Wig for a Swig @ 茶碗蒸

love potion

之前一直想說要貼一篇我的"創作"好交代一下已經空了快一年的"榛果派"檔案....可是因為實在有點不好意思所以就拖了非常久(汗) 總之, 以下這篇是我去年寫的網王同人誌其中一篇 (說是短篇卻也長的要命==)。雖然不是我"得獎"的那篇但我是自己認為這篇寫得比較好啦... (這樣說會不會很不要臉啊.....) 當然還有待加強囉, 畢竟也只是寫好玩而已XD 要我現在再寫一篇這樣的我恐怕也得再掙扎個幾個月吧 (現在哪來這種鬼時間啊真是的) 不過在嘗試寫作後才知道故事不是說要完成就能完成的啊... 有靈感時就算是幾千字的作品也能抱著滿腔熱血, 不眠不休的打出來。但是有Writer's Block時就算要再寫兩行字也是無比的困難, 而且就算勉強完成了也永遠比不上經歷過突發靈感後的作品。寫作的能力也會因為心情而起伏不定....嗯, 寫作真是奇妙又艱難的過程啊~

如果有興趣的人就看吧 (不過如果看過網王的人應該會比較能進入狀況). 真的很長喔~ (警告) 看不下去我也是可以理解的哈哈

Feedback is welcome, but just don't tell me it's like Twilight lol

Wig for a Swig

He hated it when grass tickled his eyelids.

Normally they don't, of course. But today it just so happened that he had adopted the extremely uncomfortable position of lying on his stomach, with his face half-buried in the rough bed of weeds, instead of the usual careless sprawl on his back when the sun could spread its gentle fingers over his sharp chin, his tousled black hair, and the lean muscles clinging onto his limbs in curves of grace.

His cousin had been the culprit, of course. If only she hadn't stolen the latest edition of his ProTennis magazine which he was planning to read and - more importantly - to shade his eyes from the blinding rays, he would most likely be enjoying this rare opportunity to take a nice afternoon nap instead of dashing after a tennis ball in this scorching heat. Not that he minded it much when he was actually doing it; he would not give up a chance to play tennis at anytime for anything in the world, it was his hobby, his passion. His life.

His life, which his loving cousin was only more than willing to endanger by preventing him from having an adequate amount of sleep. And all for a stupid magazine!

As if she didn't have enough of those already.

For Nanako was, by far, the craziest magazine fanatic he has ever seen. Not only was every inch of her bedroom wall slick with the glossy cut-outs of articles, recipes, horoscope forecasts, the complete surface of her ceiling was also pasted over with layer after layer of huge celebrity photos; their sickeningly perfect grins turned downwards to the room as if they were a houseful of gods sniggering at the foolish mortals. Not to mention the thicker magazines carpeting her room - completing the perfect yet strangely disturbing picture of a magazine lagoon. He could have sworn she has subscribed to basically every magazine on Earth. From Girlfriend to Road of Entrepreneurship, Home and Gardening to Time and National Geographic... the only one she didn't seem to take an interest in, however, was ProTennis, which was both fortunate and unfortunate for Ryoma. Fortunate since he did not have to share his prized possession and agonize over seeing it being trampled upon among other dirty magazines on the floor. Unfortunate because he had to endure that very pain should Nanako discovered that in a certain issue there was an interview with a hot tennis player, and if that edition also happened to include a life-size poster of him... well, he would have to bid his poor magazine an eternal farewell.

Sighing irritably, he attempted for the millionth time to shift his body into a less awkward position, and for the millionth time he failed miserably. The thick spiky sheet of greenery was almost smothering him, and their sharp ends were like an army of tiny spears feebly stabbing his skin - not enough to draw blood but perfectly sufficient to prod him awake just as he was drifting off into a peaceful world.

He wished his cat was here.

Karupin, with her soft bushy tail brushing comfortingly across his chest, her sweet lullaby of purring vibrating against his eardrums, her warm snowy fur pressed against his bare arms like heated silk... Ryoma almost smiled as he lost himself in the familiar cocoon of warmth his beloved pet provided for him each night. Oh Karupin, stop moving would you? Your whiskers are tickling me... and for heaven’s sake relax those claws… no harm will come to-

"Ouch!!" Ryoma woke with a start and sprang up from the ground. His hand immediately flew up to his scalp - where he had sensed a sharp prickle of pain just seconds ago. Yet he touched nothing except his hair, which was in its usual state of disarray. With a frown he returned to his seat on the grass, still massaging his head with the tip of his fingers.

If he was indeed dreaming about a phantom cat laying her malicious paws on top of his head – he must be even more exhausted than he thought.

And even so, his cousin and her stupid magazine collection had to deprive him of a reasonable nap... He had never felt such hatred, as he had at that moment, for the invention of magazines, and the existence of girls who like to read them.

They say it never rains, it pours.

It’s right, of course – for a saying to be passed down through various generations it must have a certain degree of accuracy. It just took him a few more days to fully realize its inarguable deadliness.

At first he didn't make much of it. He did not even think to cast a second glance at the hordes of girls roaming suspiciously close to his lockers since it was, of course, a normal enough sight for him. Over the years he had trained himself to subconsciously block out the annoying little giggles and the shy flustered faces as his eyes casually met those of a female. It wasn't that he didn't like the attention, or that he minded the popularity, but he found it fatiguing having to return every single suggestive smile or flirtatious greeting. His stony face was simply not crafted for the art of friendliness, or the beauty of charm. He had come to accept that fact with a reasonable satisfaction after his first attempt to smile at a girl had transformed, instead, into a snarl which sent the girl scampering away in fright.

Luckily, that had only been his coach's granddaughter. And she always scampered away from him anyway - regardless of what he did or what he said. Although he could always expect to see her again within a few minutes. A missing drink-bottle, a lost book, a forgotten question for her grandmother - she never failed to return to his field of vision after dashing off in a swirl of embarrassment. That he had found amusing, and since then he simply could not resist the temptation to tease her, watch her scramble away in all shades of red, then quietly reappearing a few minutes later with a murmured apology.

She always came back. And this impressed him. For if there was anything in the world he hated more than girly tears and screams it was girls avoiding him for no reason at all... well, perhaps because of a tiny careless thing he had said – but that could hardly be counted as a reason, not when compared to him smelling foul or him turning ugly and hideous – which was what he was usually led to believe. Yet he would always catch sight of that same girl staring innocently at him whenever she thought he wasn't looking, as if justifying herself that he was all to blame for some mysterious affair he himself was not even aware of. If you have a problem then just say it! If you're upset then shout it out... is it that hard? Girls, are such confusing creatures.

