not here, and he's not answering his phone either. Something must have come up. Anyway, that should dry out your phone if it can be saved. Now, let's get you out of all these wet things. That can't be comfortable."
"I hadn't really noticed," Doppo said softly.
Hifumi sighed as he slid off Doppo's jacket and let it fall to the floor with a wet thud. For someone who spent so much time in them, Doppo really had no appreciation for nice clothing. If left to his own devices, he'd live in whatever ill-fitting, hideous suit he found on the discount rack at the thrift store. Hifumi knew; he'd quietly shuffled more than one truly atrocious businesswear abomination to the back of Doppo's closet and then out into the donation pile.
He undid Doppo's tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Doppo tried to help, but despite saying he wasn't cold, he was shivering too badly to be of much use. "Stay here," Hifumi ordered as he ran to the bathroom and returned with the biggest, fluffiest towel he could find. He stripped off Doppo's shirt and undershirt before wrapping him up. It was more difficult to get Doppo the rest of the way undressed around the towel, but at least he'd be warm.
"Sit down and let me take off your socks," he said as he ushered Doppo toward a chair.
"You don't have to."
"But I'm going to anyway. You'll feel better when you aren't all cold and soggy. How about we take a nice hot shower together while we wait for Sensei?"
"I think he's almost here," Doppo said as his socks joined the pile of wet clothing. "I just heard the elevator."
Hifumi looked up, and sure enough, he heard familiar footsteps coming down the hall. He jumped up and ran to open the door.
"Welcome home, Sensei--What happened to you too!? You're a mess!"
Jakurai stepped inside, then sagged against the door as he wrestled with his boots.
"Here, let me get those for you," Hifumi said, dropping to his knees. "You rest. You look like you were run over by a freight train."
"Not a freight train," Jakurai corrected. "A commuter train, and not me, a bus that broke down on the tracks."
"Oh, that sounds bad."
"It was. They've cleared it now. We rescued everyone and stabilized those who needed to be brought to the hospitals. The last ambulances left, and it's in the hospitals' hands now. Everyone should be fine; the train crews were moving the damaged train when I left."
“You’re freezing,” Hifumi said, holding Jakurai’s hands in his. “Stay here and get out of all of these wet things.”
He ran back to the bathroom for another towel. When he returned, Jakurai had stripped off his jacket and hung it by the door, but he seemed to be having some trouble with his turtleneck. “Sensei, do you need a hand?”
There was a bit more struggling and muttered curses before a quiet “if you wouldn’t mind, Hifumi-kun. I seem to have been entangled by my hair.”
Hifumi stepped closer and tugged on the stretchy fabric, only to realize that Jakurai had not been exaggerating. Somehow, his hair had managed to wrap around his wrists and trap them over his head.
“Give me a minute, Sensei, you’ve created quite the tangle here.” He pulled the turtleneck back down and tried to parse out which pieces of hair belonged where. It reminded him of the puzzles he had done as a kid tracing balls of yarn to their end. He had always been terrible at those mazes. “Why didn’t you pull it back first or something? Or at least tuck it into your jacket?” Hifumi muttered. “Doppo says it’s like a typhoon out there.”
"I had other things on my mind," Jakurai says, his voice muffled by the bunched up cloth. "And I wasn't wearing a coat; it would have been in the way."
"You're taking a bath," Hifumi announced. "You and Doppo both." After a bit more tugging, he finally managed to free Jakurai and extricate him from his tangled shirt. "I'm going to go start the bath now, and when I come back, I want you out of the rest of your clothes. Here's a towel."
"That sounds lovely, Hifumi-kun. Thank you. Did something happen to Doppo-kun?"
"Just getting caught in the rain. He's as wet as you are."
"Make sure he doesn't catch a chill," Jakurai said. "You know he'll forget to change on his own."
"He's in the kitchen now and already out of his wet things. We were about to take a shower when you walked in. I'll be right back. Get out of your wet pants before you get sick."
Hifumi hurried to the bathroom and turned the tap on almost as hot as it would go. One of the definite perks of Jakurai's apartment over his old one was the bathtub. It was dark marble, and plenty big to hold all three of them together. A wide lip around the edge was perfect for storing toiletries and spare towels, and with the touch of a button, it could be converted into something more akin to a hot tub with water pulsing through jets around the edge. The bath was a little warm currently, but he didn't know how long it would take to herd his boyfriends in the right direction, and he also didn't want the water to chill too much once he dumped two human-shaped ice cubes into the tub.
He left the bath running and returned to the living room. Jakurai was no longer in the entryway, and while his turtleneck was still a soggy puddle on the floor, his pants did not appear to have joined it. Hifumi frowned and turned to the kitchen. There, he found Doppo apologizing for transit delays out of his control and the umbrella he had broken. Doppo was still sitting in the same chair he had been in when Hifumi left. Jakurai knelt beside him, speaking softly and drying Doppo's hair with the corner of his towel. His pants were starting to leave a puddle on the floor under him.
"Sensei, what did I say?" Hifumi said from the doorway.
"I was just helping Doppo-kun for a moment. It seemed more pressing than clothing."
"And now it's bath time. Come on, both of you. Sensei, pants off before I take them off."
With a combination of nudging, pleading, and gentle threats, Hifumi managed to herd his boyfriends into the bathroom, and then into the bathtub. He checked he hadn't forgotten anything, then climbed in after them. He handed a bottle to Jakurai. "Here. Detangler. Use it and leave it in or we'll be here forever. Doppo, scoot over and let me wash your hair."
He grabbed the shampoo and slid in close to Doppo, wrapping their bodies together as he worked stray leaves and bits of mud out of Doppo's hair. He had never figured out how Doppo's hair managed to attract so much random junk. He was convinced it had to be part of the same supernatural magnetism that left flyaway bits no matter how much product he had used to try to smooth them down.
Doppo relaxed into him as he worked his fingers through Doppo's hair. It was a favorite trick of his for relaxing his permanently stressed friend; nothing like a good scalp massage to turn Doppo into a calm puddle. By the time he finished, Doppo was half asleep against him. He propped him up against the side of the tub and hoped he wouldn't slip down while his hands were full elsewhere.
Jakurai's hair was going to take awhile. Not that it didn't always take awhile solely by virtue of its length and thickness, but there was a difference between normal maintenance and the rat's nest it had currently turned into (he really roped there weren't any actual rats in the mess; he hated rats). He picked up a corner of the tangle and started to work, combing out a small section and laying it over the edge of the tub before moving on to the next.
There was something almost meditative about the process. He lost track of how long it had been since it started, but at some point, Doppo began snoring softly behind him. Jakurai was silent too, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. He worked steadily, watching the tangle in front of him shrink under his hands.
When he finally finished, he let his head fall forward. He'd just rest for a minute here, surrounded by the familiar smell of Jakurai's shampoo and cologne.
He must have nodded off, because the next thing he knew, he was being lifted out of the tub and wrapped in a soft robe. Still half-asleep, he pushed against Jakurai's chest. "I can do it myself," he mumbled.
"There's no need for that. You've earned your rest."
Hifumi tried to fight it, but the fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face were too compelling, and he drifted off again. It was safe here curled up against Jakurai's chest. Suddenly, they were moving, and he clung on more tightly until they stopped and Jakurai uncurled his fingers from the fabric. He whined at the sudden loss of warmth.
"I'll be right back," Jakurai promised. "I'm just getting milk for you and Doppo. Milk is good after a bath."
Hifumi let go reluctantly. He pulled his robe closer too him and looked around, still trying to clear the sleepy fog from his brain. Doppo looked equally forlorn sitting in the chair next to him. Without thinking, he slid his chair around the corner of the table and pulled Doppo onto his lap. Luckily, Doppo seemed to be just as in want of cuddling as he was.
Hifumi heard Jakurai's warm laugh behind him when he returned. "There have to be more comfortable places to sit than that," Jakurai said.
"It's fine," Hifumi replied, but Sensei clearly wasn't convinced, because he picked up the both of them and carried them to the sofa. Then, he wrapped them both in blankets before carrying over their mugs of warm milk and settling himself between them.
"You're both such good boys," Jakurai said softly. "I'm lucky to have found you."
Hifumi leaned against Jakurai's chest, surrounding himself with Jakurai's familiar scent. "We love you, Sensei," he mumbled.
Waterfall: Naruto, Ino/Sakura, G
"Do you have any idea how much intelligence planning a campaign takes?" Ino asks. "And how much useless dross we have to sift through to get anything even slightly useful? I'm pretty sure Naruto could go out, demand every person he meets tell him what they're planning, and come up with at least as much as we have with an entire unit and all of our fancy tricks."
"They say 90% of war is in the waiting," Sakura replies as she unzips Ino's jacket and tosses it aside. "So, are they summoning you back at some unholy hour again, or do you finally get a break?"
"Officially, that's up to Ibiki; he's heading the field teams since we reshuffled. Unofficially, unless something big breaks, I'm not setting foot back in there for at least eight hours. Three consecutive nights on top of normal days is enough when we're still in the oh-so-lovely waiting mode. If anyone comes looking, Shikamaru's going to cover for me. He still owes me for last month."
Sakura laughs. She wasn't there, but she's heard the story of the near-miss with Kiba from all parties. It's a bright moment amid the grim monotony of looming war. It reminds her of their genin days--back before they really understood what it meant to be a ninja, and what it cost.
Fingers brush Sakura's cheek. "You look tired too," Ino says. "Did something happen that I missed?"
"Genin shouldn't be sent off to clear brush around the camp without anyone checking that they know how to use the tools first. Anyone who's been on duty for more than twenty-four hours a) should have been relieved at least eight hours ago, and b) most definitely should not be handling explosive tags. Oh, and two scouting parties were caught in a rockslide up on the mountain; the road is completely impassable now. So no, nothing of note, just the standard accidents that have us at capacity before the fighting even starts."
"You're still short healers, aren't you?"
