Half-Baked: In Simple Conversation (10/14)
Title: In Simple Conversation (10/14)
Fandom: Pretear, Utena, X, Gundam Wing, Fruits Basket and narrated by Keisuke (Fushigi Yuugi)
Characters/Pairings: Keisuke, Hayate, Himeno, Dorothy/Duo, Heero/Hilde, Juri/Kozue, Sorata, Sasame, Sylvia, Goh, Saitou, Shiori
Word Count: 5600
Summary: AU. Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful (aka Half-Baked series) Keisuke takes an active part in his friends' love lives, while managing to get tangled in one himself.
A/N: WIP. Written between June and September of 2002 for tulip_head. I really should finish this. Aquatinted. Keisuke's been dreading this chapter, not that I blame him. On the other hand, I was looking forward to this chapter, because it promises some changes in dynamics between the characters. You might call that conflict. Not the arm wrestling variety, but - you know what I mean. New direction. Once more, the Moody Blues have inspired this chapter. I listened to them all the time when I was a little girl, and recently got caught up in them again. Spending the past year collecting almost all of their albums on CD. Like the name suggest, most of their songs are moody and blue. Enjoy.
***
Let's see. First, there was meeting at the door. Midday sunshine, check. Bright reflection on the front glass, check. Emergency Kleenex in my pocket, check. And Sorata, check.
Next, to the table. The waitress stopped by and brought our drinks, check. And we browsed the menu, check. And shared pleasantries, check. Ordered our food, check. Tasted our drinks, check. Commented on the drinks, also check.
So far, normal.
Damn. I was nervous, but by God if I was going to show it.
***
Just in a simple conversation
You can hear the feeling change
Like a river running down
Down to the sea
***
I've known Sorata Arisugawa for all but four years of my entire life. I realize that just as surely as I know something incredibly unexpected and unusual was vibrating through the fibers of his clothing. He's still wearing that obnoxious baseball cap with the A on it. I should mention that's a hat that I bought for him. I used to fancy that it marked him somehow. I remember saying something cheesy like, "Now you'll finally get rid of that horrid hat you've been wearing forever, and have something to remind you of me as well." Adding the last bit as if it didn't have any particular significance at all.
Only, it was the only part with any significance. Now that hat *is* the horrid ball cap he always wears to cover over his short, black hair.
The restaurant is actually a coffee shop. They have a great ham and turkey sandwich that we discovered while looking downtown for the newest used CD store that we'd heard rumors about. Sorata had been thrilled by the idea he could get a sandwich with just mushrooms and cheese. Fancy that?
I smile, a small sad one at first. And when I realize what I'm doing, I spread it a bit more and lean forward. Might as well bite the bullet, as they say, "Alright, enough chit-chat . . ." He starts, putting down his lemonade with more force than necessary. I shift my tone a little in effort to sooth him, perhaps weasel out some explanation for his awkwardness. Who was this girl? "Let's start at the beginning, and give me a proper explanation of yourself." I nod once for encouragement, and I can see some tension pulsing down from his broad shoulders in that yellow jersey, through the sleeves of the white t-shirt, into his fingers and out through the glass of lemonade.
All of that, and then he speaks, "I'm completely out of it, Keisuke. To be honest with you." He meets my steadfast gaze for a moment, and then he's staring elsewhere--seeking release in that half-full glass again. "It's hard to be a jester, all the time, y'know? Then to have something come and hurt so deeply? I laughed about it with Duo, but I'm . . ."
"Hey," I say lightly, finding that reserve of tenderness I have for Sorata and using it to will him my strength. "I said the beginning, didn't I?"
It must work. The rest came all to easily, not that it was easy to hear.
He almost missed meeting her. Juri had been on his case for sometime forcing him to change his schedule and fit in a photo shoot to fill a spread for a very important article in the personalities section of her women's magazine. I remembered Juri trying to hunt Sorata down at the picnic, and it had been all for the same purpose.
"I was fooling around with Imari," Sorata chuckles, "The most fun came from irritating her. Something that we were able to do with little trouble. A disaster from the start, and there were certain parts of me that she wasn't about ready to deal with."
But once he had put Imari out of the picture, he didn't have any personal interests as barriers to the commitment his sister wanted him to make. Three sessions on alternating days. And, since this personality was a harpist from Japan, Juri pressed him into filling a portion of the PR responsibilities as well.
"She'd say, 'You're funny, just take her around to a game or to the lake. That should be enough, little bro.' Really, we didn't even know if she spoke any English to tell us what she liked to do." Sorata pushes at his forehead with his palm, elbow balanced against the table. Holding back the hair slipping free from the hat. Then he slides it all the way back, taking the hat off in a smooth motion and setting it on the table. Running his fingers through just hair.
"What's her name?" I ask, interested. Well, sounding interested. Perversely terrified is more like it. Dread knotting my stomach. And then there's that ham and turkey sandwich on the table staring at me. I was supposed to eat that? Now? I open the bag of chips and pulling out a very small one, manage to put it between my tense lips.
"Ah, well, Arashi." He examines his own sandwich, lifting at one half, then reconsidering, takes the other half. "Arashi . . . something or other in Japanese." He falters through his own enthusiasm, "Although, I'm dead set on getting that changed to Arisugawa."
"I bet," I manage to sound sly, "What's she look like?"
And then he melts into a big pile of Sorata goo. Listening, I decide that something has affected his system of perceptions. No girl could look that good. But our darling Sorata does tend to exaggerate.
And I pry it from him bit by bit. The story of their first quarrel. Her slipping in and out of Japanese but managing English well enough. And her enchanting glower.
"She's so insecure, and I can't imagine why." He chews wistfully staring off in the distance. Comfortable with me now, he indulges in tangents. I stop listening part way and nibble on that sandwich that will never taste good again ever. I'll be lucky if I can come back here to even drink their great espresso. Now and again, drawn back to his familiar voice, tending to tell stories in all octaves in many different tones and volumes. When Sorata becomes passionate, his entire voice becomes an expressive performance.
Proportionally, as I reinforce his heart: Mine crumbles.
But, in my world, his happiness is all that matters. Not who brings it to him. Nor what he actually says or who he sees.
He takes the check. Fondly, I notice this might be our last date. Arashi will take him away eventually. If not tomorrow, then when he follows her career with his camera. When they have children. I see the sincerity of his feelings remain even as he puts that cap backwards over his head.
"Thanks for . . . not laughing." He says, and I almost don't hear it as we awkwardly pass each other trying to leave through the door at the same time. I meet his eyes, and match his almost-not-there smile of relief.
Sorata's kids.
Well, at least that'd make me an indirect Uncle Keisuke.
