Author’s notes:
To be honest, I hadn’t intended this to be a shiznat originally, but the more I research it and pay attention to the subtle tells in Mai-HiME, the more it fascinates me.
Also, I’m under the impression that Reito graduated at the end of Mai-HiME. If I’m wrong about this, could somebody tell me about it? Thanks!
So here it goes / This is my letter (to you)
Unfortunately for the man in black, he was only afforded about six hours of rest (in an admittedly fancy hotel) between the time his assignment pointing guns at girls in vans ended and the time the phone rang.
The man in black woke up very slowly, but picked the phone up very quickly, an old habit, one that had lost him a contract or two back on the road. “Yeah? It’s me.” He had rehearsed this a long time ago, during what he dubbed his lazy years—the period of unrest within the Middle East and the recent group of Sino-Russian skirmishes. Times when contracts came really easily, and they were all the same: “Kill the generic leader figure while he’s up giving a generic rousing speech to demoralize the generic enemy troops.” All he really needed was a location, which they usually uploaded to his palm pilot.
The voice was the same as it had been before: Scratchy and clipped. A voice that had better things to do than talk to some impudent sniper. Asshole. “You will meet with your partner at the location we are transmitting to you. Bring your equipment and food for a stakeout. If either one of you dies, we will shoot the other.”
Click, and that was it. If either of you dies, we’ll shoot the other. This was unusual for him, but then, this was an unusual job.
It’s because this is a low-risk assignment. I saw kids in that car; if one of us dies, it’s because the other one shot him; obviously, scratch-ass on the other end of the phone and the bank account wants to make sure none of us turn tail and split with his cash. He sounds like the kind of scratchy-ass that has the cash to make good on it, too.
The man in black hoisted himself out of bed and scratched his own ass, half for the poetic justice of the whole thing and half because it itched. He supposed he had time for a shower. Besides, it had been forever since he’d worked with a partner, and god damn if he wasn’t going to make a good impression.
Besides, if it was like any other stakeout, it would be the last shower he’d take in several days. He sniffed at his pits, and realized that he could barely stand himself as it was; he supposed by the time the stakeout was over, his stench alone could summon devils, the angry kind shouting at him to give back their brimstone.
He stripped off his black one-piecer and threw it on the plush bed, walked naked to the fancy bathroom with the spit-shined pearl-colored tile, stepped into the spacious, gold-rimmed shower, and turned on the tap, which took forever to warm up just like it did in every other goddamned hotel on the planet.
He stood in the cold spray anyway, mind filled with a bunch of half-images, like photograph negatives. He didn’t hear his wi-fi palm pilot beep, informing him that he had New Messages, nor did he see that it helpfully asked him, Would You Like to Read or Ignore?
If he’d had his way, he’d probably have hit ‘ignore.’
But why? Why do it at all? She felt as though this specific thing, this thing she did with Tate almost nightly, was something best left for school; best left for a time when she wasn’t crammed in with eight other girls, several of whom, (Chie) though she had no desire to name names, were extremely nosy. What would they say if they found her doing this? Would they call her a letch? A weirdo?
Or even worse, would they call her a hopeless romantic?
She was already up. She hadn’t even realized it. She had to shake Mikoto off of her, but the girl didn’t even stir. They were still roommates, Mai still having a year to go at Fuka Gakuen before she graduated, and sleeping together had become so ingrained in their routines that they slept far more soundly—completely so, in fact—than any two people sleeping together should.
Why did she even bother, though? She wanted to sit back down and go back to sleep, suddenly. Nothing was ever accomplished. She was like a fish swimming against a river of her own
cowardace
inhibition; unless something altered the current, nothing could ever change.
And wasn’t that for the best? Wasn’t that the least painful for…well, for Tate and Shiho? Sure, he participated in their little ritual every night, but she was almost certain that he was torn between her and Shiho. After all, that little girl clung onto him like a dustbunny clung to a balloon, but he let her.
