Crescent Moon Fan Fiction ❯ A Life Best Kept Secret ❯ Times are changing ( Chapter 6 )

Note to Disclaimers: I do not own Crescent Moon so don't sue me because if you did that'd just be…sad…mainly cause I own nothing, not even the car I use. So I couldn't give you anything! So…NO SUEING, POR FAVOR!

 

A/N: This story is so continuing on as an A/U fic, so just remember that peoples! Um…not much else to say except that it's getting a little more complicated. Not sure what this chapter will be to any of you though…but read if you'd like to! Oh, and R&R if ya could! It's greatly appreciated!

 

Word Coding:

 

`Thoughts'

 

“Speaking”

 

Everything else

 

A Life best kept Secret (Chapter 5)

 

 

Nozomu tapped his fingers against the armrest of the airplane's seat, annoyed that their flight had been delayed. It seemed a trivial thing to have been delayed because a passenger on first class couldn't find her favorite pearl necklace or her 6 karat white gold wedding ring. Then again, it was worth more than a house's payment in one shot. He gave the unsuspecting woman a sordid glance as she cooed to her young child, who was wrapped up in what appeared to be a fine, silk blanket. Rolling his eyes, he shielded his view from her with an airplane safety pamphlet, annoyed that the trip was taking long. Of course, traveling from England to New York and then to California did take its toll on him—especially after having to stay overtime for the meetings and having to change time zones. Business was flourishing and Oboro had decided they'd needed to stay a little extra time to ensure the partnership. On top of all that, after Mahiru's invigorating phone call the day prior, Nozomu was phoned by their father. All in all, Nozomu was surprised to hear how stressed out his father happened to be; the refined, older man always seemed so relaxed. When the young man had asked what was wrong, his father stressed the necessity for the partnerships to be finalized—the bonds needed to be unbreakable. Lucky for him, Nozomu happened to be quite the persuasive fellow when it came to convincing people, while Misoka made sure the younger man had all the facts and information right. The team was pretty much unstoppable.

 

Nevertheless, he was tired, he missed home and he missed his family. Mahiru's phone call had made his day; she was always so happy and cheerful. Their jovial conversation had helped him make it through his next speech without any problems whatsoever, and the partnerships were made and negotiations were closed, positively. Sighing, he leaned his seat back as Misoka continued flipping through a Stock & Bonds manual by their company, making sure that he was up-to-date on any changes that might have taken place. The blonde haired man shook his head as he took in the sight. `Misoka is always so…responsible…though I'm not quite sure that's the right word.' A baby's cry interrupted his quiet thoughts as the woman he'd been trying to ignore for the past hour attempted, quite unsuccessfully in his opinion, to silence the child. He watched Misoka turn and raise a brow at the spectacle the mother and child were making, and his lips quirked to the side ever so slightly. Only at this action did Nozomu feel a chuckle make its way through his throat and out of his mouth. Everyone else on first glass kept glaring at the woman, wishing the child would be quiet and stop penetrating their sleep with the horrid cries. Shaking his head again, Nozomu resumed his careful observation of the world below, not really admiring the tiny specks that were cities, mountains and the occasional body of water that went by. Misoka, too, had returned to his “manual” browsing, seemingly interested in whatever the flimsy booklet had to offer. Nozomu sighed again. Their flight was taking too long, and all he really wanted was to be home. `Another two hours like this and I WILL die.'

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Mahiru had to, more or less, drag her reluctant body through the halls of the science building as she left Chemistry and made her way towards her history class. She was still groggy even though she'd already attended her first three classes—English Literature, Calculus and Chemistry, which was last. Her Japanese Language classes didn't count since she had them early on Saturday mornings, around 8:00 AM. African-American studies tended to wake her up since her teacher was so lively and passionate about the subject; but she felt like she'd been hit by a train—twice. Inhaling deeply, she hiked her backpack higher onto her shoulder as she tried to regain event the smallest spark of interest in her eyes. She took a deep breath as she slowly turned the doorknob, her cheeks already starting to flush. `I hate when I'm late to this class…Mr. Denall always makes fun of me…' She pushed the door a little, unsure of whether she should enter or not when she heard the unmistakable voice of her instructor beckoning her inside. She cursed herself as she opened the door all the way and 40 heads turned to look at her. Embarrassed beyond all possible belief, she scurried straight to the only available seat, which happened to be in the middle row—and was stopped. Horror etched over her features as she heard her name called and a request to stop mid-stride accompanying it.

 

“Ms. Shiraishi…since you love being late so often, why don't you inform me, since you don't think that you have to be here at the same time as the rest of us—tell me: When did some of the first Slave ships cart slaves from Africa to America?” Mr. Denall fixed her with a hard stare as she stopped.

 

Mahiru huffed in annoyance as she stayed still in her spot, all the while wracking her brain for an answer that she knew from studying the night before. “Um…Mr. Denall, do you want an exact date or a general time period, say a century or so?”

