InsaneJournal

[Fic] Hyotei and the Happy Panda 4-6

Chapter Four: In which everyone gets a little advice and Jirou gets a gun
“Gaaaaah!” Gakuto let out another shriek. “Quit it!”

Jirou yawned. “Ne, you’re too bouncy, Gakuto. You can’t aim straight if you keep bouncing up and down.”

“Another game.” Gakuto handed the carnival lacky another 200 yen. Jirou sighed and hefted his rifle lazily against his shoulder. Gakuto squinted, taking careful aim, his face matching his hair in color.

The clerk groaned; no one else had been allowed at the paintball shooting gallery game for the last half hour. “Fire,” he called without much enthusiasm.

Gakuto let loose a Rambo-worthy barrage of red pellets, shouting inchorent English phrases as he did so. Eventually, the guns ran out of ammunition, and he grinned smugly before noticing that every single duck worth over 100 points was coated in yellow paint.

“Yellow wins again.” The clerk handed Jirou another stuffed panda. Jirou added it to the pile of plushies he was resting his head on.

Atobe pretended Jirou’s deadshot accuracy wasn’t somewhat unnerving and brushed his hair away from his eyes. Kabaji should be back with that beverage by now.

Footsteps squelched behind the buchou. Finally...

Squelched?

Atobe turned to see a soaking wet Shishido standing a few feet behind him, looking about ready to shove his fist through the nearest wall.

“Say it,” the dash specialist muttered.

Atobe raised an eyebrow, holding in his snicker. “Say what?”

“Whatever snarky comment you’ve got stored up. Just-- say it.”

“Ore-sama does not believe this particular situtation requires commentary. Do not drip on ore-sama’s shoes.”

Shishido slumped across the picnic table from Atobe, making sure to toss his sopping ponytail enough to splash on Atobe’s dry clean only shirt. Atobe made a face, brushing himself off as he scooted a few inches away. “So, where is he?”

“Who?” Shishido refused to look at him.

“PoPo the Magic Panda,” Atobe sighed. “To whom do you think ore-sama is referring?” Shishido shrunk even lower. “Posture is important, Ryoh. Please at least try to act like we belong to the same social class.”

“Shut up.”

From the shooting gallery came the words. “Yellow wins again.”

“Gaaaaaaaaah!”

“Here,” Atobe waved his hand. “Watch Gakuto lose. That always cheers you up.” Shishido folded his arms across his chest. Less wet footsteps sounded behind the two of them. “It’s about time, Kabaji. Where have you--”

The sight of his teammate struck Atobe completely dumb for all of ten seconds. After the pause, he asked. “Kabaji, what is that on your head.”

In what was one of the longest sentences Atobe had ever heard Kabaji utter, the second year stated, “A hat.”

“It has purple panda ears attached to it.”

“Uhs.”

Atobe put a hand to his forehead, staving off the headache that Shishido’s snickering was only increasing. He snatched the fruit juice from Kabaji’s hand.

“Sugoi, Kabaji-kun! Where did you get that hat!”

If Atobe did not have reflexes worthy of being Hyotei’s captain, he would have dropped the fruit juice. Jirou appeared to have transformed into an enormous lavender panda ambling in his direction. Shishido turned his head to see what had Atobe speechless twice in the same hour and promptly fell off of the bench with a sound something like “Gak!”

From behind the marshmallow-shaped head popped Jirou’s confused face. He spared Shishido a glance, then looked back to Kabaji who pointed towards a row of souvenir shops.

“I’m going to get one too. Ne, Atobe, hold him for me while I do, kay? Do you want a hat? I think I saw someone with kangaroo ears too!”

Atobe was not prepared to focus on this particular question as Jirou thrust the oversized plushie into his arms. “Jirou, what is this?”

“Sugoi, ne? If you win enough little ones, they let you trade them in for a big one.” Jirou’s eyes sparkled in awareness and excitement. If it were anyone else, Atobe would have thrown the panda on the ground and ordered a hundred laps for failure to remember his station.

But it wasn’t anyone else, so Atobe had to settle for, “Where did Oshitari and Gakuto go?” He could make Oshitari hold the damn thing.