He let her do it. He could push her away, but he didn’t.
She looked over at Shiho, grabbed her phone out of her bag without intending to.
There were nine girls in the room, and with one exception, they all slept in even rows of three, their sleeping bags stretched out like slashes on a prison wall, counting the years away: Chie, Aoi, and Akane; Mai, Mikoto (who hardly counted), and Midori; and Shizuru and Natsuki.
And there was Shiho, who slept apart from the rows, in a corner. By herself. She looks so…lonely.
And why shouldn’t she be? She’s vicious, cruel, and stubborn.
And lonely.
She’s conniving!
And lonely.
Mean!
And lonely.
And then, unbidden, certainly unintentional: Tate is so…kind.
You can’t keep doing this to him. You have your time, and it’s now. This is the changing of the current. You can get away any time you want. You could ask him to leave with you, right now, and he might. He might just.
She knew she was right. It was enough for a start.
Except during the night. At night, he had to pretend that he wasn’t an insomniac; had to feign sleep so that his roommate wouldn’t ask why he never slept. Come nighttime, he would go through the motions, just as had here, of preparing for sleep, but instead of dropping off after a half hour, as Reito could, he would simply stare at his pillow, at the floor, at the ceiling, and think. Come nighttime, his brain kicked in again, in a way it couldn’t during the daytime, and he was subject to his thoughts for four solid hours, condemned by his fear of being worried over to spend his nocturnal waking hours in what he could honestly describe as a hell of his own invention.
Not that his thoughts were all entirely negative, nor that even half of them were. What was so torturous about the whole experience was the sheer…scale of it all. Everything that he had thought about during the day, or rather, everything that he would have thought about were he gifted with coherent thought as his peers were, seemed to come rushing back to smack him in the face as soon as he closed his eyes and turned out the lights. A lot of it was inane, stupid, useless, and he was able to discard it as he would during the day; but a lot of it wasn’t, too.
He supposed that was because a lot of it had to do with Mai. Taken in little doses of disappointment, it wasn’t so bad: Mai smiling as they passed in a hallway but not saying anything because of the pink-haired thing latched onto his arm; the two of them sitting so close in class, but unable to reach out and connect because of the other thirty kids in their way; Mai, calling him from her dorm, almost every night without fail. Mai, saying nothing on that open phone line, simply listening to him breathe, too frightened, or perhaps too reserved for anything more.
His phone was buzzing and he didn’t even realize it. He grimaced, quietly stood from his sleeping bag, (faking grogginess still escaped him) and exited the room, went to lean against the wall that separated the girls’ abode from his. He took a quick peek at the caller.
Mai Tokiha, it said.
His stomach dropped as he thought of the agreement he and Reito had made. But, if I’m not talking to her, it doesn’t count, does it?
He flipped the phone open and put it to his ear, the cold plastic making his ear prickle a little.
“Hello,” he said.
As she thought about this and heard an exhalation from Tate settle into the phone, a thought of the boy eloping with her rose to the top of her head, and a healthy blush broke out on her cheeks. She settled against the wall that separated the boys’ abode from hers, and Tate’s breathing began to fill her ears.
She had never said anything to him. Never.
Because of that
bitch
girl? (She shook her head, remembering what she’d thought earlier: Lonely.Because of everyone else? Because she wasn’t honestly sure that she was
not a coward
ready for a relationship? If she had really wanted to, she could have asked him to sneak out after-hours and meet her, and they could have
eloped
been by themselves for a while. Done what they had been unable to do during the daylight. She knew he didn’t sleep much; she had called him at some very odd hours, and he had never sounded even the slightest bit groggy when he answered.
He inhales. She inhales. He exhales. She exhales.
The current changes out here. She didn’t know where he was right now, but unless he was out on a walk, he was less than twenty meters from her in any direction. He could sneak out without anybody noticing. All she had to do was say something. Three words; lets go out…or a few more choice, more intimate words…and that would be it. Maybe nobody would ever even know.