"We sent a group of trainees out to Sunagakure for some hands-on training with poisons. They were supposed to bring some reinforcements from Suna with them on their return, but they're pinned in place by a sandstorm. Five days already, and the latest report says it's showing no signs of abating. With Tsunade stuck in Konoha, Shizune's taking the lead in the field, but that means she's spending more time coordinating than treating. I'm the next most senior healer after her."
"Let me help."
"You're needed elsewhere."
"I could come when I'm free."
"You need rest," Sakura murmurs, stepping closer and pulling Ino in until their foreheads touch. "We both need rest, but too many people are counting on us, right?"
"Yeah. Damn it! How did this happen to us?" Ino asks. She runs a thumb along the edge of Sakura's hairline. "Remember when I used to tease you about your forehead?"
"We were terrible, weren't we? And painfully naive."
Ino shrugs. "I mean, I still think it's true. You could do your hair like mine."
"And spend even more time than I already do getting blood out of it? I'll pass."
They stand as they are for another moment. Here, out of sight of the rest of the armies with no one looking to them, they don't have to pretend. They're tired. War is tired, even if no one will admit it. Long gone are the days when new genjutsu were the highlight of the week and shiny, unused kunai were strapped proudly into holsters. Now, whatever shine there once was is hidden under scratches and dents and layers of tarnish. Or maybe, the shine was only a decorative veneer, and now it's worn away to reveal the cold, dull steel below.
"Hey," Sakura says, "what about a girls' night tonight? Just the two of us."
"Out here? What are we going to find in the middle of this forsaken mud puddle? And what if someone shows up looking for us? Can you imagine if Kiba walked in on us with face masks on? Or Neji? We'd never hear the end of it."
"I know a place. I was out here on a mission with Tsunade once in conditions a lot like this."
"What if we're needed?"
"Shizune will know where to find me, and do you really think no one in your unit could get a message to you if they needed, oh mistress of messing around in people's heads?"
"Fine, but whatever this is, it had better be worth keeping me out of bed for a second longer than necessary."
"I think it will be. Come on, follow me."
Sakura shoves their toiletries and a couple of towels into a bag before slipping out of the back of their tent. After a furtive glance around, she sneaks down a path to the rear of the camp.
"You could just ask you know," Ino whispers. "There's one sentry two hundred meters ahead, but that's it. They decided the river was enough protection back here for now."
"Anyone we know?"
"Nope. I think he's one of the new chuunin. You may have crossed paths with him in the village sometime, but no one we've ever had a mission with."
"Good," Sakura replies. "Leave this one to me."
"Why do you get to have all the fun?"
"Because I have to be nice and reassuring to people all day. You don't."
They turn a corner and the sentry jumps to attention, knocking over a pile of stones in his haste to make it look like he hasn't been inattentive on the job. "State-, state your names and orders," he stutters.
"Haruno Sakura, lead medic on base, and Yamanaka Ino, head of Konohagakure Intelligence Division's Analysis Team leaving camp."
"De-, destination and anti- anticipated return ti- time?"
"Destination is classified. Return, before dawn."
"I'm not supposed to let anyone leave without recording where they're going. I need to check with my commanding officer," the sentry says. Sakura gives him credit for standing his ground even though his knees shake.
"Look, kid," she says. "If we had really wanted to, we could have slipped right past your checkpoint and your little game of go without you even noticing, so I'll make you a deal. You let us through now, and no one knows you were distracted on watch. If anyone tries to give you a hard time for not pressing on classified information, you tell them to bring it up with Shizune or Ibiki. Sound good?"
The sentry scrambles for his log book. "Yes, ma'am! Have a nice night!"
They make it just around the next bend in the path before Ino doubles over with silent laughter. "Classified my ass," she says, "but you scared him pretty good."
"Then it's a good thing we were friendly. Hopefully he'll learn his lesson and not turn into a statistic in the casualty reports."
"Do you think someone will tell Shizune and Ibiki on us?"
"Nah, he might bring it up with his commanding officer, but my guess is the top of his command chain is either equally scared of those two and won't mention it, or someone we know who won't waste their time. Can you imagine someone like Genma bringing this report all the way to Ibiki? Plus, even if it does make it all the way up, this isn't the first war for any of us. Do you really think Ibiki would take you to task for what you do with your down time right now? I know Shizune won't."
"And people say Kunoichi are weak," Ino mutters. "I'd love to see them try you. You were terrifying there." She straightens and pulls Sakura in for a quick kiss. "So, where are we going?"
"To the waterfall."
"The waterfall? Really? I know some of you sage types are into it, but just for the record, meditating in cold water that's trying to drown you is not my idea of relaxing."
"I know. Just trust me." She leads Ino farther down the path away from the camp. It's not long before the last echoes of blades being sharpened and shinobi training are drowned out by the growing roar of water. The waterfall isn't the biggest she's ever seen, but it's large enough to dwarf the trees growing along the riverbank. The rocks at its base churn the water into an angry spray that drenches the path.
Sakura continues through the mist. When the path ends, she starts picking her away across the boulders piled at the base of the cliff, remnants of past rockslides and stone swept away by the river in storms.
Ino stops and stares at her. "Seriously? Rock climbing also not my idea of relaxation."
"Two more minutes and you'll see," Sakura promises. "Trust me, I was equally skeptical the first time Tsunade brought me here." She works her way nearly to the waterfall before she finds what she was looking for. It's completely hidden from view from the path, but there's a narrow opening in the cliff face. She squeezes inside and gestures for Ino to follow.
"I'm just going to trust we aren't exploring caves either."
"Technically, that one's actually correct," Sakura says. She can't see Ino's face in the dark, but she can imagine her expression, and that's almost as good.
The passage is less than ten meters long, and then it suddenly gives way to an open chamber. Sakura steps aside to give Ino a better view as she emerges.
Ino gasps as she steps out of the tunnel. At some point, erosion and wear carved a large cavern into the space behind the waterfall. The ceiling is high enough they could barely reach it if they stood on each other's shoulders. The front of the cavern is open but covered entirely by the roaring waterfall. The spray drips from the stalactites and stalagmites near the opening, but it doesn't reach to where they now stand. At the rear of the cavern, ringed by stones that glow a pale blue with some sort of otherworldly phosphorescence, is a pool of still water. Steam curls gently over its surface.
"Is that a hot spring?" Ino asks.
Sakura nods. "And not just any hot spring. Tsunade found it while she was researching chakra imbalances. Whatever makes the rocks glow is in the water too. Not only does it restore depleted chakra, it also can rebalance chakra points if you have any that are blocked or overly active."
"It's not going to make us glow or anything, is it?"
"Nope, but personal opinion, it's also great for your skin."
Sakura has barely finished before Ino is shedding her clothes and climbing into the pool. Sakura follows as quickly as she can.
"Oh, this is good," Ino says. "You were right; this was worth staying up for."
"Told you so," Sakura says, but her heart's not in it. All she really wants to do right now is float, and relax, and forget about everything outside, at least for a few minutes.
If Ino's long sigh is any indication, she feels the same.
Family Outings: Snamily, G
"Hey," Kaidou echoed from a safe distance.
"It's so good to see you!" Inui continued. "I've missed you even more than last time."
"I'm not that far away, Dad," Kinjou said quietly, "and I already see you more weekends than not."
"That's different," Inui countered. "Coming back for dinner once a week to escape your roommate's poorly designed, non-double blind studies involving cooking is one thing. Coming back here for a full two weeks is entirely different. Just think of how much data we could work through in that amount of time."
"Dad, did you not see my reply to your first message?" Kinjou asked. "I know we've always worked on these projects together since I the minute I was old enough to assist, but I won't be able to do that this time. I have term papers I need to finish before I return." Kinjou paused for a moment as the first inkling of an idea began to take shape. "I don't think I'll have the time for your projects this year, but how you would feel about assisting me with a research project of my own? As part of the child psychology class I'm taking this summer, I need to visit a location geared toward children and write a report on it. A lot of my classmates are planning to look at playgrounds and amusement parks, but I thought I'd do the science museum. It'll be interesting revisiting it from a more academic perspective rather than just as a recreational visitor."
"When are you going?" Inui asked.
"I was thinking Saturday, at least for the initial visit. I may need to do a few follow up trips later."
"Admission's free Saturday; it'll be busy," Kaidou said, still lingering in the doorway. When both Inui and Kinjou looked up at him, he shrugged. "It's on my running loop; I saw the signs outside this morning."
"That may be better for me, actually," Kinjou said. "The more visitors at the museum, the more data points for my observations, and the easier it will be to distinguish between personal preference and exhibit design in the way said visitors interact with the exhibits. The museum opens at 10, and I'd like to be there as close to that as possible to make sure I have plenty of time should observation take longer than anticipated."
"Would you like cameras?"
"No. We will not be recording other visitors."
"Are you sure?" Inui asked. "I've been working on some enhancements to existing glasses cameras to increase resolution and decrease weight and bulkiness. The newest prototype, finished less than twelve hours ago, features a fifty megapixel camera powered either by a behind-the-ear battery for up to one hour, or connected by a single wire from the back of the earpiece to an external battery pack for up to eight hours. It can also record audio independently and features a heads up display for the wearer with full internet connectivity. The camera lens sits nearly flush with the frame. It's no more visible than the attachment for a pair of magnetic clip-ons; the vast majority of people would never even notice its presence."
"That's exactly the problem," Kinjou said. "You can't just go around recording people for research purposes without their consent, especially not when the individuals in question are minors. I had to have my study proposal reviewed and approved by an ethics panel at school before I could even move forward with the study; there's no way they would have approved it if I had mentioned using the technology you proposed without significant additional work and permissions."
"But you didn't know about this technology then. Now you do, and it can save you considerable time compared to writing all of your notes out yourself. What if you forget something and want to refer back to it later? Or what if information you felt was irrelevant and did not note initially turns out to be a key data point for a future research question?"