***
And if you need an explanation
I defy you to explain
But something's not the same
And it's bothering me
***
As I role down the window, we can already hear the high pitched whistling of the cars on the track. Hayate sitting next to me, leans down to get a closer look at the woman tending the gate. We'd spent the past ten minutes waiting for her to be satisfied that the truck in front of us wasn't smuggling in any extra children. She ran a tight ship and glances into our back seat skeptically. As if Hayate and I might also be trying to smuggle refugees across her boarders.
I take back my change and hurry into the nearest parking spot. We're late.
"Did Hilde say she'd meet us anywhere?" Hayate says, louder than normal as we walk past all the overpriced concessions. The nachos smell particularly displeasing. I try to avoid bumping shoulders with the fleshy, greasy guys that keep streaming around our slower pace. Each one of them wearing some variety of stockcar apparel. I might like guys, but I like pretty guys. Or at least, guys my age.
"Hey look, Hayate," I sneer, in an attempt not to spoil the comment by laughing, "They all have your haircut!"
After parting ways with Sorata, I collected myself and Hayate into something more appropriate for an evening at small town stock car races, but I'm feeling almost overdressed in my single stripe shirt and jeans from the mall. Then we drove a ways from the city to small town America. Where almost all of the store windows were putting out a plug for the driver of choice. A community that lived, breathed and sponsored stock cars. Kicking up earth with my sneakers. Glad I'd left the designer shoes at home this time around.
Hayate shakes his head, guiltily waving that ponytail of hair that, realistically, was better kept than any of the others we'd seen so far. "You didn't want anything to eat?" He glances hesitantly at the venders. Wrinkling his forehead, "We should have eaten before coming."
No one was really paying attention to the track, where they were pulling off the sprint racers. I glance up into the stands and we take a seat in the front. Sitting stiff and feeling completely out of place.
"Soooo." I say, dumbly. Letting the emptiness sit between us again. Then again, what emptiness? Soon enough more cars were going around the dirt track. Apparently working out the positions for the later race.
"What are you doing down here?"
I jump with relief, having been startled as Hilde shouts near my ear. "Waiting. Sorry, we're a tad late." I point my thumb at Hayate, "Someone here couldn't decide what to wear."
"He's lying." Hayate growls. "He sent me back twice to change into something more suited to a race track."
"Well, you should be thanking Keisuke then," Hilde mocks, not so much supporting me as teasing my roommate, "Between you and Heero, we all know you still need someone to dress you."
"Don't make us sound so . . . married." Hayate stands, "Where should we be sitting then?"
"Back with us," Hilde waves higher into the stands, "They kick up some serious dirt on these corners. Wouldn't want to get your hair dirty, now would we?"
On the end, I match Hilde step for step, hearing first, "Dad surprised Heero with his own car today."
"Really?" I sound enthusiastic, then admit, "What does that mean?"
"Well, Daddy owns a mechanic's shop, you see. And Heero helps out a lot. Since my older brothers have both moved on to NASCAR, Heero's my dad's pet project now. Wants to make a decent racer out of him. So we're sponsoring a car for him!"
"Heero needs money?" I raise an eyebrow.
"No," Hilde says more solemnly, as solemn as one can be speaking at such volume to be heard. We reach the top of the covered stands and slide sideways. "I wonder where they went off to?" She muses, then answers. "The crowd doesn't take too well to rich kids. And no one knows Heero is one. He leaves that behind him here. I really wanted you all to come. Support my guy and all." She began to squeal enthusiastically as the cars took to the track, two by two. "There he goes!"
It was certainly farther away from our new seats, but the dirt rolled towards us in waves even as they turned their first corner.
"Which one's Heero?" Hayate calls across me to Hilde.
"The black and gold one. With the orange-y gold phoenix. That's our store mascot. Number 01."
"Go car One!" I yelp cheerfully. The rumble of the cars increasing with each lap. My breastbone begins to vibrate, and I place one hand over it gingerly.
"Zero One." Hilde corrects, smiling ear to ear. She's such a good girlfriend. But then again, Heero's the one that's filling her role of the ideal guy. No wonder she's happy.
I suppose, that if I did any thinking in advance, I would have wondered who she meant by "they." They could have been anyone. A family with five young boys all sporting autographed shirts of their favorite driver, her parents, a hive of bees. Okay, maybe not a hive of bees; although, the buzzing from the track had already dulled my hearing.
I feel a prick of premonition, about three seconds before hearing, "Keisuke! You did come."
I pull my eyes from the black and gold car to see the bodies hovering in the aisle. Two blonds.
The first, Sylvia. And the thought that we hadn't arranged to meet like I had initiated. Damned if I don't have some lousy habits when it comes to following through on prearranged correspondence. She was the one who'd spoken, obviously pleased to see me. Glancing at Hayate in passing, before fixing me with a peculiar smile.
Of course, her shadow was Sasame.
***
I think I see where I went wrong
I think I see what's going on
***
Then there is an awkward rearranging of seats. In my effort to switch sides with Hayate, putting another body between him and Sasame (I try) I'm shuffled to the end, Sylvia on my left, then Sasame, Hilde and Hayate farther away than I'd intended. I lean forward to check on him, but Hilde's standing up enthusiastically as Heero guns his way around the corner and around one of the more familiar local favorites to break ahead on the straightaway.
Sylvia puts a hand to her throat and glances at me from the corner of her eyes, "I've come before, but it always smells so . . . oily."
"It is a racetrack," I observe, glibly. She laughs, and must be comfortable because I'm suddenly impressed by how easily I can make her relax with some stupid comment. Maybe because she doesn't have to be a perfectionist with me. I wouldn't know if she were bluffing or telling the truth regardless.
Seeing her here is so different, I can't put a finger on it. Her hair is down. Curling up at the ends, sunshine yellow. China doll lips under a soft round nose profile. Suited to her regal position, but tonight wearing a casual button down top and jeans. Dust on her boots.
"You're staring." She says, her regular tone barely heard above the ruckus.
"Sorry," I sit back. Hayate will just have to take care of himself. Last I saw he was sitting with his arms crossed, intent on watching the cars go round and round. "You came with Sasame?"
"We were both coming anyway, so we rode together." Sylvia's tone indifferent, "He didn't make the party, but Sasame likes Heero quite a bit and wanted to come."
"Sasame likes everyone." I did try to conceal the resentment, but it's not lost on her.
"Don't be jealous." She misunderstands, "We're just friends." Then she begins to rummage through her handbag, pulling out a package and offering it to me, "Want some?" Earplugs.