On the other hand...even though his coach's granddaughter was no better at expressing her thoughts to him than the others, at least she always made the effort to do so. And because of this, things did improve between them - the frequency of her sprinting away gradually lowered over the years. And after countless failed attempts, she was finally able to look him in the eye and not flush scarlet. He was so tempted to applaud her for her success - yet he feared that would defeat the purpose of her efforts. He knew she was trying to act natural around him, so of course he knew why she couldn't act natural around him. Yes, he was dense once, but a few years have passed since then, and he was convinced if anyone was dense, it was her.

"Ryoma-sama! Morning!!" A cheery voice drew his thoughts sharply back to reality. He looked around wearily, and met the bright hazel eyes of the only other girl who didn't blush in his presence - Osakada Tomoka; he believed that's her name.

"...What?" He turned back to his locker, where he dumped half of his books onto the small pile of fan letters, causing a few to slip out from the metal cage and drift gracefully down into the recycling bin directly below. How convenient.

"First of all, what's my name?" She demanded.

"Osakada," He replied, not even sparing her a second glance as he fumbled through the contents of his locker. Just over a year ago, she had nearly passed out from sheer horror at the fact that he couldn't remember her name for one wretched moment, and after three days of mourning she had vowed to imprint her name onto his mind by asking him to recite her name every single morning, and so far she has kept to the job quite well, unfortunately.

"Osakada what?" She leaned closer; her threatening aura was almost suffocating.

He sighed. "...Osakada Tomoka," He said reluctantly. Sometimes he thought she merely wanted to hear him say her name, and not for him to remember it. For now he didn't think he would be able to forget it even if he flipped his brain inside out and scrubbed it ten times.

As soon as he said it, the entire locker room was filled with an ear-splitting squeal as Tomoka threw her arms around his shoulders in a quick excited embrace. Ryoma flinched, even though she had done that for over three hundred days in a row. He knew it was a friendly show of affection, yet he still felt uncomfortable at any feminine contact. He tried to shrug her arms off, yet as her hands fell from his shoulders he felt another sharp pain from the back of his head, and his eyes snapped around to stare at the girl smiling innocently at him, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with unspoken mischief. Then the amber eyes slowly traveled down to her hands, which she had quickly hidden behind her back, yet his eyes were much quicker.

There was a moment of silence.

"You-" He spoke slowly. "Did you just... pull out my hair?"

"What? No! Of course not! Why would you think of such a thing?? I would never-"

She did.

He continued to glare at her, and gradually the laughter drained out of her face. Finally, his darkening mood seemed to have intimidated her and she scuttled away without another word. Well, seemed like he wouldn't be seeing her for a while either - and to tell the truth, he was glad; he could not have been more pleased to rest his ears temporarily from the constant nagging of him spelling out someone's name every morning. He would have been happier, however, if she had at least given him an explanation about why she had wanted to rip his hair out... Hair! Of all things! His face twisted into an expression of disgust. Thoughtfully, he bent down to retrieve the two letters which had fallen into the green recycle bin. As much as he would have liked to leave them there among other undesirable scraps of trash, he knew well enough than to anger his fans. They are, after all, the most important thing next to tennis... according to his wise father.

And besides, the explanation he was so curious about could very well be hidden in one of these pink over-decorated envelopes. For if Osakada had been one of those behind this... his so-called fanclub was unlikely to have nothing to do with this. Yet just laying his eyes on the small mountain of them in his locker made his already dangerous mood fouler.

If not for the satisfaction the act could bring to some unknown people, he would have torn his hair out.

And then it poured.

It was literally impossible, in fact, to even make it down a corridor without having three or four follicles plucked off the silky blackness on his head. Unimaginable to walk to the toilet without a jolt of pain rippling through the network of nerves beneath his scalp. Not to mention the mental exhaustion of having to be on constant alert for spidery fingers creeping up his neck and snipping away a few wisps of youth.

By the end of the day even his extraordinary reflexes could no longer help him - he was numb all over from the physical strain of sharply dodging showers of high-pitched pleas and lightning strikes of ill-intended fingers. His eyes were throbbing from endlessly darting side-to-side for any hovering shadow above his torso.

And still he did not know why in the world his hair has become the most desirable asset in school.

For the thousandth time that day, Ryoma gingerly raised his hand to his scalp, almost afraid of what he might discover. He let out a sigh of relief. Yes he still had some left, miraculously. Although he probably wouldn't for much longer.

With heavy steps he trudged out of the boys changing room situated by the tennis courts. The courts were almost deserted by now - except for a few first-years bending over the cooling concrete, looking for any furry spherical shadows. The late afternoon sun spilled over the school grounds like a platter of warm honey, and the emerald green leaves on a nearby oak tree crackled deliciously like a symphony of sweet pastries.

Ryoma had not made it out of the main school gate before he sensed a feminine presence a few feet behind him. Immediately his hand flew up to protect what remained of his precious culture of hair, but his fingers stopped half-way as a peal of laughter tinkled lightly through the air.

"Oh don't worry! You still have some left," The speaker panted through her series of giggles.

Ryoma dropped his hands. "...Thanks for reconfirming that, Ryuzaki," He replied stonily, and continued walking.

In just a few strides she had caught up with him, and fell in step beside the smouldering figure.

"Are you angry with me?" Her chocolaty eyes gazed at his face intently, trying to read his expression - not that there was any to read. "...Sorry, I was just teasing."

"I'm not angry," He said curtly, yet the frustration in his tone was evident. "I'm just annoyed."

She smiled. Not pointing out that those two words were practically synonyms.

"Don't you like the attention?"

He glanced at her, and a cold shadow fell over the stunning golden eyes.

"Not when I've no idea what the heck is going on," He replied darkly. "They could be cursing me right now - putting bits of my hair in voodoos and who knows what else."

"Oh, trust me, they're not," She laughed and then had to turn back in her track when Ryoma came to a complete standstill on the footpath with his eyes narrowed

"So you know why they're doing this?"

Her eyebrows arched in astonishment. "You mean... you really don't know the reason?"

When he shook his head stiffly, her brows rose so high they almost disappeared into her fringe. Then she sighed - which made him cringe with apprehension.

"No wonder you don't seem particularly glad," She smiled again. Then, to his surprise, she abruptly changed the subject.

"Do you know the Stars & Magic magazine?"

He hesitated, but nodded. "My cousin always reads those."

"But you've never read them?"

"What? No," He scoffed in disbelief. Only girls believe in horoscopes and magic and rubbish like that.

