fic for iris_aya
Title: Mission Unnamed
Author: paddyabroad
Pairing: Miroku and … “a Kame” (to spoil yourself click here)
Word count: 7784
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: Miroku has an awful memory for names.
Notes: for iris_aya hope you like this!
Summary: Miroku is in a bad mood, but he is not the only one in class. What's up with his classmate and why does Miroku care to begin with?
The vice president of the Yukan Club was twitching in his seat. One moment he was resting his head on his crossed arms on the table, the next he would sit up and lean back, crossing his legs. The day was feeling endless and his attention span had reached his limit an eternity ago.
Noriko and Seishiro were sitting in the first row, taking notes that he would be borrowing before the final exam. Maybe he would even read them. Bidou was gazing out the window, whether at his own reflection in the glass or some girls passing by, Miroku could not tell from where he was sitting. Karen was doing her nails. Boring.
Yuri had unwrapped some candy a while ago, but for some inexplicable reason she was sitting three desks away, leaving Miroku no chance to distract himself by stealing any of her food.
His other classmates were in various stages of paying attention and he shifted again, wondering if the teacher would notice if he put his feet on the table.
Just as he was making up a good enough excuse to leave in the middle of class the bell had mercy with him and rang, announcing the end of the school day. Miroku darted up, grabbing his bag which held the minimum amount of school related articles, none of which he had bothered to unpack. Who needed history anyways? Done was done and that was that.
Plopping a lollipop into his mouth Miroku was the first to leave the room.
*
With the hum of the engine between his legs and the wind gushing against his visor Miroku felt alive again. Somehow he had felt like leaving the old building of Saint Presidents behind him without further ado and not one to questions his urges, the redhead had left.
He took a detour home, enjoying the freedom his bike gave him, just cruising around for a bit. Eventually though he grew restless again and steered the trusted machine homewards.
Otokoyama welcomed him back with a wagging tail.
“You want to go out, don’t you?” Miroku took his helmet off, but kept the shoes on while he made for the leash. Minutes later he was out the door again, moving along towards wherever Otokoyama was dragging him.
Only when he arrived at what used to be Cherry’s home he pried the dog away. The other dog and her owner had long departed, but Otokoyama was no one to understand that. They continued their walk more slowly until Miroku found that they had returned to their own house eventually. Shrugging his shoulders he went inside to head to a growling stomach next.
*
Miroku could not sleep. The moment he closed his eyes weird images would pop up out of the dark, confusing him - so he preferred staying awake. Only when the old man had yelled at him to shut the fuck up and go to bed had he stopped working on his bike.
Now, lying on his futon, he still felt restless. Tossing and turning got him nowhere and when eventually the myriad of alarm clocks rang the next morning he felt like he had barely closed his eyes at all.
He set forth with his routine, brushing teeth, downing an orange juice for breakfast and using the helmet to straighten his hair from the sleep-deprived disarray it was in. He drove to school and thumped down in his chair where his mind set into automode.
Somehow between English and Math he must have fallen asleep just to awake with a jump when something hit him upon the head. Growling he looked around, ignoring the teacher’s chiding and finally finding the offensive object. Miroku unrolled the paper ball to find Yuri’s wiery hand-writing on it.
>> You look like crap.
He growled louder, she woke him for that shit? Deciding too much was too much he got up. Ignoring the sudden silence around him, he smacked the paper onto Yuri’s table, not-so-accidentally pushing her half-eaten bento off in the process.
“What the-” she started loudly, jumping up, but Miroku had already walked past and was out the door a moment later.
“Shochikubai, you cannot simply walk out of the-”
“I just did,” he growled back, slowly unwrapping a lollipop.
“Walking out without a reason means deten-”
“Bathroom,” he called over his shoulder before plopping the candy into his mouth.
*
In the bathroom Miroku was looking at his reflection in the mirror. The eyebags were not as bad as he had expected and the helmet had worked as well as any brush. Yet Yuri had been right, he looked like crap.
What was wrong with him?
He could not answer that, an inner restlessness had grabbed hold of him, shortening his already short attention span further and making every little word rub him the wrong way.
Maybe he was still feeling with Otokoyama for losing Cherry, he thought.
Splashing some water in his face he tried kicking himself out of that… mood or whatever it was.
*
It did not help.
Nothing he tried helped and he only grew more wary and irritated over the next couple of days. While he noticed it happening he had no means to prevent it. Miroku being Miroku he did not feel the need to hide his emotions in any way either, exploding into people’s faces when all they did was wishing him a good morning.
His morning had not been good, it had been too early, the night had been to short, sleep had been lacking.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bidou asked him when Karen was trying to coax Noriko out of her corner after Miroku had yelled at her. She had reminded him of an upcoming test.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Miroku shot back, feeling anger burning inside him.
“You sure don’t behave like you usually do,” Bidou gave him the eye. “You look… tense. Have you tried relaxing? I know this awesome bubble bath that will make you feel calm and-”
“I don’t need no fucking bubble bath,” Miroku interrupted him with a tsk.
“You need to get laid, you act like a jerk,” Karen hissed from the other side of the room.
“Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Miroku stormed out, not even feeling in the mood for the cherry flavoured special lollipop he had been saving for bad times.
*
And it did not get better.
He had not even paid the teacher any heed the next day when he was addressing him directly. His head firmly planted on the desk, head-turned sideways, he wished he could nap the hours away. But sleep seemed to have deserted him.
At least, Miroku thought, he seemed not the only one having a bad day.
After the lesson was over he had not moved, and his tilted head allowed him to watch a scene going on a couple of desks over to his right. He could not really hear the words spoken, most of them under his classmate’s breath, some obviously restrained by anger.
His brain did not even supply the guy’s name, but whoever he was, he seemed seriously angry with Seishiro. His friend shrugged apologetically and earned a sneer for his efforts as the bespectacled other left Seishiro standing, storming out of the classroom.
Miroku popped his head up, blinking. If he wasn’t one to identify erratic behaviour, he did not know who could. Using the incident to at least momentarily distract him from his own restlessness he got up, strolling over to where Seishiro was packing his things up.
“What has his feathers ruffled?” Miroku asked, nonchalantly plopping down on top of the desk next to Seishiros.
“Same old.”
“You stole his girlfriend?”
“Not everybody has their pants in a knot about that,” he left the like you unspoken, hanging like a veil between them.
“Then what,” Miroku bit back, trying hard not to be the one pulling a fight. But his patience would run low eventually and he knew it. Patience had never been his forte.
“Money.”
“Oh. That one… but why?”
Seishiro heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Will you let me go to the library if I spell it all out for you?”
And that was that for patience.
“No need to spell anything out for me, go to the library and take the fucking horse you rode in on with you,” Miroku spat and could all but leave before he started throwing punches.
Fuming, he walked through the corridors, not entirely sure where his feet were taking him. He did not care. His thoughts were filled with wrath that felt so justified, he should really had taken it out with Seishiro. At least that guy could take a punch. Maybe it would have finally have cleared his system.
But he hadn’t.
Walking past a bathroom, Miroku backtracked, deciding he could use a splash of cold water to come down.
When he stormed into the restroom he stopped dead in his tracks. In that white-tiled room he saw the other one, the guy yelling at Seishiro just a few minutes ago. His slender form was leaning over the faucet, dark hair obscuring part of his features. However, Miroku could see that the glasses rested next to the basin and water trickled down the bump on the ridge of his nose.
The redhead could just watch, his mouth hanging open the slightest bit.
“What?” The other one turned to him made him snap out of it.
He blinked, but did not turn away. Water drops had gotten on the dark blue uniform and Miroku traced them with his eyes.
“What?” The other repeated, eyes narrowing as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose.
“Nothing,” Miroku forced himself to turn away, his mind racing. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember his classmate’s name.
“You’re a bad liar, Shochikubai,” the other chided walking past him and out of the restroom.
Of course the other knew his name, and who was he anyways to judge him?! Following an impulse, Miroku rushed out of the restroom to yell after him, not caring that half the school seemed to be in the corridor between them.
“And who would care for your opinion, jerk?”
But the other ignored him, walking on without even turning around.
*
Miroku did not see his classmate again that day.
Nor the next.
On the third day he was so far that it bothered him.
While he could still not think of the guy’s name and his pride forbid from asking others, he did remember him outscoring Noriko a couple of times, even on final exams. A nerd like that would not miss classes if he had no real reason.
Then it hit him. The guy with the curiously shaped nose had been arguing, not with him, not with Miroku, but with Seishiro! Surely that had to be the reason for his sudden absence. Miroku decided to investigate.
If only he could remember the name… it would make everything so much easier.
*
Where do you start looking for a person you don’t know?
Where you expected them to be, so during recess, Miroku approached the still empty seat in the classroom. Turning at random to the next seat over to the right, he approached another classmate he had barely ever spoken more than a handful of words with.
“He got sick?” Miroku cut to the chase right away, nodding his head at the empty desk.
The other guy just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“How should I know?”
“You sit next to him?”
“So?”
Miroku blinked.