“Gakuto got mad that I was getting too tired, so Oshitari took him to the Guess Your Age game to win him something. He always wins that game. I was gonna take a nap but then I saw the hats, so I’m gonna get one. I’ll be right back!” Jirou grabbed Kabaji’s arm, tugging the larger boy away.

Shishido pulled himself up on the bench. Despite now being wet and covered in a good deal of dust, he was laughing.

“What is so amusing?”

“You think I’m having problems today.” He dusted himself off, mumbling. “I hate those pandas.”

“Ore-sama does not know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. How come you’re holding a four foot plushie, then? Honestly, just admit you like him already. It’s not like anyone’s gonna say anything bad about you. And you’re both regulars, so what’s the problem?”

Atobe raised an eyebrow, drawing one hand over his face. “So that’s what this little spat is all about?”

"Quit it,” Shishido smacked his hand away. “The hell do you know?”

“The solution to your problem ... which, by the way, is so ridiculously simple I believe PoPo here could solve it.”

“Shut up. What about your problem?”

Atobe sighed, glancing at the stitched on eyes before quickly looking away. Stitched on eyes should not be able to mock. “Ore-sama can hardly expect you to grasp the situation when you choose to sit here spoiling ore-sama’s beverage with a rather mildewy odor while Taki probably has poor, little Choutarou cornered on a ferris wheel.”

“Ohtori’s smarter than that. I don’t have to babysit him.”

“Really? So where did you leave them?”

“Over by the souvenier shops.”

“That row of souvenier shops surrounded by those small, discrete, enclosed photo booths, ah?”

Shishido pondered this thought for a second, then stood. “I hate you.”

Atobe smirked. “And while you’re over there, tell Jirou to come retrieve his pet.”

“I’m not your damn messenger!” Shishido shouted, walking a step too brisk to be considered casually down the midway.

Atobe turned his attention back to his current problem, choosing to fluff his hair and loosen the collar on his shirt. He was Atobe Keigo and thus perfectly capable of looking alluring and cool while sitting next to a four foot panda.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ohtori-kun!” Jirou launched himself at the second year. “Come help me pick out something for Atobe.” Before Ohtori knew exactly how it happened, he was being dragged away from Taki and into a booth of novelty hats, and Kabaji was blocking Taki’s path to follow. Jirou-senpai babbled the entire time, “I can’t decide which color goes best with his hair, and he won’t wear it if it doesn’t match.”

Ohtori refrained from saying he doubted Atobe would wear one of those hats if ordered to at gunpoint. Then again, if anyone could make him, Jirou-senpai could. “I’m not so sure that Atobe-buchou would--”

“Of course not. That’s the fun part,” Jirou beamed. “I’d like to get him pink, but the hippo ears aren’t that impressive. He needs something bigger.” Jirou scanned the shelves. “Ne, can you reach that top shelf for me?”

Ohtori dutifully reached up towards a row of kangaroo ears when he heard Jirou whisper in a voice that was neither his half-asleep slur nor his wide-awake chatter, “It’s a good plan, Ohtori-kun, but you forgot something.”

Ohtori looked down, not exactly surprised, but a little taken aback. He’d never heard Jirou-senpai sound so ... focused. “Plan, senpai?”

Jirou nodded. “Everybody just thinks you like Shishido, but it’s more than that, right? You want him back on the regulars.”

Ohtori debated lying, realized it wouldn’t do any good, and then nodded.

Jirou smiled. “You’ve got Shishido pretty figured out. He won’t leave you alone too long as long as he thinks you’re in danger from Taki, but you forgot he’s not the most important person in your plan.”

Ohtori was inclined to disagree with this, but asked anyway, “Then who is?”

“Atobe,” Jirou said with the sparkle that always accompanied him saying the buchou’s name.

Ohtori thought he had a pretty good conception of Atobe and his motivations. “Atobe-buchou wants to win. He’ll let Shishido-san back if he knows he’ll win.” And Ohtori could make sure that happened.

Jirou shook his head. “Nobody ever gets back on if they’ve been dropped. It’d make Atobe look like he was playing favorites. He won’t do it.”