"Well, maybe you should have." The girl beside him shrugged, her long auburn hair quivered slightly from the motion, sending a flicker of rosy radiance fluttering against his sleeve. "In fact, all the girls are absolutely crazy about it... Because in the latest issue there was a recipe for a love forecast potion - you know, whether you're destined to be together or not - and one of the ingredients was..." She trailed off. But he didn't need her to finish the sentence to guess what that 'secret ingredient' was. He tried his hardest not to rush off, drag out the inventor of this sinful potion and beat him to death. This was what cost him half of his hair? Ridiculous.

There was a moment of silence as they continued their journey down the street.

"... Well, you might be happy to know that this potion does have some element of truth in it," She added brightly. "There were quite a few cases listed in the magazine where couples have come together because of it."

He turned to her with an incredulous look in his eyes. "Don’t tell me you really believe those."

She looked back at him with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean? Why shouldn't-"

"They made it all up, of course." He sighed. "To make people believe them and buy the magazine."

"...Oh."

He could not help feeling a little amused to see her disappointment. He was right when he thought girls were gullible. But even when she believed the potion was true she had not attempted to steal hair off him... Ryoma could not determine whether the sensation which shot through his veins in a frenzy of heat was joy or grief.

"...Are you not even a little curious, though? About whom you're destined to be with?" She asked in a low voice.

"... The only thing that seems destined at the moment is that I'm going to go bald before my old man," He replied solemnly. Yet, judging from the long look she gave him, he could see that she had realized he was avoiding her question.

"Ryoma-kun." He felt a gentle touch on his arm, and he halted in the middle of the path to look at the girl by his side, at her face that was dim with concern. "...Be careful."

The crowds of pedestrians forked around their still bodies, flowing smoothly around the block in the street as if they did not even exist. He smirked bitterly. A bit late to warn him now...after the dumb potion has already stolen half of his hair. But then since when has she not been slow?

To his dismay, the next day followed very much the same pattern. Although his decision to keep his beloved cap on during the day proved to be a wise one, for he would much rather be plucked clean from his neck than having an ugly bald patch within a ring of inky strands. He shivered slightly at the sickening thought.
It could not possibly be any worse than this.

Or so he thought.

By noon that very same day Ryoma came to accept the fact that it could be worse, and in more ways than one. It was, perhaps, not so surprising to find that girls started leaning closer than necessary whenever he spoke to them; or leaning their heads closer, to be precise. He did not know what in the world could have given them the idea that he would want any of their hair in return for losing his own...it was not as if he could install them onto his head and pretend they were his own. Absolute absurdity.

And of course, he had no intention whatsoever of ever even hearing about the potion – let alone making it. So there began his bizarre experience of speaking to the top of people's heads instead of their faces.

"Umm, Echizen-senpai... have you seen Michiko-chan anywhere today?"

Michi...what?

Ryoma stared down at a pretty brunette with chestnut-brown hair and a... nice zigzag parting. There was a pair of shimmering scarlet ribbons weaved into her braids, the ends of which were flapping distractingly close to his chin. Her face was almost invisible due to the angle she chose to position her head. He himself could not resist shooting a glance at the ground to see what was so intriguing.

"Who?" He asked coldly, after seeing nothing of particular interest at their feet. Yet she still refused to lift her face.

"Michiko-chan... you know, the girl who sits in front of you in class..."

"No, I mean who you are..." Then he merely shrugged. "But I suppose that’s not going to help me know who you’re talking about either."

So of course that sent the two girls in question dashing off in a deafening duet of howls and sobs. Not that he cared in the slightest. He never thought it was necessary to be nice to girls who he didn't know, and he never will. But that gave him a pretty good idea of what tricks the girls were trying to play.

And then came the part which really got on his nerves.

As if it wasn't enough for them to steal his hair... they expected him to steal theirs, too. And when their technique of bowing their heads ridiculously low in front of him failed to lure a corresponding response, they decided to adopt a bolder action. If he didn't want to take their hair, they would volunteer them.

So it was with a most horrific choked cry that Ryoma discovered countless tiny strands of hair in his locker later that morning - all bundled neatly in their separate colours with gauze or cotton ribbons. It was such a ghastly sight that he was speechless with shock and disgust.

Of course, this was a totally different matter from the fan letters; therefore Ryoma did not feel even a tiny stir of guilt as he swept all of the hairy gifts out of his personal space and dumped them into the bin. He could feel his face taking on a shade of green from the memory of having to touch those dead follicles.

He was at a loss for what to do.

Confiscate all the Stars & Magic magazines in the region? Not likely. Temporarily wear a wig? No, it would be fatal for his pride if it fell off while he was playing tennis. Shave off all his hair before any more vicious girls ripped them out from his scalp? ...No, he'd look too much like his dad.

In the end, he did what he usually did.

At the sight of the pair of scissors in front of her, Sakuno was at a loss for what to do. She looked up into the many pairs of hopeful eyes above her desk, and tried her very best to look as innocent and helpless as possible.

"I-No, I can't possibly-"

"You only have to cut five pieces, I promise you," A tall girl with glossy black hair interrupted with a pleading look in her eyes. All her friends nodded quickly in agreement.

"Five, one for each of us, and then you don't have to do anything ever again." Another girl, stout and with a face which reminded Sakuno of a pancake with a tiny amount of fruit piled onto the middle, added with a hopeful smile. It wasn’t hard to guess it was a lie.

"But... what if he doesn't want to?" Sakuno protested.

"It doesn't matter - he never agrees to anything fun anyway! Just snip a few strands off when he's least expecting it. That's how everyone's been doing it for the past few days!"

"We just thought he wouldn't get as mad if it was his coach's granddaughter who did it."

Just as Sakuno was about to argue some more, the circle of her classmates closed in around her. It wasn't exactly threatening - yet she felt a pressure in her chest which made breathing incredibly labored. She tried to smile under the five pairs of intense brown eyes, though with great difficulty.

"You can ask Tomo-chan, maybe? Surely he won't get mad at her - she's the president of his fanclub," She suggested with a slight pang of guilt. Silently she muttered an apology and a prayer for her friend - may Tomo-chan be guarded from harm when she is ambushed by girls from her own fanclub.

But it turned out she might be too late to wish her luck.

"Oh, no way. Haven't you heard? He gave her the Look the other day, when she plucked out one of his hair by his locker," One of the girls said regretfully, although the hint of glee in her voice seeped through the words like broth from a boiling pot.

Sakuno felt her eyes widen in disbelief. "Really? Did he dare risking his fanclub?"

"Ryoma-sama is always willing to risk anything," The tall slim girl flashed a brilliant smile; her pale face was aglow with a dreamy pride.

"See? That's why you must do it," The short girl with squinty eyes urged. "He has never said anything so horrid to you that you darted off in tears, has he? He wouldn't dare offending you and your grandmother."