Mission failed.
Tactical retreat.
“Nevermind.”
*
But he was not giving up. Next break, lunch, he tried the other side, left from the missing guy’s desk.
Approaching was easier this time around too as Bidou was already talking to the girl in question. Miroku could just walk up and pretend to save her from his advances - or at least that was the plan.
“I apologize for my friend bothering you,” he was met with questioning eyes.
“Miroku, what do you-”
“I just don’t think you should use this timing for your moves, Bidou.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Using his absence,” he nodded at the empty desk once more, “to make your move.”
To his disappointment, the girl giggled.
“Him? Really? You think we are…?”
“Close enough to know why he is missing?” When subtleties fail just walk the door straight into the house.
“I have been wondering… I have no clue,” she admitted.
Mission failed.
“Miroku, what are you trying to get at?” Bidou asked, his usual easy-going mood slightly shaded.
Tactical retreat.
“Nothing.”
Damn, he was getting nowhere.
*
The total of the next period, while everybody else was feverishly trying to pry last minute hints from the teacher for the next lesson’s math exam, Miroku wondered whether he could pry some other information from the teaching staff.
It would be so easy to sneak the class file out of the staff room if he only had the name. He was sure he would recognize it once he read it. But after the last stunt they pulled the staff room was much better protected and he would need to ask the others for help…
He was simply considering to ask - caring vice-president of the Yukan Club that he was and all. But he would look mightily stupid without a name.
No, that would not work.
When the bell rang and Miroku had no new executable plan of action he groaned. Instead of wondering and reflecting why he cared so much all of a sudden, he decided it was time to give Seishiro another piece of his mind. Blow off some steam.
“What did you do to the poor guy, scaring him from attending school, bully?” He challenged without any sort of preamble.
“What are you talking about, Miroku?”
“Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Expatriated!”
“… exasperated?”
“Fuck you!”
But before he could throw the first fist, the classroom door opened. The teacher returning would not have stopped Miroku - but it wasn’t a teacher.
“You! Where have you been?” He hollered across the room, Seishiro forgotten.
The other stopped in his tracks, looking at Miroku and then realizing that due to the redhead’s shouting he had the whole class’s attention now.
“None of your business,” he retorted, pushing through to take his seat.
Miroku was just about to explain how it very well was his business when the teacher did come in. Any other day this would not have deterred Miroku, but for some reason the new math teacher had made it very clear that she was not to be messed with. And with everybody else rushing towards their seats the resulting quietness was too much to bear on him alone.
Stupid teacher and her stupid piggytails, Miroku cursed mentally while sitting down.
He proceeded to curse out loud when the tests were passed out. The alphabet was made for English class, not for calculating!
“Shochikubai!” Piggytails chided him and he knocked his head on the table.
There was no way he was going to pass this one.
*
After having spent the better part of the hour drawing a detailed motorcycle with 369 for a license plate, Miroku’s head jerked up when someone approached the teacher’s desk.
It was only Noriko, handing in first, so he returned to finish some details on the exhaust while she returned to her seat.
Two more of his classmates handed in and Miroku was just finishing the smart slogan he had taken long to come up with (“sorry, I parked the motorcycle in front of the conclusions, just erase the unnecessary parts and you will see the answers!”) when the classmate he wanted to catch was already out of the door.
Swallowing another curse, Miroku grabbed his stuff and was out of the door before the Piggytails could even look at his answer sheet. Down the corridor he could see the dark haired guy, moving in a fast pace towards the exit - had he just come for the exam?
Intrigued, Miroku decided to follow silently.
Soon he realized that staging an undercover pursuit without any preparation, without the help of the Yukan Club or any tracking gadgets and involving public transportation was not as easy as whirling around in a loud red sports car.
*
The lithe form fumbled with the key and then pushed the heavy door open. After he slipped in the door fell back into the lock with no chance for Miroku to follow. But he did not need to, he had figured out what he needed to know.
From one glance at the building it had been clear to Miroku what this was. At the outskirts of town, with no neighbors around and an obvious lack of windows, the cement and metal construction screamed club, but one of the shadier kind. Red neon lights on the top and the old carrosserie of an old-timer supposedly lent it style, but the old-timer was just old and the lights were not even turned on yet.
Marking the location on his smartphone, Miroku turned back around. There was no need to stay around any longer. He had seen where the other one had headed and the fact that he had had a key presumably meant he was working there.
Miroku decided that a night of partying was in order to figure out why.
*
Miroku took the helmet off and ran his fingers through his red hair. It had lost all the volume that he had oh-so-carefully arranged before remembering he would be taking the bike. The sight of the club had changed, the red letters now joined by a red carpet and neon lights illuminated, spelling out to him that he had chosen the Frentzen for his night out.
He had calculated correctly, and the club was already busy enough not to catch unwanted attention too fast. With confident steps and heavy leather boots Miroku walked towards the entrance and past a couple of guys arguing with the bouncer.
A second bouncer gave him a once over, but apparently his choice of closing had panned out nicely - the leather pants, slightly open white dress shirt combo usually did that trick. Okay, and the fake ID he held under the guy’s nose. With a leer he was waved in, paid his entrance fee and entered the shadiest club of his career.
What was a classmate of his doing working at a place like this? Let alone a guy with such grades?
The club was as shady an affair as he had predicted. Fake smoke and green lights trying to distract from the factory hall feeling. The space was divided into various smaller areas to make it appear busier than it actually was. While the music was as much felt in his chest as heard with his ears, Miroku first took in the general dance floors.
He saw a couple of doors that led away, bouncers in front of each, checking the people approaching them. In some areas they even seemed to require some sort of special ID and were compared to a master list. Storing this information Miroku decided it was time to get a drink. The fake smoke had made him thirsty and maybe there was a chance to chat up a nice chick behind the bar and ask where he might find his classmate.
“Vodka on the rocks,” he ordered with the guy behind the counter, who had his back to him.
When the employee did turn around, a peculiar shaped nose clearly distinguishable even in the dim light Miroku could barely suppress the ‘aha!’ feeling from becoming and outcry. Not that anyone would have heard him anyways.
“You are too young to order that,” the bartended deadpanned; he never stopped drying the glass in his hand.
“You are too young to serve it,” Miroku retorted, feeling smug at the good comeback.
“What are you doing here, Shochikubai?”
“Partying, what else!”
“You’re a bad liar,” he walked off to attend to another customer without any apparent thought of providing Miroku with his drink.
The redhead waited until the other’s customers had cleared away again.
“What about my drink?”
“Nothing for a stalker.”
“Wow, wow, who do you think you are?”
The other fixed him with a glare.
“The guy who is about to call security and get your sorry ass kicked out.”
“So you did notice it? I, too, think these pants rather underline my nicer attributes,” he felt on a roll tonight.
As the other one put the glass down and a slender hand went for under the bar top, Miroku followed an instinct. He darted forward to grab the wrist and prevent the other from pushing the button requesting for help to have him taken away.
“What the fuck?” Snapping his wrist in the direction of Miroku’s fingertips, the other had his hand free in a second, taking a step back so Miroku could not repeat the attempt.
“What are you doing here?” Miroku pressed, sure his time was limited now. Someone must have noticed their interaction.
“That’s none of your business.”
If glares could kill he would be six feet under by now.
“You skip school for this.”
“So?”
“Your grades will fall.”
“You fucking bastard-”
“Any problems here?” The bouncers had arrived, two guys as tall as Bido and twice as broad, shit. He could at least have used his classmate’s name and finally get rid of that mental block for Miroku, but he had not.
“He is underage,” the bartender replied, looking straight at Miroku and the tiniest of evil smirks playing on the very corner of his lips.
“Sir, I would like you to follow me, please.”
“Ask your bartender for his ID,” Miroku shot back.
*
There had been no point in fighting, he had been directed out of the club without any sort of fuss, but also without any true chance of resisting. All under the eye - and the smirk! - of that stupid jerk.
Why would he work in a place like this?
The night was too young to leave and he had a mood to cool down anyways. Producing an emergency lollipop out of nowhere Miroku plopped it into his mouth and prepared for a long night of surveillance.
Eventually when the wind got too cold from his spot at the front of the building Miroku re-parked his bike in the side-alley, sitting down on it sideways and keeping an eye on the only side-exit he had seen. It was already 4am and the number of guests leaving increased steadily. Surely, when the bar closed, the bartender would not leave through the main entrance anyways.
He drew into the shadows a bit just to make sure he would not be spotted by anyone peaking out or into the alleyway. First observe, than act. He had not learned that one from his old man.
When the sugar of the fourth lollipop had almost come to an end and Miroku considered fishing through his pocket to find the 500 Yen coin that he could feel pressing into his leg and then use it to get a shot of coffee at the next best vending machine the door opened to the back area of the club.
The slender shape that came out carrying crates of empty bottles was more than familiar. Miroku was just about to bolt when someone else moved in the shadows, so he ducked deeper into them.
“What’cha think, we’ve a bit fuuun naow you’re off?” A man had appeared out of nowhere and Miroku cursed himself for not having paid enough attention, not having noticed the guy earlier. Where had he been?