 

He paused, suddenly thoughtful as he fixed her with a curious stare. “Ms. Shiraishi, can you give me an exact date?”

 

Relieved, she nodded. “Well, I know some of the first ships arrived in America in 1619. Will that answer suffice?”

 

He smiled, though the vein pulsing in his left temple told her that he was anything but happy. “Of course it will, Ms. Shiraishi. Have a seat so I can continue my lecture.”

 

As soon as she was seated Mr. Denall began drawing an outline on the board. One look at it told her they were going to have exams soon, at least Mid-terms. `Well, it is November after all…and the semester is over on December 17th. It's only natural we'd have midterms. What a damn drag.' Sighing, she slowly pulled out her notebook and spiral in order to take notes for the impending test that would take place in the next couple weeks or so. Just as luck would have it, she'd forgotten her textbook and her black pen exploded the minute she started to write on the paper. Cursing, she excused herself from class, earning herself a curious look from her teacher, as she went to the bathroom to wash off her face as well as possible. The ink had managed to stain the entire front expanse of her sweater and had left rather unattractive mark on her face, mainly on her cheeks and lips. `I look like something died on my face and shirt…something that died and decayed three times over!' Huffing for the second time in a ten minute time span, Mahiru made her way back to class, suddenly moody. She did not even spare her teacher a glance, which resulted in her missing his annoyed look as she took her seat and began jotting down notes. She was so immersed in writing them down that she did not hear him calling her name until her classmate jabbed her in the side.

 

“What is it?” She hissed the question as she halted the furious movement of her pen. Her classmate pointed to the front where her teacher was wearing a most harassed look on his face. She blanched. “Yes sir? Were you calling on me?”

 

He nodded, exasperated. “Yes, in fact, I was calling on you though you seemed to have not heard me. Anyhow, I am assigning certain parts of the text to each student so that he or she may lead the class next Tuesday while I am out. You're part is to explain how the change from Native Americans, indigenous slaves shifted to the African slaves, understand?”

 

“Yes sir,” she replied as she jotted down the assignment, face afire from more unnecessary embarrassment. When class had ended she hitched her backpack onto her shoulder and made a mad dash for the record store. `Geez…I don't even have time to actually change this messed up clothing!' She cursed her bad luck the entire way to the store, even after she'd run into Keiko and they high-tailed it so they wouldn't be late. Both girls barely made it by their scheduled work time, stumbling in through the back inventory room, startling Mitsuru and earning a curious look from Misoka. Mahiru blushed as she waved, not really noticing as Keiko dashed to the front of the store, already dressed in her uniform for work. After the initial adrenaline rush left her body, Mahiru collapsed onto the couch, somewhat exhausted as she slowly clipped on her utility belt, ignoring Mitsuru's heated glare. Misoka, however, gave her a small grin to which she blushed more. “Oh! Good afternoon Misoka, Mitsuru. Sorry I'm a little late but the buses weren't running today. I had to walk…er…run with Keiko to get here.”

 

“I can see that,” Misoka stated, his small grin never wavering. “Although, I will say that the rush was not necessary. You could have changed given the…state of your dress. I'm sure your apron will cover most of it, but I suppose you don't enjoy being in that ink-stained shirt, do you?”

 

Mahiru sighed, her irritated mood returning ten-fold. “Of course not! But it's all right…it's just a shirt…”

 

“A nice one it seems, too, Mahiru,” Misoka replied, suddenly aware that she was not really ok with the happening of he destroyed shirt. “But, if you'd like, you can change in the bathroom. We have some clean spare t-shirts in the supply closets for these types of occasions. Or you could…stay in that shirt.”

 

Realizing that he was poking fun at her that was intentioned to make her laugh, she let out a small giggle. “Thanks Misoka. I'll do that. And I guess…” She gestured to her shirt. “I guess I'll throw this in the garbage. It's no good and I know I can't get a stain like this out anytime soon. Thanks.”

 

With that said she disappeared into the supply closet. Outside the door, Mitsuru was staring at Misoka, instantly angered. “What is it, you damn annoying bastard?”

 

The older man's grin grew wider. “Why, nothing Mitsuru. It seems that you are extremely grumpy today. Any particular reason as to why that might be? Say…because Mahiru walked in?”

 

“Whatever…this is friggin annoying. You both are! Just leave so I can work, dammit!” He spun around and began to stack boxes in the corner that weren't meant to be opened just yet. Misoka only stared at his back for a few more minutes until Mitsuru turned back to him, fire in his chocolate colored eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

 

Shaking his head, Misoka made his way toward the exit doors. “Nothing, really. Just make sure you don't forget about the special shipment that's coming in a few weeks, ok? Tell Mahiru that Akira wants to see her. Goodbye Mitsuru.”

 

“Yeah, and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, you bastard!” He shouted after the disappearing figure of his older co-worker. He was about to scream more when Mahiru reappeared in the room, her face curious at first. But when she caught sight of Mitsuru, she presented him with a small smile. He felt his cheeks burn and turned away. “Great, idiot # 2 is here. What do you want?”