That almost made her laugh. "Oh, no. Like you said, he is always willing to risk anything," She replied dryly.
Indeed, she has burst into tears in front of him too many times, and dashed off in a state of indescribable shame on so many occasions that she has long since lost count. But somehow the incidents were all quickly forgotten - somehow she had always found the courage to look at him again, despite the fact that she had felt there was nothing she would have liked as much as to kill herself after being the victim of Ryoma's extraordinarily famous, yet merciless, remarks.

And now they could even pass as friends... if you squinted hard enough and focused until your eyes popped out.

She sighed. And then nearly jumped as the pair of scissors was shoved closer towards her, stopping abruptly at the tip of her nose.

It's not like she had any other choice. She was destined to be used as a tool to gain access to Ryoma. The one to take the blame for other girls' intentions, the one to enrage him even though she wanted just as much - if not more - to please him and see that rare smile which was so faint, yet so miraculously beautiful on his handsome face.

With a hasty motion of her hand, she took the scissors and stuffed it into her pocket, ignoring the sharp jab of pain as a tip of it dented the softness of her sensitive thigh. Then, without another word, she tossed her hair back and prepared for her mission. She did not even have to look up to picture the smug smiles that crossed the five fair faces like a slithering shadow of a malicious serpent.

The heavy metal door to the roof was rusty beyond repair, yet Sakuno has long since mastered the skill of opening it without a sound.

As slowly as possible, she pushed on the crumbling doorknob and held her breath as the door silently swung open inch by inch.

And why has she mastered this?

The reason was so obvious it needn't even be explained. For Echizen Ryoma could only ever be found in three places in the entire school campus - his classroom, the tennis courts, or the rooftop (most likely asleep, of course, in any of those places save the tennis courts). And since the job of seeking him out before every tennis match fell to her three years ago, she has had quite some time to investigate the whereabouts of the school prince whenever his absence was missed.

And, surprise surprise, there he was.

With extreme caution she sneaked up to where the tall slim figure lay, sprawled across the concrete with the back of his head nestled comfortably - and protectively - in his folded arms. She had not expected him to be awake, hence she sprang back in alarm as the motionless head suddenly turned, and a pair of sharp golden eyes met hers like a blinding torch of leaping flames. Yet the dangerous glint soon faded as he registered her face, and the guarded light gradually melted into a pool of swirling honey.

"...Afternoon, Ryoma-kun," She greeted him through a shaky smile as she attempted to soothe her wildly pounding heart.

He said nothing, merely nodded and turned his feline eyes back towards the sky - there was not a trace of cloud that day, merely the sparkling sapphire-blue sky and brilliant golden globe ablaze with all its wonders.

Yet it was not the sky she was seeing.

The young man at her feet was beautiful in all ways possible. His tanned muscular physique shone bronze in the spill of untamed rays, the streaks of curved shadows on his exposed limbs displayed a collection of well-trained muscles, and the sharp collar bones - barely visible beneath the unbuttoned top portion of his shirt - rose and fell with a slow steadiness that made her weak with adoration. She noticed that he had taken off his trademark cap which he had been wearing all day - no doubt to protect his precious hair from anymore unwelcome disturbances - and the disobedient dark strands struck out at random intervals like a splatter of notes on a musical stave. Some dangled so low above his sharply-angled face that they threw tiny bobbing shadows on his overly- smooth cheeks. But despite the amount he had lost in the past few days, his hair was still a radiant shade of ebony; it glowed as if the sun had trimmed its edges with shiny golden threads so fine and fragile that it dissolved in the darkest patches of the black forest.

It was no wonder that all the girls in their school had been dumbstruck with awe on the first day he had stepped through the school gates.

Sakuno kneeled down beside him, wanting to be closer to this man who was the closest thing she could think of to perfection, but also because she was afraid her legs would collapse like a pair of thin dry twigs... they were already shaking like one.

"Why aren't you asleep? I thought that's what you usually come here for," She asked, feigning cheerfulness to cover over her giddy nerves.

"...Do you think I could when any girl could just come up and rip a whole chunk of my hair out?" He mumbled grumpily.

"...I suppose not." She smiled.

Oh, she so much wanted to reach out and touch those arms! To press her fingers against the hard muscles and feel it ripple with each heartbeat, enjoying the sensation as it resonates with her own fluttering pulse...

"Uh, Ryuzaki?"

Her eyes sharpened into focus. And, to her horror, her hand was stretched out above his face - if someone else had burst onto the roof right this moment he probably would have thought Sakuno was trying to smother him. With a gasp, she blushed slightly and made a move to withdraw her hand.

But he had taken it.

Her mind frizzled as she felt the firm masculine fingers close around hers, and then she heard a light smirk.
"You, are a hundred years too early to steal my hair," He said coolly, and dropped her hand.

She was ever so glad - and disappointed - to retrieve her hand. Her throat felt parched and tight, and it was not something that could be eased by swallowing.

He knew. But did he know that she was doing this for someone else? Or did he presume that she had wanted it...

She shook her head.

"What? I would never steal your hair!" This was partly true - since she was only doing this on behalf of five other people.

He gave her a cold look - and she couldn't help but shiver at the strong belief that his piercing eyes could see through her mind as though it was made of glass. But the sensation soon passed as he looked away.

"Why are you here, then?" He asked emotionlessly.

For a moment she hesitated, and then the words just slipped out of her mouth.

"I came to see you."

And then as she was struck by the meaning of those words she hastily waved her hands in front of her in denial. "I-I mean, to check on you... I was worried that you might have gone bald quicker than I thought..."

She was horrified at how feeble and unconvincing she sounded.

Her blood ran cold as she saw his eyebrow quirk.

"And why do you care?" He asked, his tone frosty.

Oh God, is he angry? Please don’t tell me he’s angry.

"Well..." She licked her lips nervously. "...Because then I'll have to re-make all the signs and banners of you for cheering at your next tennis match, you know...re-draw you with no hair."

She could have sworn he choked back a laugh, since his collar bones suddenly gave an unnatural jolt, which broke the calm rhythmic pattern of his breathing. She felt her tense shoulders relax.

"...Or you can just not cheer for me," He said.

The words came as a shock, and they pained her. Did he think he would do just as well, if not better, without her? That she was a nuisance rather than a help? Was he telling her not to come to the games at all?

There was a brief silence.

"Fine, maybe I'll cheer for Atobe-san next time," She said. The hard edge in her own voice surprised her, yet Ryoma did not seem to have noticed it. His face tilted ever so slightly towards her and she almost drowned in the frightening depth of his startling amber-hued eyes as he gave her a long look, as if considering the potential of her choice. Finally he shrugged, and his crumpled shirt grazed against the rough cement.