"Damn straight." I take two eagerly, happily deadening the roar. Although, it does nothing to explain the clammy sweat building on the back of my neck, causing my shirt to stick to my back.
"Yeah. Right." She shakes her head in disbelief.
I wonder about her comment for a bit. Then forget it.
Sitting so near her this time, I have impressions of long conversations. Listening to her chat about her dreams and ambitions. Honestly. Expressing the doubts that her family could never know. Her parents could not fathom anything but her success. Her brother would dismiss them as momentary weakness. And I . . . simply listened. Agape with simple wonder at how practical and talented she could be all at once. She practiced her humility on me. Or maybe it was her vulnerability.
Opening each door to every weak bit she uncovered in herself. Giving it to my keeping.
Only, I hadn't fulfilled my part of the unshared bargain. I hadn't been the confidant she'd expected. I had probably failed her more in underestimating that connection she had built than ending what society defined as a romance. Sylvia had never asked for my physical attentiveness. Instead, she must have wanted someone to listen and care and love her in those ways.
Of course, it is just as another car bumps Heero in one of the last laps that his car burst into flames and his distant form scrambles out the window and jumps a few steps back. Pacing, head turned toward the vehicle. Just then that I realize that my thoughts of Sylvia had evaporated completely and I'd spent the better part of the relative silence behind those earplugs wondering where Sorata was.
Hilde, instantly comforted to see Heero safely away from the car, leaves quickly to join him. Excusing herself. Her purpose then to support Heero there.
What was Sorata doing tonight? I'd been afraid to ask at lunch. And if that included taking and treasuring that Japanese girl's weaknesses, her vulnerabilities. Giving his to her now.
Feeling chilly, I know that I am no different. I guess that's what I've always wanted too.
The chance to be vulnerable. Not only to protect someone, but to have someone catch me.
***
Meanwhile and far away
As the night draws in
He's holding her right now
I can feel it all begin
***
After the excitement of the fire truck, and a small show of fireworks, we all make our way down to the pits. Even from a few yards distance, we can see the swarm of country children peering at the gate, waiting to get let inside. Their excitement buzzes in the air almost enough to rival the now absent sound of the cars.
Behind them, Hayate attaches himself to me. I must say I'm impressed, he managed several two word sentences to Sasame part way over. Now that he couldn't simply point to his ears and shake his head. Pretending to be deaf to Sasame's comments.
"Oh my gosh, look at that!" I point, one junior stock car fan scampering by has a shirt with the black and gold 01 car printed on it. His pumping hand holding what appears to be a photograph of Hilde's boyfriend. Watching him run, the boy does go right up to where Hilde and Heero are standing proudly, letting fans take pictures of them in front of the smoldering car. An older, heavily bearded man, who I sense must be Hilde's father, examines the damages. Intent on the machine, not seeing the dozen children now positioning themselves for autographs.
"He's . . . like a superstar." Hayate's expression completely puzzled.
One girl, perhaps ten, bent over so that Heero could sign the back of her logo wear with a large black marker. "Thank you." She blushes furiously and runs over to where her father and grandfather are inspecting the damage from a respectful distance.
"Fame, glory. Well earned tonight, Yuy." Sasame walks up to Heero and slaps his arm with an unexpected extension of macho-ism. Heero returns the smile, his face blackened from the track and the narrow escape.
"Blasted foul luck on that corner." Heero chuckles, "But they'd all have hated me if I had beaten the town favorite." He stretches his shoulders, bending at his knees. Starting to feel the need to loosen up apparently, after being cooped up in that car as long as he had been.
"Is it dead?" I ask ignorantly, eyeballing the vehicle.
"Daddy can fix anything," Hilde rolls her eyes, "Besides, that's half the fun for them. Now you and Daddy can bond while trying to salvage your new car . . ."
"Lovely," Heero kisses her hair, suddenly all wrapped around her. "You'll have to help too."
"Get lonely in that car, did you?" She teases, pushing him away, but not much.
Sasame smiles, glancing over at me oddly enough. Then noticing Sylvia's expressionless gaze, addreses her, "Syl, why don't we invite Hayate and Keisuke to the local ice cream parlor around here and leave these two to celebrate?"
Hayate stiffens, obviously wanting to be anywhere but near Sasame any longer.
"No, that's not, we don't . . ." I start, finding the same exact words echoing in Sylvia's voice. She looks at me suddenly. Questions in her eyes that I don't recognize or comprehend.
Yes, there is certainly something different about her when she isn't inside that house, when she isn't being forced to entertain. I'm seeing her almost for the first time again as we stand under the electric lights.
The sunshine having disappeared a long time ago.
***
Meanwhile and far away
When the day is done
I ride away my friend
Into the setting sun
And the rivers running down
Down to the sea
***
Heero and Hilde disappear. Sasame's offer falling on unwilling participants; he takes her home, amiable regardless of our refusals.
Hayate surprises me, "Are you up for . . . well, you know where."
We've been driving in silence. A welcome silence because I'm still hearing phantom cars spinning around the small confines of my own skull. Also welcome because neither of us wants to talk about Sasame. I don't want to talk about Sylvia.
And I haven't told anyone about Sorata.
"Yeah," I say, surrendering to escapism once more, "That sounds good."
After another mile or two of quiet, I add. "Should we change clothes?"
"I dunno," Hayate chuckles, "Isn't that your department?"
***
I let love slip right through my fingers
And I watched it drift away
But still I had to say
What was written for me
***
Funny how changing clothes can be like changing personality. So much about a fellow's clothes will tell you where he's been, where he's coming from or where he'd like to be going. Hayate's dancing with a purple haired girl as if he'd like to get laid. Some crazy leather pants from days gone by that he dug out of the closet. A dark purple shirt a few sizes too small. One of mine, but on him it looks better. Of course.
Hayate hardly ever drinks. Tonight he's making grand steps into exploration. And I'm wondering if the sparkle in that vixen's eyes isn't intoxication but something a bit more sinister. How many minutes before I need to run interference. Being drunk with friends at Four Doors is fun, but Hayate's wandering far, far from his boundaries tonight. Time to put on chaperone-Keisuke act.
Note to self. When Hayate wants to go to Transylvanian Concubine in future, say "no."
"Shiori's prowling tonight," A voice I haven't heard in a while. After a tremble, I realize it's a welcome sound. "Want me to teach her a lesson?"
"Teach her a lesson?" I ask, not needing to look back. It's him, of course. The nameless, attention grabbing dresser.
"For stealing your fellow."
"He's not my fellow. Again, he's my roommate."
"You said you were attracted to him." He's brushing his shoulder against mine. Funny, the first thought I have is that I should have worn something sexier than cotton.