"That's the way research works, Dad. If I want to do follow up studies later and feel a recording of interactions would be helpful, then I can submit a new proposal for approval. Until then, we're taking notes the old-fashioned way."
"Well that's less interesting. Can I at least bring the new pen I've been working on? It writes in three colors, but instead of three separate inks, it uses a single ink passed over three different catalysts to generate the color shifts. In theory, it should even be possible to create such novelty inks as glow-in-the-dark or fading with this technology. There were some kinks to work out along the way, as there always are, but I believe the prototype is now ready for field testing."
Kinjou winced. He knew how Inui's experimental process usually ran, and all he could say was he was glad he hadn't been home for this particular round. "You're sure it's stable and not a fire or explosion hazard?"
"The current model is, yes. One of the early models did have a faulty battery design, and some of the prototype compounds became unstable over time, but I've corrected those issues. The new prototype has shown no warning signs on any stress-testing so far. Unless you wanted a pen that could double as a detonator or a distraction? The same catalysis mechanism could be used for any number of processes, including the conversion of a stable compound into a less stable one."
"Not in the museum, Dad. If you're certain it won't pose an elevated risk to anyone else, then you can bring your prototype with you, but if there's any chance of it exploding, leaking toxic chemicals, or otherwise putting any museum visitors in danger, then it stays home."
"I am certain to within an acceptable margin of error of the safety of this prototype for normal use. I can show you the data if you would like. I have a second completed prototype if you would like to try it yourself."
"That's okay," Kinjou said. "I have my own pencil. Father, would you like to come along too?"
"Science Museum?" Kaidou grunted without interrupting his doorway pull ups.
"Yeah. We used to go all the time, but it's been years since we went as a family. Supposedly they have a new exhibit on physiology and exercise; I thought you might be interested."
Kaidou hissed.
"Great! I'll have an overview of my project, observation forms, and tally sheets prepared by Saturday. Even if you don't want to assist, I'd still welcome either of you."
"Of course we want to help," Inui said, adjusting his glasses so that the light glared off of them. "If you provide copies of your forms and your experimental methods by Friday, I would be happy to review them for you."
"I may take you up on that," Kinjou said, "but it can wait until later. I brought your favorite cakes from the bakery near campus that you liked. Let's eat before they go stale."
Reheasal: Utapri, Ai/Reiji, T
He's felt this feeling before. Only once. On a day he doesn't like to remember.
He climbs out of bed, already thinking about what to say to Ai. This isn't a rational feeling. It's not anything he can explain to his painfully rational roommate, but that doesn't make it any less real, or any less all-consuming. He doesn't have time to try to explain it right now; he needs to find whatever is wrong and fix it before it's too late.
Somehow, he makes it to the doorway without bothering Ai. He's halfway out the door before the relief turns into a new spike of worry. Ai is the lightest sleeper he's ever known, if he even sleeps at all. He's never so much as stirred at night without Ai noticing.
He turns around and pulls back the curtain on Ai's bed.
It's empty.
His world narrows as he bolts for the door. He has to find Ai. He has to find Ai now.
Ai could be anywhere, but his feet pull him down the hall to the practice rooms.
It must be nearly three, but the lights are on in the basement corridor. He follows them down the hall and around the corner to the one lone practice room in use. He doesn't even stop to read the sign-up sheet before he throws open the door.
Ai is at the piano playing the new song they've been working on.
"What are you doing!?" Reiji asks, snatching the music away.
"Practicing?" Ai replies, as if there isn't anything at all unusual about practicing a duet alone at three in the goddamn morning.
"It's the middle of the night! You need rest!"
"But it's not right," Ai says. "I can't pinpoint what's wrong with it, but something is off. I was collecting more data in hopes I could fix it."
"Leave it," Reiji orders. "We'll look at it tomorrow. Together."
"The evaluation is at the end of the week. If we don't pass, then you could lose your place in Shining Productions."
"We'll do fine," Reiji promises. "We'll make it work. You can't do a duet alone; you need both people for it to fit."
"Is it the way the sound resonates?" Ai asks. "I tried to take that into consideration with the piano. According to my analysis, the accompaniment I provided fills the same musical position as you would."
"It's not the sound," Reiji replies. How can he explain this? How can he explain it without saying the one thing he promised himself he'd never say to Ai. "It's the connection two singers make with each other in a duet. I feel what you're singing and respond to it; you feel what I'm singing and respond to it. A duet isn't a duet if there's no feeling shared between the two people."
"I think I will need to study this further. I do not understand the feelings you speak of. How is the connection I have to your voice any different than the connection I feel toward a piano or any other object that generates a sound. When I sing, am I not interacting with whatever may be in my environment?"
Reiji lets the sheet music drop the floor and grabs Ai in a tight hug. "It's different," he whispers. "I can't have a conversation with a piano. It doesn't disagree with me. I don't see it anywhere outside of the room that it's in. We don't have the same sort of shared memories and experiences. You're special, Ai; there's nothing I could replace you with that would be the same."
"I'm...still not sure I understand entirely, Reiji."
Reiji flushes. Here he is doing the one thing he said he'd never do again, not after Aine. "Forget it," he says. "Just, come back to bed? You need rest."
"I'm fine."
But I'm not, Reiji thinks. "Give it a break for awhile at least. You'll probably have better luck coming back to it in the morning with a fresh set of eyes."
"I don't understand," Ai says softly. "What does luck have to do with my ability to analyze music and develop an appropriate progression of notes, and what do you mean by fresh eyes? My eyes will be exactly the same tomorrow."
Reiji chuckles around the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "Never change," he whispers, "but please, come back to bed. The room feels wrong without you."
Surprises: Tenimyu RPF, Maeryu/Fuuma, T
Maeryu wanted to scream as another flat note (or was it a missed step this time) from across the room had them starting the encore song again from the beginning. He was so close to freedom, and yet as they started over for the umpteenth time, freedom had never felt so far away.
It took another three runs before the director was finally satisfied, but the minute they were released, Maeryu bolted for the changing space and showers as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion. As soon as he was presentable, he shoved all of his things into his bag and walked out the door before anyone else could come up with a reason to stop him.
"Oi, Ryuu! Are you leaving already?"
He turned; he had been so close to making it out of the building too.
"Want to grab dinner with us?" Taka asked, jogging up beside him. "I asked Yuusaku, and he agreed, but then he invited Toshiki, and, well.....you know. So I'm asking you. Consider it a trade for that time last year you still haven't paid me back for."
"Sorry, I can't. I already made plans."
Taka stared at him. "Other plans, huh? Fine, I guess. God, who else can I bring?"
"Shougo?"
"Absolutely not. A rock would be a less awkward dinner companion; you know how he gets around those two."
"Dai?"
"Maybe! I don't think he's left yet. Quick, what gossip can I use to bait him?"
"Toshi-kun was looking at camping gear on his phone during break yesterday," Maeryu said with a smirk. "I saw it in the mirror."
"Perfect. Wish me luck. Oh, and by the way, your other plans's charger is about to make a run for it."
Maeryu fumbled with his bag, shoving the offending cord back inside and wrestling the zipper shut the rest of the way. Maybe someday he'd finally return the charger Fuuma had accidentally left in the Rikkai dressing room during the last run. He kept meaning to, but then it inevitably slipped his mind, and this many months later, would it be weird to admit to still be carrying the thing?
He'd deal with the charger later, he decided. Right now, he had ten minutes exactly to make it to his destination. He slipped out the side of the building, sparing a quick glance around for anyone else who could try to waylay him. Satisfied the coast was clear, he turned down a side street. The chain stores and glass-walled restaurants of the main road gave way to market stalls, used bookstores, and cramped cafes in the labyrinth of side streets and back alleys.
He waved off a fishmonger, skirted around a couple of tourists blocking the street with their suitcases, and ducked into his goal. The cafe was tiny, but the bold, Ghibli-inspired fabric hanging from every surface had a certain charm, and it afforded privacy that could be hard to find elsewhere.
"Maeda-sama?" the woman behind the counter asked.
He nodded.
"Your friend is at the table in the back corner."
"Thanks." He hoped the massive grin threatening to split his face wasn't too obvious to everyone else. He sauntered casually to the table. "Hey," he said as he dropped into the open chair, "sorry I'm late. You know how rehearsals get near the end."
Fuuma looked up from his book and cocked an eyebrow. In Fuuma-speak, that was pretty much the same as a smile. "So who was it this time?" he asked.
"Who wasn't it might be the better question. Toshi-kun belted out a beautifully flat note the first time. Then Aoki tripped over his feet. Then Shou-chan got flustered by Toshiki being Toshiki and mixed up his rights and lefts. Then Shitenhouji came in a half-measure early for their verse. And then we were finally free. I'm pretty sure the encore is now permanently seared into my brain."
"It's a new song this time, right?"
"Yep. " He made a heart out of his hands. "I like you, Fuuma Fuuma. I need you, Fuuma Fuuma. I wanna meet agaaaaiiiin." He extended a hand toward Fuuma on the last note.
Fuuma raised his napkin to his mouth, but he wasn't quite quick enough to hide the smile sneaking out from the corners of his lips, and he'd need a much bigger napkin to hide the way the tips of his ears turned pink. "You're joking," Fuuma said once he recovered.
"Dead serious."
Fuuma still looked skeptical.
"Promise, but if you don't believe me, you'll just have to come see for yourself."
"Maybe I will."
"I bet everyone would like that." I'd like that could remain unsaid. "Anyway, how have you been?"
Fuuma shrugged. "Same as usual. Rehearsals are ramping up now. I know we weren't together for that long, but it's still weird being with a different cast."
"You'll get used to it. Trust me. Plus, after awhile, you start knowing everyone anyway; it's bigger than one team, but it's not that big a world."
"It feels big," Fuuma said softly, "and now we're the newcomers again."
"Hey," Maeryu tapped him on the forehead. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're a Tenimyu alum now; I'm sure you'll do great."