Ohtori knew that, but he didn’t plan on giving the buchou much of a choice. He debated how much of his plan he should be discussing with Jirou-senpai, who didn’t seem a bit tired at the moment. For now, he decided to play it safe and be a polite, naive kouhai. “Shishido-san doesn’t deserve to be dropped, though,” he said tentatively.

Jirou snickered. “You’re good. Nice inflection. Anyway, I’m guessing you know all that and covered your bases, but I thought I’d warn you that there’s gonna be some complications if it works.”

“Complications?”

“Shishido’s gonna have to lose some face or it’d set a bad example. Just thought you should know.” Suddenly, Jirou’s eyes widened, returning to their usual over-excited state. “There! Top right, do you see that one?”

Ohtori followed his senpai’s finger. “That character was discontinued, senpai. It probably shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s perfect. Could you reach for me?”

Ohtori obeyed cautiously, handing the hat to Jirou who whispered. “Good luck, Ohtori-kun. You’ve still got a good shot, but be careful.” And with that, Jirou-senpai bolted for the register, snagging Kabaji along the way. Ohtori blinked as Taki-senpai started walking toward him. He knew Atobe would never let Shishido back in as a singles player, but Jirou seemed to be hinting at some larger sacrifice.

Still, it would be nothing Ohtori couldn’t handle. Even Atobe with all of his power and influence had weak spots like everyone else, and Ohtori was perceptive enough to see one of the buchou’s tricks coming. His more immediate problem was detaching Taki’s arm from around his shoulders long enough to corner Shishido-san. He’d need to get back in the vicinity of Mukahi-senpai for that. Barring interruption, Ohtori would soon have Shishido-san in the one place he couldn’t run away from this conversation. He smiled as he considered his next transition, not paying much attention to his current doubles partner as they walked out of the gift shop.

The sight of Shishido-san’s fist connecting with the foam jaw of one of the park’s PoPo impersonators forced him abruptly out of his mental haze.

"What’s gotten in to--”

Ohtori didn’t hear the rest of Taki-senpai’s sentence. He flew after Shishido, hoping the dash-specialist’s energy gave out before he got too far.
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The EllipsesBandit...’s continuing Inside Jokes and Commentary
1. Wouldn’t Jirou with a gun be the most adorably lethal thing in the world? “Aww, look how cute ... crap, he’s got a gun! Run for your--! But awww, look at him setting the scope function...” BOOM!!!
2. I believe the entire cast could win a lot of cheap, carnival merchendise playing Guess Your Age Games.
3. I hate people in animal suits. Hate them, soooooooo much. So disturbing. This entire fic was based on the idea of Shishido knocking one unconscious.


Chapter Five: In which Jirou gets a little more direct and everyone's plan gets more complicated.
Atobe prided himself on his perception, but he must have been slacking to not hear Jirou sneak up behind him. Either that or Jirou’s stealth had improved considerably. Thus, he was thoroughly surprised when the novelty hat was slammed down over his perfectly coiffed hair, accompanied by a shout of “Ta da!”

Atobe shut his eyes, breathing deeply. “Jirou, are there panda ears attached to this hat?”

“No, you’d look silly like that. I got you the moose antlers.”

Atobe felt the vein on his forehead throb. “Moose?”

“They’re blue. They match your shirt,” Jirou offered.

“That’s very considerate. Please remove it.”

Jirou’s smile quirked upwards the way it did when Atobe was walking into a trap. “You know, you’d have to take it off if you went on one of the roller coasters. Or it might accidentally fall off and blow away and you’d never see it again.”

“Kabaji.”

“Uhs.”

The second year obediently removed the hat from Atobe’s head. The buchou pretended to ignore Jirou’s sulk. Gracing the lower class with his presence for a day, he could tolerate. Dressing like a common tourist, he could not.

“Mou, Atobe, they’re all really safe. And your hair’s already messed up from the hat so you can’t use that excuse.”

Atobe felt a desperate urge to find a mirror. He started to stand.

Jirou rolled his eyes. “Hold still.” He leaned over the expanse of the picnic table, balancing on one hand while using the other to rearrange the hairs that had been pushed out of place. Atobe willed his heartbeat to slow down, at least enough that Jirou wouldn’t notice. Still, he couldn’t ignore the feel of those deft fingers sliding through his hair or the sticky sweet smell from the funnel cakes that still lingered on Jirou’s breath.

