Crossover Fan Fiction ❯ My Adult University Romcom Is Wrong, As I Expected ❯ Visitors ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

FOUR

 

Another week ended after sufficiently engaging work that Ami came home with me and we had dinner, sex, and then streaming some hilarious car show from England called Top Gear. It was a comedy show about three blokes who review cars, sometimes seriously, and sometimes the cars are so bad they make fun of them. Several car companies have literally gone bankrupt after reviews from this show. Several other car companies have sold millions more cars after reviews on this show. Many car companies have improved their cars to avoid bad reviews on this show. Ami cuddled up, naked under a blanket, reclining partially on me, watching the show. She’d been pent up, and with the current standard for unprotected sex the preferred kind, there was a chance she’d eventually get pregnant from our lovemaking. This would probably be considered a positive event, provided the child was actually mine and not one of her adventures. As scientists, we are both aware of DNA testing, and there’s little chance I’d just take her word for it. And she knows this, without rancor. For all the risk, and maybe because of it, we continue our relationship as lovers. At least we understand the physical joys of it. Yukimura Shinya and Himura Ayame got their own codes in my research notes, even as colleague we work with closely in the lab sessions. I’m not full time there, since I haven’t yet graduated from my degree program yet, but I’ll be done in another year and a half. Ami will be there in another two semesters. We are both chomping at the bit to get on with the more advanced research and resources they have available. They pair of them are actively, but very strangely, flirt via science. Neither has a proper personality, and I rate them both as High Functional Autistics. It lends itself well to the statistics they majored in, and continue to research in the Lab. The lab itself tends to be a dreary place until Ayame arrives in low heels and yanks open the blinds and opens the window, weather allowing. She does have a point about serotonin levels and brain activity. Get those out of whack and you’ll suffer from chronic insomnia, and that can lead to psychosis and hallucinations. Usually in that order. If these two could figure out their Tab A and Slot B procedure instead of endless numerical flirtation by citing math and statistics calculations at each other it would probably be a lot less entertaining, though both would sleep better and stop looking so tense. Ami cooed at the hilarious scene on the screen. Old episodes had filtered onto the internet through pirate websites and I’d found them and managed access via my computer output to the flat screen as an external monitor. It even had sound and Japanese subtitles. It was good practice for English, though their accents were pretty thick. The lads were in Vietnam on motor scooters and mostly enjoying themselves in the tropical heat and slow moving bikes along the coast. They broke down and fixed them, they visited bars and drank Vodka soaked in snake venom, so they said. The smaller one didn’t like much of the exotic food, and was pretty miserable. The one with the hair and looked like a double for Robert Plant was making the best of his colander helmet, and they gave each other gifts that wouldn’t fit on a scooter, as a new challenge.

“They’re the worst kind of friends. They kind that likes to see you fail and make fun of you for trying,” decided Ami, still laughing.

“That may be so, but they still seem to be enjoying themselves. And that’s a really good view. Ever wanted to do that?” I asked her. She turned to look me in the eye.

“What do you mean? Go to Vietnam and ride motor scooters?” she asked.

“Well, not there, but what about riding them here, maybe down in Kyushu in the summertime? Or out to the Pacific coast? Or around the Seto sea?” I suggested. She looked back at the guys, now resting at a beach resort at the old wartime DMZ, where an ancient palace and some modern beach tourist spots were enjoyed.

“They’ll never make it to the north on time, now,” Ami said sadly.

“It isn’t like timing really matters. It’s a TV program. The journey is what matters. And they look like they’re having fun,” I reminded her.

“Speaking of fun,” she said, and then we stopped paying attention to the TV screen. Eventually the program ended and we fell asleep.

The following morning I made Ami breakfast before she headed back to her shop to help with the morning rush. I showered lazily in her absence and cleaned up the mess, opening the sliding back window to air the place out. It was raining, as usual, and I heard the scrape of my neighbor’s chair.

“Oi, hey neighbor,” he said. I looked over and met his gaze. He was a student too, of course, studying Marine Biology. Presumably good at it to get into this subsidized housing. He looked tired.

“Good morning,” I said. “Sorry if we were noisy last night.”

“Ah… I’m starting to get used to it,” he admitted. “I’m Kinoshita Kazuya. Marine Biology major. Nice to meet you.” He stretched his hand past the barrier and we shook.

“I’m Hikigaya Hachiman. Psychology program. I’m from Chiba City,” I offered.

“I’m from Tokyo,” he said. “So, you seem to have a few girlfriends. How do you keep them from murdering you?” he asked nervously.

“I’m a psychology major,” I answered flatly. “So is my most frequent lover.”

“Sorry to ask that. Sorry. That was rude of me. Do you have any advice? I’m kind of in a pickle with my personal life and family misunderstanding,” Kinoshita tried to apologize while asking a huge favor. I looked at him flatly and said nothing. He kept waiting. Did I mention I get mistaken for a Yakuza? Yeah, that’s still a thing. Eventually he rubbed the back of his head and went back to staring blankly at the opposing apartment building. I stepped back into my apartment and prepared for school.

