Title: French Braid

Characters: You guess

Rating K+

Warning: No beta! Prepare for some spelling and strange punctuation pains

Time: Indeterminate

Summary: Mikagami teaches Fuuko how to French braid, with consequences.


Chapter 7: Truce


Fuuko leaned against the hallway hall next to Mikagami's hospital room. It was near midnight now and she was told that she was to be discharged tomorrow. Her face and lips were no longer swollen. Several doctors of different specialties already signed off her discharge.

A couple of days ago, the nurses and doctors crowded into Mikagami ICU room. They all shouted hurryingly, and those terrifying machine beeping noises kept on making alarms.

At that time, Fuuko felt tears stinging her eyes as she thought about the possibility of Mikagami not being around anymore. She told herself that anyone would be sad to know if their friend was about to die. But it didn't matter to her since she hated him for all the stupid pranks he launched at her. Yet, she was not sure why she cried for nearly an hour, just thinking about that.

But he seemed to have stabilized. The nurses stopped fussing around him and the doctors stopped visiting him.

Fuuko had wanted to go in the room and visit Mikagami, only to be told that he needed rest.

He had done nothing else more than rest! He needed to be woken up and be fired up with the possibility of evil schemes to embarrass her! He was invincible and he was going to make her pay for telling him that she hated him.

Ug. Why did she even say that? She did not hate him anymore than she hated Recca and Domon, despite the many times she said those words to all of them. She had enjoyed their little war and had never wanted it to end like this.

Fuuko had made up her mind. She was going into the room and visit Mikagami, maybe even apologize to him for stupidly running into traffic during her attempt to chase him. Before she stepped to the door in front of the intensive care unit though, she heard a conversation.

"You are an idiot," came a woman's voice.

"Then you are related to one," said Mikagami mildly.

"What were you thinking? Hum?" The woman asked rhetorically, "Saving a damsel in distress? Can't twist out of the way like you should? I should've let you die."

There was a pause before Mikagami asked, "Then why didn't you?"

"What?" There was hostility in that voice.

"Let me die?"

The woman's voice took on a threatening tone, "You want to repeat that, you numskull?"

There was a long silence before Mikagami spoke again, "I apologize, Dr Hashiba. My condition makes me...irrational...at times."

Oh...So the woman's name is Dr. Hashiba, Fuuko realized.

"Not a valid excuse," continued Dr. Hashiba vehemently. "I swear, if your grandfather was still alive, I would've flogged the living daylight out of that nitwit for training you so poorly."

Mikagami chuckled ironically. "You still hate father's family, don't you?"

"Those lunkheads, buffoons and their stupid obsession over relics and nothing real!" Dr. Hashiba almost exploded. "You're lucky that you take after my older sister or I really would've disowned you."

Mikagami chuckled at that. It was a strange, mirthless sound.

Fuuko took another step forward, thinking that she should probably try to see Mikagami another time. Unfortunately, the contact between her shoes and the hospital floor made a barely perceptible squeak.

"Foolish girl. Get away from that hallway and get in here," came Dr. Hashiba's voice. "We know you were listening."

Fuuko entered the hospital room.

The said Dr. Hashiba was a tall, imposing, haughty looking woman in her thirties. She had with light, almost white hair, a chillingly nonchalant face and had an air of no-nonsense about air. She kept her hair in a severe but elegant braid, then pinned the braid into a bun. She stood next to the patient, her arms crossed, a scowl on her face. Tokiya's chart in her hand. There were so many facial similarities between the two that anyone would've guessed that they were related.

Mikagami seemed normal enough, just laying there in the hospital bed. There was an IV into his arm but he seemed alright.

"Hi...I'm..." Fuuko began to introduce herself.

"You're Fuuko Kirisawa of room 221," Dr. Hashiba interjected. "You had a minor concussion with lacerations and bruising to the face. Your mother visits every day. You ordered only bacon cheese burger from the hospital cafeteria. You're a freshman and you're the little conniving bitch who's been raising Tokiya-kun's blood pressure."

The woman had so quickly rattled off the details that Fuuko did not have a chance to respond. Ordinarily, Fuuko would have an impromptu, all out, fist fight with the person who called her a bitch. Instead she only stared at this woman, still quite awed by her imposing presence and her glib tongue.

"Quit scaring her, Oba-chan," Mikagami spoke up, his voice mocking, "Go terrorize your other patients."

Dr. Hashiba scowled, having been called an old woman by her nephew. Plus, he also just dismissed her. In this case, he was the patient and she had to listen to his wishes. She walked toward the edge of the bed, her three-inch heels clicking as loudly as the clock on death row. She slammed the chart into its plastic holder, almost breaking the holder off its clips.

She then turned to Fuuko, familiar threatening blue eyes at the girl. The woman pointed a long finger at the girl's face. "Whatever you were doing. Stop it. It's worsening his condition."

At this point, Fuuko could not resist a bite back. "Or you'll do what?"

A manic look overcame Dr. Hashiba's face. "Or I will gut you while you sleep."

"I'll leave you two be," said Dr. Hashiba now in a singsong voice. She stood up and walked, her heels clicked boldly then slammed the door to the room.

Now outside, they could see through the interior window that the other hospital workers made an effort to stay out of Dr. Hashiba's way, parting away from her like she was the prime minister.

Fuuko jumped at the slammed door. Talk about anger issues in an adult. While looking at Dr. Hashiba's retreating backside, Fuuko made herself comfortable on the visitor's chair. "Mi-chan, who was that?!"

"That is Dr. Hashiba," said Mikagami. "My legal guardian and my sweet aunt from my mother's side."