Jirou sat down all too quickly, his eyes beginning to take on that glazed look that accompanied his narcoleptic phases. “It’s fixed,” he mumbled. “I could fix it after a ride too.”

Atobe sighed. “That will not be necessary.”

Jirou opened one eye. “You’re not scared of heights.”

“Of course ore-sama is not--”

“That wasn’t a question, Atobe. I’m just telling you that’s not what you’re scared of.” Jirou shrugged, laying his head down on his folded arms. “You’re not afraid of heights. You like being up high where everyone can see you. You’re just scared of the ground.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” Jirou nestled deeper into the sleeve of his bright blue jersey.

“That doesn’t work on ore-sama, Jirou,” Atobe snapped. “Explain youself.”

Only years of experience allowed Atobe to understand Jirou’s mumbled speech. “You’re not afraid of heights, you’re afraid something’s gonna go wrong. You’re so busy worrying you’ll fall that you can’t even enjoy the view. You’re like that about lots of stuff.”

Atobe’s eyes narrowed. “Ore-sama most certainly --”

And then Jirou was kissing him.

Right there. In public. In front of everyone.

Atobe jumped back. He had to learn to remember how fast the boy could move when he wanted to. “Jesus, Jirou! What on earth do you think--”

“See?” Jirou slumped back onto his side of the bench. “You’re so busy worrying somebody could have seen us you don’t even remember I kissed you.”

Atobe remembered fairly distinctly, but he was a little preoccupied at the moment with scanning the crowds for paparazzi to concentrate on a kiss. Other than a few parents removing their children from the area and a couple of teenage girls giggling, no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Still, one could never be certain. “Jirou, you have no idea what you might have done. Ore-sama must uphold a certain image or-- are you even listening?!”

Jirou’s only response was a stifled snore.

“Jirou!”

Still nothing. Atobe could feel the steam issuing from his ears. There was only one way to stop this nonsense and prove that there was a very big difference between an amusement park ride and a relationship that could possibly destroy his very promising future.

The buchou took a breath, willing his voice to return to its normal, elegant timbre. “Jirou?”

Jirou’s head raised a fraction of an inch “Mn?”

“What’s the tallest ride in this park?
*****
The panda picked the wrong moment to decide Shishido needed a hug.

He thought he could handle it. Thought he could do the good senpai thing and help Ohtori out without this horrible awkwardness. Thought he could let Ohtori down gently, and not get upset or jealous or worry about Taki or anything. But the way they walked out of that shop together, all cozy and smiling and in full view of everyone... Shishido felt the last of his willpower snap. The panda guy was an unfortunate bystander in the matter.

It wasn’t until after the “fwump” noise of foam rubber hitting asphalt registered that Shishido realized he had just laid out an icon in front of Ohtori, Taki, dozens of bright-eyed children, and several security guards.

Dropped or not, Shishido was still the fastest person at Hyotei. He ran for it.

At first he wasn’t sure where he was going. He certainly didn’t feel like putting up with Atobe’s crap anymore today, so that was out. Maybe he should just leave. He could think up some excuse to tell Ohtori later, and no one else was likely to notice or care. He’d already made his point that he wasn’t intimidated by Atobe or any of his latest hanger-ons, so he had no reason to stay.

And from the dreamy expression on Ohtori’s face, he had every reason to go or risk being expelled for violence.

Decided, Shishido started following the arrows pointing to the exit.

And was almost immediately stopped by the jingle of the Jelly Bean’s new single from his cell phone. He should really remember to change that, but the song was damn catchy. He fumbled the phone out of his still damp pocket -- grateful it was ringing at all after his unexpected drenching -- and glanced at the caller ID. Oh, this should be fun.

“What?”

“Is that any way to greet your captain?”

“Screw you. What do you want?”

“Ore-sama is having a gathering at the SkyDrop. You will attend.”

“I’m going home, Atobe.”

“You can leave after the ride.”

“What’s with you? I thought you didn’t debase your noble self with kiddie rides.”