"That's one person at least," Fuuma said. "I'll do my best."
"Yuuya-san doesn't believe in you?"
That startled a silent laugh out of Fuuma before he caught himself. "That doesn't count, and you know it."
Maeryu raised his hands in surrender. "So, will rehearsals free you this Saturday?"
"Movement practice in the morning, but I'll be free in the afternoon. Why?"
"I thought we could go somewhere."
"The Ghibli Museum again?"
"No, but close. Well, sort of close. There's this museum I heard about; it's not really Ghibli, but it's that same sort of style, and they have a new exhibit opening this weekend, and they're doing a special event for it." He cut himself off. "Anyway, it seemed like something you'd like."
He handed over his phone with the website open and watched for the little twitch of a smile as Fuuma scrolled through the page.
"I'd love to," Fuuma said.
"Cool!" He smiled. "But there's one condition."
"Oh?"
"None of this face," he said, reaching over to tap Fuuma's lips. "I'm not saying it's not a charm point, but you're allowed to smile once in awhile you know."
"It's part of my image."
Maeryu raised his hands. "I know; I'm just saying you can let it go sometimes. So, condition: we go to the exhibit opening, and while we're there, none of this. Deal?"
Fuuma seemed to contemplate the idea for a minute as he continued to look through the site. Then, he leaned in with a quick, startling kiss. "Deal," he said as he broke away with one of the wide, genuine smiles that made Maeryu giddy. "I can't wait."
Center Stage: Tenimyu RPF, MasaBaba, T
Masa moved back to the starting position for his final solo. They had rehearsed it hundreds of times before Ueshima had decided, less than twenty-four hours before the press performance opened, that it didn't work for the climactic moment of the show, and he and the choreographer had restaged the entire piece to be more dynamic.
He liked the old staging more. It had been comfortable--something he was confident he could perform.
But Ueshima had a vision, and that vision involved a running leap landing on center stage as he drew his sword.
It was fine, he thought as the opening bars played. His ankle was fine now, well, fine enough, but really, what was the difference? He could land it, and then he had a full eight counts for his heart to stop pounding before his first line. It was. Fine.
Wait 1...2...," Ueshima called, "step 3...4... Run 5 and 6. Jump 7. Land 8. Draw 1. Hold 2. Lunge. Recover. Forward. Forward. Turn and strike. Better. But the jump's still short. Start back in the wings for step, step. 5 and 6 to quarter; jump land center. Again. Explode."
Masa walked back to the wings. It wasn't exploding that was the problem per se, it was what came after.
As the opening bars played again, he caught sight of Bachon in the the opposite wing. Of course he'd show up now; he was probably wondering what the delay was. Much longer, and it would tight to get into makeup and costume in time. Masa gritted his teeth and stared at the X in the middle of the stage. This was his first chance at a lead role since...since that. He couldn't blow it. One. More. Time. On the count, he drove off of his mark and landed dead center right as the spotlight locked onto him.
"Good. Do it just like that tonight. Now go get ready."
Masa bowed. "Thank you, Sensei," he said as the curtain closed.
Bachon strode onstage, and Masa turned to glare at him. "What?"
"You okay?"
Masa raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've been up here for awhile, and the new staging seems--" his eyes flicked down and back up "--challenging."
"It's fine," Masa snapped, sharper than he intended. "Ueshima-sensei's just particular. You know how he gets."
"You're sure? It's a lot of shows, and you're still......" He trailed off, now pointedly staring past Masa's shoulder.
"Still what?" Masa pressed. It was just like Bachon, wasn't it? At least he didn't say it outright, but you couldn't miss the concern rolling off of him...until something shiny in a window distracted him and he hared off after his own whims. He always came back though, as if nothing had happened, and it hadn't been an hour standing in the freezing rain waiting.
"I'm not the only one worried about you, you know," Bachon said as he stepped closer.
"If there's a problem with my performance, Ueshima-sensei can talk to me. Beyond that, it's not your concern." He turned and tried to walk away, but Bachon caught him by the wrist.
"You're scared."
"I'm. Fine." Masa yanked Bachon close and there, on center stage in the last thirty seconds before the stage crew kicked them off, he kissed him. "See?" he said when he broke away. "Now go get ready."
Kiss the Groom: Butai RPF, YoneKen, T
Maybe that was an unfair judgement The bride and groom seemed to be having the time of their lives. The guests had no end of compliments for the space, the food, and the nearly married couple. Maybe he was the only one currently nursing a massive hangover, not enough sleep, and a bitter taste in his mouth that he couldn't seem to get rid of.
Maybe that was just what happened when one's best friend and the man one had loved for years married someone else. He wouldn't know. This was a new experience for him.
He put on his best smile as yet another group of fellow actors and musicians came over to exchange greetings. No matter what his manager might say, he did know how to behave himself properly in public. That last lecture before he left had been entirely unnecessary.
It was hard to keep track of who he had already spoken too and who he hadn't--so many people he had crossed paths with at some time or other, and so little variety in the topics for passing conversation.
"You holding up okay?"
He turned at the hand on his shoulder. Kamimiya Ryuji stepped into the space just vacated by Kazuki and offered Yone a glass of milk.
"I'm fine," Yone though the sound wasn't convincing, even to him.
"Still have your phone this time?"
Yone glared and dangled it between them. He could already he wouldn't be allowed to forget any part of that story for at least three years. He snatched his phone away and moved on before Ryuuji (or anyone else) could come back with more points of irritation.
It wasn't until many hours later, after most of the guests had departed, that he finally found the groom alone and not in the middle of haring off to whatever new person or thing demanded his attention just then.
"Congratulation, Kenken," he said.
"Thank you. I'm so happy you could make it, and that you made it back to the hotel safely last night."
"It was a day," Yone said quietly.
"Tell me about it; I don't know about you, but I could use to just sit for a minute. Here. Come with me; I know a nice spot in the garden."
Yone followed Kenken through the open doors, across the stone patio, and into the small, enclosed garden behind them. When Kenken sat on a bench, he sat next to him, the rules of propriety warring with his desire to sit as close to Kenken as possible.
"So how have you been?" Kenken asked. "I feel like I've barely seen you since we made the wedding announcement. I guess wedding planning does that to a person."
Yone laughed at that. Of course. It had been Kenken's wedding planning and rehearsals schedules that had kept them apart for the last several months. It had absolutely nothing to do with him. "Fine. It's been busy juggling Yousuke Kousuke and shows. You know how it is."
Now it was Kenken's turn to laugh. "Do you remember our music days? I don't think I'd go back, but those are some good memories. I'm glad everyone could make it today."
"Hey, on a related note, are you free the first weekend in November?"
Kenken blinked and cocked his head. "Off the top of my head, I think so. Why?"
"I'm doing a live show that Saturday. We just got confirmation from the place for two shows. Want to be a guest?"
"Sure. Is there a theme?"
"Thanks! You're a lifesaver!" Yone leans in close and kisses Kenken on the cheek, throwing propriety to the wind. It may have been Kenken's cheek, but his lips remembered Kenken's, even though it had been years now. "It's going to be called 'Kiss Me'."
Kenken laughed again. "Never change," he said. "Of course I'll come." Then, he leaned in, and the taste of his lips was no longer just a memory.
For Luck: Tenimyu RPF, DaiYun, T
In his haste to make it back to his dressing room (and his towel, which he had forgotten to bring up to the wings with him again), he nearly crashed into Yuuta, who was currently pacing the back hall and humming to himself.
"Yun?" he asked. "What are you up to?"
Yuuta stared at him like a deer in the headlights. He wouldn't be making his appearance until the curtain call, but he was already in costume and ready to go. The wardrobe department would probably thank him for making their lives easier during the already chaotic second act, but Daisuke knew that was the last thing on Yuuta's mind.
The silence stretched between them, and in it, Daisuke heard the faint sound of the music coming from the headphone Yuuta had dropped. "Aimer, really?" he said. "How many hundreds of times have you rehearsed this already?"
Yuuta snatched the earbud back from him. "It's different."
"It's not that different. No more different than the preview concerts were."
Yuuta just stared at him.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's different?"
"'Aimer' is a duet. It's always been a duet."
Now it was Daisuke's turn to stare. "Of course it's a duet, and it's still a duet."
Yuuta shook his head. "It's not. Usually it's two duets: Romeo and Juliette and Furukawa and Aoi, or Kinoshita, or Ikuta. Today, at the very least, there's a quartet and four duets. Romeo and Juliette, but also Romeo and Romeo and Juliette and Juliette. The pairs switch partway through, so there's the lingering harmony of the contrast between the two pairs. Ohno-san and myself have two different relationships with Romeo, and they've never had cause to meet. What if they turn into dissonance instead of harmony?"
Daisuke blinked. Now his head was spinning. Yuuta had that effect on people. "You're overthinking things again," he said. "Do it just like rehearsals, and you'll be fine. The audience is going to love you no matter what; they'd be thrilled even if all you did was walk onstage and bow."
Yuuta was clearly unconvinced. He didn't cut off the conversation entirely, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere, still running through the song yet again with his remaining earbud.
"Look at me," Daisuke ordered, putting his hands on Yuuta's shoulders and turning him until they were facing each other. "You go onstage, and you perform your Romeo, and you don't worry about whether it does or doesn't match the way anyone else plays him. The audience? They love you for you, so go give them what they want.
He pulled Yuuta in close to whisper in his ear. "You know, this reminds me of old times; all you need now is a racket in your hand instead of a rose."
That startled a quiet laugh from Yuuta. Then, it was his turn to surprise Daisuke as he turned his head to steal a quick kiss. "For luck," he said softly. "Just like old times."
"For luck," Daisuke echoed, giving Yuuta's shoulder one last squeeze before he left him to his practice.
In Shadow: Hypmic, Jakurai, T
The box sits in the back of a closet, buried under enough other boxes, spare blankets, and old clothing no one has discarded yet that it would be difficult to stumble upon it accidentally. So far as Jakurai knows, he's still the only one who knows it is here. He'd be happy if it stayed that way.