“Sober up,” his classmate’s voice retorted, still icy, but laced with just a bit of fatigue.
“I’m suure you could sober me up in noo time,” the man got closer as the other dropped his crate against the opposite wall. Miroku’s eyebrows furrowed, maybe the man was not as drunk as he seemed to be, or he had accidentally placed himself right between the door and the bartender. Too strategic to be purely coincidential.
As dreaded, the man moved in a moment later, leaving less than a meter between himself and the wall, with the bartender and the crates in the middle.
“I know a couple of things to put your dirty mouth to better use,” without further preamble, and the drunken slur almost completely vanished from his speech the guy pushed forward, his hands darting out for the bartender’s hair, taking a grip and forcing him into a sitting position on the crates.
Miroku was already moving, the guy was too, about to press his crotch into the face in front of him, but his perceived victim was faster than both of them.
The guy wailed as his crotch was met with a pointed knee, the bartender pushing up from the crates with his arms. Luckily his attacker was no short-distant boxer and pulled his right far back before aiming to punch the head he still held with his left. Miroku arrived mid-motion and unsuspected from the side put, it put momentum into his own punch, clearing the guy off his feet.
He received an icy stare as he turned to the bartender.
“What?” Why did he feel like he had to justify his action?
“I did not ask for help.”
“You could use it though, proud jerk!”
“There was no need for you to-”
“Protect you from looking like a panda tomorrow? I sure think there was.”
The guy on the floor was slowly getting up and by the looks of it, it was the only thing that kept Miroku from coming closer to the looks of a panda himself. The guy looked at them once. He must have realized that they were radiating with anger and just looking for an outlet. The attacker turned around without a second thought and was out of sight surprisingly fast for someone who had been knocked out for a bit just moments before.
When Miroku turned back to his classmate he could only see the other one’s retreating back and before he could as much as protest the black-haired male had disappeared back into the club. The door closed with a mocking snap behind him.
“You are fucking welcome, bastard!” Miroku yelled at the night in general and the steel door in particular.
*
Miroku was on his second can of coffee when almost two hours later the door opened again. He had remained visible this time and as alert as possible when wavering between sugar and caffeine high. Just in case.
This time, the other was carrying his bag, a sure sign that he was leaving.
“That was a long shift,” Miroku greeted, and tired eyes turned cold at seeing him again.
“Cut the shit,” the redhead growled, throwing his second helmet at the other without giving the bartender time to reply, “and put that on.”
The bartender caught the helmet, but did not move.
“You look like shit,” Miroku informed. “And my bike is faster than the train.”
Still no reaction.
“Come on, you know you don’t want to walk all the way to the station.”
Somehow it did the trick, and the bartender hesitantly put the helmet over his dark hair. Miroku mounted his bike, kicking the stand in and waited.
“Need a written invitation?” He asked after a few moments when the other still seemed hesitant.
“Shut up,” the voice was tight, but its owner sat behind Miroku a moment later.
“Hold on tight,” Miroku could not restrain himself from saying, twisting the accelerator to make his point and ensure the other would not get off the bike again a moment later.
“’stard” he vaguely heard from behind as arms circled around him. Then the wind had increased too much for conversation.
*
“This is not the way into town!”
The other was clinging on to him as Miroku had suggested, but after ten minutes he had caught a clue that Miroku was not intending to take him home just now. Didn’t even know where that was…
“I know,” he yelled back over the sound of the engine.
Instead of another reply, he felt fingers digging into the meat of his stomach, pinching and twisting in a throbbing iron-like grip.
“Fuck,” he cursed, all his mind concentrating on not swerving the bike.
The pain momentarily increased and then the other let go again.
“I’m driving, do you want to kill us both?!” Miroku yelled after taking a deep breath.
“Avoided pressure points,” the other growled back.
They drove a bit further until Miroku felt the fingers tightening on him again. Luckily they had arrived where he wanted to go. Moments later he stirred the bike onto the grass next to the road - at this hour nobody would be around to complain.
In front of them the wide expanses of Tama River enjoyed the first rays of a young sun, water sparkling and grass rising to meet the light. Miroku turned the engine off.
“Drive me home.”
“In a bit.”
No reply.
“You know, we can keep sitting here, your arms around me, enjoying the sunrise, if that is what you want,” Miroku said, adding quickly, “yes, yes, I know you are a sadist, but I’d prefer you cutting on the pinching crap. Instead, if you get off the bike, we could sit down and have a chat like grown ups - no hair-pulling, I promise.”
The other was off in no time, but started walking immediately.
“Where are you going?” Miroku dropped his helmet next to the other one and followed.
“I don’t need you to get home.”
“Do you know where we are?”
Silence.
Miroku grabbed his classmate’s wrist, half expecting a defensive attack, but this was not Seishiro. The other had kneed a guy in the privates, but it did not make him a natural fighter. So Miroku pulled on him, and quite literally forced him to descend the slope towards the water a few meters and then sat down on the damp grass.
“Stop running away,” he mustered his most adult voice.
He did not smirk to himself when the other followed with a heavy sigh, sitting down a good bit away from him.
“What do you want, Shochikubai?”
What did he want? Good question, he was not so sure about the answer to that one himself. But he knew what he had waited for the whole damn night.
“Why do you work at a place like that?” Miroku countered the question with one of his own.
“None of your business,” the other shot back.
“You know, if you stopped to think about the question for a second, you would realize it would not hurt you to answer it.”
“It has nothing to do with you!”
“But with Seishiro?” Miroku ventured a not-so-wild guess, earning silence.
Miroku allowed the silence to stretch, it was a heavy one, but at least the other was no longer running. Leaning back, his hands behind his head, Miroku had a chance to look at him. Slender, black hair, sitting too upright for leisurely hanging out in the early sun sitting on the ground.
“Should I ask him instead?” Miroku suggested, just to watch if the body reacted, gave anything away. It did not.
“No,” the bartender growled.
Miroku sat back up, making a show to pull out his cell phone. He had Seishiro on speed-dial seven, but made a point out of punching the numbers in by hand. The moment he put the phone to his ear, it was not even ringing yet, the other was next to him, snatching the phone and closing it, aborting the call.
“What?”
The black-haired one looked at him, intently studying him through the metal framed glasses - judging him.
“You are not as much of an idiot as you make people believe, Shochikubai.”
“Should I be flattered or offended?”
“You can very well imagine why I work at the Frentzen,” the other ignored Miroku’s remark.
“Money?” He guessed, playing along, apparently he had been deemed enough of a conversation partner during the scrutiny.
“Not bad for someone who flunked math.”
“You noticed?”
“You are as subtle as a bulldozer.”
“Now that is offensive,” but he could not bring himself to really be offended. They were finally talking, bickering, true, but that still meant the other opened up to him, slowly.
“Why do you need money?”
“None of your-”
Just opening his cell phone again interrupted the other and Miroku held his frosty glare, not moving to dial, but neither closing the phone again.
“Why do you want to know all this? It is none of your business,” the other said eventually, breaking the eye contact and making Miroku enjoy one small victory.
“You seemed upset.”
“So?”
“So I thought I could help?” Yes, that sounded about right. He had been following an intuition and played it by the ear - it was not easy justifying his own urges to others when they hardly made sense to himself most of the time.
“You?”
“I… we? You know the Yukan Club’s motto is to-”
“Waste your breathe on someone who believes you.”
“Huh?”
“Seriously, go play detective as much as you like, but the real world is not that easily taken care off just because six rich kids get together and feel generous.”
“Are you holding a grudge against… us?”
“And if?” The other now outright challenged, apparently having forgotten that he wasn’t going to talk with Miroku.
“Why would you?” Miroku blinked.
“You seriously think everybody has to like you, don’t you Shochikubai?”
“Well, they do,” he blurted out without thinking.
But it was true, and not just him but all six of them. Any day even a blind person would notice that when they came to school. They hardly managed to get to class in time due to others following their every step, looking for support or just admiring them, or in the case of Bidou, dying for a date.
“Self-loving idiot,” the other growled softly
“What is wrong with people liking us?” We are awesome, he added, luckily only mentally by the look he was getting.
“You don’t deserve a bit of it. What did you ever achieve in your life that was not made possible by your parents money, contacts or such?”
Miroku’s mouth was hanging open, why did the other have such a bad image of them? Of him?
“You know, even if you could help me, I would not want you to,” he got up. “And now you either get me into town or I will walk.”
*
Miroku lay on his futon, it was eleven in the morning and the sun was high by now, he had dropped the other off and was watched driving away, apparently in order not to follow him home. Suspicious bastard.
Having not slept a blink that night he had gone straight to bed, ignoring his cell phone and various messages from the Yukan Club, school administration and his old man about not attending school.
But sleep would not come.
Absent-mindedly he rubbed his stomach, wondering why it felt sore. Then, pushing his shirt up to reveal his abs he remembered, a purple spot serving as concrete reminder. That bastard.
