Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Likely not,” Iseya agreed mildly, then added, “...especially since we do not have one any longer.”
Summer blinked, cocking his head. “We don’t? What happened to Dr. Cartwright?”
“Resigned about two years after your graduation.” Iseya’s hand pressed flat to Summer’s rib cage for a moment, smoothing over the bruise in one last long, slow stroke that made Summer’s heart beat so hard surely Iseya must feel it under his palm, before that touch withdrew. “We’ve yet to find anyone to fill the position. Shocking that no one wants to exile themselves to a small, remote town to play both parental figure and therapist to some of the world’s most spoiled children.”
Summer smiled faintly, sadly. “The fact that people see them that way is probably exactly why they need someone.”
Iseya lifted his head, watching Summer, his eyes half-closed and strange, glimmering in the darkened room; neither of them had turned on the light, working solely by shadows and moonlight, and those shadows seemed to dwell oddly in Iseya’s gaze as he fitted the cap back onto the tin.
“You truly empathize with these boys, don’t you?” he murmured. “Even though they’re no different from the ones who made you feel so small as a student.”
“I guess I never minded, even back then.” Summer shrugged. “Because even back then I could tell they were acting out because they were hurting.”
A faint wrinkle appeared between Iseya’s brows. “You are the strangest young man, Summer Hemlock. I confess you do surprise me, at times.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
“In a way that does not need to have a positive or negative value derived from it. It simply is.”
Iseya rose, then, moving with fluid grace that made the tight sinew of his waist, back, and shoulders slink sinuously as he gathered the salve, alcohol, and towel once more.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked neutrally, voice drifting back as he vanished into the bathroom again.
“Yeah.” He really did, the pain just a dull afterthought instead of an active throbbing, and Summer stood, scrubbing his hands awkwardly against his thighs. “Thank you. Saved me a trip to the nurse in the morning, but... I’ll get out of your hair.”
An amused sound drifted from the bathroom, followed by, “...you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what...?”
“Self-effacing. Assuming your presence is undesirable.” Iseya’s tall, prowling frame melted into view again, settling to lean in the bathroom doorway with those unreadable eyes locked on Summer, arms once more folding over his chest as he slouched with a mixture of grace and ennui. “Some things really don’t change.”
“...it’s the middle of the night and I’m in the middle of your suite when you should be sleeping, and you make it pretty clear you find anyone breathing in your presence irritating.” Summer shrugged with a little laugh, which trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at the cabinet and that little photo. “And... I...it just...it feels like I interrupted something private.”
“Not quite.”
Iseya pushed away from the doorframe, his lazy, loping strides different somehow, that commanding, calm power that always infused his movements changed into something stranger, more vibrant, yet more languid, this slinking sense of presence that Summer tried to ignore and yet...couldn’t. Any more than he could ignore the way the moonlight gilded Iseya’s features, and slipped over his hair; the way his long lashes glittered just so as he stopped in front of the cabinet and reached into a small folded paper satchel on the bottom shelf to retrieve a little conical stick of incense.
“It’s more that you interrupted unhealthy habits,” he murmured, gaze focused on his fingers as he set the incense in the bronze holder. “I don’t even know why I do this anymore. She’s not here. She hasn’t been here for some time. And I feel as though by holding on to her memory, I’ve stayed frozen in some quiet place in the past, while the rest of the world has moved on without me...so I’m not really here, either.”
He said it so quietly, so dispassionately, gaze locked not on the photo of his ex-wife but on the golden statue of the Buddha. As if he was trying to divorce himself of all emotion; to make such simple, heartfelt things into something clinical that he could pluck out of himself and toss aside as easily discarded words.
And it made Summer’s heart ache, every word a tiny knife cutting in to leave him bleeding.
He stepped closer, risking drawing into Iseya’s space, risking moving to stand next to him, close enough for body heat to bring them into contact even if skin didn’t quite touch skin. Voice thick in his throat, he looked up at the shrine, watching not Iseya, but the faint hint of Iseya’s reflection in the mirror-bright polish of the rosewood.
“You’re here, though,” he said softly. “Maybe you don’t feel like it, but you’re here. You’re here to me.”