"Either way, I'll win."

At that, she couldn't repress the small smile that formed on her lips. Even though his confidence wounded her on various occasions, it was still one of his traits she adored.

"How is your training going anyway?" She asked casually. "Has you father taught you any new techniques?"

At the mention of his father, his brows knitted together into a dark frown.

"That pervert can't teach me anything," He replied with disgust, though his calmness quickly returned. He closed his eyes wearily. "But no, I'm busy enough avoiding people who want to steal my...hair..." The sentence ended in a yawn.

She laughed. "You should be glad it's hair, and not eyeballs or something you only have a limited supply of."

A cold look. "...That's nice to know." Yet there was the suspicious twitch in the corners of his mouth again.

And then there was another minute of silence.

That's what most troubled her whenever she tried to make a conversation with him - his lack of effort to continue them. It was always she who blurted out with a brainless comment in a random topic and made a fool of herself to try and spark his interest should she happen to fortunately tread upon something suitable for his mood. A soft sigh escaped her lips. After all, she has only ever had one purpose in mind, and that is to maintain the rare companionable atmosphere between them for as long as fate allowed it.

But that still didn't change the fact that it was extremely difficult to do.

"Umm... Ryoma-kun, don't you ever get hot up here? The sun is awfully strong..."

"...It better bloody well be, so no girls will come and risk ruining their complexion." He stifled another yawn. Oh God, he was already getting bored.

Silence again.

Large beads of sweat were forming on Sakuno's forehead, yet it was unlikely that there were from the heat of the sun, Ok, she's talked about tennis, losing hair, and the weather... what else? She could almost hear the mechanical whirring as her brain grinded against the inside of her skull.

Oh well, enough about him. What if she talked about herself for once?

"Hey, guess what happened this morning?" She spoke up in an overly-cheery voice which she immediately attempted to lower into her normal soft tone. "I bumped into Atobe-san this morning at the train station... as glamorous as always, and with a group of fans trailing not three feet behind him - I dare say it was even bigger than yours-"

"Don't cheer for him..."

"What?"

"Don't...cheer..."

She frowned and glanced down. This was getting weird. "What are you-"

The rest of the sentence dissipated in her throat as her eyes fell on his peacefully sleeping face.

Still asleep, he shifted onto his side so that his face pointed towards the left side of her body, one of his arms was tucked against his chest so that his cheek was pillowed on the soft padding of his palm. It was obviously a more comfortable position - despite the hard concrete floor - for the cautious eyebrows which were always scrunched together relaxed back into two beautiful arches. However, the serene expression faltered quicker than it appeared, and almost immediately after Sakuno had laid her eyes on it, the small frown was back in place.

It seemed like she had not thought of a topic quick enough that time.

However, she did not particular mind. If he trusted her enough to sleep in her presence and not worry about her stealing his hair... that must be a positive sign. And then, with a prick of guilt she remembered her mission, of why she was sitting here in the first place. She was aware of the cold metal in her pocket, lying in close contact with her thigh. Yet she simply couldn't bring herself to take it out. The speckle of trust she sensed from him was too precious to risk. If it was possible, she wished time would stop and she could just stay quietly by his side like this forever... just watching the rare light of tranquillity slowly settle over his divine features.

However, as reluctant as she might be to leave, she did not want to continue sitting there and gawk stupidly at him like one of his stalkers. So she stretched out her legs on the floor and leaned forward to shift her weight onto them... but froze as she felt a gentle tug on her skirt from the movement.

Her eyes snapped back down, and grew wide with astonishment as she saw that a corner of her uniform was grasped tightly within Ryoma's hand, the one not resting under his cheek. For a moment she did gawk at him - although it held a stronger resemblance to a mouse that has discovered a chunk of unguarded cheese than a stalker.

Noiselessly, she eased herself back onto the floor. Careful not to touch the hand still gripping onto the cotton of her skirt like it was the only thing that existed. Her brain seemed to have switched off the instant she laid her eyes on his hand, and her fingers felt icy and numb as she twisted them nervously on her lap.

Yet a fact sprang out from the dark turmoil of her mind like a brilliantly coloured billboard, with flashing fluorescent edges that spun in an infinite halo of light.

He trusted her more than she had expected... He trusted her enough to want her to stay and guard him from the numerous hair thieves wandering around the campus with their evil little scissors...yes, she would have liked to believe that. But to grip a girl's skirt? To plea for a girl to stay and protect him? It was so uncharacteristic of Echizen Ryoma she had to coax herself into suspicion.

Which was that he didn't see her as a girl at all. Rather, he treated her as an accomplice, or an ally who would never go beyond that border at the very end of friendship into something more. It all made sense, really - that's why he hasn't said anything too nasty to her for so long, why he has acted like he didn't hate her, why his attitude has even been agreeable these past few months. Stupid of her not to have seen this earlier - why else would this boy have so much faith in her - a girl next to no body? This realization struck her with a blow so sharp and painful that she froze - physically and mentally - in mortified grief.

"...Don't cheer for him..." The low murmur sounded again, so quiet that the words were barely audible. Yet each syllable resonated within Sakuno's ears as if they had been shouted.

Her lips curved into a weak smile, and with a trembling finger she touched his eyebrow to smooth out the crinkle, it worked.

"I'd never betray an ally," She whispered back softly. Her smile faltered, and then the tears came.

He woke up to the sound of liquid splattering against the heated cement.

It wasn't exactly a musical sound, for it was not rhythmic. And sometimes there would be such a substantial pause that he was tempted to open his eyes and encourage the next droplet to gather its courage and leap onto the concrete, where it would evaporate with a tendril of transparent smoke and begin an even more exciting quest to the glowing heavens.

At first he thought it was a broken pipe somewhere near his head, for at occasions he would even hear the muffled squeaks and sobs of rusty metal, especially after those long breaks between each watery drip...

He didn't know metals could sob.

His eyes flew open. Yet he struggled to keep them open against the blinding white radiance of the sun. He squinted, blinked furiously, then sat up and looked around him drowsily. But the instant he moved he felt a waver of shadow close to him. And as his cloudy amber eyes registered the slim figure, his mind sharpened painfully into focus.

It was not a leaking pipe, after all.

Neither of them said a word as they stared at each other.

He could tell she had been right beside him while he slept, judging from the great wet patch by where his palm now lay. Yet she had scrambled away from him when he woke, and was now looking at him through teary eyes with a few feet of rough concrete between them. Her cheeks were still glistening with traces of liquid.