Right now, he's alone in the apartment, and the box is calling to him. He doesn't like to talk about it, but the box is always there at the back of his mind like an echo--sometimes faint and easily ignored, other times repeating itself over and over until it's heard. Maybe he shouldn't give in so easily. Maybe he should finally discard the box the next time they clean, but the box is part of him, and it's why he is the way he is now. Things could have turned out so differently without the box.
He kneels in front of the closet and slides the front panel open. Everything inside ends up in neat piles around him until, finally, all that remains is a single cardboard box. Its sides are battered, and its corners have been crushed for years, but it's still intact. Jakurai has lost count of just how many times the box has moved with him. He slides it out, opens the flaps, and lifts out a wooden trunk that just barely fits.
Perhaps trunk is the wrong word. It's really more of a briefcase or carrying bag. It is scuffed and battered just like the box, and in places, the leather looks as if it was singed once upon a time. Despite the wear, the structure is sound, and despite its apparent age, it is still obviously well-maintained. The leather has the faint sheen of something recently oiled, and the metal fastenings shine with evidence of recent polishing.
Almost reverently, Jakurai sets the case on the floor in front of him and opens the lid. Once upon a time, the entire case was filled to bursting with his medical instruments and supplies...or rattling with an ominous clatter as the battles dragged on and the supply chain failed. There's no need for it hold supplies anymore, but most of his instruments still gleam in their place. He's replaced them since, but any one of these holds more memories than an entire operating room with its trays of cold, sterile steel.
He touches each of them in turn, letting the memories flow through his fingers as he opens himself to the stories they wish to share. These shears cut loose a paratrooper who had become entangled in a tree on his landing. This clamp sealed a torn artery long enough for him to tie it off properly, stemming the pulse of blood until he could save the boy (and he had been little more than a boy; his collar still freshly-starched and his shoes barely broken in before they sent him out to the front of the battlefield). This probe had traced the path of too many bullets, helping him determine which ones were superficial wounds that could wait, which ones needed his immediate attention before a sharp piece of shrapnel tore through delicate arteries and organs, and which ones were beyond anything he could treat in the field--like the boy he had treated the day the armistice was signed; a bullet had torn through his kidney and shattered his spine. They had saved him, in the end, him in the field and the whole team of trauma surgeons and specialists that had come after him, but at what cost?
When at last he returns the final tool to its place, his head spinning with every story and half-forgotten memory now brought back to the fore, he sets aside the entire case. Underneath it lays his old uniform. It's folded into a perfect rectangle, virtually identical to how it looked when he first received it so many years ago. The folds have laid deep creases into the fabric over time, but the material still feels the same under his fingers.
He unfolds the jacket and runs his fingers along the buttons. How many times had he done just that, letting the smooth metal be an anchor as he broke down a plan of attack for an especially challenging problem, or even when he just needed a few seconds of his own before delving back into the fray.
It has been years, but the ghosts of the past still speak through his fingers. It has been years, but he can still picture the child he once was, almost as if he has summoned a ghost. He was smaller then, not of height but of build. The pale face that stares back at him is thin and drawn with the weight of responsibility and too many nights of little sleep. The apparition (or is it a memory?), reaches into the bag at his waist and takes out a scalpel handle.
Knowing what is coming next doesn't make it any less painful. His former self slides a new blade onto the scalpel, and suddenly his demeanor shifts. No longer is he a healer, burning himself out to save even just one more soldier. Now, he is the assassin. His accuracy with his weapon of choice is just as technical and precise as his work in the medical tents. He is nothing if not a living study in contradictions. By day, he heals every soldier who comes before him, regardless of rank or allegiance. Once he is freed from the medical tent, however, the scalpel he has used to heal so many, and will use to heal so many more, becomes the very antithesis of what he works for. The blades he uses now are dark as night; only their razor edges glint in the moonlight.
His past self is one soul torn in two directions. Everyone's hands have the capability to both hurt and heal; his are an anomaly in their extremes. The blood that covers his hands by day becomes a holy water that washes away the sins committed in the dead of night when the blood of his targets stains his hands black.
He holds the jacket to his chest, as if he could fold the apparition into his embrace. Gently, he presses his lips to the memory's shadowed face. It will be okay, he wishes he could tell his past self. You'll find yourself eventually.
Quiet: Tenimyu RPF, HideYata, T
In retrospect, he probably could have phrased the question better, or at least asked sometime when Yata wasn't in the middle of writing a philosophy paper.
"Did you know there's no universal definition of a kiss?" Yata continues. "Does it require contact between two pairs of lips, or is one set of lips anywhere on another's body sufficient? What about blown kisses? Is a kiss still a kiss if there's no physical contact? Historically, the answer has been "all of the above" and then some. Take Plato, for example--"
In a show of great restraint, Yata cuts himself off when Hideya groans loudly and rubs his temples. "Drop the philosophy for a minute," Hideya says. "You personally. Kissing. Yes or no?"
Yata blinks as if he'd just been asked the flavor of moon rocks. "That depends on context, of course. How well do I know the person I'm kissing? What is the nature of our relationship? Where are we and who else is present? Kissing a romantic partner in private is very different from kissing in public, though one could argue that the acceptability of public displays of affection is itself a social construct to be--"
The rest of his sentence is cut off by Hideya leaning in and pressing their mouths together.
"Like this," Hideya says when he breaks away. "You and me, here, now."
"Oh. Yes."
Learning to Be Loved: Transformers, MinMags, G
Megatron frowned as he hit send. Minimus knew the personnel requirements and the duty rosters of the Lost Light better than anyone else with the possible exception of Rodimus. As such, he would be fully aware of the strain Overlord's attack had put on the system. Frivolous requests were unlike him, which meant either it was a test or there was something more to the request. He expected he would find out which within five minutes. Just enough time to read one more poem.
Four minutes and twenty-three seconds later, the intercom on his door sounded. "Ambus Minimus to speak to Megatron."
"Come in, Minimus."
The doors slid closed behind Minimus who stood stiffly at attention in front of Megatron's desk.
"There was something you wished to speak about?" Megatron prompted when nothing appeared to be forthcoming.
"Ah, yes. About the matter of leave..." Minimus's gaze darted nervously around the room. "I'm afraid it really is necessary."
"Do you care to share the reasons why?"
Minimus stared at the floor. "This suit, it sustained some damage from Overlord."
"And this was not reported in your initial report why?"
"I was...otherwise preoccupied at the time and failed to notice the issue until recently."
"The medical bay is beginning to empty. Report there for repairs. If it's minor, any of the engineers they've pulled in should be able to fix you up in a flash."
"With all due respect, Megatron, it's not that simple. A few bearings have been bent out of shape, but according to Brainstorm, they're a custom design. He can replace them, but it will take a couple of days, and he needs to suit during that time to use a model for the machining."
"Ah," Megatron said as he sat back. He did see the shape of the problem now. Still, there were standards to uphold. "Request still respectfully denied. Forty-eight hours is too long for you to spend in isolation in light of current events."
"The suit needs repair, Megatron, and I can't just go wandering around the ship without it with my alt form being...what it is."
"Of course not, which is why you will report to my personal quarters at 08:30 tomorrow, and I will deliver your suit to Brainstorm myself."
"That isn't necessary, Megatron. I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to. Take your desk, for example. The angle of the workstation is fifteen degrees to shallow for the current angle of your seat, and the overhead lighting is in a sub-optimal position and using sources that do not conform to the most recent addendum to the lighting regulations."
"Nonsense, Minimus. There is nothing more pressing for me on this ship currently than ensuring the well-being of one of my most valued crew-mates. You will report here tomorrow and remain until repairs are complete. That is an order."
"Very well then," Minimus said stiffly. "In that case, I will take my leave until then."
"I do look forward to your company," Megatron said as the door slid closed. Now to determine where he could find a bed suitable for a turbo-fox on short notice, and look over the circulars he had been ignoring until he found the new lighting regulations.
Poisoning: Hypmic, Jakurai & Riou, T
He ducked into an alley beside the building and leaned against the cool brick wall. After a furtive glance around, he took a slender silver case from his pocket and lit a cigarette. Hypocritical for a doctor perhaps, but one had to allow oneself the occasional indulgences in life. He exhaled, letting the lightheadedness and fatigue that had settled over him escape alongside the smoke. It curled around him in snaking tendrils, caressing his face one last time before it dissipated into the ether.
By the time the cigarette had burned down to a stub in his fingers, he felt back to his normal self. With any luck, he would be able to slip back inside before anyone noticed he was missing. He lifted his water bottle to his lips and drained the rest of the contents. No use courting another dehydration headache, especially not when he had just fought one off.
He made it nearly to the end of the alley before another wave of disorientation hit and his knees buckled. He stumbled back into the wall, the bricks scraping down his back even through his dress shirt. The water? Would someone really go that far? The face of the waiter who had handed him the bottle swam behind his eyes, hovering infuriatingly just out of focus. No one else had seemed affected in the hall, no one else joining him in the alley...he was the specific target then? Why couldn't he remember the server's face. Whether the man had been a part of the entire plan or simply a convenient target to follow orders, he would be a key witness in identifying the perpetrators.
He took another, stumbling step. He had to get away. Didn't matter where, anywhere other than the conference hall. Someone (or something) wanted him out of the picture, or they wanted to make him suffer. Neither was ideal, but both could be thwarted by a well-timed escape.
He stumbled out of the alley and onto the main road. Another hundred yards to the subway station. He could make it that far. Maybe.
Fifty yards and his vision was going grey. He stumbled, fell to his knees. Around the ringing in his ears, he heard footsteps, many of them, closing in quickly. The first blow hit him across the face, whipping his head to the side.
"Sensei!?"