Or maybe she wouldn’t care if they did. She felt resolve creep back into her throat, she felt the image of Shiho, who was just…lonely…back into her eyes. Maybe she would feel differently tomorrow, when she’d rested, but for now…
She opened her mouth. She could do it. She was not a coward. She was not a coward. She was not a coward. I am not a coward.
Her throat worked for a moment, and she made a small, incoherent noise. She thought of something that Shiho had said to her, one of the few things she had ever said to her, about a month after the HiME star had disappeared.
What do you even like about him, anyway? In the logic of a child who had placed her claim on the boy, Mai was sure it made perfect sense, even if she knew she could have turned the question right back on the girl. She hadn’t, of course.
But even so…
I like the way he doesn’t wish me luck when he’s being sincere. I like the way he thinks…no, he knows I can take care of myself.
“Le…”
He was breathing more heavily now, but he didn’t dare speak. In fact, his jaw was clamped shut, so he couldn’t have spoken had he wanted to. But right now, talking was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted her to speak. He said “hello” and “goodbye” to her when she called like this; he supposed he was well within his rights to be a little resentful that she didn’t say anything to him.
But he wasn’t. He was just tired all over. He had to brace himself against the wall with his fist, which was rapidly, painfully curling into itself.
Please say something, Mai.
“Let…”
There had been a song Takumi had sent her on a CD from the hospital in America; she didn’t know the name of the song or the band, but it had left a profound impression on her. She could sing it as well as she could sing Route 66; which was so-so, at best, but even so...
She thought about how good she felt when she sang karaoke. When she sang, in general. Music had a power no writer or painter had ever been able to imitate.
She thought about how good she felt when he smiled when she sang karaoke. When he felt her power. She wasn’t ready yet, and that was okay with her. She could do this instead.
“Letter.”
She heard his breath catch, and then there was silence for a moment. Something cracked in the house, and she jumped; it took her a moment to settle herself down. Only the house settling.
She gathered that resolve back up. “Here it goes,” she sang quietly, imitating the English as well as she could, “this is my letter.”
He loved it when she sang. Suddenly, the powerful, intense disappointment that had made him lose control and pound the wall vanished, and he found his attention entirely settled on that voice.
On that voice.
“Hope you’re all right…it’s been rough for me.” Her voice was soft and mournful, and that was a cheery way of describing it.
“Thinking all night about the place I’d be,” this was him to a tee. He felt his throat lock up, and was very glad, suddenly, of his silence. Her next line, though, was as strained as his voice would have been; this surprised him a little, too. “If I maybe just did a little bit more you might have let me…”
She stopped.
You might have let me what?
You might have let me love you?
You might have let me be with you?
It nagged at him the way little things did on very little sleep. A lot.
Then, silence. What is it?
Then, a giggle.
He snapped. “What?” he whisper-shouted. “You might have let me what?”
Another giggle, and then another sniff, and she started singing again. “If I maybe just did a little bit more…you might have let me become a man for sure.”
Something popped in his head. Maybe it was a piece of his sanity. The two of them dissolved into giggles, as quietly as they could, sinking into the wall and wiping at their eyes, glad that nobody could see them.
They sat there for a long time afterward, listening to each other breathe, and he felt that even if they were dating, or –perish the thought—an old, married couple, that at this moment, they would be doing exactly the same thing that they were doing now. He felt perfectly, wholly content.
Oddly enough, so did she. They went to sleep that way, and while Tate woke up much earlier than she did, neither of them woke until morning.
I guess that was a little corny, huh? That’s kind of how I envision their relationship playing out up to this point, and the phone thing is of my own invention, a little bit of romantic flare on my part.
My apologies if it's not as good as the first two chapters though ;; no shiznat here. There are going to be multiple relationships for me to build on, plus the whole "plot" thing.
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