The Dreamers

It took Stella saying, "I'll stop vaporizing your drones," for Kou to crack the door open. He wore no hat this time, which she took as a good sign. "Good evening."

"Good evening. Where's the evidence?"

"There's none. She didn't cheat on you. Could you please lend me pajamas?"

Kou shut the door.

"Rebecca said you said I'm not one of 'them'. I don't know who 'they' are, but I agree. I don't like them. They're supposed to help, but all they seem to do is make everything worse."

"...you're only saying this so I lend you clothes."

"I mean it."

"Right. Then why are you cheating on scarface?"

It took a moment for Stella to process what he meant. "You and sc—Shigure really need to stop assuming the worst about people. It's self-sabotage."

"Preventative measures," Kou corrected.

"No. It's hurting yourself to prevent others from hurting you. How does that make sense? Would you bake a pie and throw it to the ground so no one else can steal it? Wouldn't it be better to share it instead?"

"Shut up. Spare me the lecture." He opened the door again, but that was okay. Mixed messages and society went hand in hand at this point. A drone emerged from the hallway of his house, with clothes on its 'legs' which Kou took, then handed to Stella. "Not sure if scarface will fit on this, but you can try."

He wouldn't. That was part of Stella's scheme. "Much appreciated."

They stood there, silently, for a nightmarishly awkward amount of time, separated by a door, themselves, and a million thoughts. "Can you at least tell me why Easley was staying at your place?"

"He's my social worker."

Kou shut the door. "Fine. Don't tell me. I didn't really care anyway."

Stella rolled her eyes. "No one cheated," she told the fragile creature inside the house. "If you hurt yourself before others can do it, you'll hurt those who care for you, too. Remember that."

"Go away."

In order to exchange proper dialogue, Stella had thought of forging evidence just to disprove it once she was done with him, but with how logic operated in this day and age, that would've just worsened the situation. Her own 'cheating' misunderstanding had already been bad enough. "Understood." Still, before walking away, she added, "I highly suspect you're the one who put a blanket on Shigure the other day. Thank you. I'll give it back along with the pajamas once I wash them, and... once I open the shop, I'll give you and your FAITHFUL WIFE something on the house."

To which, predictably, there was no response. Nothing but a peek-a-boo tormented by his own imagination and atrocious coping mechanisms.

Speaking of which, Shigure was still working at Stella's living room. She'd seen him nod off once or twice. From what he'd told her, the people staying next to him at the hotel were quite rude and annoying, but authorities had done nothing about it, so for the past few days, he'd barely been sleeping. No wonder he'd showed up early that day (with characteristically poor timing).

"I brought you pajamas," Stella said upon reaching him. "Also, you misspelled that as P-A-E-C-H."

"Thanks."

"To demonstrate your gratitude, you should wear these."

He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. "Mhm. Leave them there. I'll just finish this report." Since she didn't budge, Shigure added, "Why don't you sleep? It's late."

"I physically cannot. Wear these. Since your clothes were pillaged, I can put what you're wearing In the washing machine. It'll be ready by tomorrow."

Her scheme was, so far, succeeding. A lucid Shigure might've resisted more (for NO reason other than silliness), but this one just kind of passively accepted his fate. He took the clothes, dragged himself to the bathroom, and, while she put his semi-fancy officewear in the washing machine, showered.

Stella had heard Japan really liked bathtubs. Why hadn't the house come equipped with one, then? The furniture in general seemed very... western. Perhaps the pool made up for it somehow.

"...oh, no."

Stella's ears perked up. She'd been waiting for this moment. "Something wrong, Shigure?"

"No," he lied. "It's all... fuck. I can hear the washing machine. Don't tell me..."

"Hmm?" Stella held her tail with one hand so it'd stop whipping the sofa. "Why, I told you I'd wash your clothes."

"...why... why... does this shit ALWAYS HAPPEN to me..."

"I don't understand," she lied. "Why are you distressed? What seems to be the problem?"

Silence.

Stella turned on her seat. "Shigure?"