The figures around him froze. In a split second, another set of footsteps closed in. No yelling, no fuss, just a few well-placed strikes that had his attackers falling back. Those that didn't go down turned and fled into the subway.
"Sensei?"
Jakurai turned toward his savior, blinking until a face swam into focus. "Riou?"
"Sensei, are you okay?"
"Poison," Jakurai rasped.
"Can you walk?"
"I think," Jakurai said. He started to stand, but the world spun around him, and he buckled again, scraping his knees against the sidewalk.
Riou dropped down beside him, lifting him onto his shoulders without hesitation. "Come."
Unwise, perhaps, to allow oneself to be carried off by a rival crew member to an unknown location while incapacitated, but given the circumstances, better options were few. Given the rival, a better option yet. A life debt wasn't a payment easily forgotten, especially not to one such as Riou.
From his current vantage point, it was difficult to see much beyond the fabric of Riou's shirt. The inversion wasn't helping his disorientation either, so eventually Jakurai gave up and closed his eyes. He trusted that Riou would not feed him to the jaws of the enemy.
It couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before they paused. Riou shifted, and then a door creaked open. As soon as they were inside, Riou bolted the door and sat Jakurai carefully on the ground.
"Conscious?"
Jakurai opened his eyes. "Yes, somehow."
"You said poison."
Jakurai nodded, then regretted the motion as it set his head spinning. "Added to a water bottle."
Riou swore softly. "Jyuuto said new poison. Clear, colorless, undetectable in water. Sometimes deadly. Here, drink." He offered a glass of water, but when Jakurai was too weak to hold it, he sat behind him and raised the glass to his lips. "Drink," he ordered, "flush out the poison."
When the glass was empty, he set it aside and helped Jakurai lean against the wall in the corner of the small, bare room.
"Where are we?" Jakurai asked.
"Yokohama still. Always good to have secure shelters throughout one's territory."
"Thank you, Riou."
Riou shook his head. "May not thank this soldier soon," he said before he raised his hands to Jakurai's bruised face.
Jakurai hissed and pulled away, but Riou stopped him with strong fingers on the back of his head. "This soldier apologizes, Sensei. Hold still."
Riou walked his fingers across Jakurai's face, feeling for breaks under the rising bruises. How many times had Jakurai done the same, crouched on the darkness of the battlefield judging who could wait and who might die? In a way, it was easier to be on the other side, to be the one assessing, not the one with vulnerabilities being laid bare before them.
Riou stepped away for a moment, returned with a cold cloth he pressed to Jakurai's face. The coolness soaked into his battered flesh, soothing the worst of the aches and smoothing out the sharpest edges.
"It's not much," Riou said softly, "but this soldier is not so skilled as Sensei."
"It is appreciated, Riou. You have already done more than I could."
Riou pressed a hand to Jakurai's forehead, and Jakurai laughed softly. "I'm not ill, Riou. I doubt if I'm running a fever."
Riou flushed and turned away.
"Not a criticism, Riou. Your assistance and concern is appreciated," Jakurai said. He pressed two fingers to the pulse in his own neck, pleased to note that it had settled back into a more normal range.
"Who attacked you?"
"I don't know, but your presence thwarted their plans, whatever they may have been."
"This soldier can ask Jyuuto to investigate."
"That won't be necessary. I'm sure he has more pressing investigations to undertake," Jakurai said. As much as he may have trusted Riou, the same did not hold true for Riou's crew mates. He had trusted before, perhaps a little too easily, and he could still taste the cotton candy sweet betrayal that had followed. Better to keep one's distance. Better to survive on one's own.
"They hurt you, Sensei," Riou said, his eyes shining with the puppy dog loyalty Jakurai had thought had been beaten out of him years ago. "They would have killed you."
"We don't know that for certain, Riou, and no matter, they failed in their aim. I consider that assistance enough."
Riou looked up sharply, held Jakurai's eyes for a long moment before looking away. Not acceptance then, but an agreement to let the subject drop. "Can you move, Sensei?"
Jakurai stood slowly, pausing until he was sure the world would not begin spinning on him again. "Whatever they used, it appears to have been short-acting. I assume they never entertained the possibility of their would-be assailants failing. I feel nearly back to normal now."
"This soldier will escort you back to your territory. This soldier will also notify your crew mates of your arrival if you desire."
"Thank you, Riou." Jakurai paused. It would be reckless to turn down Riou's offer of accompaniment, but the words to decline notifying Hifumi and Doppo had been ready on the tip of his tongue before he stopped. Would it be so hard, to accept the offer of assistance? Would it not be a bad idea to have company for the night when he had been poisoned and possibly mildly concussed? They would worry, but perhaps that was acceptable, given the circumstances. "I will call Hifumi myself."
Riou held out a phone, blocky, military issue technology, nothing like the sleek lines of Jakurai's own. "Use this," Riou said. "Not much signal down here."
Comfort Food: Haikyuu!!, KuroSuga, G
No reply. He called again, but still received no response. The sun had set nearly a half hour earlier, but the inside of the apartment was dark. If it had been two years earlier, he might have worried. Now, he knew better. He set down his bags, crossed the apartment to Suga's bedroom and flipped on the light. "Koushi, I'm home. You're going to ruin your eyes studying in the dark like this."
Suga blinked as he looked around the room. "Is it that time already?"
Kuroo sighed, taking in the piles of textbooks and reams of notes stacked in precarious towers around Suga's laptop. "It's time. How long have you been studying?"
Suga looked down at his watch. "About ten hours?"
"Did you remember to take a break at all?"
Suga looked away. "There wasn't time. The exam is in three days, and I'm behind."
"Koushi, if you don't at least take breaks to eat, you're going to study yourself into the ground. All the studying in the world won't help if you can't get out of bed when exam day comes. What do you want for dinner?"
"I don't know. I'm not really hungry. I just want to finish this chapter, then I could maybe break for a few minutes."
Kuroo kissed the top of Suga's head. "You can keep studying, I'll call you when dinner's ready."
Luckily, he had planned for this, since it happened without fail every time exams rolled around. Suga may have claimed he wasn't hungry, but Kuroo knew better, and he knew one meal that would catch Suga's attention, and his appetite, every time. He unpacked the grocery bags he had brought home, setting the tofu out to drain while he prepared everything else.
Before long, he had oil shimmering in a pan, ready for him to add chilis and peppercorns, twice as many of each as he would have if he had been cooking for himself. Then, it was time to add the rest of the ingredients. As the pork sizzled and crackled, he heard a rustling from the bedroom that told him his plan was working.
"Is that what I think it is?" Suga asked, poking his head through the door just as Kuroo added the tofu to the pan.
"Super spicy ma po tofu, just the way you like it."
Suga shuffled closer, closing his eyes as he breathed in the smell of the kitchen. "It smells amazing," he sighed. His stomach growled loudly.
Kuroo laughed.
"Point taken," Suga said. "I guess I could take a few minutes."
"Should be ready in ten. I'll clear off the table if you grab dishes."
"You're the best."
Touch Starved: Naruto, Itachi & Sasuke, T
"Sorry Sasuke, maybe next time." He flicks two fingers, gently, against Sasuke's forehead. It's still bare, for now. Soon, that will change. As soon as the graduation ceremony takes place, he'll be flicking the cold steel of his little brother's hitai-ate instead of the warm skin he's used to.
"You're no fun anymore. You sound like Father," Sasuke says, turning away to sulk.
Itachi sighs. "Well, maybe just a little can't hurt," he says. "But don't tell anyone." He reaches over and ruffles Sasuke's hair. The thick strands stick out between his fingers, flying every which way in their usual unruly tangle.
"Itachi...Itachi..."
Itachi blinks, reaching out as if he could grab onto the fleeting fragments of the dream and hold them close.
Kisame's face swims into view in the dim confines of the cave. "Pain summons us. In person."
Itachi sits up and reaches for his robe. Even in the darkness, it doesn't take him long to dress; he trusts his fingers more than his eyes these days.
They step outside as soon as he's ready. The sun shines bright overhead, but it doesn't make much difference to him. Everything is blurred these days. How long has it been since he saw the sky clearly? How long since he last saw his little brother? Some memories fade with time, but he still remembered Sasuke's face as clearly as ever. Still remembered the way Sasuke would run over to hug him when he though no on was looking.
How long had it been since he had last touched someone like that? How long since he had felt the simple affection of a passing hug or fingers ruffling through messy hair?
Too long. The hugs had gone first, when Sasuke began to worry about appearances, and when their father began policing perceived weakness more strictly. The smaller gestures lasted longer, but there came a time when they were entirely one-sided. As much as he tried to convince himself otherwise, it wasn't the same when they were brushed aside instead of reciprocated. "It's okay, Sasuke," he had wanted to say, "you're not alone," but he had missed his chance then. Out of all of his regrets, the biggest was that his best intentions had stilled failed his little brother.
"Itachi," Kisame repeated. He placed a cool hand on Itachi's shoulder to catch his attention. "Pain is waiting."
Itachi pulled himself together. Kisame tried, though he was never sure whether it was instinct or some unspoken awareness that drove Kisame's occasional touches and good-natured pushing. Kisame tried, but it was never the same. Whatever lay between them, it was the function of proximity and shared cause, not the deep, immovable bond he felt with Sasuke. Kisame might ease the worst of the ache for a time, but he could never heal it entirely. If anything, it served as a reminder of what he had lost, of what he had given up for Sasuke's sake.
He didn't hope for much anymore, but he hoped from the bottom of his heart that he would have one last chance to see Sasuke. That he would have one last chance to hug his little brother and tell him how much he meant.
No Shoe: SB69, RomShuu, T
It's not his fault his shoes are a size too small and far too narrow. It's all the shoe store had when he made his emergency run before the 9am corporate meeting.
As to why he had needed new shoes in the first place, well, that had everything to do with a certain prissy, sparkly, insufferable irritation. When Shuuzo appeared out of nowhere, what else was he supposed to do but follow him down the street until he disappeared into a dance club. Of course, one thing led to another, and he couldn't just leave at that point, so he'd followed Shuu inside.