"You..." He took a step forward, but stopped as the girl hastily took a step back to maintain the distance. Her sobs had died down to quiet sniffles, yet she still could not seem to speak. So for once in his life, he decided to be kind.

"You look like some kind of bug..."

She burst into tears, and turned around to stumble blindly down the staircase leading off the roof. She nearly tripped over twice, and lost a hairpin in the process, but she managed to fall through the door with enough force. He stared after her in bewilderment.

"...got into your eye," He finished slowly. Well, this was precisely why he did not like to show his kind face. It was not until ten minutes later that his hot huffs of annoyance ceased into a thin sliver of guilt, slowly trickling into his thoughts like a gurgling icy stream.

Which was when she came back - as he knew she would.

It has always been terribly embarrassing to return to him after she scrambled away like some mortified little rodent threatened by a giant furry slipper. And yet something - guilt, perhaps... or maybe dignity - always made her turn around after she has released all her sorrows and smoothed out her knotted emotions. She was happy when it worked out miraculously well each time. Rather than avoiding him and hoping he'd care for weeks and weeks - like many other girls did, Sakuno knew for a fact that that would only make matters worse for herself. It was too dangerous to gamble feelings with Ryoma; he would not only be unconcerned about whether girls ignored him or not (for there is a guarantee of constant replacements), but he would also be more likely to forget her entirely. What, with him forgetting names of girls who sit closest to him in class, Sakuno did not like to think what a few weeks of not talking could do.

She couldn't help but sympathized for her dear classmate when one of her friend had approached Ryoma earlier today and asked for her whereabouts, only to be coldly reminded of the fact that he did not remember her name, and clearly hinted that he did not particularly care for dealing with her friend either. Both of them had, in fact, thrown quite a dramatic tantrum in the classroom and created such a scene that they had to be half-dragged away to the health centre by three teachers.

And what was the Prince doing at the time? Leisurely sunbathing on the roof.

Wiping away some of the moisture from her face with the end of her sleeve, Sakuno's solemn face broke into a tiny smile.

She found him exactly the way she had left him. Stony-faced, composed, silent. But immediately she laughed at herself for conjuring up such an observation. For since when has he not fitted that description? But he had still been looking toward the entrance to the roof when she stepped back through it, which was not entirely expected.

She walked up to him quietly, and picked up the hairpin that had flown out of her hair from the floor which lay between them.

"I-I forgot this," She said stiffly.

But he merely nodded, as if he was already anticipating her return.

She glared at him. That was not how he was supposed to respond... she would have liked to catch him off guard, surprised, even a little awkward. Yet he was as cool as always, apart from a ghost of a smirk which drifted over his lips for a split second - though surely she had imagined it. So she returned the favour with as much control and coldness as she could manage.

"...I'm sorry," She said calmly. "I don't have the faintest idea why I got so upset."

He seemed to consider her for a while. She almost squirmed under his intense gaze.

Then he smiled. And the mechanics of time, place, and the mere essence of being seemed to extinguish. "I do."

Now she really did not care whether he was not surprised, awkward, caught off-guard or whatever. In fact, her mind had completely frizzled out along with the rest of the world the moment her eyes caught his smile. She was not even aware of herself gaping at him like an utter idiot until he had reached up to his head, tugged out two pieces of gleaming black hair without so much as a flinch, and held it out to her. For the first few seconds she could only stare at him in stupefied silence – the idea of the proud arrogant boy offering anything to her was simply too mortifying. Yet, despite being slow to take in her surroundings, she was quick to act once she had interpreted it. At last, she forced her jaw shut hastily – it was getting quite sore, in fact - and pinched the hair tightly between her fingers without a word. She could not have spoken even if she wanted to.

Then his smile seemed to fade. And even the sun seemed to falter and wink out from the sky.

"Don't expect me to do this again."

She stood, rooted to the spot, as she felt a light and careless - but not unaffectionate - pat on her head, and the first rumble of thunder ringing in her eardrums.

The hair frenzy did not stop for another week. And even Sakuno was somewhat relieved when it had died down to a hazy memory.

True, there were no more pleas for favours since her half-accomplished mission in the previous week, nor any unreasonable demands for information on His Royal Highness’s whereabouts. The girls probably figured even she could not wrestle a reasonable amount of hair from him, and had grown tired of seeking out Ryoma every few hours to try her luck. The two precious pieces which she had obtained were, in the end, shared between not five, but ten people. For as it turned out, the recipe did not define the actual length of hair required, so the ten girls were rather content to simply receive a tiny portion in order to satisfy their needs.

Thank God.

And she had to applaud him for the protection of his hair - his sleek mass of blackness was still as glamorous as always. Especially after its incredibly sharp rise in value, and its sheer vulnerability towards predating fingers over a period of nine days or so... luck, must have played a major role in its defence also.

But still he treated her no differently.

Sakuno could feel beads of perspiration trickling past her temples as she stretched her leg muscles in preparation for a thirty-lap run around the school field. It may sound daunting - yet this was normal enough for her and any others who were in the girls’ tennis club. It should be a breeze for her, as easy as sinking into a cake of mud on a rainy day... but she sensed a prickle of apprehension tugging on the edge of her mind as she stepped gingerly onto the smooth tracks in her snug navy stubbies and white cotton shirt embroidered with their school logo.

As she took her place in the third track, her eyes wandered absent-mindedly to the tennis courts laying just a little west to the field. A loud cheer erupted suddenly from within the wired fence, chimed in by a few masculine hoots and shouts. A period of silence followed soon afterward, and then another explosion of excitement. This pattern continued tirelessly while Sakuno waited for the other girls in her race to take their place. The corners of her lips curved into a faint smile.

He just loved it when the boys got to play tennis for PE; so much that with every twist or turn of his arms, every step or leap with his legs, he had to sprinkle in a subtle hint of skill - just to spice up the match with heartening applause from his male spectators.

Mind you, he was never like this around female fans. Ever since she accidentally stumbled upon a match last year between him and his ex-captain, Tezuka, Sakuno knew just how different he became when he had to constantly deal with distractions such as feminine squeals of delight and sighs of admiration. As if he wanted to block out the dramatic gasps and worried whimpers all together, he appeared calmer, more reserved, and positively frosty while playing for a crowd of mixed gender. Yet Sakuno was not fooled by this, for she has seen the passion within him. The liquid fire that flowed through his icy veins in a tumble of heat and luminescence. His open laughter and cries of child-like delight during the match with Tezuka simply took her breath away. She had never seen him so radiant, so filled with vigour and joy and blazing excitement... It was with a bitter sense of amusement that she suddenly became aware of a sudden rise of jealousy within her; for tennis, and its ability to spark such a love from an emotionless boy.