Atobe was unusually silent for a moment. “Ore-sama is making an exception. And if ore-sama is riding this contraption, so are you. Move.” The phone clicked off. Shishido resisted the urge to pitch his cell phone into the nearest fountain, but only because the way his day was going, he’d probably hit a duck and be arrested for animal cruelty.

Where the hell was the stupid SkyDrop, anyway?
******
Taki was winded, tired, and generally annoyed. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to get a date with your doubles partner. That was practically why people started playing doubles at all!

“Oy, Ohtori. Let’s stop for a second!” Taki huffed, grabbing the second year’s arm. “If Shishido wants to throw a hissy fit, just let him. He gets over these things.”

“Taki-senpai, I’m sorry, but I need to catch him before he leaves--”

“He’s straight.”

That stopped Ohtori. Just because Taki was pretty didn’t mean he was an idiot. You had to be blind not to see what the kid was up to. The second year turned around, eyes wide.

“It’s true.” Taki put his hands on his hips. “Don’t believe me?”

Ohtori stammered, “Not really, Taki-senpai.”

Taki closed the distance between himself and Ohtori. “Fine. But I’m just saying you’re wasting your time with him when there are other...” He slid one hand up Ohtori’s arm “...options around.”

Naturally, Ohtori’s cell phone rang at exactly that moment. Ohtori jumped backwards to answer it, while Taki folded his arms, frowning.

“Hai, senpai. That’ll be fine. We’ll be right there.” Ohtori hung up the phone. “That was Jirou-senpai. We’re all supposed to meet him and Atobe-buchou at the SkyDrop.”

“His prissiness is getting on a ride? What’s the occassion?”

“I’m not sure.” Ohtori looked thoughtful for a second. “We’d better hurry, senpai. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.” And the guy tore off again. Taki sighed. He hadn’t run this much since he’d been caught making out with a second year while he was supposed to be doing racquet forms.


Chapter Six: In which everyone deals with acrophobia in their own special way"
“Yuushi, this is dumb. I want to go home,” Gakuto sighed. Stupid Atobe and his stupid mandatory field trips. Gakuto wanted a shower, possibly in hot disinfectent after his run-in with those creepy kids. But no, had to wait for--

“Mukahi-senpai, could I talk to you for a minute?” Ohtori’s congenial face appeared above his.

Gakuto rolled his eyes. “What?”

Ohtori glanced at Yuushi. “I have a message for your mother from mine.”

Gakuto’s eyes narrowed immediately, only barely registering his double’s partner’s confusion. Stomping away from the crowds, Gakuto snapped at Ohtori. “What?”

“Senpai, would you please ride with Taki when we go on Atobe’s ride,” Ohtori asked meekly -- as if he was actually asking.

Gakuto still felt it necessary to put up a fight. “What? Why?”

Ohtori gave an innocent blink. “I suppose you don’t have to, senpai. Anyway, did you know our mothers are meeting for mah-jongg again this Thursday? Don’t you hate how much they talk about us? I heard they were thinking of inviting Oshitari-senpai’s mother to join.”

Gakuto gritted his teeth. Damn upstart kid. Of course, if Gakuto helped him now, Ohtori’d probably nab Shishido. And if Ohtori had a boyfriend too, he couldn’t exactly use Gakuto’s for blackmail anymore. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad ...

“Fine,” he growled.

Ohtori bowed deeply. “Thank you so much, senpai.”

“Whatever.” Gakuto stomped back towards Yuushi as Ohtori darted away, probably to avoid being seen by Taki, who was returning with two overpriced bottles of water, looking around perplexed. Honestly, this dating stuff wasn’t that hard, Gakuto thought to himself. If someone as socially clueless as Yuushi could handle it, he assumed just about anyone could figure it out.
*****
Shishido sauntered with as much dignity as he could manage towards the SkyDrop, determined not to talk to Ohtori. He’d ride the stupid ride, then make a break for it. Besides, Ohtori looked busy, chatting amiably with the ride’s attendent. The second year was unique at Hyotei in that skill: he could talk to anyone, no matter who they were or how much money their parents made or didn’t make, and in a few minutes, they’d be friends. Shishido, on the other hand, managed to offend people regardless of race, religion, or financial status -- usually in under five minutes. He’d grown perversely proud of this characteristic, actually.