"Attracted?" I rummage through my memories. Having a near heart attack as it floods back, kiss. Alcohol. Dull memories of talking out of turn. Talking a lot. "When will I learn?" I slap my forehead, "I was drunk. I don't mean half the things I say when I'm that gone . . . I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He shrugs, ruffling my sleeve again with the movement. "He is attractive." I feel a rush of jealousy, fancy that. "Not as cute as you, Keisuke." My ears haven't had the opportunity to turn red in quite a while. Hearing him say my name was almost too much. "So, want to watch me play a bit?"
"Play?" I ask, wonderingly.
"Take a seat," He nods to my normal table in the corner. Shooing me toward the stairs. "I'll be with you shortly." A promise that shocks me with excitement. Something that simple. Something is very different tonight. I must have looked dismayed as I puzzled over it because he steps close a moment. Narrowing his eyes, looking for permission before he leans in slightly to whisper his lips over my own again. Another promise.
Did I say kissing was stupid? I meant to say electric.
"Okay?" I speak first, wondering what in the world this guy sees in me.
Then his features turn wickedly playful. "Okay, then. Let me rescue your friend here. Find him a good girl, then we can . . . chat."
"Okay." I repeat dumbly. Thank God I'm cute when I'm dumb, because a peculiar expression of affection hovers like a ghost over his parted lips, narrow nose, dark brow.
I had been drinking at the bar downstairs to lasso Hayate if I needed to, but something like an old shoe relaxes me as I return to that observation perch. The music of Transylvania seeming a friendly, well-worn shirt after an evening at the stock car races.
"The usual?" A waitress that I don't recognize asks.
"Well, sure." I nod, not knowing if I had a usual here. Let alone if some stranger would know what it was. Then again, even if I wasn't observant at the TC, didn't mean that others didn't observe me.
Like he did, obviously. The lithe stranger, as excellent a dancer as Dorothy had first observed all those blurred weeks ago, had found a much more docile looking partner. Obviously she was in on the plot and didn't mind switching over to Hayate, as they strategically divided my roommate from the violet haired girl. Probably too drunk out of his leather breeches to realize it was a different girl across from him, Hayate didn't flounder.
Scanning them quickly, I almost lost my favorite stranger and the deviant girl. Although, I would have spotted them soon enough. I don't think I'd call that dancing anymore, it seems a whole heck of a lot more like dueling. Nothing compromising or compatible between them, making the two of them stand out from the sea of movement. Then neither of them are moving at all. He puts his hands on his hips. She is shaking her head, turns and worms her way to the bar.
His face turns up, seeking my corner. I wave. God, he has a nice smile.
***
I thought I'd end up as the hero
Thought the glory would be mine
Very soon I was to find
It wasn't to be
'Cos in this part I've got to play
It doesn't quite turn out that way
***
The usual turns out to be a pair of identical glasses filled to the frothy brim with Transylvanian tap. The second glass immediately swooping out of my reach and into his hands. Sitting across from me and wrapping a triumphant smile into a steady drink.
"Thanks." I smile, knowing that Hayate was safe for a short while anyway. The girl he had called Shiori was at the bar. Her hair vibrantly attention getting even in the dance lighting of the Saturday night.
"You're welcome." He tips his head and his glass politely. "Let's you save the roommate, without public admonishment."
"Much easier." I agree. I keeping my hands under the table, afraid that if I take the glass while he's watching me like that I might tremble or spill it.
"You liked it last time." He motions toward the glass. "Something wrong? Driving home tonight, perhaps?"
"I'm sort of wondering how I got home last time," I admit sheepishly, "I really can't recall anything much from . . . last time."
"Seemed to me like that was your intent." His tone changing, becoming reserved. He sets down the glass and leans forward, "Do you always react that way when a guy kisses you?"
"Obviously, no." I backpedal, putting up a flustered defense.
"Good." Then he tries not to smile, "I think. And, he took you home last time, by the by. Came to collect you when he was tired of dancing."
"Hayate. His name is Hayate." I turn from making sure Hayate was still with the nice girl, then bravely ask what I'd started to wonder after he first spoke to me tonight. "And you know my name. What's yours?"
A funny amazement makes him pause, and a bit of fear? He runs his fingers through his hair, startling me now with deja vu. Someone else mimicking anxiety.
Immediately, I want to put him at ease. Erase these conflicted feelings. "Let's do it properly. From the beginning." I stretch out my arm, "Hi, I'm Keisuke Yuuki."
"It's a pleasure," He chuckles, taking my hand, "And I'm Goh, or Justin Vaughn-Goh rather. My mother adored that horrid hyphen arrangement when she married my father."
"How interesting," I say teasing, then whisper, "It's not that horrid. At least you know who your father is."
He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. You don't?"
"Well, Miaka and I have made some guesses from the repeat boyfriends."
"Miaka?"
"She's my kid sister. I must have mentioned her?"
"In passing, I think," He nods, "I have three younger brothers. Much younger. I was an unexpected addition, so my parents planned the rest of them to come much, much later. I think the youngest, Shin, will turn seven at the end of the month."
"Seven, wow."
'They live on the west coast, though."
"So what are you doing out here?"
"Taking classes."
"Hey, how old are you?"
"Twenty-five. Well, soon enough."
"Gee," I sputter, somehow between now and then, I'd forgotten to be nervous and was enjoying the beer very much.
"Don't tell me that's a problem?" He rolls his eyes, then adds, "Old man."
"I'm only twenty-seven." Dropping my age back properly. I'm not going to be twenty-eight for a few weeks.
"And you're still single?" He laughs, mystified. Shaking his head.
And because of that amazement, I forgive him. Because for a moment, I had forgotten the primary reason why I had left Sylvia. Oblivious to anyone except the person I loved. Love. Still love.
But I can hardly betray him any longer. Not when he's chosen someone else.
"Yeah, still single." I admit, "I have my reasons." But I don't want to share them. "I like you, Goh." I test out the name he offered, "And I . . ."
"Please," He shakes his head, "Spare me this, alright?"
"I-I don't know what I was going to say." I sigh, "Maybe I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me take my roommate's sorry carcass home?"
Understandably cautious, Goh raises an eyebrow, "How romantic." Then smiling, "Fine, sounds . . . fine. I can do that."
"Then we can chat some place . . . not here."
"I can do that." Goh leans out of his chair and stands up, "In fact, I'd like that. How about now?"
I don't know why I asked him. Maybe I need a distraction . . . or something.
Something, check.