If only that love - or at least something similar - could be aroused by something other than tennis.

She shook her head gently. Her long cascade of rich auburn hair shimmered like ripples of rare gems under the curls of sunlight.

For all she knew, there could already be such a thing... but that was most definitely not something she should be worrying about.

Especially when she was right before a thing she should be more worried about. Sakuno bent down and pressed her fingers on the starting line. Tilting her hips upward, she braced herself for the signal.

When it came, she propelled herself from the ground and took off swiftly down the track. The wind was cool and refreshing as it whipped past her cheeks like knotted bundles of watery silk. It filled her lungs with energized molecules diffusing through her tissues in a mad frenzy of heat and brilliance. She felt light and weightless - almost drifting in mid-air as her body flowed along in total ignorance of gravity. Oh, she had just breezed past the last runner in view... and she was delighted to find that her field of vision had immediately expanded to include the whole field - with its buoyant blades of grass and copper-red tracks, the dusty white lines separating the ground into carefully measured loops, the rows of giant oak trees guarding the outskirts of the field like proud palace soldiers...

And then she sensed something was not quite right.

The vivid colours in front of her blurred and faded into some sort of greyish purple, the army of trees began to mutate and waver like thin flickering shadows, and the whole world seemed to dim under the over-brilliant...almost blinding golden rays. Her legs continued to move underneath her, yet the sun was killing her... its sheer heat scorched her skin and dove into her vessels, slowing her blood flow and evaporating the fluids into wisps of steam. Her throat felt parched as her breaths became increasingly laboured, and she lifted her icy hands - heavy with perspiration - to it, almost certain she would find folds of dried flaky skin instead of flesh and bones. She could hardly keep her eyes open - her eyelids threatened to droop down like blocks of lead. And she felt sick, as wave after wave of nausea struck her body like a severe turbulence. Her head swam and she could feel the last thread of consciousness within her thinning...

She must have passed out soon afterwards, for she did not remember hearing any of the panicked screams and yells around her as her lifeless body collided painfully with the solid surface of the ground.

He first sensed chaos after his fourth winning set of 6-0.

In the midst of being pleased with himself for pulling off yet another flourish of difficult tennis techniques, Ryoma sipped from an iced can of Ponta with a faint trace of triumph on his lips. Even though none of the matches could scarcely be called a challenge, he was glad to see the progress some of the players in his tennis club have made over the past few weeks. The National Tournament was drawing nearer, after all - and the team needed as much potential as possible.

Plus the additional bonus - there were no irritating giggles or rude chatter during the games. And to think he never believed a game could be blessed with such respectable silence! He took another long swig of the sparkling fruit juice, and felt his mood lift another notch as the chilling liquid stream smoothly down his throat. For once in his life he was actually tempted to spring into the crowd and hoot along with all the other guys like complete idiots, he had so much energy bubbling inside him that he felt capable of doing things that he had never dared to do before - but what a stupid thought! He had never cowered away from anything in his life...Yet, almost without realizing, he found himself peering through the rusty wired fence onto the vast green field, where the girls in his class were supposedly taking trainings in athletics. He saw many other boys do the exact same thing - yet he was quite certain they had a different purpose in mind; more normal for a guy, should he say.

It was oddly empty, yet he did not make much of it. Who knows? They are girls after all... they could be taking a toilet break already, even though it's only - he glanced down at the watch strapped to his wrist - fifteen minutes into the period. He shook his head in pity at the pathetic creatures.
But he was soon proven wrong in his assumption.

"H-Hey! Stop the game! All of you had better come quick...!!" A shrill voice pierced through the humid air like an icicle through a river of flames. Ryoma's honey-coloured eyes shifted lazily to the small figure darting in through the entrance of the courts. The girl was a mess - drenched with sweat and panting so heavily that he could almost feel her huffs of hot air from the other side of the court. Her face was dead-pale, and her hands shook as she ran up to grab one of the boys closest to her by the arm. The boy grimaced in pain, although it was difficult to tell whether it was from the grip or the volume of her voice as she screamed for attention.

Soon the buzz of conversation stopped, and all eyes had turned curiously to the intruder.

"O-ouch! Let go of me, woman!"

A dark scowl flashed across her features as she tightened her hold on him and began dragging him out towards the field. "Shut up! I was told to get a guy to help!"

"W-Wait a minute - I'm not the only guy around - and you can at least tell us what happened-"

"Oh trust me - I'd never have picked you if this wasn't urgent and you weren't the closest guy at hand, Horio-kun!" The girl snapped impatiently and continued to pull on his sleeve, but Horio, now flushing from both the heat and the embarrassment, had put out a hand to clutch onto the metal frame of the entrance. Ryoma had to secretly applaud him for putting up a fight against a girl. Seems like Osakada's training had finally posed an effect.

"Listen, you just calm down and tell us what happened first-" Horio tried to put on his most commanding voice, yet Ryoma had to smother a laugh as he shrunk back at the loud screech of frustration the girl let out in response.

"No YOU listen, there's a girl out there who has fainted and could possibly be dying and we need someone to carry her to the health centre for treatment. Is that so hard to understand!?" She paused to take a deep breath.

Immediately a shocked silence fell upon the crowds of gaping teenage boys.

"...Who is it?" At last, Horio managed to choke out the question which was now weighing down on Ryoma's heart like a pot of molten lead.

"... Ryuzaki," The girl spat out.

Every trickle of blood in Ryoma's body froze. He did not even notice as Horio shot him a frightene ook before his arm was snatched up again by the irritated girl.

"Now will you come?"

Her body looked so limp and drained on the ground that anyone would have thought her dead.

Yet the almost invisible movement of her chest - as her ribs rose and fell with every shallow breath she took - indicated the faint trace of life within. Her forehead glistened with a thin layer of perspiration, and a few auburn strands which have come loose from her braids were plastered onto her flushed cheeks like strips of silk sewn onto a stained handkerchief. With her eyelids squeezed tightly shut and a small frown creasing her delicately arched brows, she seemed to be in unbearable pain.

He was at a loss for words when he arrived - along with the rest of the boys in his class - at her side. He wasn't even capable of thinking, in fact. All he was aware of the blankness in his mind, and the hollowness in his heart.

She's had a heat stroke, or so he thought he heard someone say. Yet it was as if he was the one lying in the dust, his senses numbed by the heat and the sounds of nervous shuffling around his body.

"Will you take her to the health centre?"

He looked up wearily, but the words were not aimed at him.

Silently, he watched Horio's eyes widen and his protruding primate-like mouth open to let out a tumble of flustered words.

"What!? No... I can't possibly- I-I need to play in the next set! There's no way I can leave now..."

