[LoweGear]

Compared to my previous chapters, this one is a bit pointless, and a bit rushed IMHO. But what the hell...

Spoiler for The Melancholy of Matsuri Miyama Part I:

“Oh Matsuri dear, Blessed morning today!”

Matsuri yawned, paying little head to the female greeting just given to her, only managing an unintelligible mutter in reply. Scrambled unorganized thoughts still floating in her mind, the slight disorientation of one who just woke up from a deep slumber. The barely visible veil of haze that hung in the air illuminated the soft orange rays of the early morning sun, blurring it into an almost surreal quality. A good morning by any standard, but something she barely appreciate as she continued to slowly walk to the L-shaped marble breakfast nook, separating the kitchen from the rest of the dining room.

Taking a seat on a tripod chair she buried her head down on her crossed arms on the table, wishing to shut out the rest of the world for a while. Her own silent time to collect her scattered wits for this day. It helped that the sublime smell of freshly cooked strip bacon wafted in the air, with a hint of the mild aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. And the sound of hot sizzling oils from the stove. They were working its magic on clearing her mind… and making her quite hungry.

“Mom, you finished yet?” she asked with a rough, weak voice, raising her head slightly to look at the woman in front of her standing by the stove, attending to their breakfast. Said person turned to look, her thin cell-framed glasses drooping slightly down her nose.

“Just a few more seconds dear, you can’t rush perfection!”

She was a cheerful woman, around her 30’s, and yet looking ten years less, with her exquisitely young and graceful looks framed by her long violet flowing hair. With her… nicely shaped slender bodily physique worthy of any fashion catwalk model, and her cheerful demeanor, one would hardly believe this woman to be the foster parent to the young girl watching her cook, swaying her hops to the tune of an imaginary beat.

And after a click of the stove, a flip of the pan, and the sliding of ceramic breakfast plate against marble counter in one flawless uninterrupted motion later…

“Breakfast is served!” the woman beamed with pleasure, removing her apron to reveal the grey business suit with short skirt she wore.

The young girl finally sat up straight, looking at her breakfast, a couple of hard-boiled eggs with a single toasted frankfurter wedged in-between, and a serving of fried strip bacon on the side.

It wasn’t that the meal was insufficient; on the contrary Matsuri was never one to eat much. But as the young girl stared at the meal she felt a strange warm, yet hollow sensation in her stomach. She could not describe how it felt, this nagging thought in her head. Like some details of this scene seemed… wrong somehow.

“What’s wrong Matsuri dear?” her mother asked concerned.

“It’s nothing Mom, just a stray thought.” She answered, managing a wan smile as she picked up her fork. Whatever that feeling was, she could work it out as she ate.

“If you say so dear, now let me have a taste of breakfast!”

And the young girl watched as her mother took another big juicy frankfurter by hand and took it to her mouth. The woman slowly savored it, taking her time in tasting, easing her way along its length whilst sucking on it, letting it slide further into her mouth… before biting it off, and licking her lips.

“That was soooooo good!!!!”

For some odd reason, Matsuri cringed. And that peculiar feeling in her stomach had returned.

“Oh my, look at the time! Gotta run now hun!” her mother remarked while rushing straight for the door.

Only the harmless bacon was consumed that day, as Matsuri prepared a large pint-sized glass of icy cold orange juice. Arctic cold orange juice, the young girl hoping the obscene amount of hard tube ice and the extra chilled concentrated beverage could give her a brain freeze rivaling the last Ice Age. She was no neurologist, but she knew this much cold is bound to have an effect on whatever malfunctioning processes her brain seems to be ailing her right now.

Inattentively paying no heed to the ringing doorbell, she took the glass in her hands, and raised it high to her lips.

“Here goe-“

“MATSURI DEAR, SON IN LAW’S HERE!!!”

*CRASH*

“Ow…”

There she lay on the carpeted floor on her back, looking up at the ceiling, surrounded by shattered glass, and very wet, extra sticky and freezing cold dripping citrus all over her face, her hair and blue pajamas. As sour as the orange juice was, her pained and irritated expression was multitudes more acidic.

Only Shinji’s concerned face looking down on her provided an ounce of consolation. “You alright there?” He asked… grinning while vainly struggling to keep a straight face.

An annoyed sigh escaped her lips. “I’m far from alright thanks.” She could only reply weakly as Shinji helped her up by the hands from her pitiful position, thankfully her fall didn’t hurt as much as it should. Her mother was already wiping her hair dry with a towel.

“You better be careful next time hun, it’s quite dangerous whatever you’re doing!” the woman chided.

Matsuri’s annoyance was still evident as she replied. “Mother, you do know that as much as I love Shinji here, he’s not your son-in-law yet!”

“YET, Matsuri dear, you said it yourself! Why waste time with such trivial details? Right Shinji dear?”

“Uhm, yes Ms. Foster.” The young boy in question could only reply meekly.

“Don’t call me that, it’s not like we’re strangers now Son-in-law! Call me Mom, please?!”

“Hai! I mean, yes Mom!”

“MOTHER!!!!!” The red-faced young girl interjected, with each word furthering her already unbearable embarrassment.

On her side, Ms. Foster looked at her watch again with much trepidation. “I really need to run now dear!” she said hurriedly, kissing Matsuri on her still wet forehead and leaving the towel on her head. “Better get yourself cleaned up, lest you want to taste like Tropicana!”

“Yes mom.” Matsuri replied without much enthusiasm.

“And I won’t be back till Wednesday! You have the run of the house now Matsuri dear! And…” the woman turned to Shinji as she walked to the door. “… you take care of my darling daughter now alright?” she said, winking at him with a smile.

“Hai!”

“And remember to use protection now!!!!”

“MOTHER!!!!!!!!”

And with the closing of the front door, the ever cheerful Ms. Foster was gone, leaving behind a still wet Matsuri and a bewildered Shinji to themselves.

“Protection?” he asked.

“Don’t mind that, better you didn’t know.” She answered.

It was then that she felt a sharp fleeting pain in her right index finger, and saw a miniscule lateral cut along the tip, a centimeter long slit red with blood.

“Doesn’t look too bad to me.” Shinji mused, having noticed the same cut as well.

“It still hurts though.” She muttered weakly, sighing in suppressed frustration. This was so not how she had wanted to start her day, dripping wet and now bleeding.

What was wrong with her today? What was happening to her? The young girl almost felt like crying, feeling the tears starting to well up in her eyes.

“Don’t worry Matsuri, it’ll stop hurting in no time!”

With those confident words the boy closed his eyes, carefully took her injured finger to his lips, and gently, slowly sucked on it.

Frustration and annoyance gave way to sheer shock and embarrassment at the shameless act, feeling his warm, moist breath on her finger, and the soft pressure from his lips and tongue slowly eased on her skin. All she could feel now was her cheeks flushed with heat, her pain and frustration forgotten, and the pleasure she felt watching him tenderly care for her finger in his own sensual way. Despite the chill in the air and the cold juice, she felt a delightful and gentle warmth inside her.

He slowly removed her finger from his mouth. “Still hurt?” he asked. And for a split second, she knew not what to answer.

“Maybe a little.” She replied, with a hint of mischievousness in her voice. Shinji could only smirk at her implication, before he slowly licked on her finger once again.

Maybe she could remain wet and sticky just a little while longer. Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all…