***
Meanwhile and far away
As the night draws in
He's holding her right now
I can feel it all begin
Meanwhile and far away
When the day is done
I ride away my friend
Into the setting sun
And the river's running down
Down to the sea
***
Part Nine / Part Eleven
Fandom: Pretear, Utena, X, Gundam Wing, Fruits Basket and narrated by Keisuke (Fushigi Yuugi)
Characters/Pairings: Keisuke, Hayate, Himeno, Dorothy/Duo, Heero/Hilde, Juri/Kozue, Sorata, Sasame, Sylvia, Goh, Saitou, Shiori
Word Count: 5600
Summary: AU. Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful (aka Half-Baked series) Keisuke takes an active part in his friends' love lives, while managing to get tangled in one himself.
A/N: WIP. Written between June and September of 2002 for tulip_head. I really should finish this. Aquatinted. Keisuke's been dreading this chapter, not that I blame him. On the other hand, I was looking forward to this chapter, because it promises some changes in dynamics between the characters. You might call that conflict. Not the arm wrestling variety, but - you know what I mean. New direction. Once more, the Moody Blues have inspired this chapter. I listened to them all the time when I was a little girl, and recently got caught up in them again. Spending the past year collecting almost all of their albums on CD. Like the name suggest, most of their songs are moody and blue. Enjoy.
***
Let's see. First, there was meeting at the door. Midday sunshine, check. Bright reflection on the front glass, check. Emergency Kleenex in my pocket, check. And Sorata, check.
Next, to the table. The waitress stopped by and brought our drinks, check. And we browsed the menu, check. And shared pleasantries, check. Ordered our food, check. Tasted our drinks, check. Commented on the drinks, also check.
So far, normal.
Damn. I was nervous, but by God if I was going to show it.
***
Just in a simple conversation
You can hear the feeling change
Like a river running down
Down to the sea
***
I've known Sorata Arisugawa for all but four years of my entire life. I realize that just as surely as I know something incredibly unexpected and unusual was vibrating through the fibers of his clothing. He's still wearing that obnoxious baseball cap with the A on it. I should mention that's a hat that I bought for him. I used to fancy that it marked him somehow. I remember saying something cheesy like, "Now you'll finally get rid of that horrid hat you've been wearing forever, and have something to remind you of me as well." Adding the last bit as if it didn't have any particular significance at all.
Only, it was the only part with any significance. Now that hat *is* the horrid ball cap he always wears to cover over his short, black hair.
The restaurant is actually a coffee shop. They have a great ham and turkey sandwich that we discovered while looking downtown for the newest used CD store that we'd heard rumors about. Sorata had been thrilled by the idea he could get a sandwich with just mushrooms and cheese. Fancy that?
I smile, a small sad one at first. And when I realize what I'm doing, I spread it a bit more and lean forward. Might as well bite the bullet, as they say, "Alright, enough chit-chat . . ." He starts, putting down his lemonade with more force than necessary. I shift my tone a little in effort to sooth him, perhaps weasel out some explanation for his awkwardness. Who was this girl? "Let's start at the beginning, and give me a proper explanation of yourself." I nod once for encouragement, and I can see some tension pulsing down from his broad shoulders in that yellow jersey, through the sleeves of the white t-shirt, into his fingers and out through the glass of lemonade.
All of that, and then he speaks, "I'm completely out of it, Keisuke. To be honest with you." He meets my steadfast gaze for a moment, and then he's staring elsewhere--seeking release in that half-full glass again. "It's hard to be a jester, all the time, y'know? Then to have something come and hurt so deeply? I laughed about it with Duo, but I'm . . ."
"Hey," I say lightly, finding that reserve of tenderness I have for Sorata and using it to will him my strength. "I said the beginning, didn't I?"
It must work. The rest came all to easily, not that it was easy to hear.
He almost missed meeting her. Juri had been on his case for sometime forcing him to change his schedule and fit in a photo shoot to fill a spread for a very important article in the personalities section of her women's magazine. I remembered Juri trying to hunt Sorata down at the picnic, and it had been all for the same purpose.
"I was fooling around with Imari," Sorata chuckles, "The most fun came from irritating her. Something that we were able to do with little trouble. A disaster from the start, and there were certain parts of me that she wasn't about ready to deal with."
But once he had put Imari out of the picture, he didn't have any personal interests as barriers to the commitment his sister wanted him to make. Three sessions on alternating days. And, since this personality was a harpist from Japan, Juri pressed him into filling a portion of the PR responsibilities as well.
"She'd say, 'You're funny, just take her around to a game or to the lake. That should be enough, little bro.' Really, we didn't even know if she spoke any English to tell us what she liked to do." Sorata pushes at his forehead with his palm, elbow balanced against the table. Holding back the hair slipping free from the hat. Then he slides it all the way back, taking the hat off in a smooth motion and setting it on the table. Running his fingers through just hair.
"What's her name?" I ask, interested. Well, sounding interested. Perversely terrified is more like it. Dread knotting my stomach. And then there's that ham and turkey sandwich on the table staring at me. I was supposed to eat that? Now? I open the bag of chips and pulling out a very small one, manage to put it between my tense lips.
"Ah, well, Arashi." He examines his own sandwich, lifting at one half, then reconsidering, takes the other half. "Arashi . . . something or other in Japanese." He falters through his own enthusiasm, "Although, I'm dead set on getting that changed to Arisugawa."
"I bet," I manage to sound sly, "What's she look like?"
And then he melts into a big pile of Sorata goo. Listening, I decide that something has affected his system of perceptions. No girl could look that good. But our darling Sorata does tend to exaggerate.
And I pry it from him bit by bit. The story of their first quarrel. Her slipping in and out of Japanese but managing English well enough. And her enchanting glower.
"She's so insecure, and I can't imagine why." He chews wistfully staring off in the distance. Comfortable with me now, he indulges in tangents. I stop listening part way and nibble on that sandwich that will never taste good again ever. I'll be lucky if I can come back here to even drink their great espresso. Now and again, drawn back to his familiar voice, tending to tell stories in all octaves in many different tones and volumes. When Sorata becomes passionate, his entire voice becomes an expressive performance.
Proportionally, as I reinforce his heart: Mine crumbles.
But, in my world, his happiness is all that matters. Not who brings it to him. Nor what he actually says or who he sees.
He takes the check. Fondly, I notice this might be our last date. Arashi will take him away eventually. If not tomorrow, then when he follows her career with his camera. When they have children. I see the sincerity of his feelings remain even as he puts that cap backwards over his head.
"Thanks for . . . not laughing." He says, and I almost don't hear it as we awkwardly pass each other trying to leave through the door at the same time. I meet his eyes, and match his almost-not-there smile of relief.
Sorata's kids.
Well, at least that'd make me an indirect Uncle Keisuke.