Ryoma frowned. What the heck is he doing? Can't he see there's no time to waste-?

Then he saw that Horio was looking at him. Along with about half of the boys in his class, all fighting to keep their faces solemn. And he knew.

He knew that they knew.

For the first time in his life, he felt a tight clench of embarrassment in his chest. As if someone was trying to wring all the blood out of the central pumping organ in his body. Even tripping over in the middle of a Wimbledon final seemed insignificant to what he was experiencing now.

He was almost too afraid to ask how long, exactly, they have known this for.

But alas! This is no time for fear, shame, or concern for his pride - or at least what was left of it.

Besides, there were still some who had no idea.

The teacher was also frowning now. "Then who should go?"

"...Well, how about Echizen? He's played four games straight so I don't think he'll be on for a while..." Horio suggested with a nervous grin.

He's always known Horio would come in use one day.

"Hang on!" A voice piped up from the back of the crowd, which Ryoma recognized to be one of his temporary team mates for this PE session. "But he's supposed to be playing doubles with me soon!"

He's never been fond of playing doubles, and he cared even less for it at that moment.

"Oh, I'm sure I can fill his place until he comes back! Now don't forget my five years of tennis experience..."
Ryoma could not resist a smirk as he weaved his way through the crowd to the front, where the girl lay helplessly in the shadow of the tree, where she had been moved to keep her out of the sun's penetrating rays. He crouched down, and gingerly slipped an arm over his shoulder to heave her slim body onto his back. He marvelled at how light and fragile she felt... like a feather which could be easily snapped into a million pieces should he wish it.

But of course he would never wish for such a thing.

He stiffened slightly when he felt her warm breath on his neck, yet he tried, without success, to ignore it. Just like he tried to ignore the none-too-obvious winks and silent words of encouragement some of his comrades were giving him as they discarded in the opposite direction.

Her head bumped unsteadily against his shoulder as he made his way up the first flight of stairs to the main school building. Not wanting her to slip off and acquire even more injuries, he slowed his pace. Yet it was impossible not to worry and wanting to hurry to the health centre when her skin felt as hot as a piece of glowing ember against his own, and broken strings of incoherent words were toppling out from her lips like a poorly receiving radio. If only he knew where her antennas were, she was never really sensitive to any sort of signals.

It took a while for her incoherent words to finally turn into comprehensible phrases, and that was when he finally became aware of the dull ache throbbing in his chest, although he could not quite identify its source. It strangely resembled what he felt for Karupin last year... when she had grown sick after nibbling on a stolen goldfish from a neighbour’s pond.

"...R-Ryoma-kun...why are you...?" The murmur of his name was so faint that he had to strain both his ears to hear it, despite her lips being merely inches away.

"I was told to carry you to the health centre," He replied, taking care to keep his voice expressionless.

He felt her weak fingers tighten a fraction on his shoulders. "What... happened to me?"

"...Heat stroke," He answered; allowing a trace of coldness to seep into his tone. "Although I thought only idiots didn't know to keep up their fluid intake in the middle of summer."

She let out a light laugh. Yet - perhaps it was his imagination - it sounded a little bitter.

"Oh, and since when have I been anything else to you? You hardly even treat me like a girl," She murmured.
One of his eyebrows lifted. It seemed like the heat had reached her head quicker than he had anticipated.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh... don't worry."

"...No, tell me."

"Never mind."

"You can't just stop there."

"...You wouldn't understand even if I told you."

Now this sounds interesting. "Try me."

She sighed, and he nearly shivered from the tingly sensation her breath caused as its sweetened warmth slid past his skin. His sharp physical reflexes have never failed him, though. And he heaved a silent sigh of relief as the feeling passed.

"...You never treat me like a girl," She repeated.

He waited, yet she seemed reluctant to offer any more explanation. Shaking his head in hopelessness, his curiosity forced him to prompt her on.

"How so?"

"...Well, for a start, you always complain about the length of my hair-"

He snorted. "That has nothing to do with it!"

"That's only one part of it, of course," She said in a harsh whisper, her voice quivering as she struggled to keep it down. "And then just last week, you had me guarding you from girls while you slept! Does that not suggest you've forgotten I'm also one of them?"

A long silence followed. Broken only by her heavy breathing and the light patter of his feet. They were almost at their destination. Fortunately, the corridors were blissfully deserted - he would have willingly flung himself off this building had someone overheard this ridiculous conversation.

Indeed, not another word was exchanged until their arrival at the door of the health centre. Ryoma felt a slight sense of apprehension as he lowered the girl to the ground, yet he was complete and utterly lost for words - yet another first in his sixteen years of life.

She slid awkwardly off his back, and seemed to suddenly find the feeling of solid ground under her feet strange. He swore she would have toppled over onto him had he not reached out to steady her by the arm. Yet she didn't seem to have noticed, or at least not that he could see. Her face was turned away from his, and if he could judge her emotion from just staring at those long locks of glorious auburn hair... well, maybe life would have been much easier.

Without a word, she retained her orientation and brushed away his hand with a stroke of unnecessary force before stumbling unsteadily towards the door, leaving him feeling incredibly foolish, blinking in surprise and unwillingly immobile a few feet behind her. Wonderful, yet another stab to his crumpling pride.

But she stopped. With one hand on the cool metal doorknob, she, too, froze. As if she was as unsure about what to do in this situation as he was, yet also as reluctant as him in ending it like this.

What came next turned out to be a surprise for both of them.

He started laughing.

And he saw her flinch.

Yet he simply could not help it, the laugh seemed strangely involuntary. His bones shook painfully against each other as his muscles were seized in spasms of merriness. He never knew he could laugh as heartily as that. After a while, when she sensed no sign of him stopping this unexpected and extremely uncharacteristic burst of joyfulness, she couldn't seem to stand it no longer.

"What's so funny?" She asked stiffly.

He had to lean against a pillar to support himself from the uncontrollable trembling as he fought to speak through gasps of air.

"...N-Nothing..."

She shook her head. "Then why are you laughing?" Her tone was heating up with a prickle of annoyance. His laughter finally ceased, and he tried, with difficulty, to rearrange his aching facial muscles to its usual mask of cold amusement.

"...Maybe because I'm queer." A faint smile fleeted across his features, yet his honey-hued eyes were solemn as he pushed himself off the pillar.

And with a sudden motion, she whirled around from the door. Her pale tear-streaked face spun towards his with an expression of comprehensive disbelief, just as he stepped close enough to kiss her on the mouth.

But he was no longer smiling when he lifted his lips from hers, or when he slowly retrieved the single strand of auburn hair and tucked it discreetly into his pocket.

Her hair is too long anyway.