Exiting my apartment and locking the door I found our female neighbor, the one I personally called Narusegawa for her poor disguise. Hey, I like the classics, and Love Hina is one of the best love comedies of my childhood. Lots of slapstick and amazing violent girls. She was younger than me, probably still in her first year of college, maybe her second. The pigtails and glasses did a poor job of concealing excellent bone structure and posture. She did give me the stink eye, however. I took the opportunity to fight her glare with a big smile. On me, smiles look creepy.

“Good morning,” I said. I’d brushed my teeth so I know I have fresh and minty breath.

“Is it?” she asked, continuing her rudeness, a twitch in her left eye. Well, she’s in a mood. I wonder if she could hear us with another apartment in the way? Did I leave the window open? I might have, actually.

“Yes, even with the rain pouring down, and the sky all grey, it is a GOOD morning,” I insisted. “Very good!” I grinned wider. See, I can do hostility. She twitched harder. I dropped the smile and tilted my head into a listening posture.

“Or do you have another opinion?” I asked. She visibly tried to control herself.

“Not particularly. I returned home late, and walking past your door I was assaulted by the sound of you and that… woman,” she accused.

“Miss Narusegawa, I won’t presume to accuse you of listening at my door during the night, much less of ignoring our national preference to pretend not to hear or see things which do not concern us. I do ask that you remember such policies in future,” I reminded her. She flushed in shame. This is true. You can get arrested for what she clearly did.

“My name is Ichinose Chizuru, not whatever you said,” she persisted in correcting me.

“Really? Not Narusegawa? I shall need to update my address book. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must leave to attend class. Good day Miss Ichinose,” I said and left her standing there, mouth hung open. See, education can make you far more effective at insults.

Class was nice, and Ami moved smoothly about her tasks in our shared class together. And I do mean smoothly. She was like that the day after we’d been together, and this observation went into my notes. I recall that Haruno, for all her bluster, never moved like this. Could Haruno have been sexually frustrated?

I had several other classes I didn’t share with Ami, sadly, but when I arrived at the Lab for the afternoon, I found her recording video of the numerical flirtations of the two mad statisticians attempting to measure several sex hormone chemicals in saliva following deliberate acts of flirting. They kept interrupting it for sample swabs, which would mess with their results. Flirtation, and the chemicals involved, stored up and released with only a certain amount of time active. If things did not progress to the next stages, the activation of genes and additional hormones associated would falter and the results would be invalid. There are times watching these two fail at flirting that I’d enjoy showing how this actually works using Ami. But if we did that we’d lose our entertainment, and even the loli grad student and the more advanced couple from the medical department were enjoying the spectacle.

I’m not sure how valuable two autists flirting is going to be for science. Yes, there are plenty of autistic people in Japan. Environmental poisoning and various endocrine disruptors can make autism worse in children, potentially resulting in autistic adults living long enough to reproduce. This isn’t really my area of research. I’m focusing on normal adult interactions, not abnormal. Even chameleons like Ichinose are more valuable to my research than the unintentional comedians in our lab. They’re like a Manzai team, only both are straight men. They tell jokes without realizing it.

I recorded my observations on Ichinose, identifier NCI1, including her pattern of morning arrivals and considered the possibility she is a compensated sex worker. It wasn’t the first possibility to come to mind, but the pattern emerges after weeks of observations. The interesting counter-argument is her jealousy this morning over hearing Ami and I making love. A sex worker would probably smirk, or pretend they heard nothing. They wouldn’t listen or be jealous. This detail denies the sex worker hypothesis, but still leaves other possibilities. She didn’t smell of cigarette smoke, which means not a hostess from a hostess bar. She rarely stank of alcohol, either. She often wore light makeup, and her gait was unmarred by pain, and the blush suggests either rare sex or possibly a virgin. How interesting. I completed my notes update, adding details in the categories I’d created on the spreadsheet and saved my updates.

My phone flashed, indicating a text message. I rarely bother, but I’d just finished some work so it seemed safe. It was from Iroha. The fox girl wanted… what?

“Hachiman. Thinking of you, good times at Soubu. Can we meet sometime soon?” she asked in her message. I considered.

“Can meet you in three days,” I wrote. “Will give you my address then.”

“Fine. See you then. Save up your energy!” she wrote. Great. Another long-delayed booty call. If I wasn’t such a cynic I’d be really happy about all the attention lately, but I’m just relieved that my libido will recover between now and then. I was fully tapped out this morning.

The days passed. I got a message from Iroha.

“I’m on the train. Where am I going?” she wrote. I gave her instructions on train lines and stops. The university has a train stop, but I’m several kilometers away, a distance I happily walk, but Iroha probably won’t, so I give her bus line information. Time passes and I’ve cleaned the place, with food nearly finished on the stove. The door knocks and I open it to find her struggling to smile, with mud on her dress and a clearly pained stance. I help her in, point her to my shower and some spare clothes she can wear.