When he was still not sleeping an hour later he decided to do what needed doing and he called Seishiro.
“This better be important Miroku! Where are you?”
“I am not the only one missing am I?”
“No, but-”
“What did you talk to him about? Four days ago, you were arguing,” Miroku prodded, not in the mood for explanations.
“Oh that?” Seishiro replied distractedly. “I had to tell him that our hospital would not be able to put out its usual grant for tuition for a firsty in meds this year. He had a summer study program and was a hopeful candidate, so I thought I should inform him right away so he could find other means to finance his studies. Why?”
Oh shit, Miroku cursed mentally. That explained it all. Why he was working at the Frentzen, missing classes for it, holding a grudge against classmates with rich parents and the Yukan Club in particular.
Miroku might not remember his name, but he sure did remember the guy’s ambition. He wanted to be a surgeon. Only, if he had been aiming for the Masamune Grant, it meant he would not be able to afford any of the top notch universities of the country without additional support.
“Just curious, bye,” Miroku forced the words out and they sounded hollow to him, he hung up.
Minutes later he had written Yuri an email requesting for a Yukan Club meeting in the afternoon and alluding that he would have a need for her father’s pots if one was to be come by.
*
“What’s wrong with you lately, Miroku?” Karen asked as he finally arrived, late to the meeting he had set himself - but Otokoyama had needed his walk.
“This is not about me it is about Seishiro,” Miroku declared and it was only half a lie. At least Seishiro’s name he knew.
“About me?”
“You and the Masamune Grant, we have to reinstate it.”
“Hold on, what? That is none of your business, Shochikubai!” Seishiro snapped.
“I heard that once too often in the last days,” he bit back. “I made it my business and I presume the reason for cutting it was cost saving in essence, right?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t see why you-”
“You don’t need to.”
“Miroku, what’s going on?” Yuri asked around a mouthful of nikuman.
“Someone has worked hard for that scholarship and now is begrudging you, all of you for it.”
“And when you say he begrudges us, you mean he begrudges you,” Noriko remarked from where she stood on the other side of the room - as far away as possible.
“That’s not the point,” but the other’s were already exchanging glances.
“I will get the money,” Yuri exclaimed then. “What’s the plan?”
Finally a sensible question.
“He would never just accept the money so we have to reinstate the grant.”
“And you think my father will just accept the money, Kenbishi money, after what happened to the planned engagement? Think again, Shochikubai.”
“Yes, he will. It is to cover all the misconceptions about the very engagement mess-up and since he would not just accept money we insist usage for the scholarship.”
“But this friend of yours would want to repay the grant eventually,” Bidou suggest ambiguously failing.
“We can worry about that later,” Miroku declared. “Now Yuri needs to go to Masamune Hospital and you better tag along Seishiro.”
“You know Miroku,” Seishiro began thoughtfully, “this better be worth it, kicking you out of that mood of yours.”
“Huh?”
“Making the impossible possible,” the others chorused.
“… Yukan Club?”
Miroku was sure he was missing some insider here, but that did not matter now. As long as the Yukan Club proceeded with his plan it would all go well. Then one skinny boy would have no more reason to bartender, and more importantly, no more reason to begrudge them. Him.
Anyways…
*
Miroku was back in front of the Frentzen, but this time he was not alone, the ear-piece, cleverly hidden by his red hair connected him to Bidou and Karen, sitting in the Yukan Club truck a few streets down. They had insisted to come and Miroku could not, for the hell of him understand why.
But that did not matter now.
“I’m going in.”
“Miroku, we don’t have the all clear yet,” Bidou cautioned.
“I know, I know, I just go in, look around…” He hated waiting, and he had waited enough for the last couple of days.
Luckily the bouncer wasn’t the same guy as the night before and he got in with his fake-ID and even with the small ear-piece without trouble.
“I’m in,” he grunted, pushing past moving bodies on the first dance floor - it was a lot fuller, a lot more people, Friday night.
“Mi…ku…nection…’ad”
“What? I can’t hear you the connection is bad!”
He ignored Bidou for a while, in favour of checking out the area once more. This time the goal was to see and not be seen. He hid in the crowd in order to find the one who would not be bartending much longer.
Time passed, once Miroku almost thought he had him, but when he got a bit closer to the bar he realized that either the other had slipped away or he had been mistaken.
“Mi…ku! You…’ere?”
Oh shit, that was Karen, her high-pitched voice louder over the static and Miroku hastened to get away from the bar. He needed to find a place where he would at least be able to hear them.
The men’s room!
Drink still in hand Miroku pushed past a group of dancers heading for the blue door. It was a smelly affair and he would look like an idiot talking to himself. Oh, whatever, people phoned on the toilet every day. Miroku locked himself into one of the stalls.
“What?” He hissed.
“Mission accomplished,” Karen reported.
“It’s all in?”
“Yes, the grant will be back in place. We just got Seishiro’s okay, papers are signed. His dad was in a meeting…”
“That’s so good!”
“Now go tell him!”
“Eeeeh?”
“Go get’im tiger,” Bidou yelled somewhere in the background and Miroku was just about to ask him what the fuck he meant when a loud pounding at the door of the stall interrupted him.
“No sex in the bath stalls,” a way too familiar voice growled from outside.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Miroku cursed under his breath, tearing the ear-piece out and pushing it deep into his pocket, he did not need to hear Bidou and Karen dying of laughter at him. Panicking hands searched for his cell phone and the moment he found it he opened the door, praying his face was not looking as hot as it felt.
“Shochikubai!” The other’s eyes narrowed. “If you insist I can have you thrown out of the club again.”
“Hold on, listen,” they had a small amount of spectators now, and without a second thought Miroku grabbed the other’s arm, pulling him into the stall and closing the door behind them.
“What the fuck? Let me out!” The other’s voice got louder as if in a comic attempt to not lose their audience.
“No, no, no! I got news, you have to listen. I know, sit,” he pushed the leaner one to sit on the toilet and was only mildly surprised to find him moving his knee up as if in protection. Miroku had seen that move before and retreated as far as the little cubicle let him, which was not much at all.
“I’m not going to attack you!” He exclaimed, stung by his classmate’s lack of trust.
“You already did,” the other one pointed out. “Dragged me in here, idiot.”
“Because I need to talk to you. The grant. It was a misunderstanding. The grant is back, you don’t need to work here any longer.”
“The fuck, I told you I don’t want your help, Shochikubai!”
Miroku felt like banging his head against the door, why couldn’t that idiot just be thankful and accept it gracefully?
“Well, you still got to compete for it, but the chance is back, asshole. Now don’t ruin it by skipping class and fucking your grades,” he huffed and was out of the stall, leaving the bartender sitting where he was.
Storming through the dance floor people rushed to get out of his way until he bumped into a blond man and a tall Japanese woman.
“What are you doing here?” He yelled over the music, glad to have a vent for his anger.
“We thought we could have a little fun now that the mission is over?” Karen suggested.
“What happened?” Bidou asked, but Miroku did not feel like talking.
He just pushed past them, out of the club and towards his bike.
*
Driving through the night Miroku wondered what he had been expecting. He could not come up with a satisfying answer.
He did not even know, could not point a finger at why he had gotten himself involved in the first place. Maybe he had been bored and wanted some sort of distractions, wanted to prove that some problems that seemed to engulf another’s world could be overcome by his doing alone. To forget his own problems for a bit…
It sounded good, but he was not sure whether the Yukan Club would buy it.
He was still driving through the night, fingers cold from the wind when his cell phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket, but he ignored it. Must be Bidou or Karen anyways, he guessed.
When his fingers were so cold he had problems turning the accelerator Miroku drove home. He did not even care to take his boots off, earning a yell from the old man before plopping down on his couch.
The cell phone vibrated again, reminding him he had not checked the previous message.
Reluctantly Miroku fished for the device, flipping it open and accessing the message. He furrowed his brows, it was from an unknown number, and neither Bidou nor Karen had mentioned a new cell phone or something.
>> Thank you. Wakui.
Miroku almost jumped reading the three words.
A thank you.
A fucking thank you.
He read it again.
>> Thank you. Wakui.
Wakui.
Suddenly the chandelier in his head ignited.
Masakazu Wakui!!!
That was the bastard’s name!
~The End~
Omake
“Glad you’re back in school,” Miroku whispered from his desk. Well, the desk he occupied now and had growled at its former owner for. The desk next to Wakui’s.
“Don’t flatten yourself.”
“How did a nerd like you know of a place like the Frentzen anyways?” Miroku asked, ignoring their teacher’s glare as they were supposed to analyze the graph on the board in front of them.
“My cousin worked there once. Now shut the fuck up and let me study. I did not come back to school for you to fuck my grades.”
Miroku made a sulking face, Wakui was opening up to him, one turtle-step at a time. Sadly, he was more of a hare and had never been one for patience.
Busy with his musings, Miroku did not notice how the maths’s teacher narrowed her eyes. Turning to herself, she decided she would have to have a serious talk with one of her former precious students.
