- Drabble -
Player: Dreamoflight
Subject: Itsuki Koizumi
Table: B [ Prompt Table ]
Prompt: Voice
Itsuki uses a pay phone, the one at the bottom of the hill that the school stands on, leaning against the side nonchalantly and watching the uniformed students walk by. There are only a trickle at this hour; Haruhi keeps them in the clubroom long after most students leave their clubs for home, and as it was, he had been the last to leave. There are a surprising number of girls from Kouyouen on their way home; maybe attending a more prestigious school than North High means they devote more time to clubs, and leave later. Or perhaps the school itself ends classes later, and this is a normal time for clubs to let out for them.
He realizes he’s distracting himself and digs around in his pocket for change; he pushes them through the slot unhurriedly and dials the number slowly and deliberately. If he rushes he’ll make a mistake, and that might make him turn around and leave altogether. He’s not planning to say anything, and they’ll brush it off as a prank call, so there’s no danger. No danger at all. He just wants to hear them, that’s it.
He hopes they haven’t moved.
A woman picks up the phone. “Hello. This is Sanada.”
His mouth goes dry. “Ah. I...” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. This must be the wrong number.” It’s not. He’s sure it’s not. He’s been running the digits over and over in his head all afternoon.
“Oh, is that right? This is--” She rattles off the phone number in sharp bursts of numbers.
“Yes, that’s...” He pauses. Hesitates. “Actually, yes, that’s the number I was trying to reach. Do you know what happened to the previous residents?”
“I’m afraid you’ve missed them by a few months. They moved out not long ago. I met them once or twice, very nice couple, bit perplexed as to why they moved, to be honest, until I asked the neighbors, apparently there was some business with their son-- and I said what son, I didn’t see him, and they said--
“--Yes,” Itsuki interrupts, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He got the sense the woman would go on all day if he let her. “Thank you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
“Would you like their number? They left contact information so I could forward their mail.”
He hesitates.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes. No, that’s all right. It’s not important.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
He hangs up and joins the crowd of students, nodding to a few girls he spots from his class, his face placid. That's it, then. It's almost a relief, in a sad sort of way, to have a decision like that made for you. You could call back, ask for the number, a voice whispers in his head. Or the Agency will have it on file, you know they will. And what then? Just something else to hold himself back from.
He takes out his cell phone and presses the 7. The speed dial beeps, and he brings the phone up to his ear.
“Hello, Dr. Cuddy? ...No, nothing’s wrong. ...Yes, really. I suppose I’m just in the mood for a chat, that’s all.”
Subject: Itsuki Koizumi
Table: B [ Prompt Table ]
Prompt: Voice
Itsuki uses a pay phone, the one at the bottom of the hill that the school stands on, leaning against the side nonchalantly and watching the uniformed students walk by. There are only a trickle at this hour; Haruhi keeps them in the clubroom long after most students leave their clubs for home, and as it was, he had been the last to leave. There are a surprising number of girls from Kouyouen on their way home; maybe attending a more prestigious school than North High means they devote more time to clubs, and leave later. Or perhaps the school itself ends classes later, and this is a normal time for clubs to let out for them.
He realizes he’s distracting himself and digs around in his pocket for change; he pushes them through the slot unhurriedly and dials the number slowly and deliberately. If he rushes he’ll make a mistake, and that might make him turn around and leave altogether. He’s not planning to say anything, and they’ll brush it off as a prank call, so there’s no danger. No danger at all. He just wants to hear them, that’s it.
He hopes they haven’t moved.
A woman picks up the phone. “Hello. This is Sanada.”
His mouth goes dry. “Ah. I...” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. This must be the wrong number.” It’s not. He’s sure it’s not. He’s been running the digits over and over in his head all afternoon.
“Oh, is that right? This is--” She rattles off the phone number in sharp bursts of numbers.
“Yes, that’s...” He pauses. Hesitates. “Actually, yes, that’s the number I was trying to reach. Do you know what happened to the previous residents?”
“I’m afraid you’ve missed them by a few months. They moved out not long ago. I met them once or twice, very nice couple, bit perplexed as to why they moved, to be honest, until I asked the neighbors, apparently there was some business with their son-- and I said what son, I didn’t see him, and they said--
“--Yes,” Itsuki interrupts, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He got the sense the woman would go on all day if he let her. “Thank you. I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
“Would you like their number? They left contact information so I could forward their mail.”
He hesitates.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
“Yes. No, that’s all right. It’s not important.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
He hangs up and joins the crowd of students, nodding to a few girls he spots from his class, his face placid. That's it, then. It's almost a relief, in a sad sort of way, to have a decision like that made for you. You could call back, ask for the number, a voice whispers in his head. Or the Agency will have it on file, you know they will. And what then? Just something else to hold himself back from.
He takes out his cell phone and presses the 7. The speed dial beeps, and he brings the phone up to his ear.
“Hello, Dr. Cuddy? ...No, nothing’s wrong. ...Yes, really. I suppose I’m just in the mood for a chat, that’s all.”