***
And if you need an explanation
I defy you to explain
But something's not the same
And it's bothering me
***
As I role down the window, we can already hear the high pitched whistling of the cars on the track. Hayate sitting next to me, leans down to get a closer look at the woman tending the gate. We'd spent the past ten minutes waiting for her to be satisfied that the truck in front of us wasn't smuggling in any extra children. She ran a tight ship and glances into our back seat skeptically. As if Hayate and I might also be trying to smuggle refugees across her boarders.
I take back my change and hurry into the nearest parking spot. We're late.
"Did Hilde say she'd meet us anywhere?" Hayate says, louder than normal as we walk past all the overpriced concessions. The nachos smell particularly displeasing. I try to avoid bumping shoulders with the fleshy, greasy guys that keep streaming around our slower pace. Each one of them wearing some variety of stockcar apparel. I might like guys, but I like pretty guys. Or at least, guys my age.
"Hey look, Hayate," I sneer, in an attempt not to spoil the comment by laughing, "They all have your haircut!"
After parting ways with Sorata, I collected myself and Hayate into something more appropriate for an evening at small town stock car races, but I'm feeling almost overdressed in my single stripe shirt and jeans from the mall. Then we drove a ways from the city to small town America. Where almost all of the store windows were putting out a plug for the driver of choice. A community that lived, breathed and sponsored stock cars. Kicking up earth with my sneakers. Glad I'd left the designer shoes at home this time around.
Hayate shakes his head, guiltily waving that ponytail of hair that, realistically, was better kept than any of the others we'd seen so far. "You didn't want anything to eat?" He glances hesitantly at the venders. Wrinkling his forehead, "We should have eaten before coming."
No one was really paying attention to the track, where they were pulling off the sprint racers. I glance up into the stands and we take a seat in the front. Sitting stiff and feeling completely out of place.
"Soooo." I say, dumbly. Letting the emptiness sit between us again. Then again, what emptiness? Soon enough more cars were going around the dirt track. Apparently working out the positions for the later race.
"What are you doing down here?"
I jump with relief, having been startled as Hilde shouts near my ear. "Waiting. Sorry, we're a tad late." I point my thumb at Hayate, "Someone here couldn't decide what to wear."
"He's lying." Hayate growls. "He sent me back twice to change into something more suited to a race track."
"Well, you should be thanking Keisuke then," Hilde mocks, not so much supporting me as teasing my roommate, "Between you and Heero, we all know you still need someone to dress you."
"Don't make us sound so . . . married." Hayate stands, "Where should we be sitting then?"
"Back with us," Hilde waves higher into the stands, "They kick up some serious dirt on these corners. Wouldn't want to get your hair dirty, now would we?"
On the end, I match Hilde step for step, hearing first, "Dad surprised Heero with his own car today."
"Really?" I sound enthusiastic, then admit, "What does that mean?"
"Well, Daddy owns a mechanic's shop, you see. And Heero helps out a lot. Since my older brothers have both moved on to NASCAR, Heero's my dad's pet project now. Wants to make a decent racer out of him. So we're sponsoring a car for him!"
"Heero needs money?" I raise an eyebrow.
"No," Hilde says more solemnly, as solemn as one can be speaking at such volume to be heard. We reach the top of the covered stands and slide sideways. "I wonder where they went off to?" She muses, then answers. "The crowd doesn't take too well to rich kids. And no one knows Heero is one. He leaves that behind him here. I really wanted you all to come. Support my guy and all." She began to squeal enthusiastically as the cars took to the track, two by two. "There he goes!"
It was certainly farther away from our new seats, but the dirt rolled towards us in waves even as they turned their first corner.
"Which one's Heero?" Hayate calls across me to Hilde.
"The black and gold one. With the orange-y gold phoenix. That's our store mascot. Number 01."
"Go car One!" I yelp cheerfully. The rumble of the cars increasing with each lap. My breastbone begins to vibrate, and I place one hand over it gingerly.
"Zero One." Hilde corrects, smiling ear to ear. She's such a good girlfriend. But then again, Heero's the one that's filling her role of the ideal guy. No wonder she's happy.
I suppose, that if I did any thinking in advance, I would have wondered who she meant by "they." They could have been anyone. A family with five young boys all sporting autographed shirts of their favorite driver, her parents, a hive of bees. Okay, maybe not a hive of bees; although, the buzzing from the track had already dulled my hearing.
I feel a prick of premonition, about three seconds before hearing, "Keisuke! You did come."
I pull my eyes from the black and gold car to see the bodies hovering in the aisle. Two blonds.
The first, Sylvia. And the thought that we hadn't arranged to meet like I had initiated. Damned if I don't have some lousy habits when it comes to following through on prearranged correspondence. She was the one who'd spoken, obviously pleased to see me. Glancing at Hayate in passing, before fixing me with a peculiar smile.
Of course, her shadow was Sasame.
***
I think I see where I went wrong
I think I see what's going on
***
Then there is an awkward rearranging of seats. In my effort to switch sides with Hayate, putting another body between him and Sasame (I try) I'm shuffled to the end, Sylvia on my left, then Sasame, Hilde and Hayate farther away than I'd intended. I lean forward to check on him, but Hilde's standing up enthusiastically as Heero guns his way around the corner and around one of the more familiar local favorites to break ahead on the straightaway.
Sylvia puts a hand to her throat and glances at me from the corner of her eyes, "I've come before, but it always smells so . . . oily."
"It is a racetrack," I observe, glibly. She laughs, and must be comfortable because I'm suddenly impressed by how easily I can make her relax with some stupid comment. Maybe because she doesn't have to be a perfectionist with me. I wouldn't know if she were bluffing or telling the truth regardless.
Seeing her here is so different, I can't put a finger on it. Her hair is down. Curling up at the ends, sunshine yellow. China doll lips under a soft round nose profile. Suited to her regal position, but tonight wearing a casual button down top and jeans. Dust on her boots.
"You're staring." She says, her regular tone barely heard above the ruckus.
"Sorry," I sit back. Hayate will just have to take care of himself. Last I saw he was sitting with his arms crossed, intent on watching the cars go round and round. "You came with Sasame?"
"We were both coming anyway, so we rode together." Sylvia's tone indifferent, "He didn't make the party, but Sasame likes Heero quite a bit and wanted to come."
"Sasame likes everyone." I did try to conceal the resentment, but it's not lost on her.
"Don't be jealous." She misunderstands, "We're just friends." Then she begins to rummage through her handbag, pulling out a package and offering it to me, "Want some?" Earplugs.
"Damn straight." I take two eagerly, happily deadening the roar. Although, it does nothing to explain the clammy sweat building on the back of my neck, causing my shirt to stick to my back.