*
Author: paddyabroad
Pairing: Miroku and … “a Kame” (to spoil yourself click here)
Word count: 7784
Rating: PG-13 for language
Warnings: Miroku has an awful memory for names.
Notes: for iris_aya hope you like this!
Summary: Miroku is in a bad mood, but he is not the only one in class. What's up with his classmate and why does Miroku care to begin with?
The vice president of the Yukan Club was twitching in his seat. One moment he was resting his head on his crossed arms on the table, the next he would sit up and lean back, crossing his legs. The day was feeling endless and his attention span had reached his limit an eternity ago.
Noriko and Seishiro were sitting in the first row, taking notes that he would be borrowing before the final exam. Maybe he would even read them. Bidou was gazing out the window, whether at his own reflection in the glass or some girls passing by, Miroku could not tell from where he was sitting. Karen was doing her nails. Boring.
Yuri had unwrapped some candy a while ago, but for some inexplicable reason she was sitting three desks away, leaving Miroku no chance to distract himself by stealing any of her food.
His other classmates were in various stages of paying attention and he shifted again, wondering if the teacher would notice if he put his feet on the table.
Just as he was making up a good enough excuse to leave in the middle of class the bell had mercy with him and rang, announcing the end of the school day. Miroku darted up, grabbing his bag which held the minimum amount of school related articles, none of which he had bothered to unpack. Who needed history anyways? Done was done and that was that.
Plopping a lollipop into his mouth Miroku was the first to leave the room.
*
With the hum of the engine between his legs and the wind gushing against his visor Miroku felt alive again. Somehow he had felt like leaving the old building of Saint Presidents behind him without further ado and not one to questions his urges, the redhead had left.
He took a detour home, enjoying the freedom his bike gave him, just cruising around for a bit. Eventually though he grew restless again and steered the trusted machine homewards.
Otokoyama welcomed him back with a wagging tail.
“You want to go out, don’t you?” Miroku took his helmet off, but kept the shoes on while he made for the leash. Minutes later he was out the door again, moving along towards wherever Otokoyama was dragging him.
Only when he arrived at what used to be Cherry’s home he pried the dog away. The other dog and her owner had long departed, but Otokoyama was no one to understand that. They continued their walk more slowly until Miroku found that they had returned to their own house eventually. Shrugging his shoulders he went inside to head to a growling stomach next.
*
Miroku could not sleep. The moment he closed his eyes weird images would pop up out of the dark, confusing him - so he preferred staying awake. Only when the old man had yelled at him to shut the fuck up and go to bed had he stopped working on his bike.
Now, lying on his futon, he still felt restless. Tossing and turning got him nowhere and when eventually the myriad of alarm clocks rang the next morning he felt like he had barely closed his eyes at all.
He set forth with his routine, brushing teeth, downing an orange juice for breakfast and using the helmet to straighten his hair from the sleep-deprived disarray it was in. He drove to school and thumped down in his chair where his mind set into automode.
Somehow between English and Math he must have fallen asleep just to awake with a jump when something hit him upon the head. Growling he looked around, ignoring the teacher’s chiding and finally finding the offensive object. Miroku unrolled the paper ball to find Yuri’s wiery hand-writing on it.
>> You look like crap.
He growled louder, she woke him for that shit? Deciding too much was too much he got up. Ignoring the sudden silence around him, he smacked the paper onto Yuri’s table, not-so-accidentally pushing her half-eaten bento off in the process.
“What the-” she started loudly, jumping up, but Miroku had already walked past and was out the door a moment later.
“Shochikubai, you cannot simply walk out of the-”
“I just did,” he growled back, slowly unwrapping a lollipop.
“Walking out without a reason means deten-”
“Bathroom,” he called over his shoulder before plopping the candy into his mouth.
*
In the bathroom Miroku was looking at his reflection in the mirror. The eyebags were not as bad as he had expected and the helmet had worked as well as any brush. Yet Yuri had been right, he looked like crap.
What was wrong with him?
He could not answer that, an inner restlessness had grabbed hold of him, shortening his already short attention span further and making every little word rub him the wrong way.
Maybe he was still feeling with Otokoyama for losing Cherry, he thought.
Splashing some water in his face he tried kicking himself out of that… mood or whatever it was.
*
It did not help.
Nothing he tried helped and he only grew more wary and irritated over the next couple of days. While he noticed it happening he had no means to prevent it. Miroku being Miroku he did not feel the need to hide his emotions in any way either, exploding into people’s faces when all they did was wishing him a good morning.
His morning had not been good, it had been too early, the night had been to short, sleep had been lacking.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bidou asked him when Karen was trying to coax Noriko out of her corner after Miroku had yelled at her. She had reminded him of an upcoming test.
“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Miroku shot back, feeling anger burning inside him.
“You sure don’t behave like you usually do,” Bidou gave him the eye. “You look… tense. Have you tried relaxing? I know this awesome bubble bath that will make you feel calm and-”
“I don’t need no fucking bubble bath,” Miroku interrupted him with a tsk.
“You need to get laid, you act like a jerk,” Karen hissed from the other side of the room.
“Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Miroku stormed out, not even feeling in the mood for the cherry flavoured special lollipop he had been saving for bad times.
*
And it did not get better.
He had not even paid the teacher any heed the next day when he was addressing him directly. His head firmly planted on the desk, head-turned sideways, he wished he could nap the hours away. But sleep seemed to have deserted him.
At least, Miroku thought, he seemed not the only one having a bad day.
After the lesson was over he had not moved, and his tilted head allowed him to watch a scene going on a couple of desks over to his right. He could not really hear the words spoken, most of them under his classmate’s breath, some obviously restrained by anger.
His brain did not even supply the guy’s name, but whoever he was, he seemed seriously angry with Seishiro. His friend shrugged apologetically and earned a sneer for his efforts as the bespectacled other left Seishiro standing, storming out of the classroom.
Miroku popped his head up, blinking. If he wasn’t one to identify erratic behaviour, he did not know who could. Using the incident to at least momentarily distract him from his own restlessness he got up, strolling over to where Seishiro was packing his things up.
“What has his feathers ruffled?” Miroku asked, nonchalantly plopping down on top of the desk next to Seishiros.
“Same old.”
“You stole his girlfriend?”
“Not everybody has their pants in a knot about that,” he left the like you unspoken, hanging like a veil between them.
“Then what,” Miroku bit back, trying hard not to be the one pulling a fight. But his patience would run low eventually and he knew it. Patience had never been his forte.
“Money.”
“Oh. That one… but why?”
Seishiro heaved an exasperated sigh.
“Will you let me go to the library if I spell it all out for you?”
And that was that for patience.
“No need to spell anything out for me, go to the library and take the fucking horse you rode in on with you,” Miroku spat and could all but leave before he started throwing punches.
Fuming, he walked through the corridors, not entirely sure where his feet were taking him. He did not care. His thoughts were filled with wrath that felt so justified, he should really had taken it out with Seishiro. At least that guy could take a punch. Maybe it would have finally have cleared his system.
But he hadn’t.
Walking past a bathroom, Miroku backtracked, deciding he could use a splash of cold water to come down.
When he stormed into the restroom he stopped dead in his tracks. In that white-tiled room he saw the other one, the guy yelling at Seishiro just a few minutes ago. His slender form was leaning over the faucet, dark hair obscuring part of his features. However, Miroku could see that the glasses rested next to the basin and water trickled down the bump on the ridge of his nose.
The redhead could just watch, his mouth hanging open the slightest bit.
“What?” The other one turned to him made him snap out of it.
He blinked, but did not turn away. Water drops had gotten on the dark blue uniform and Miroku traced them with his eyes.
“What?” The other repeated, eyes narrowing as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose.
“Nothing,” Miroku forced himself to turn away, his mind racing. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember his classmate’s name.
“You’re a bad liar, Shochikubai,” the other chided walking past him and out of the restroom.
Of course the other knew his name, and who was he anyways to judge him?! Following an impulse, Miroku rushed out of the restroom to yell after him, not caring that half the school seemed to be in the corridor between them.
“And who would care for your opinion, jerk?”
But the other ignored him, walking on without even turning around.
*
Miroku did not see his classmate again that day.
Nor the next.
On the third day he was so far that it bothered him.
While he could still not think of the guy’s name and his pride forbid from asking others, he did remember him outscoring Noriko a couple of times, even on final exams. A nerd like that would not miss classes if he had no real reason.
Then it hit him. The guy with the curiously shaped nose had been arguing, not with him, not with Miroku, but with Seishiro! Surely that had to be the reason for his sudden absence. Miroku decided to investigate.
If only he could remember the name… it would make everything so much easier.
*
Where do you start looking for a person you don’t know?
Where you expected them to be, so during recess, Miroku approached the still empty seat in the classroom. Turning at random to the next seat over to the right, he approached another classmate he had barely ever spoken more than a handful of words with.
“He got sick?” Miroku cut to the chase right away, nodding his head at the empty desk.
The other guy just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“How should I know?”
“You sit next to him?”
“So?”
Miroku blinked.
Mission failed.
Tactical retreat.