As it turned out, business dress shoes were terrible for dancing. They'd been quickly abandoned under a table in the corner as he danced his way closer to the stage, but in typical Shuu fashion, he'd ended the set and vanished into the back as soon as Rom was within reach.
What had transpired in the alley after...Rom shivers at the memory of Shuu gasping under his rough tongue and of Shuu's teeth digging into his shoulder. The shoes never even crossed his mind.
Until this morning when he was already late out the door, only to discover his nice shoes were nowhere to be found and the polish for his spare pair dried out and unusable, and so he'd foregone breakfast and coffee to stop at the single solitary shoe store open before 8am and buy the closest he could find to a replacement.
He hisses as his feet twinge again in protest. The second he gets out of the office, he's switching to the sneakers in his bag. His feet had better stop hurting before rehearsal tonight, or he'll never hear the end of it. Even worse, Aion will try to convince him he needs a pedicure and a foot massage. His tail puffs up at that thought, and he quickly shoves it aside. Finance, he's looking at expense reports right now, no shoes, feet, or anything of the sort.
A Smart Robot's Guide to Babysitting: Extended Snamily, G
"Nonsense. Do you have any idea how many potential hazards there are to a young child in the average household? Even after mitigating risks wherever possible, I still count one hundred and twenty-seven areas of increased risk. You will find the complete listing in Appendix B along with their locations overlaid onto the blueprints for the structure in Appendix C. Mind you, that only counts structural hazards; for a non-exhaustive list of behavioral hazards, you will want Chapter 2 of Binder C, or the summary index in Appendix H."
"Sadaharu," Percy says weakly, "this is longer than the Tyrest Accord. Is it normal for this...babysitting...to involve such extensive notes?"
"From my understanding, we have provided more documentation than is standard; however, Kaoru and I agreed that this is something of a special case. He is still not entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving Shingo with you given your...lack of experience with human sparklings. I hoped this documentation would help assuage his fears."
"We'll be fine. I mean, how wrong can we really go in two hours? Oh, look! Did you see that, Percy? He smiled at me! Hi, Shingo. Excited to spend some time with your dad's dads tonight?"
Inui turns to Perceptor. "Look, just try not to blow anything up, keep Shingo out of anything he is not supposed to be in, and for the love of Primus, if there are any minor mishaps, do not announce them to Kaoru, okay? He has not stopped worrying since his mother called to report a broken ankle and a need to cancel the planned babysitting arrangements."
Salty: Transformers, MinMegs, G
"Enter," he calls, pushing the button to unlock the door.
"Megatron, I apologize for interrupting your time off-duty, especially as I know you worked an extended shift yesterday due to the fault in the gravitation sensors requiring Rodimus's attention. I would not have disturbed you with work-related matters at this hour--"
"Out with it, Minimus. What happened?"
"There's a bit of a disagreement taking place in the science quarters right now. I was hoping you could settle it before it spirals any further."
"While I appreciate the vote of confidence, I am not a scientist, Minimus. I'm not sure how much help I can be. Unless you need a captain, at which point I assume you would have sought Rodimus as he is the captain currently on duty."
"It's not that. It has to do with some of the mineral specimens brought back from the last planetary expedition."
"If there were concerns about potential biological contamination, proper containment protocols should have been initiated. As I have received no notification of quarantine of the science wing, I assume that is not the issue?"
"No, nothing so serious as that, sir. There's been a disagreement in the classification of some of the specimens; it's becoming quite heated."
"And this requires my attendance in what way, Minimus?"
Minimus shrinks back in the doorway. "Once upon a time, you were a miner, captain. I thought if anyone on the ship could make a definitive identification of the specimens in question, it would be you."
"Very well. Let's go look at some rocks, Minimus."
"I believe that they are minerals, sir. There were no disagreements as to the classification of the rock specimens."
Megatron sighs. His poetry book just keeps feeling farther and farther away. He braces himself before Minimus unseals the door to the lab.
Chaos crashes down around him. Brainstorm is on the ceiling, again, doing something with lasers that almost certainly violates at least three different safety regulations. Nautica is at least on the floor where Robots belong, but he is suspicious of what appears to be a vial of concentrated acid in her hand.
"I hear there is an issue with some recently collected minerals?" Megatron says.
"It's not an issue exactly," Brainstorm says. "There's nothing wrong with it. We just can't agree on exactly what it is."
"I see. So where is this mystery mineral?"
Nautica holds up a chunk of clear, colorless crystal. "Here, Megatron. We've carried out some initial tests. Measurements of dimensions, mass, and topography are on the screen. Density comes out to 2.16g/cm^3. We were just setting up to measure index of refraction when you walked in."
"Is that why Brainstorm is on the ceiling?"
"Minimus wrote me up last week for shining lasers through a doorway. Can't have lasers escaping the lab if they originate from the ceiling and there's a non-reflective surface below them."
"For the record," Minimus says, "standing on the ceiling is also a violation of multiple safety protocols, especially as you do not appear to be using any of the specified personal protective equipment for working from heights. Please come down before I am forced to write you up again."
"But how can we identify the mineral without sufficient data?" Brainstorm counters.
"Still looks like a big hunk of salt to me," Swerve mutters from the corner.
"Brainstorm, come down from there," Megatron orders. "We'll gather that data later should it be necessary. Nautica, may I see that for a minute?"
He takes the crystal and turns it over in his hands. "Hmm, clean cleavage along the exposed faces, appears to be a cubic structure." He holds it up to his eye. "Only one Brainstorm."
"Thank Primus for that," Highbrow mutters behind him.
"Does anyone have a flask and some distilled water?" Megatron asks. "And also a flame. I believe we should test solubility in water, and if soluble, perform a flame test. Perceptor, you do have a spectrometer somewhere in that scope of yours, don't you?"
"Yes. What am I looking for?"
"Wavelengths of peak bands in the emissions spectra. To limit noise, preemptively filter out spectra for any of the halides," Megatron says as he breaks a corner off of the crystal and dissolves it.
"All set," Percy says. "Is there a specific part of the spectrum I should focus on."
"Visible light. I don't want to influence the data by specifying further than that. Do we have a flame in here?"
"That's my cue!" Brainstorm announces. He holds up a finger, and a blue flame flickers from his fingertip. "Built in blowtorch. Isn't it cool?"
"It will do." Megatron dips a wire into the flask and holds it to the flame. For a second, the flames flicker a bright orange yellow. "Perceptor, did you get that?"
"589 and 589.6 nanometers."
"As I suspected. In that case--" he crumbles another corner of the crystal and licks it off of his fingers.
Behind him, Magnus chokes. "You can't just go licking experiments, Megatron! Do you have any idea how many protocols that violates? The safety hazards alone!"
"Megatron, that was the emission spectrum of sodium! Do you know what pure sodium can do?" Brainstorm yells at the same time.
"Salty," Megatron comments. "Your mystery mineral is halite. Also known as sodium chloride, or more colloquially, rock salt."
He turns and leaves in the beat of silence that follows.
No Eyebrows: Haikyuu!!, YakuNoya, G
"One of my friends saw you at a con last year," another fan waiting for the Naruto panel to start commented. "She said you made your boyfriend's costume too. Is that true?"
"Yeah. He's here somewhere. I thought he wanted to see this panel, but he may have gotten distracted off in artists' alley. I swear he knows at least half the artists this year."
The previous panel finally let out, and a horde of Voltron cosplayers spilled out into the hall. Yaku was halfway to the door when he heard a commotion from the other end of the hall.
"GAARA!!!" a familiar voice shouted from across the con. "I LOVE YOU!!!"
He looked up, then braced himself as a spiky blonde barreled toward him. "Hi, Noya," he said as he caught Noya mid-leap.
"Guess what!? Guess what!? Everyone loves your cosplay! Believe it!"
Yaku stepped back to inspect said cosplay. After the repeated near-disasters the previous year of a spiked wig subjected to more backflips and running than he'd planned for, he'd opted for more drastic measures this year. It appeared that the wig tape was holding where several dozen bobby pins alone had struggled before. Good. Noya had been making noises about wanting a Nine-Tails Chakra Mode Naruto cosplay for the past several months, but Yaku had resisted until he worked the wrinkles out of the current one. Maybe he'd surprise Noya with the sketches for his birthday.
"Of course they love you. You're a great Naruto!"
"Believe it!" Noya yelled, kissing him on the cheek. "Let's go! I want good seats for this, No Eyebrows."
Encoding: Prince of Tennis, InuKai, G
Kaidou glared at the piece of paper. Too casual. He crossed it out and moved to a fresh line.
My favorite doubles partner,
Too revealing. Inui didn't have enough doubles partners to stay anonymous that way. More crossing out.
To a dear fellow student,
Kaidou grimaced and tore the page in half. Way too formal.
Dear Inui,
That should do. He turned back to the dozen tabs open on his computer screen. "How to Write a Successful Valentine," "Love Letters in Six Easy Steps," "Your Guide to Confessing to Your Crush," and so on. They were all agreed on the next most important part of his message.
"Tell him how he makes you feel," Kaidou muttered.
The examples onscreen were less helpful. "You make my heart skip a beat." "My stomach flutters when I think of you." "You take my breath away." If he tried any of those, Inui would be concerned. He didn't want to be subjected to a new and improved variation of Inui Juice. He'd drink it, for Inui, but why invite it?
I see more clearly around you.
That should do. How many lines to go?
Two hours later, he held the finished card in trembling hands. The wastebasket beside him overflowed with discarded drafts and typo-ridden cards. All that remained was to seal it in its envelope and slip it into Inui's locker the next day without being noticed.
He was halfway through licking the envelope when he stopped. He'd written the card. Inui had seen his training reports. Inui knew his handwriting. Inui would know the card was from him.
He cursed under his breath. Already past 2am. He was running out of time.