"Yeah. Right." She shakes her head in disbelief.
I wonder about her comment for a bit. Then forget it.
Sitting so near her this time, I have impressions of long conversations. Listening to her chat about her dreams and ambitions. Honestly. Expressing the doubts that her family could never know. Her parents could not fathom anything but her success. Her brother would dismiss them as momentary weakness. And I . . . simply listened. Agape with simple wonder at how practical and talented she could be all at once. She practiced her humility on me. Or maybe it was her vulnerability.
Opening each door to every weak bit she uncovered in herself. Giving it to my keeping.
Only, I hadn't fulfilled my part of the unshared bargain. I hadn't been the confidant she'd expected. I had probably failed her more in underestimating that connection she had built than ending what society defined as a romance. Sylvia had never asked for my physical attentiveness. Instead, she must have wanted someone to listen and care and love her in those ways.
Of course, it is just as another car bumps Heero in one of the last laps that his car burst into flames and his distant form scrambles out the window and jumps a few steps back. Pacing, head turned toward the vehicle. Just then that I realize that my thoughts of Sylvia had evaporated completely and I'd spent the better part of the relative silence behind those earplugs wondering where Sorata was.
Hilde, instantly comforted to see Heero safely away from the car, leaves quickly to join him. Excusing herself. Her purpose then to support Heero there.
What was Sorata doing tonight? I'd been afraid to ask at lunch. And if that included taking and treasuring that Japanese girl's weaknesses, her vulnerabilities. Giving his to her now.
Feeling chilly, I know that I am no different. I guess that's what I've always wanted too.
The chance to be vulnerable. Not only to protect someone, but to have someone catch me.
***
Meanwhile and far away
As the night draws in
He's holding her right now
I can feel it all begin
***
After the excitement of the fire truck, and a small show of fireworks, we all make our way down to the pits. Even from a few yards distance, we can see the swarm of country children peering at the gate, waiting to get let inside. Their excitement buzzes in the air almost enough to rival the now absent sound of the cars.
Behind them, Hayate attaches himself to me. I must say I'm impressed, he managed several two word sentences to Sasame part way over. Now that he couldn't simply point to his ears and shake his head. Pretending to be deaf to Sasame's comments.
"Oh my gosh, look at that!" I point, one junior stock car fan scampering by has a shirt with the black and gold 01 car printed on it. His pumping hand holding what appears to be a photograph of Hilde's boyfriend. Watching him run, the boy does go right up to where Hilde and Heero are standing proudly, letting fans take pictures of them in front of the smoldering car. An older, heavily bearded man, who I sense must be Hilde's father, examines the damages. Intent on the machine, not seeing the dozen children now positioning themselves for autographs.
"He's . . . like a superstar." Hayate's expression completely puzzled.
One girl, perhaps ten, bent over so that Heero could sign the back of her logo wear with a large black marker. "Thank you." She blushes furiously and runs over to where her father and grandfather are inspecting the damage from a respectful distance.
"Fame, glory. Well earned tonight, Yuy." Sasame walks up to Heero and slaps his arm with an unexpected extension of macho-ism. Heero returns the smile, his face blackened from the track and the narrow escape.
"Blasted foul luck on that corner." Heero chuckles, "But they'd all have hated me if I had beaten the town favorite." He stretches his shoulders, bending at his knees. Starting to feel the need to loosen up apparently, after being cooped up in that car as long as he had been.
"Is it dead?" I ask ignorantly, eyeballing the vehicle.
"Daddy can fix anything," Hilde rolls her eyes, "Besides, that's half the fun for them. Now you and Daddy can bond while trying to salvage your new car . . ."
"Lovely," Heero kisses her hair, suddenly all wrapped around her. "You'll have to help too."
"Get lonely in that car, did you?" She teases, pushing him away, but not much.
Sasame smiles, glancing over at me oddly enough. Then noticing Sylvia's expressionless gaze, addreses her, "Syl, why don't we invite Hayate and Keisuke to the local ice cream parlor around here and leave these two to celebrate?"
Hayate stiffens, obviously wanting to be anywhere but near Sasame any longer.
"No, that's not, we don't . . ." I start, finding the same exact words echoing in Sylvia's voice. She looks at me suddenly. Questions in her eyes that I don't recognize or comprehend.
Yes, there is certainly something different about her when she isn't inside that house, when she isn't being forced to entertain. I'm seeing her almost for the first time again as we stand under the electric lights.
The sunshine having disappeared a long time ago.
***
Meanwhile and far away
When the day is done
I ride away my friend
Into the setting sun
And the rivers running down
Down to the sea
***
Heero and Hilde disappear. Sasame's offer falling on unwilling participants; he takes her home, amiable regardless of our refusals.
Hayate surprises me, "Are you up for . . . well, you know where."
We've been driving in silence. A welcome silence because I'm still hearing phantom cars spinning around the small confines of my own skull. Also welcome because neither of us wants to talk about Sasame. I don't want to talk about Sylvia.
And I haven't told anyone about Sorata.
"Yeah," I say, surrendering to escapism once more, "That sounds good."
After another mile or two of quiet, I add. "Should we change clothes?"
"I dunno," Hayate chuckles, "Isn't that your department?"
***
I let love slip right through my fingers
And I watched it drift away
But still I had to say
What was written for me
***
Funny how changing clothes can be like changing personality. So much about a fellow's clothes will tell you where he's been, where he's coming from or where he'd like to be going. Hayate's dancing with a purple haired girl as if he'd like to get laid. Some crazy leather pants from days gone by that he dug out of the closet. A dark purple shirt a few sizes too small. One of mine, but on him it looks better. Of course.
Hayate hardly ever drinks. Tonight he's making grand steps into exploration. And I'm wondering if the sparkle in that vixen's eyes isn't intoxication but something a bit more sinister. How many minutes before I need to run interference. Being drunk with friends at Four Doors is fun, but Hayate's wandering far, far from his boundaries tonight. Time to put on chaperone-Keisuke act.
Note to self. When Hayate wants to go to Transylvanian Concubine in future, say "no."
"Shiori's prowling tonight," A voice I haven't heard in a while. After a tremble, I realize it's a welcome sound. "Want me to teach her a lesson?"
"Teach her a lesson?" I ask, not needing to look back. It's him, of course. The nameless, attention grabbing dresser.
"For stealing your fellow."
"He's not my fellow. Again, he's my roommate."
"You said you were attracted to him." He's brushing his shoulder against mine. Funny, the first thought I have is that I should have worn something sexier than cotton.