“Nevermind.”
*
But he was not giving up. Next break, lunch, he tried the other side, left from the missing guy’s desk.
Approaching was easier this time around too as Bidou was already talking to the girl in question. Miroku could just walk up and pretend to save her from his advances - or at least that was the plan.
“I apologize for my friend bothering you,” he was met with questioning eyes.
“Miroku, what do you-”
“I just don’t think you should use this timing for your moves, Bidou.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Using his absence,” he nodded at the empty desk once more, “to make your move.”
To his disappointment, the girl giggled.
“Him? Really? You think we are…?”
“Close enough to know why he is missing?” When subtleties fail just walk the door straight into the house.
“I have been wondering… I have no clue,” she admitted.
Mission failed.
“Miroku, what are you trying to get at?” Bidou asked, his usual easy-going mood slightly shaded.
Tactical retreat.
“Nothing.”
Damn, he was getting nowhere.
*
The total of the next period, while everybody else was feverishly trying to pry last minute hints from the teacher for the next lesson’s math exam, Miroku wondered whether he could pry some other information from the teaching staff.
It would be so easy to sneak the class file out of the staff room if he only had the name. He was sure he would recognize it once he read it. But after the last stunt they pulled the staff room was much better protected and he would need to ask the others for help…
He was simply considering to ask - caring vice-president of the Yukan Club that he was and all. But he would look mightily stupid without a name.
No, that would not work.
When the bell rang and Miroku had no new executable plan of action he groaned. Instead of wondering and reflecting why he cared so much all of a sudden, he decided it was time to give Seishiro another piece of his mind. Blow off some steam.
“What did you do to the poor guy, scaring him from attending school, bully?” He challenged without any sort of preamble.
“What are you talking about, Miroku?”
“Don’t look at me like that!”
“Like what?”
“Expatriated!”
“… exasperated?”
“Fuck you!”
But before he could throw the first fist, the classroom door opened. The teacher returning would not have stopped Miroku - but it wasn’t a teacher.
“You! Where have you been?” He hollered across the room, Seishiro forgotten.
The other stopped in his tracks, looking at Miroku and then realizing that due to the redhead’s shouting he had the whole class’s attention now.
“None of your business,” he retorted, pushing through to take his seat.
Miroku was just about to explain how it very well was his business when the teacher did come in. Any other day this would not have deterred Miroku, but for some reason the new math teacher had made it very clear that she was not to be messed with. And with everybody else rushing towards their seats the resulting quietness was too much to bear on him alone.
Stupid teacher and her stupid piggytails, Miroku cursed mentally while sitting down.
He proceeded to curse out loud when the tests were passed out. The alphabet was made for English class, not for calculating!
“Shochikubai!” Piggytails chided him and he knocked his head on the table.
There was no way he was going to pass this one.
*
After having spent the better part of the hour drawing a detailed motorcycle with 369 for a license plate, Miroku’s head jerked up when someone approached the teacher’s desk.
It was only Noriko, handing in first, so he returned to finish some details on the exhaust while she returned to her seat.
Two more of his classmates handed in and Miroku was just finishing the smart slogan he had taken long to come up with (“sorry, I parked the motorcycle in front of the conclusions, just erase the unnecessary parts and you will see the answers!”) when the classmate he wanted to catch was already out of the door.
Swallowing another curse, Miroku grabbed his stuff and was out of the door before the Piggytails could even look at his answer sheet. Down the corridor he could see the dark haired guy, moving in a fast pace towards the exit - had he just come for the exam?
Intrigued, Miroku decided to follow silently.
Soon he realized that staging an undercover pursuit without any preparation, without the help of the Yukan Club or any tracking gadgets and involving public transportation was not as easy as whirling around in a loud red sports car.
*
The lithe form fumbled with the key and then pushed the heavy door open. After he slipped in the door fell back into the lock with no chance for Miroku to follow. But he did not need to, he had figured out what he needed to know.
From one glance at the building it had been clear to Miroku what this was. At the outskirts of town, with no neighbors around and an obvious lack of windows, the cement and metal construction screamed club, but one of the shadier kind. Red neon lights on the top and the old carrosserie of an old-timer supposedly lent it style, but the old-timer was just old and the lights were not even turned on yet.
Marking the location on his smartphone, Miroku turned back around. There was no need to stay around any longer. He had seen where the other one had headed and the fact that he had had a key presumably meant he was working there.
Miroku decided that a night of partying was in order to figure out why.
*
Miroku took the helmet off and ran his fingers through his red hair. It had lost all the volume that he had oh-so-carefully arranged before remembering he would be taking the bike. The sight of the club had changed, the red letters now joined by a red carpet and neon lights illuminated, spelling out to him that he had chosen the Frentzen for his night out.
He had calculated correctly, and the club was already busy enough not to catch unwanted attention too fast. With confident steps and heavy leather boots Miroku walked towards the entrance and past a couple of guys arguing with the bouncer.
A second bouncer gave him a once over, but apparently his choice of closing had panned out nicely - the leather pants, slightly open white dress shirt combo usually did that trick. Okay, and the fake ID he held under the guy’s nose. With a leer he was waved in, paid his entrance fee and entered the shadiest club of his career.
What was a classmate of his doing working at a place like this? Let alone a guy with such grades?
The club was as shady an affair as he had predicted. Fake smoke and green lights trying to distract from the factory hall feeling. The space was divided into various smaller areas to make it appear busier than it actually was. While the music was as much felt in his chest as heard with his ears, Miroku first took in the general dance floors.
He saw a couple of doors that led away, bouncers in front of each, checking the people approaching them. In some areas they even seemed to require some sort of special ID and were compared to a master list. Storing this information Miroku decided it was time to get a drink. The fake smoke had made him thirsty and maybe there was a chance to chat up a nice chick behind the bar and ask where he might find his classmate.
“Vodka on the rocks,” he ordered with the guy behind the counter, who had his back to him.
When the employee did turn around, a peculiar shaped nose clearly distinguishable even in the dim light Miroku could barely suppress the ‘aha!’ feeling from becoming and outcry. Not that anyone would have heard him anyways.
“You are too young to order that,” the bartended deadpanned; he never stopped drying the glass in his hand.
“You are too young to serve it,” Miroku retorted, feeling smug at the good comeback.
“What are you doing here, Shochikubai?”
“Partying, what else!”
“You’re a bad liar,” he walked off to attend to another customer without any apparent thought of providing Miroku with his drink.
The redhead waited until the other’s customers had cleared away again.
“What about my drink?”
“Nothing for a stalker.”
“Wow, wow, who do you think you are?”
The other fixed him with a glare.
“The guy who is about to call security and get your sorry ass kicked out.”
“So you did notice it? I, too, think these pants rather underline my nicer attributes,” he felt on a roll tonight.
As the other one put the glass down and a slender hand went for under the bar top, Miroku followed an instinct. He darted forward to grab the wrist and prevent the other from pushing the button requesting for help to have him taken away.
“What the fuck?” Snapping his wrist in the direction of Miroku’s fingertips, the other had his hand free in a second, taking a step back so Miroku could not repeat the attempt.
“What are you doing here?” Miroku pressed, sure his time was limited now. Someone must have noticed their interaction.
“That’s none of your business.”
If glares could kill he would be six feet under by now.
“You skip school for this.”
“So?”
“Your grades will fall.”
“You fucking bastard-”
“Any problems here?” The bouncers had arrived, two guys as tall as Bido and twice as broad, shit. He could at least have used his classmate’s name and finally get rid of that mental block for Miroku, but he had not.
“He is underage,” the bartender replied, looking straight at Miroku and the tiniest of evil smirks playing on the very corner of his lips.
“Sir, I would like you to follow me, please.”
“Ask your bartender for his ID,” Miroku shot back.
*
There had been no point in fighting, he had been directed out of the club without any sort of fuss, but also without any true chance of resisting. All under the eye - and the smirk! - of that stupid jerk.
Why would he work in a place like this?
The night was too young to leave and he had a mood to cool down anyways. Producing an emergency lollipop out of nowhere Miroku plopped it into his mouth and prepared for a long night of surveillance.
Eventually when the wind got too cold from his spot at the front of the building Miroku re-parked his bike in the side-alley, sitting down on it sideways and keeping an eye on the only side-exit he had seen. It was already 4am and the number of guests leaving increased steadily. Surely, when the bar closed, the bartender would not leave through the main entrance anyways.
He drew into the shadows a bit just to make sure he would not be spotted by anyone peaking out or into the alleyway. First observe, than act. He had not learned that one from his old man.
When the sugar of the fourth lollipop had almost come to an end and Miroku considered fishing through his pocket to find the 500 Yen coin that he could feel pressing into his leg and then use it to get a shot of coffee at the next best vending machine the door opened to the back area of the club.
The slender shape that came out carrying crates of empty bottles was more than familiar. Miroku was just about to bolt when someone else moved in the shadows, so he ducked deeper into them.
“What’cha think, we’ve a bit fuuun naow you’re off?” A man had appeared out of nowhere and Miroku cursed himself for not having paid enough attention, not having noticed the guy earlier. Where had he been?