 

She scowled immediately. “Well, excuse me for saying hi! I work here, Mitsuru! That is why I'm here!”

 

“And what a damn shame it is!” He bellowed as he slashed open a box with his knife.

 

Mahiru grimaced as she picked up the nearest object she could find—her knife, which was closed—and chucked it at his head. Just as the shiny object went sailing through the air, he seemingly found the perfect moment to turn around because the knife hit him squarely on the head, right between his eyes. Startled, he let out an uncharacteristic shriek as he stumbled backwards. Against her own anger Mahiru reached out just in time to go falling with him in her failed attempt to help him steady himself. He fell back on the newly opened box of CDs, Mahiru landing on top of him as CDs spilled from the broken edges of the box. The clattering made quite the amount of noise but Akira had the music blasting so loud up front that no one heard their accident. Mahiru let out a yelp as she felt CD cases jab into her legs where her skirt did not cover her exposed body parts, scratching and bruising her pale skin. As it was, Mitsuru's utility belt was practically stabbing her in the stomach and her arms were caught between both of them; and her own utility belt had only been halfway on when she'd fallen. Half the contents were spilled onto the floor. As for Mitsuru, he had turned about five shades of red—she hadn't seemed to noticed—and was currently willing himself to ignore the fact that her face was entirely too close to his. He could feel every contour of her body pressed against his, along with all the annoying supplies used for work, as they lay there seemingly immobile.

 

The sudden silence that reigned in the room was beginning to suffocate both of them, especially Mitsuru who was beneath Mahiru. She breathed in a shaky breath as she waited for him to scream at her, yell at her, and say anything that would give her a sign that he was still himself. However, what he said threw her totally off guard, so much so that she practically mauled him in the process. “Um…” She blinked when she felt his hand come up and lay on the small of her back—it seemed to be quivering a bit. “Are you ok? That fall was pretty nasty.”

 

She nodded, slowly, as though she hadn't quite understood what he'd said. `Didn't he fall harder than me?' Seconds later she was on her knees, both straddling his own as she offered him a hand to get up. But the look in his eyes made her falter and her hand ended up going towards his face until it landed on his cheek, cupping it for a split second before his gaze turned bewildered. Nevertheless, her hand did not move and she leaned forward a little as Mitsuru rose to meet her, or at least it appeared that way. Her heart was beating rapidly as she waited for their lips to touch but instead, she blanched as she heard footsteps coming their way. Coming back to reality, she quickly stood up; her hand leaving his cheek as she finally helped him stand before turning away and going back towards her carts. At that moment, Akira bounded in and gave them both curious looks. The air in the room seemed thicker than normal, tinged with tension as well as a bit of abnormal warmth, like fire and electricity had somehow fused and blown up. Shaking his head in an attempt to ignore the weird atmosphere, Akira went right up to Mahiru. Mitsuru paid no attention to them as he grabbed the nearest box of unpacked vinyls and made to ignore them right away. Seconds later, Mahiru burst from the room, running quickly towards the front area; there was a shout and laughing. Mitsuru made a sour face when he heard Nozomu's voice drift through the swinging door as Akira had decided to leave shortly after the grinning blonde. `Seems like that blood-sucking prick has returned.' His left eye twitched madly as he stabbed another box, this time out of pure malice, which caused him to practically cut a stack of CDs straight through the middle.

 

He blinked at what he'd almost caused, not sure whether or not it was something he should even bother to think about. Shaking his head, he ignored the noise from the front area and continued working until Misoka suddenly appeared at his left side, the same serene look still on his face even though he was wearing darker glasses, if it was possible. Mitsuru bristled at the older man and pretended he wasn't there, trying to concentrate on his work as though his co-worker didn't exist. It worked for mere few minutes before Mitsuru was sure the vein in his left temple would pop from annoyance, therefore resulting in his death; it sounded pleasant at that moment. However, he was not to be obliged as he finally turned towards Misoka, eye still twitching. “What the hell do you want, dammit?” When Misoka said nothing, Mitsuru growled. “Dammit…you piss me off…”

 

“Everyone does Mitsuru; you've made that abundantly clear, haven't you?” Misoka gave him a smirk as the shorter man started punching in his time card, ready to leave for the day. “Well, please do take care of Mahiru; I am leaving early today since I was at the conference. Good day.”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Mitsuru replied as he went back to viciously stabbing the boxes, his irritation driving him. When Mahiru returned with Nozomu by her side, he only stabbed the boxes harder, his teeth gritted. `Great…I fucking love Tuesdays.'

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

By the mid-evening, which was also the time for her to start her homework, Mahiru was ready to collapse. With class earlier in the day plus work at the store, she felt as though she needed a long nap; but her homework had to be finished. If her grades failed, then Nozomu and her father would find out, which she could not afford. She needed at least 6 hours of sleep to function properly the next day at work—both her jobs—but she also needed to do her homework, which tended to consist of at least two to 3