“So not a very nice trip?” I asked when she finally emerged from my shower, looking frustrated and disappointed and trying hard not to cry. Even now, Iroha is brittle. She’s one of the more emotional girls I’ve known, tending to surge and place too much faith in what she wants without making room for failure until it surprises her. It was like that with her confession to Hayama at Tokyo Disney during the parade. Tokyo Disney is in Chiba, of course, but still calls itself Tokyo Disney, which makes Chiba residents uncomfortable, and park guests confused.

“I… gah. It was awful. Everything went wrong. I missed the train and had to wait for the next one. And then there was a passing truck and I got splashed,” she complained. I hugged her.

“You’re here now. I made dinner. Sit down and eat with me,” I offered, serving up food. She ate miso and salad, and then we both enjoyed skewers and dumplings, and cold sake. This helped Iroha relax, finally.

“So how do you like school?” she asked. I talked a bit about the lab and my research. I asked about her own life. She was an intern at city hall, having passed the civil service exam for Chiba City. It wasn’t that different from student council, she admitted, only more paperwork. Slightly more, she admitted, remembering the piles of the stuff for both the School Festival and the Christmas Event and finally the Prom. Piles of paper forms.

“My life sounds easier than yours,” I admitted after several minutes of explanations about forms and stamps and boxes and subforms. It just goes on and on.

“Its not exactly like I expected. There’s good people there, and lazy people, but I guess I like it. Its just that I’m lonely, and then I ran into Saki-Saki and she mentioned you and I remembered how I felt. So here I am,” Iroha said, and offered her lips. There was kissing. Good kissing. And then my loaner clothes peeled off her and we made use of my futon. She was a bit loud when we peaked and thankfully the neighbors don’t pound on the walls or ceiling. Afterwards, she rested beside me as the sweat cooled.

“And Yukino pushed you out?” she said out loud, surprised.

“Sore subject,” I said blandly, not wanting to put any heat into it.

“But you’re so good at it,” she gasped, shivering in aftershocks. She cuddled into me.

“I need a bit before we can do that again,” I warned her. She grinned at me, a bit crazed in her expression.

“Again? Really?”

“Rest first,” I warned. She shivered again. Sometime later we exercised once more, this time much quieter and slower, though possibly more passionate. Iroha is surprisingly erotic, a woman capable of many series of pleasure. Some of that was probably years of stress and irritation caused by her chosen communication style by denial. Constant negging males is going to result in a low success rate. This has been the case for her. Directness has resulted in the solution to her problem, and this involves excellent kegel muscle control, and the gulping spasms at our joining. It was good, and very little leaked. We repeated this exercise every three quarters of an hour for the rest of the night. I woke sore in many places, dehydrated, and hungry. Iroha had left a note of thanks and a request for future visits as time allowed. I showered and tended to my injuries, then ate, then opted to drag myself into class rather than miss any. I was there, and I was attending and taking good notes, but I wasn’t my usual perky self. Iroha had wrung me dry.

I went to Ami’s coffee shop that afternoon for a sweet coffee with sugar and cream, the way I don’t drink it anymore. I needed it, feeling exhausted. Sakurai and his girlfriend Uzaki were working there together and it was Uzaki who brought me my coffee as I sagged in my chair towards the back.

I sipped the drink a long pull and Uzaki watched me, curious. I took a deep breath and relaxed, finally, straightening but also loosening.

“That hit the spot,” I said. “Thank you, Uzaki-san.”

“Eh? You know me?” she asked, confused.

“We go to the same University,” I pointed out.

“Oh? Are you a professor?” she asked.

“Not exactly. I haven’t graduated yet,” I denied.

“But you wear a suit?” she rejected. I took off my sunglasses and glared. She recoiled.

“Sempaiii!” she whined. Sakurai came over, nodded to me, being more observant, and glared at Uzaki.

“Sorry. She’s still getting the hang of waiting tables. Can I get you a slice of cake?” he offered. I considered it and agreed.

“Yes, chocolate.” He swiftly brought it on a plate with a fork. It was delicious. I knew that Ami and her father bought these from a local patisserie for a good markup. Ami came over and slid in beside me, eyeing my beat-up look.

“You look like hell today,” she offered without sympathy. I glared.

“You have adventures. So did I. Another one from my past showed up,” I explained.

“And you gave her all the comfort she could handle?” she smirked.

“Something like that. I always thought that second mouth and second stomach thing was a metaphor.”

“You mean it isn’t?” Ami asked, confused.

“No,” I glared at her. She blushed, then dropped it, rubbing my hand before returning to the counter to ring up some customers and prepare more coffee drinks.

I do prefer this more than Max. And dark chocolate is good for a man’s reproductive fluid replacement and stamina in bed. Theobromine, in particular, found in dark chocolate, the darker the better, did the biochemistry. It had no effect on women, despite their taste for it. Go figure.