"Yeah. So. I can't get out."

"Huh? HUH? Why?!" That wasn't part of the plan.

"These don't fit. You should've... never mind, it's not your fault. Sometimes I think I'm cursed or some shit. If it involves me, if something can go wrong, it will. I should've thought this through. Now I'm trapped here until my clothes are dry."

"I don't... but Isla walked around with no shirt?"

"...right, but. But he like." Shigure sighed. "Could you at least pass me my phone? And please tell me you have a dryer."

Stella passed him his phone, which had been lying next to the papers. As when he'd handed her clothes that one time, the bathroom door barely cracked open; steam oozed out of it, however. "I could tell you I have a dryer," she said, "but I'd be lying."

"Great..."

"Yes." He sounded moderately distressed. Of course, to tell the truth—that she wanted to see him shirtless—would lead to disastrous consequences at this point. She would've thought at least the bottom would fit... "Shigure? Don't be sad. I'll turbo dry it myself."

"No, thanks. With my luck, you'll cause a nuclear meltdown."

"True." That had come out without thinking. "Regardless, you can't stay there all night. It's unhealthy."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Walk around your house while naked?"

"I wouldn't mind," Stella said. Shigure sighed again. "I'm used to seeing naked men."

"Okay."

"At the military. But not in a naughty way. You don't need to worry about arbitrary social conventions in this house."

"Okay."

He was getting belligerent. Again. As usual. But in this instance, she couldn't exactly blame him, could she? "You could use a towel to cover yourself." Come to think of it, she'd seen this exact scenario in movies before. The outcome varied depending on genre, but she couldn't recall it happening to a man instead of anything else. Reality really was stranger than fiction. "I'll go for clothes as soon stores open. You can... rest... for the meantime."

"Okay."

"Hmph."

"We're done for if the AI flags this. Just so you know."

"That would be very silly," Stella said. "You're catastrophizing. Do not say 'okay' or I will be very sad and angry."

"Okay."

She should've known.

"Done. I used a towel. I'll head straight to the guest room. Just in case, take your distance."

Stella hopped back to the living room, which meant she took around ten steps or so. Usually, in the movies her ex-owner watched, the man would be incredibly courteous (at first, depending on the genre). Shigure walked out of the bathroom, which Stella courteously HEARD, not SAW. He sneezed, then slipped. Something broke. Lots of somethings broke. "...Shigure?"

He did not respond.

"Hello?"

...this also happened in some movies, but... unless...

"If you don't respond, I'm turning around."

"...I'm fine, I'm fine."

NOOOO.

"...I'm not fine. Help. Wait—" Stella had stood up by then, but she paused. "Don't. The AI alarm will flag this. I just know it. Don't. Stay there. I'll figure it out."

"Shigure, how much did you hurt yourself?"

"Nothing's broken and there's no blood. Just. Give me a few."

"Your speech sounds slurred."

"Of fucking course it does, I just hit my head where the injury is."

So... the side where the scar was? Stella was actually beginning to think he was cursed. Would the AI alarm that'd caused the mess at the park flare up again if she went to help him? Surely not, right? Why would they use something so flaky as surveillance for alleged high-risk citizens? "Shigure?"

"Yes. Stay there."

Stella stared at the coffee table, the papers, the idle holo-screen. "I... are you... Shigure?"

"I'm fine."

"Were you able to get up?"

"Yes."

"Lies," she said. "I'm calling a hosp—"

"No!"

But the seconds ticked by and he didn't get up. He held the side of his face with one hand, which she checked via infrared scan.

Even if, somehow, the automated surveillance system were silly enough to send another alarm, they'd figure it out. Isla and Mr. Murasaki would help. They'd clear up the misunderstanding, and everything would be all right. If nothing else, Stella's second life had shown this.

Shigure glared at her when she approached, but he said nothing, probably because he could not.

He was right. He was 'fine'—just a minor concussion.

When Stella picked Shigure up, and the stupid alarm system induced another migraine, neither of them were surprised.