“You do realize you’re staring,” Atobe said from behind him, making Shishido jump.

“I was just wondering when we can get on with this so I can go home,” the shorter boy snarled.

Atobe raised an eyebrow, smirking. Then he raised one hand in the air, snapping his fingers. The Hyotei members turned to face him, out of practice if not awe. “We will begin,” Atobe announced. With limited rolls of eyes, the regulars filed towards the ride, which had been cleared of all other occupants for the occasion. The SkyDrop was divided into four sections, each on a different side of the five story pole. Taking a seat in an empty quarter, Shishido was half-relieved and half-disgusted to see Taki snag Ohtori’s arm. That meant he’d probably end up riding with Kabaji or something. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about making conversation.

Suddenly, Gakuto’s shriek cut through air. “You’re such an idiot, Yuushi!”

Oshitari, for his part, looked a mixture of stunned and baffled.

Gakuto rolled his eyes. “I can’t stand listening to you anymore. I give up! Taki!” Gakuto grabbed the arm of a very wide-eyed Taki. “I’m riding with you instead. Let’s go!”

Taki started to protest, but was no match for the red-haired steam roller that propelled him away from Ohtori. Crap... that meant.

“Shishido-san, can I ride with you, then?” Ohtori beamed, hopping into the seat next to Shishido and pulling the safety bar over both their heads before Shishido could answer. Fair enough, since the only syllable Shishido felt capable of at the moment was “...er.”

Oh, he hoped this ride was a short one.
******
Atobe supposed he should be focusing on Jirou and whatever the hell that kiss meant. However, at the moment his mind was preoccupied by the thought: We should have reached the top by now, shouldn’t we?

However against all definition of logic and thought, the damnable contraption kept moving up. The agonizingly slow motor hummed, punctuated by occasional jerks for no reason Atobe could discern. He craned his neck up, his stomach twisting as he could still see a fair distance of height to be gained. And below him ...

Atobe’s neck snapped up abruptly. Right. Not looking below him.

“Mou, Atobe, are you okay?”

“Ore-sama is fine.”

“Close your eyes,” Jirou suggested. That, however, only meant Atobe’s imagination would provide the distance between his glorious self and and the very hard ground. Atobe instead chose to stare at one of his hands gripping the orange plastic safefty bar. He should schedule a manicure if he lived through this.

And then, the machine clunked to a sudden stop.”

“Atobe, did you just ... squeak?”

“No.”

Atobe refused to look at Jirou, insteadwatching his own knuckles turn whiter and whiter. He braced himself to not shriek like a five-year-old girl.

He waited. Thirty seconds passed.

Then another thirty.

Then a full minute.

After two and a half minutes, Atobe finally snapped, “Is this thing actually going to move?!”

Jirou yawned. “I heard it gets stuck sometimes. They should--”

“Stuck?!”

“Well, it’s a newer ride. They might still be getting the bugs out.”

“Bugs?! There should be no bugs! Ore-sama does not ride rides that contain bugs!”

Jirou sighed. “They’ll get it running in a minute.” Jirou’s head started to tip to the left, using the safety guard as a pillow.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep!” Atobe warned, though he could already hear the other boy’s snores. He’d try to shake Jirou awake, but that would involve relinquishing his grip on one of the handles.

Atobe felt his pulse double, his breathing coming more and more rapidly. This was no way for the heir to the Atobe empire to die.
******

“We’re going to die!” Taki shrieked for about the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

Gakuto had given up responding, since Taki wasn’t listening anyway. He was going to kill Ohtori for this.

“God, can’t they just get us down? Don’t they have a safety or something?”

“Well if they do, screaming isn’t going to turn it on.”

“How are you so calm?!”

Gakuto sighed. “Look either we get down alive whenever they get this thing working, or we crash to our deaths. I don’t want to spend the last minutes of my life with a headache cuz you can’t stop screeching.” Also, Gakuto could afford to be calm. Getting stuck up here was undoubtedly a trap; either Ohtori’s or Jirou’s. He wasn’t sure which yet.