"Attracted?" I rummage through my memories. Having a near heart attack as it floods back, kiss. Alcohol. Dull memories of talking out of turn. Talking a lot. "When will I learn?" I slap my forehead, "I was drunk. I don't mean half the things I say when I'm that gone . . . I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." He shrugs, ruffling my sleeve again with the movement. "He is attractive." I feel a rush of jealousy, fancy that. "Not as cute as you, Keisuke." My ears haven't had the opportunity to turn red in quite a while. Hearing him say my name was almost too much. "So, want to watch me play a bit?"
"Play?" I ask, wonderingly.
"Take a seat," He nods to my normal table in the corner. Shooing me toward the stairs. "I'll be with you shortly." A promise that shocks me with excitement. Something that simple. Something is very different tonight. I must have looked dismayed as I puzzled over it because he steps close a moment. Narrowing his eyes, looking for permission before he leans in slightly to whisper his lips over my own again. Another promise.
Did I say kissing was stupid? I meant to say electric.
"Okay?" I speak first, wondering what in the world this guy sees in me.
Then his features turn wickedly playful. "Okay, then. Let me rescue your friend here. Find him a good girl, then we can . . . chat."
"Okay." I repeat dumbly. Thank God I'm cute when I'm dumb, because a peculiar expression of affection hovers like a ghost over his parted lips, narrow nose, dark brow.
I had been drinking at the bar downstairs to lasso Hayate if I needed to, but something like an old shoe relaxes me as I return to that observation perch. The music of Transylvania seeming a friendly, well-worn shirt after an evening at the stock car races.
"The usual?" A waitress that I don't recognize asks.
"Well, sure." I nod, not knowing if I had a usual here. Let alone if some stranger would know what it was. Then again, even if I wasn't observant at the TC, didn't mean that others didn't observe me.
Like he did, obviously. The lithe stranger, as excellent a dancer as Dorothy had first observed all those blurred weeks ago, had found a much more docile looking partner. Obviously she was in on the plot and didn't mind switching over to Hayate, as they strategically divided my roommate from the violet haired girl. Probably too drunk out of his leather breeches to realize it was a different girl across from him, Hayate didn't flounder.
Scanning them quickly, I almost lost my favorite stranger and the deviant girl. Although, I would have spotted them soon enough. I don't think I'd call that dancing anymore, it seems a whole heck of a lot more like dueling. Nothing compromising or compatible between them, making the two of them stand out from the sea of movement. Then neither of them are moving at all. He puts his hands on his hips. She is shaking her head, turns and worms her way to the bar.
His face turns up, seeking my corner. I wave. God, he has a nice smile.
***
I thought I'd end up as the hero
Thought the glory would be mine
Very soon I was to find
It wasn't to be
'Cos in this part I've got to play
It doesn't quite turn out that way
***
The usual turns out to be a pair of identical glasses filled to the frothy brim with Transylvanian tap. The second glass immediately swooping out of my reach and into his hands. Sitting across from me and wrapping a triumphant smile into a steady drink.
"Thanks." I smile, knowing that Hayate was safe for a short while anyway. The girl he had called Shiori was at the bar. Her hair vibrantly attention getting even in the dance lighting of the Saturday night.
"You're welcome." He tips his head and his glass politely. "Let's you save the roommate, without public admonishment."
"Much easier." I agree. I keeping my hands under the table, afraid that if I take the glass while he's watching me like that I might tremble or spill it.
"You liked it last time." He motions toward the glass. "Something wrong? Driving home tonight, perhaps?"
"I'm sort of wondering how I got home last time," I admit sheepishly, "I really can't recall anything much from . . . last time."
"Seemed to me like that was your intent." His tone changing, becoming reserved. He sets down the glass and leans forward, "Do you always react that way when a guy kisses you?"
"Obviously, no." I backpedal, putting up a flustered defense.
"Good." Then he tries not to smile, "I think. And, he took you home last time, by the by. Came to collect you when he was tired of dancing."
"Hayate. His name is Hayate." I turn from making sure Hayate was still with the nice girl, then bravely ask what I'd started to wonder after he first spoke to me tonight. "And you know my name. What's yours?"
A funny amazement makes him pause, and a bit of fear? He runs his fingers through his hair, startling me now with deja vu. Someone else mimicking anxiety.
Immediately, I want to put him at ease. Erase these conflicted feelings. "Let's do it properly. From the beginning." I stretch out my arm, "Hi, I'm Keisuke Yuuki."
"It's a pleasure," He chuckles, taking my hand, "And I'm Goh, or Justin Vaughn-Goh rather. My mother adored that horrid hyphen arrangement when she married my father."
"How interesting," I say teasing, then whisper, "It's not that horrid. At least you know who your father is."
He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. You don't?"
"Well, Miaka and I have made some guesses from the repeat boyfriends."
"Miaka?"
"She's my kid sister. I must have mentioned her?"
"In passing, I think," He nods, "I have three younger brothers. Much younger. I was an unexpected addition, so my parents planned the rest of them to come much, much later. I think the youngest, Shin, will turn seven at the end of the month."
"Seven, wow."
'They live on the west coast, though."
"So what are you doing out here?"
"Taking classes."
"Hey, how old are you?"
"Twenty-five. Well, soon enough."
"Gee," I sputter, somehow between now and then, I'd forgotten to be nervous and was enjoying the beer very much.
"Don't tell me that's a problem?" He rolls his eyes, then adds, "Old man."
"I'm only twenty-seven." Dropping my age back properly. I'm not going to be twenty-eight for a few weeks.
"And you're still single?" He laughs, mystified. Shaking his head.
And because of that amazement, I forgive him. Because for a moment, I had forgotten the primary reason why I had left Sylvia. Oblivious to anyone except the person I loved. Love. Still love.
But I can hardly betray him any longer. Not when he's chosen someone else.
"Yeah, still single." I admit, "I have my reasons." But I don't want to share them. "I like you, Goh." I test out the name he offered, "And I . . ."
"Please," He shakes his head, "Spare me this, alright?"
"I-I don't know what I was going to say." I sigh, "Maybe I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me take my roommate's sorry carcass home?"
Understandably cautious, Goh raises an eyebrow, "How romantic." Then smiling, "Fine, sounds . . . fine. I can do that."
"Then we can chat some place . . . not here."
"I can do that." Goh leans out of his chair and stands up, "In fact, I'd like that. How about now?"
I don't know why I asked him. Maybe I need a distraction . . . or something.
Something, check.
***
Meanwhile and far away
As the night draws in
He's holding her right now
I can feel it all begin
Meanwhile and far away
When the day is done
I ride away my friend
Into the setting sun
And the river's running down
Down to the sea
***
Part Nine / Part Eleven