“Sober up,” his classmate’s voice retorted, still icy, but laced with just a bit of fatigue.
“I’m suure you could sober me up in noo time,” the man got closer as the other dropped his crate against the opposite wall. Miroku’s eyebrows furrowed, maybe the man was not as drunk as he seemed to be, or he had accidentally placed himself right between the door and the bartender. Too strategic to be purely coincidential.
As dreaded, the man moved in a moment later, leaving less than a meter between himself and the wall, with the bartender and the crates in the middle.
“I know a couple of things to put your dirty mouth to better use,” without further preamble, and the drunken slur almost completely vanished from his speech the guy pushed forward, his hands darting out for the bartender’s hair, taking a grip and forcing him into a sitting position on the crates.
Miroku was already moving, the guy was too, about to press his crotch into the face in front of him, but his perceived victim was faster than both of them.
The guy wailed as his crotch was met with a pointed knee, the bartender pushing up from the crates with his arms. Luckily his attacker was no short-distant boxer and pulled his right far back before aiming to punch the head he still held with his left. Miroku arrived mid-motion and unsuspected from the side put, it put momentum into his own punch, clearing the guy off his feet.
He received an icy stare as he turned to the bartender.
“What?” Why did he feel like he had to justify his action?
“I did not ask for help.”
“You could use it though, proud jerk!”
“There was no need for you to-”
“Protect you from looking like a panda tomorrow? I sure think there was.”
The guy on the floor was slowly getting up and by the looks of it, it was the only thing that kept Miroku from coming closer to the looks of a panda himself. The guy looked at them once. He must have realized that they were radiating with anger and just looking for an outlet. The attacker turned around without a second thought and was out of sight surprisingly fast for someone who had been knocked out for a bit just moments before.
When Miroku turned back to his classmate he could only see the other one’s retreating back and before he could as much as protest the black-haired male had disappeared back into the club. The door closed with a mocking snap behind him.
“You are fucking welcome, bastard!” Miroku yelled at the night in general and the steel door in particular.
*
Miroku was on his second can of coffee when almost two hours later the door opened again. He had remained visible this time and as alert as possible when wavering between sugar and caffeine high. Just in case.
This time, the other was carrying his bag, a sure sign that he was leaving.
“That was a long shift,” Miroku greeted, and tired eyes turned cold at seeing him again.
“Cut the shit,” the redhead growled, throwing his second helmet at the other without giving the bartender time to reply, “and put that on.”
The bartender caught the helmet, but did not move.
“You look like shit,” Miroku informed. “And my bike is faster than the train.”
Still no reaction.
“Come on, you know you don’t want to walk all the way to the station.”
Somehow it did the trick, and the bartender hesitantly put the helmet over his dark hair. Miroku mounted his bike, kicking the stand in and waited.
“Need a written invitation?” He asked after a few moments when the other still seemed hesitant.
“Shut up,” the voice was tight, but its owner sat behind Miroku a moment later.
“Hold on tight,” Miroku could not restrain himself from saying, twisting the accelerator to make his point and ensure the other would not get off the bike again a moment later.
“’stard” he vaguely heard from behind as arms circled around him. Then the wind had increased too much for conversation.
*
“This is not the way into town!”
The other was clinging on to him as Miroku had suggested, but after ten minutes he had caught a clue that Miroku was not intending to take him home just now. Didn’t even know where that was…
“I know,” he yelled back over the sound of the engine.
Instead of another reply, he felt fingers digging into the meat of his stomach, pinching and twisting in a throbbing iron-like grip.
“Fuck,” he cursed, all his mind concentrating on not swerving the bike.
The pain momentarily increased and then the other let go again.
“I’m driving, do you want to kill us both?!” Miroku yelled after taking a deep breath.
“Avoided pressure points,” the other growled back.
They drove a bit further until Miroku felt the fingers tightening on him again. Luckily they had arrived where he wanted to go. Moments later he stirred the bike onto the grass next to the road - at this hour nobody would be around to complain.
In front of them the wide expanses of Tama River enjoyed the first rays of a young sun, water sparkling and grass rising to meet the light. Miroku turned the engine off.
“Drive me home.”
“In a bit.”
No reply.
“You know, we can keep sitting here, your arms around me, enjoying the sunrise, if that is what you want,” Miroku said, adding quickly, “yes, yes, I know you are a sadist, but I’d prefer you cutting on the pinching crap. Instead, if you get off the bike, we could sit down and have a chat like grown ups - no hair-pulling, I promise.”
The other was off in no time, but started walking immediately.
“Where are you going?” Miroku dropped his helmet next to the other one and followed.
“I don’t need you to get home.”
“Do you know where we are?”
Silence.
Miroku grabbed his classmate’s wrist, half expecting a defensive attack, but this was not Seishiro. The other had kneed a guy in the privates, but it did not make him a natural fighter. So Miroku pulled on him, and quite literally forced him to descend the slope towards the water a few meters and then sat down on the damp grass.
“Stop running away,” he mustered his most adult voice.
He did not smirk to himself when the other followed with a heavy sigh, sitting down a good bit away from him.
“What do you want, Shochikubai?”
What did he want? Good question, he was not so sure about the answer to that one himself. But he knew what he had waited for the whole damn night.
“Why do you work at a place like that?” Miroku countered the question with one of his own.
“None of your business,” the other shot back.
“You know, if you stopped to think about the question for a second, you would realize it would not hurt you to answer it.”
“It has nothing to do with you!”
“But with Seishiro?” Miroku ventured a not-so-wild guess, earning silence.
Miroku allowed the silence to stretch, it was a heavy one, but at least the other was no longer running. Leaning back, his hands behind his head, Miroku had a chance to look at him. Slender, black hair, sitting too upright for leisurely hanging out in the early sun sitting on the ground.
“Should I ask him instead?” Miroku suggested, just to watch if the body reacted, gave anything away. It did not.
“No,” the bartender growled.
Miroku sat back up, making a show to pull out his cell phone. He had Seishiro on speed-dial seven, but made a point out of punching the numbers in by hand. The moment he put the phone to his ear, it was not even ringing yet, the other was next to him, snatching the phone and closing it, aborting the call.
“What?”
The black-haired one looked at him, intently studying him through the metal framed glasses - judging him.
“You are not as much of an idiot as you make people believe, Shochikubai.”
“Should I be flattered or offended?”
“You can very well imagine why I work at the Frentzen,” the other ignored Miroku’s remark.
“Money?” He guessed, playing along, apparently he had been deemed enough of a conversation partner during the scrutiny.
“Not bad for someone who flunked math.”
“You noticed?”
“You are as subtle as a bulldozer.”
“Now that is offensive,” but he could not bring himself to really be offended. They were finally talking, bickering, true, but that still meant the other opened up to him, slowly.
“Why do you need money?”
“None of your-”
Just opening his cell phone again interrupted the other and Miroku held his frosty glare, not moving to dial, but neither closing the phone again.
“Why do you want to know all this? It is none of your business,” the other said eventually, breaking the eye contact and making Miroku enjoy one small victory.
“You seemed upset.”
“So?”
“So I thought I could help?” Yes, that sounded about right. He had been following an intuition and played it by the ear - it was not easy justifying his own urges to others when they hardly made sense to himself most of the time.
“You?”
“I… we? You know the Yukan Club’s motto is to-”
“Waste your breathe on someone who believes you.”
“Huh?”
“Seriously, go play detective as much as you like, but the real world is not that easily taken care off just because six rich kids get together and feel generous.”
“Are you holding a grudge against… us?”
“And if?” The other now outright challenged, apparently having forgotten that he wasn’t going to talk with Miroku.
“Why would you?” Miroku blinked.
“You seriously think everybody has to like you, don’t you Shochikubai?”
“Well, they do,” he blurted out without thinking.
But it was true, and not just him but all six of them. Any day even a blind person would notice that when they came to school. They hardly managed to get to class in time due to others following their every step, looking for support or just admiring them, or in the case of Bidou, dying for a date.
“Self-loving idiot,” the other growled softly
“What is wrong with people liking us?” We are awesome, he added, luckily only mentally by the look he was getting.
“You don’t deserve a bit of it. What did you ever achieve in your life that was not made possible by your parents money, contacts or such?”
Miroku’s mouth was hanging open, why did the other have such a bad image of them? Of him?
“You know, even if you could help me, I would not want you to,” he got up. “And now you either get me into town or I will walk.”
*
Miroku lay on his futon, it was eleven in the morning and the sun was high by now, he had dropped the other off and was watched driving away, apparently in order not to follow him home. Suspicious bastard.
Having not slept a blink that night he had gone straight to bed, ignoring his cell phone and various messages from the Yukan Club, school administration and his old man about not attending school.
But sleep would not come.
Absent-mindedly he rubbed his stomach, wondering why it felt sore. Then, pushing his shirt up to reveal his abs he remembered, a purple spot serving as concrete reminder. That bastard.