Fuuko stared at Mikagami and it felt like everything suddenly came into place. The hair had that same glamorous quality to it. Their facial features were similar. The terrible personality was a close match. "Oh yeah, I do see the resemblance, now. Is it a family trait to have such nice hair?"

Suddenly, Mikagami laughed, shaking his head. "Oh my. Of course."

Fuuko looked peeve. "What? Is there something on my face?"

Mikagami continued to shake his head. "No. It's not that. It's that, I just realized that Dr. Hashiba started all of this."

"Wahh?"

"Our little war," he reminded her.

Fuuko's expression blanched. "How?"

Mikagami stared at her for moment. "You just praised her braided hair."

Fuuko blinked. Then blinked again.

Mikagami sighed. Seriously, he really was acquainted with a bunch of monkeys. "Dr. Hashiba taught Mifuyu how to braid hair."

Immediately, Fuuko recalled how their back and forth prank war started. That innocent request for Mikagami to teach her the feminine art of braiding hair that devolved into a series of non-stop attempts to do one better on each other. Mikagmi did mention that his sister taught him the hair manipulation arts and his sister must had learned from someone.

"Earth to Kirisawa-san," called Mikagami in a mocking voice, bringing Fuuko back from her usual head space. "Did the pole knock off half of your IQ?"

The insult immediately spiked Fuuko's blood pressure. "Did you want me to knock you into the next life?"

"Depends on if you want Dr. Hashiba to..." his voice took on a different quality, mimicking the throaty woman doctor's voice, "'gut you while you sleep.'"

Somehow, the threatening witty remark put Fuuko back at ease. "That's the Mi-chan I've come to know and like."

When there was no response, Fuuko finally realized what she said.

Fuuko felt a deep illness in her stomach. She began to wave her arms wildly before her, uttering unintelligible string of words an incomplete sentence. "No! I didn't mean!. I mean, We. Yes, we! We like. No! I meant to say..." Her internal dialogue was now jumbled into incoherent string of actual words. Did she like him? Of course. Every chick and even some dudes at school liked him, worshipped him, adored him. But did she like him, like him? More sincerely than any regular person would love a pop idol. Maybe? No! This was absolutely cheesy! What sort of silly girl bed-side confession is she doing? What if he took her words seriously? She had just confessed that she hated him!

A natural disaster is needed now to get her out of this. Earthquake! Volcano! Typhoons. Tornado! Yes! That's it! All Fuuko needed to do to diffuse this tension was to create a tornado and whisk her away! The winds inside the hospital room began to blow, quickly gaining speed.

"...like a friend," said Mikagami as if finishing her sentence. As usual, his expression gave nothing away. "You're all just being my friends, invading my privacy, leaving trash in my locker, trespassing in my home and all, running into traffic waiting for a heroic save," he said with an undertone of sarcasm. "Why have enemies when I have friends like you?"

The winds suddenly died down.

Fuuko never felt so suddenly so relieved, so embarrassed and so disappointed. The tension was diffused. She was not going to confront the issue of feelings. Mikagami was back to his usual sarcastic self. This was the Mikagami she knew how to react to.

But what Mikagami said was right. What good friend would do all that pranking on each other? She did criminally invade his privacy when reviewing his school profile. She took his picture and posted it without his permission. She did do breaking and entering. Mikagami would forgive them, right? He was their friend and friends forgive each other.

Still, Fuuko refused to outright apologize. An apology was equivalent to losing the war. She will not win roll over and lose just because he was in a hospital bed and she felt pity for him, and she was slightly responsible for his condition. No. Win or lose, the finale would be on the dignified battlefield of life.

"Of course, we are friends," Fuuko finally said with her usual bravado and sassy grin. "What would you do without us? Die of boredom, I bet."

"Probably, I did enjoy our tiff," admitted Mikagami with a faint smile. "But it did get out of hand."

Fuuko to nervously scratched the back of her head, a feeling of foolishness bubbling up. "I don't disagree with you there," muttered Fuuko.

At that time, a dude nurse came by. "Visiting hours are over, miss" the man reminded them quickly, popping in and out. "I'll come back and check in fifteen minutes."

At the authority of a hospital staff, Fuuko got up from her visitor's chair. "I gotta go back to my room," said Fuuko, getting up from her visitor's chair. "I check out tomorrow so...I might no see you again before I leave."

"I see."

Fuuko got, ready to go back. She felt somewhat light-footed, having confronted the extremeness of their most recent tiff.

"Wait, Kirisawa," called Mikagami.

Fuuko turned.

Mikagami had thrusted out an arm, hands ready for a handshake. "Truce," Mikagami said, "To our little war."

Fuuko looked at the hand and remembered the last time their hands touched. It was during the braid teaching session. This was an offering of reset. She gladly took his hand. "Truce, Mi-chan"

The pull from Mikagami caught her off guard.

She suddenly found herself laying her head against his chest, so close that she could hear his heartbeat.

Immediately, Fuuko felt blood rushing to her face, butterflies in her stomach. Her heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest. Her limbs were stiff. Her emotions were all too jumbled right now to process what just occurred. She only knew that he was hugging her gently.

"Good bye, Fuuko," said Mikagami.

At the uttering of her first name, Fuuko felt her entire body tense. She felt that she was simultaneously on cloud nine and in firey hell. She wanted to cry, to scream, to smile, to laugh. The brushing of the idea that someone like Mi-chan actually liked her was simply too overwhelming.

Wait, was this the first time he called her by her first name?

He finally released her. Fuuko got off the bed quickly, flustered.

"Whatever," said Fuuko, refusing to look at him. She refused to let him see her beet-red face. "See you...whenever," said Fuuko. She had enough of tonight's marathon of confused feelings. One of these days, she was going to get back at him.

Fuuko never imagined that she might never get the chance.