“God, can’t you be serious for once?” Taki huffed, throwing his head back against the padded headrest. “You don’t want to die before you make up with Oshitari, do you?”

“Huh? Oh, right.”

“What do you mean, ‘oh right’? What’d he do anyway?”

Gakuto supposed Ohtori hadn’t mentioned anything about a code of secrecy. “Nothing. Ohtori just asked me to ride with you so he could molest Shishido or something.”

“What?!”

Gakuto shrugged.

“Why’d you listen to him?!”

“Because I thought it would be funny. Your face is a really funny color right now.”

“You ... you suck,” Taki eventually spat out.

“Yeah?” Gakuto raised an eyebrow. “In 3rd grade you knew I liked Yuki-chan, and you pushed her off the swings and then she wouldn’t talk to us anymore.”

“Well, she was a real brat--”

“And in fifth grade you told the girl I liked that my parents adopted me from a traveling circus--”

“That was the week you said--”

“And then last year you told me Yuushi only dated guys who were taller than him!”

“Only cuz I used to think he was kinda hot!”

“Oh that makes it so much--” Gakuto stopped. “What do you mean ‘used to think.’”

Taki looked uncomfortable. “Well, you have to admit he’s let his hair get a little weird. It used to be nicer and--”

“There’s nothing wrong with Yuushi’s hair!” True, the series of high speed rides had blown most of it behind him so that he looked permanently like he was zooming at fifty miles an hour, but today was an exception.

“I have some really good conditioner that might work. I can show you where I --”

“I’m not fixing his hair! It’s fine!”

“Suit yourself,” Taki sighed. The drama seemed to have calmed him down considerably. He kicked at the bottom of the car. Gakuto, meanwhile, refused to look at him, preferring to contemplate how to send a moonsault into Ohtori’s chin. Or Shishido’s chin, maybe. This was all his fault.

Eventually, Taki asked, “So you want to come play video games this weekend?”

Gakuto let out a huff. “You got that new 2D fighter?”

“Hissing Cockroach, Flying Monkey.”

“Yeah, I’m in.”
******
Oshitari could hear just enough of his neighbors’ conversation floating downwind to be insulted. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his hair. And as soon as today was over he could brush it back into some semblance of normality. Till then, he considered the situation hopeless.

Similar to his chances at engaging in some sort of conversation while waiting for the miserable excuse for a staff to fix this death trap.

He started talking, more to pass the time than anything else. “This is ridiculous. I have much better things to do with my time. You know, my sister offered to take me to a concert with her today. There’s an orchestra from St. Petersburg touring Japan right now. They play a phenomenal selection of Stravinsky pieces.”

“Uhs.”

Oshitari wasn’t sure Kabaji knew any other words and continued as if no one had spoken. “They have a guest pianist in. You might not be familiar with most of his works, but his grasp of technique is flawless.”

“Rachmaninov.”

Oshitari blinked, peering over his glasses at his seatmate. “You ... heard the performance?”

“Uhs.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t predicted that one. “Ah... what did you think?”

“Flat.”

Oshitari couldn’t quite help the elitist smirk on his face. “I suppose somone unfamiliar with the genre might have that opinion, but if one pays attention to the details. His stacatto for example is --”

“Stilted.”

“Precise.”

Kabaji shrugged, seeming to indicate he didn’t care what Oshitari thought, which was not satisfactory because Oshitari was right. “Well, what about his control of dynamics during the andante portions?”

“Controlled. Forced.”

“It wasn’t forced! That piece is the standard to which great pianists aspire. Few can manage pick up the subtleties--”

“Nothing new.”

“Nothing new? What did he need that was new? As if you’ve heard it performed better.”

“Zhang.”

Zhang? “You mean Boa Zhang? That prodigy from Beijing? Please, she’s a fad.”

“Talent.”

“Hype.” What was it about talking with Kabaji that made him start speaking in one word sentences. “In a few years no one will have ever heard of her.”

Another unconcerned shrug.

Oshitari glared, adjusting his glasses and getting his fingers tangled in the damn strap. “Next you’ll be telling me you enjoyed that amateur performance La Boheme last spring.”

“Uhs.”