When he was still not sleeping an hour later he decided to do what needed doing and he called Seishiro.
“This better be important Miroku! Where are you?”
“I am not the only one missing am I?”
“No, but-”
“What did you talk to him about? Four days ago, you were arguing,” Miroku prodded, not in the mood for explanations.
“Oh that?” Seishiro replied distractedly. “I had to tell him that our hospital would not be able to put out its usual grant for tuition for a firsty in meds this year. He had a summer study program and was a hopeful candidate, so I thought I should inform him right away so he could find other means to finance his studies. Why?”
Oh shit, Miroku cursed mentally. That explained it all. Why he was working at the Frentzen, missing classes for it, holding a grudge against classmates with rich parents and the Yukan Club in particular.
Miroku might not remember his name, but he sure did remember the guy’s ambition. He wanted to be a surgeon. Only, if he had been aiming for the Masamune Grant, it meant he would not be able to afford any of the top notch universities of the country without additional support.
“Just curious, bye,” Miroku forced the words out and they sounded hollow to him, he hung up.
Minutes later he had written Yuri an email requesting for a Yukan Club meeting in the afternoon and alluding that he would have a need for her father’s pots if one was to be come by.
*
“What’s wrong with you lately, Miroku?” Karen asked as he finally arrived, late to the meeting he had set himself - but Otokoyama had needed his walk.
“This is not about me it is about Seishiro,” Miroku declared and it was only half a lie. At least Seishiro’s name he knew.
“About me?”
“You and the Masamune Grant, we have to reinstate it.”
“Hold on, what? That is none of your business, Shochikubai!” Seishiro snapped.
“I heard that once too often in the last days,” he bit back. “I made it my business and I presume the reason for cutting it was cost saving in essence, right?”
“Well, yes, but I don’t see why you-”
“You don’t need to.”
“Miroku, what’s going on?” Yuri asked around a mouthful of nikuman.
“Someone has worked hard for that scholarship and now is begrudging you, all of you for it.”
“And when you say he begrudges us, you mean he begrudges you,” Noriko remarked from where she stood on the other side of the room - as far away as possible.
“That’s not the point,” but the other’s were already exchanging glances.
“I will get the money,” Yuri exclaimed then. “What’s the plan?”
Finally a sensible question.
“He would never just accept the money so we have to reinstate the grant.”
“And you think my father will just accept the money, Kenbishi money, after what happened to the planned engagement? Think again, Shochikubai.”
“Yes, he will. It is to cover all the misconceptions about the very engagement mess-up and since he would not just accept money we insist usage for the scholarship.”
“But this friend of yours would want to repay the grant eventually,” Bidou suggest ambiguously failing.
“We can worry about that later,” Miroku declared. “Now Yuri needs to go to Masamune Hospital and you better tag along Seishiro.”
“You know Miroku,” Seishiro began thoughtfully, “this better be worth it, kicking you out of that mood of yours.”
“Huh?”
“Making the impossible possible,” the others chorused.
“… Yukan Club?”
Miroku was sure he was missing some insider here, but that did not matter now. As long as the Yukan Club proceeded with his plan it would all go well. Then one skinny boy would have no more reason to bartender, and more importantly, no more reason to begrudge them. Him.
Anyways…
*
Miroku was back in front of the Frentzen, but this time he was not alone, the ear-piece, cleverly hidden by his red hair connected him to Bidou and Karen, sitting in the Yukan Club truck a few streets down. They had insisted to come and Miroku could not, for the hell of him understand why.
But that did not matter now.
“I’m going in.”
“Miroku, we don’t have the all clear yet,” Bidou cautioned.
“I know, I know, I just go in, look around…” He hated waiting, and he had waited enough for the last couple of days.
Luckily the bouncer wasn’t the same guy as the night before and he got in with his fake-ID and even with the small ear-piece without trouble.
“I’m in,” he grunted, pushing past moving bodies on the first dance floor - it was a lot fuller, a lot more people, Friday night.
“Mi…ku…nection…’ad”
“What? I can’t hear you the connection is bad!”
He ignored Bidou for a while, in favour of checking out the area once more. This time the goal was to see and not be seen. He hid in the crowd in order to find the one who would not be bartending much longer.
Time passed, once Miroku almost thought he had him, but when he got a bit closer to the bar he realized that either the other had slipped away or he had been mistaken.
“Mi…ku! You…’ere?”
Oh shit, that was Karen, her high-pitched voice louder over the static and Miroku hastened to get away from the bar. He needed to find a place where he would at least be able to hear them.
The men’s room!
Drink still in hand Miroku pushed past a group of dancers heading for the blue door. It was a smelly affair and he would look like an idiot talking to himself. Oh, whatever, people phoned on the toilet every day. Miroku locked himself into one of the stalls.
“What?” He hissed.
“Mission accomplished,” Karen reported.
“It’s all in?”
“Yes, the grant will be back in place. We just got Seishiro’s okay, papers are signed. His dad was in a meeting…”
“That’s so good!”
“Now go tell him!”
“Eeeeh?”
“Go get’im tiger,” Bidou yelled somewhere in the background and Miroku was just about to ask him what the fuck he meant when a loud pounding at the door of the stall interrupted him.
“No sex in the bath stalls,” a way too familiar voice growled from outside.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Miroku cursed under his breath, tearing the ear-piece out and pushing it deep into his pocket, he did not need to hear Bidou and Karen dying of laughter at him. Panicking hands searched for his cell phone and the moment he found it he opened the door, praying his face was not looking as hot as it felt.
“Shochikubai!” The other’s eyes narrowed. “If you insist I can have you thrown out of the club again.”
“Hold on, listen,” they had a small amount of spectators now, and without a second thought Miroku grabbed the other’s arm, pulling him into the stall and closing the door behind them.
“What the fuck? Let me out!” The other’s voice got louder as if in a comic attempt to not lose their audience.
“No, no, no! I got news, you have to listen. I know, sit,” he pushed the leaner one to sit on the toilet and was only mildly surprised to find him moving his knee up as if in protection. Miroku had seen that move before and retreated as far as the little cubicle let him, which was not much at all.
“I’m not going to attack you!” He exclaimed, stung by his classmate’s lack of trust.
“You already did,” the other one pointed out. “Dragged me in here, idiot.”
“Because I need to talk to you. The grant. It was a misunderstanding. The grant is back, you don’t need to work here any longer.”
“The fuck, I told you I don’t want your help, Shochikubai!”
Miroku felt like banging his head against the door, why couldn’t that idiot just be thankful and accept it gracefully?
“Well, you still got to compete for it, but the chance is back, asshole. Now don’t ruin it by skipping class and fucking your grades,” he huffed and was out of the stall, leaving the bartender sitting where he was.
Storming through the dance floor people rushed to get out of his way until he bumped into a blond man and a tall Japanese woman.
“What are you doing here?” He yelled over the music, glad to have a vent for his anger.
“We thought we could have a little fun now that the mission is over?” Karen suggested.
“What happened?” Bidou asked, but Miroku did not feel like talking.
He just pushed past them, out of the club and towards his bike.
*
Driving through the night Miroku wondered what he had been expecting. He could not come up with a satisfying answer.
He did not even know, could not point a finger at why he had gotten himself involved in the first place. Maybe he had been bored and wanted some sort of distractions, wanted to prove that some problems that seemed to engulf another’s world could be overcome by his doing alone. To forget his own problems for a bit…
It sounded good, but he was not sure whether the Yukan Club would buy it.
He was still driving through the night, fingers cold from the wind when his cell phone buzzed inside his jacket pocket, but he ignored it. Must be Bidou or Karen anyways, he guessed.
When his fingers were so cold he had problems turning the accelerator Miroku drove home. He did not even care to take his boots off, earning a yell from the old man before plopping down on his couch.
The cell phone vibrated again, reminding him he had not checked the previous message.
Reluctantly Miroku fished for the device, flipping it open and accessing the message. He furrowed his brows, it was from an unknown number, and neither Bidou nor Karen had mentioned a new cell phone or something.
>> Thank you. Wakui.
Miroku almost jumped reading the three words.
A thank you.
A fucking thank you.
He read it again.
>> Thank you. Wakui.
Wakui.
Suddenly the chandelier in his head ignited.
Masakazu Wakui!!!
That was the bastard’s name!
~The End~
Omake
“Glad you’re back in school,” Miroku whispered from his desk. Well, the desk he occupied now and had growled at its former owner for. The desk next to Wakui’s.
“Don’t flatten yourself.”
“How did a nerd like you know of a place like the Frentzen anyways?” Miroku asked, ignoring their teacher’s glare as they were supposed to analyze the graph on the board in front of them.
“My cousin worked there once. Now shut the fuck up and let me study. I did not come back to school for you to fuck my grades.”
Miroku made a sulking face, Wakui was opening up to him, one turtle-step at a time. Sadly, he was more of a hare and had never been one for patience.
Busy with his musings, Miroku did not notice how the maths’s teacher narrowed her eyes. Turning to herself, she decided she would have to have a serious talk with one of her former precious students.
*