His eyes landed on the unwieldy pile of biology handouts on the corner of his desk. No other class generated as much paper. No one would miss a few words from the lecture notes and lab procedures. He dug a pair of scissors out of the bottom of a desk drawer and set to work.
Perfect. Inui would never know. He waited for the glue to dry before folding his letter and sealing it into a clean envelope. He cut the letters of Inui's name out from the titles of lecture slides and glued them on the front. Finished, and with nearly three hours to spare.
The next morning, he waited for his opening. At least Inui's locker was not being swarmed by hordes of girls like some of the others. His chance came when Fuji drew everyone's attention to other way with a dramatic reading of old poetry outside of Tezuka's homeroom door. Fuji couldn't possibly know, could he? He made his move, shoving his letter through the front of the door as he casually walked past. He dried his hands on his pants and made his way to his classroom. No one seemed to notice.
Inui stopped him outside of the club room that afternoon. "AB. B," he said.
"Huh?"
"My blood type. Your blood type. Not a match, but not entirely incompatible either."
Kaidou could feel his face flushing. "You knew?" he mumbled.
Inui held out the letter. "Your biology notes," he said. "We reviewed them together before your last exam. The intersection of students in the class that gave out these notes and those who would address a letter to "Inui-senpai" is one. You."
"Sorry, Inui-senpai," Kaidou mumbled.
"No need. Probability sentiment expressed in the aforementioned letter is not unrequited: 100%."
Kaidou's head jerked up. "Really?"
Inui smiled. Usually an alarming expression. Not this time.
Re: Encoding: Prince of Tennis, InuKai, G
Fashion Forward: Yowamushi Pedal, ManaTou, G
"I know, Manami-kun," Toudou says as he detaches Manami's fingers from his sweater. "But I can't turn down this job offer. It's everything I could've hoped for. Fashion design! In Harajuku! Can you imagine?"
"I thought you'd stay here forever."
Toudou shuddered. "Stay in Hakone forever? Not going to happen. Have you looked around here lately? The fashion's at least a season behind Tokyo, and it's boring at that. Can't say I understand half of what comes out in Harajuku, but that's half the fun, isn't it?"
"Are you sure you have to go?"
"Hey." Toudou rests a hand on Manami's cheek. "Remember what I told you before the last day of the Interhigh?"
Manami sniffles. "That if the chance came, I should ride for the goal, even if it meant leaving the rest of the team behind?"
"Yeah, that. It's not bad advice for the rest of life either. Sometimes you just see that opportunity and know you'll regret it if you don't go for it."
"What if you come back and I don't love you so much anymore?"
Toudou pulls Manami into a tight hug. "We can cross that bridge if we come to it," he murmurs into the Manami's hair. "For now, know that I love you and I'll call you or message you whenever I can, okay?"
"I'll miss you, Toudou-san."
"I'll miss you too." He lets Manami cling to him for another minute before he peels himself away.
"Bye bye, Toudou-san," Manami says through his tears.
"I'll talk to you soon, Manami. Don't start skipping practices on me."
Over Coffee: Tenimyu RPF, HideYata, G
"I said I don't understand why Shakespeare is held up on the pedestal he is. Prolific playwright? Definitely. Popular playwright? No argument from me. Great literature? That's where I draw the line. Have you read Shakespeare!? His humor is juvenile and frequently crass. He heavily on obvious tropes. Popular entertainment, yes. High literature, no."
"And his all connects back to Hamlet how?" Hideya asked.
"It's all part of the bigger picture. You can interpret the character however you like, but it will fall flat if you don't take the audience's perspectives into account. It's less of an issue with original or lesser known works where the audience comes in with fewer suppositions, but for well known works like Hamlet and the Scottish Play."
"Macb--"
"Don't say it!"
"I thought you didn't believe in curses."
"They've never been scientifically proven; there's quite a bit of evidence out there on the power of suggestion. But they haven't definitively disproven the curse on the Scottish Play either. Better safe than sorry."
"I love that brain of yours," Hideya said. "And you of course."
"Love is a social construct."
"Maybe, but that doesn't mean it can't also be real."
With a Bullet: Transformers, MegaRatch, T
The second was pain, so widespread and pervasive it hadn't even registered at first.
The third was a familiar, irritated voice grumbling beside him.
"Ratchet?" He tried to raise his head to see.
The grumbling cut off abruptly. "You shouldn't even be conscious right now. No, stop that. Don't move! If you insist on being difficult, you could disable your pain receptors, Primus knows I don't have the time or hands for that right now."
A seemingly simple order, and yet one that took longer to execute than it should have as he pushed through the haze of pain to catch hold of the steps that slipped past his fingertips. The pain ebbed to a steady rumble instead of the harsh roar of a whirlpool. "What happened?"
"I should be asking you that."
The memories inched back in to the space vacated by the pain. He jerked under Ratchet's hands. "Tarn!?"
"Defeated, but not before he almost did the same to you. Blasted a hole in your frame big enough Ravage could get inside, severed multiple primary energon lines, one of which is leaking into your exchange filters, and shattered your spark casing. What were you thinking, haring off alone like that!?"
"The DJD was mine. I helped make Tarn who he was. It's only right that he be defeated by my hand. The Autobots don't need to get involved in internal Decepticon conflicts; too many lives have already been spilled."
He gasped as Ratchet's fingers tightened over his exposed spark. "Nonsense!" Ratchet snapped. "Your poetic justice can go off with Magnus's rules and regulations. The Lost Light isn't abandoning one of its captains. Even said captain does his best to get himself killed out of a misplaced sense of moral duty. Captain goes off, discovers the Necrobot is real, has a quasi-religious awakening, and rather than any healthy response decides to throw himself in front of one of the most dangerous Decepticons out there. Always told Drift--"
"Ratchet, I have the reports you wanted, I'll--Ah, I'll just leave them on the desk here. I'm out front if you need me."
"Not now, Velocity," Ratchet muttered. "Now where was I?"
From the Archives: Transformers, Orion Pax/Megatron, G
So Orion Pax had been trained, and so he tried to act during the time he spent on duty. Receive transmissions from the wavelengths to which he was assigned, attach the appropriate metadata to the record, and hand it off for further processing and storage. It was not his place to judge anything he might come across. In fact, in the interest of efficiency, he should not even play back the transmissions, except if he suspected they might be corrupted. His job, as a Librarian at the bottom of the ladder, was simply to pass information forward in a usable form.
He tried to follow the mandates of his job. He had no trouble in the beginning.
Then, his assignment shifted to the transmissions originating from a distant mining operation. In theory, there shouldn't have been much coming from the site. Transports to and from were infrequent, and the rest of the time, the location was silent.
At least, that was what the summary he had been given said. It never mentioned the transmissions he stumbled across on a little-used frequency that shouldn't have been transmitting at all. He received them, filed them, and passed them on, but he also listened. Five minutes in, and he was certain the transmission should be flagged for further review. Ten minutes, and he was doubting his earlier certainty. Thirty minutes in, and he was certain both that it should be flagged, and that he would not be the one to do so. He set the usual, nondescript identifiers on the file and shuffled it on into the system.
He assigned himself to an extra shift in accession processing at the time of the next transmission.
Several light years away, a relatively unknown miner continued the broadcasts that would bring them together before tearing them apart.
Re: From the Archives: Transformers, Orion Pax/Megatron, G
Triangles: A3, G
"Haven't seen him since lunch."
"Did you try the roof? Last I heard he wanted to look for triangles in the eaves."
"I thought the director talked him down from that yesterday."
"How has nobody seen him? He's going to be late to rehearsal if he doesn't show up soon. I don't want Sakyo getting mad again."
"I think he's sulking."
"What was that, Muku?"
"I think he's sulking. Omi didn't make lunch today."
"So? The director convinced the grocery store to donate some onigiri instead."
"They weren't right."
"Huh? Tasted fine to me. Better than the director's curry onigiri for the fifth day in a row."
"I'd eat the director's curry every day."
"No one asked you, Masumi."
"They were round onigiri, Banri-san."
"Ohhhhhhhh. Okay, what do you think? Attic? Itaru, I'm borrowing your tortilla chips. Someone try to hold off Sakyo for a few more minutes."
Half-Baked: Tenipuri/Yowapedal, InuKai + Kinjou, G
"Christmas cookies," Kaidou replied.
"Does it really require this much..." Inui waved his hand at the kitchen counters, which were currently covered with more cookie sheets, cooling racks, and bowls of brightly colored sugar and small sugar shapes than could possibly be required for such a seemingly simple process.
"Ya!" Shingo yelled from his perch atop a step stool at one end of the counter. By Inui's calculation, the quantity of frosting and decorative sugar currently in his hair and clothing was roughly equal to the quantity that had ended up on the cookies currently cooling by the sink. The quantity of spilled ingredients on the floor was at least equal to the sum of the former two. Kaoru had already used an entire two pound box of confectioner's sugar in the frosting alone, not to mention the five pound bag of sugar that had disappeared somewhere into the dough. Plus a truly alarming quantity of butter, and absolutely nothing that could be considered to have any sort of significant nutritional value.
"What about replacing some of the sugar with nutritional vegetable powder?" Inui asked. "I have a new formula to test, and it should make for a nice festive green color."
Kaidou hissed and stepped between him and the mixer.
"Maybe the frosting? By my calculations, up to twenty-five percent by weight could be substituted with protein powder without adversely affecting the consistency or structural integrity."
"MINE!" Shingo yelled, grabbing the pastry bag in his little hands and leaving another brightly colored trail across the formerly clean surface.
Inui held up his hands in surrender. Probability Shingo would throw a tantrum if anyone interfered with his process: 99%. Defeated, he turned back to Kaidou. "Okay, what do I do in this...cookie...process?"
Kaidou pointed to the sink, currently piled high with mixing bowls and measuring cups. "Wash."
Re: Half-Baked: Tenipuri/Yowapedal, InuKai + Kinjou, G