Fear and Other Things
Chapter 7: Shaking Hands on a Bet
There are cream puffs on the table.
Mamori shakes her head as she closes the door of the clubhouse behind her. Hiruma has not bothered to look up from his computer as he cackles. "A disciplinary officer on school grounds at night…kekeke…whatever will the school administrators say."
The said disciplinary officer only lifts her eyebrows, but doesn't say anything yet. She walks to where he is sitting, in her lemon-yellow dress, and she flops down on the bench beside him. For a moment, she regards the room of the clubhouse. "It seems like you were already expecting me, Hiruma-kun." And she nods at the cream puffs on the table.
"That?" The quarterback looks up from his computer, "Who says that was for you? But I'll be sure to check it before I leave, to make sure you haven't been sneaking food."
"Argh! Hiruma-kun!" She shakes her fist at the cackling quarterback. "You are the lowliest wretch on this planet! I swear you have no redeeming virtue at all…" and the manager's expression changes as her words fade. Her fist lowers and opens up on her lap. She gives a resigned smile. "I'll take that as my just punishment for trying to bandy words with you." Then her smile changes, becoming gentler, tender.
The quarterback sweeps his eyes back to his computer, as his fingers start typing again. "You have another stupid look on your face, fucking manager."
Mamori looks at him from under her lashes, the gentle, tender smile still remaining, "I…I just realized how happy I am now…even when I'm yelling at you."
The quarterback's fingers slow down and stop, the room becoming quiet. And then, those fingers start dancing again all over the keyboard, as if they never stopped in the first place. "You owe me time," Hiruma says abruptly. "We didn't get to talk at all the last time."
The Deimon manager blushes as she recalls the reason why they didn't get to talk. Hiruma catches her blush and cackles. "That's right…a disciplinary officer attacked me and practically violated me—"
"HIRUMA-KUN!," Mamori blushes fiercer, "You are truly…" and she stands up with a sound of exasperation.
But the quarterback's hand snaps out and catches her wrist. "Wait a minute." His eyes rise to meet Mamori's surprised ones. "We have to talk, remember?"
She sits down again, with a thump, her dress settling around her a moment after, like a cloud that's touching ground. "You're right. I have things to say to you, too. But you go should go first."
Hiruma releases her wrist, closes his laptop, and puts it aside. "I wanted to make a bet, fucking manager."
For a moment, Mamori is unable to say anything. "A…what?"
"You heard me," irritation skates over the quarterback's voice as he crosses his arms and leans back, "I said I wanted to make a bet."
She exhales slowly. "I see…"
"Will you listen to me first, fucking manager?!"
"I…I'm all ears."
"Then, you should look at me."
And, indeed, Mamori turns to him, but her eyes are skittering over to a point beyond Hiruma's head, so that even if she is facing him, she is avoiding his eyes.
The quarterback lets out a hiss of irritation and his hands suddenly grab Mamori's face. She gasps, her hand involuntarily wrapping around Hiruma's forearm, as Hiruma forces her eyes to look into his. "I want you," he says quietly, "to look at me when I start saying this. Now, are you listening, fucking manager?"
Mamori nods.
"If the Deimon Devilbats win the Christmas Bowl, then the rest of the brats can find out about us…"
Under Hiruma's hands, her eyes widen. "About…us?"
"Tch…do I have to repeat everything for you, fucking manager?"
Mamor's eyes, still wide, begin to shine as they fill with tears. She tears Hiruma's hands away, covering her face. But she does not struggle as the quarterback roughly pulls her into his lap. And Hiruma puts his arms around Mamori, holding her close and pressing his lips to her forehead.
"You…" her voice hitches, "you didn't say anything about us in the first place!"
She feels his lips stretching into a smile against the skin of her forehead. "Damn manager…" he says, and the jagged half-laugh that tails his words make the nickname sound…tender. "I don't need to tell you. You already know it."
The quarterback pulls her ponytail down. Her face tips up, tears silently running, plastering the loose strand of her hair to her cheeks. And he kisses her, the salt fresh on her lips. A stillness descends upon the clubhouse, where all small noises become louder, where all small movements become magnified. The sound of a distant horn of a car, the whisper of a passing breeze, and the rustle of leaves in the trees in the school grounds…they are all the more louder, but all the more far away as Hiruma and Mamori stay suspended, leisurely, lazily kissing.
This time, there is no need to hurry, no desperate need urging them on, just the quiet feel of each other, and it becomes much like leaves floating along the river, or clouds meandering in the sky. Each shift and stir seems natural and unforced, all of their fingers and lips moving of their own accord, as right as the spring rain and the summer sun.
"So," Hiruma says against Mamori's lips, "are you going to shake hands on that bet or not?"
"Well…are the cream puffs really not for me?"
Hiruma throws back his head and laughs.
"YAA-HAA!"
A few days after, Musashi and Doburoku compare notes. Both are dismayed to find that the other has absolutely no information whatsoever.
"They're behaving in a completely normal manner," Doburoku whispers. A scream rises as a gun fires and the sounds of a broom redirecting bullets follow. "At least as normal as you can get with the devil."
Musashi scratches his chin, "If only Mizu-san would visit again, we might have been able to get something out of him…"
"But the fact that he isn't visiting should tell us something already."
"Well, now that his family has had to move again, I guess we'll never know."
"If I didn't know better, I would have thought that Hiruma might have had something to do—"
The sound of the machine guns getting closer cuts off the sentence, though, and Sena running between Doburoku and Musashi, a sausage tied to his uniform, completely cuts off the conversation; both kicker and trainer scrambling to avoid a rabid Cereberus.
From afar, Mamori leans on her broom and signals to Hiruma. Don't be mean; you didn't have to do that to them. Pull Cereberus back. Now.
A slow grin spreads on the face of the Deimon quarterback. And he thinks, My, but MamoriAnezaki is implacable.
End of Chapter 7
END
Author's Note: I can never thank everyone enough. You've all been really great. I know I've said this, but I hope you guys had as much fun reading this as I did watching them in my head.