Strangeness

Miya waited patiently for Mukashi to retrieve letter writing supplies from the office floors of Zygeist Media. She sat at the same table he'd slept at earlier, with the letter from Annabelle and her brother placed directly in front of her.
     She thought about what would happen after she sent the letter. She wondered if, perhaps, he'd allow her to send more letters to this curious pair of siblings who had reminded her of something she'd long pushed away from her mind.
     Mukashi stepped into her room holding a laptop computer. Miya raised an eyebrow at the sight; she'd been expecting him to come in with an envelope. As he set the laptop down in front of her and opened it, she began to feel slightly disappointed. Mukashi deftly navigated through several applications and brought Miya to a simple document writing program. 
     Once it was open, Mukashi's hands flinched towards Miya's. He fought the instinctive impulse to gently guide her hands toward the optimal spots on the keyboard. He stood next to her as she sat down at the small round table. He could still smell the fried honey cookies she'd eaten as he loomed close to her. 
     Miya could feel his presence near her, and she couldn't help feeling slightly more secure as he stood beside her. 
     He shook his head and pulled away from her. He walked to the other side of the small round table and sat down, then looked past her as he spoke coolly.
     "Your letter will be typed. I will send it from the mail room without a return address." He sounded almost bored. "Furthermore, if the person who receives it attempts to make waves by claiming that you wrote an actual response to him, you will not acknowledge his claim in any official capacity."
     "O-oh." She mumbled. She understood that she was still a K-Pop artist; one day off didn't change that. "I... I understand, Mukashi."
     He nodded, then gestured for her to begin typing. 
     Miya stared at the empty document. Her fingers trembled as she began poking at the keys; but with each keystroke, the following one became easier. Soon, she was typing as quickly as she could, her hands racing across the keyboard as if she were a master pianist performing before a rapt audience. Saltwater gently fell from her eyes as Miya did something she thought would be impossible.
     She put her soul into something.
     Mukashi had been trying not to pay too much attention to Miya as she wrote, but as her typing began to sound almost like a machine gun firing, he couldn't help watching. Tears fell from her eyes onto the laptop and the table, but she didn't slow down a single bit. She was like a woman possessed, writing the last book for the end of the world. He hadn't seen her so focused and determined in over a year. 
     The strange feelings appeared once more; but this time they weren't telling him to do anything. They wanted him to sit completely still and watch her. 
     He couldn't think of anything better to do.
     He watched as her hair formed a curtain around her face whenever she leaned over the keys, and he watched as it fell back whenever she took a moment to look away and catch her breath. Her eyes were full of saltwater, but he could see that she'd never been more focused in her life. It was like he was looking at broken telescopes that were pointed directly towards the heavens. 
     Her hands were like experienced dancers.
     She looked like Nishiyama.
     Whenever there was a mathematics test, Nishiyama would challenge Mukashi to see who would finish it first. He'd always done his best, and a few times he'd even beaten her. 
     But all he could think of at the moment was the fact that, whenever they would challenge each other, Nishiyama would act exactly the same way Miya was acting now.
     Her eyes would be laser-focused; her posture would change as if she were performing some sort of dance; her hands would shoot across the page while she answered questions out of order as quickly as possible.
     Mukashi's heart pulsed.
     He let it.
     Miya wrote until her fingers and wrists hurt from the act. 
     She exhaled deeply as she stared at the letter. It was messy; inefficient; and unprofessional. She smiled excitedly as she looked at it and realized that it was something else.
     It was soulful.
     She sat there in silence for a few minutes, completely unaware that Mukashi was staring directly at her. Eventually, she looked up to see his gaze focused on her. She was a little surprised, and she couldn't help smiling awkwardly.
     "W-well... it's finished."
     Mukashi realized what he'd done and shut his eyes tight, then shook his head. His heart stopped pulsing immediately as he willed it to cool once more.
     He sighed and opened his eyes, his cold demeanor returning.
     "Acceptable." He said, reaching for the laptop. 
     Miya realized that he was probably intending to review her letter, and so she reached out and took hold of his hand as he grabbed the computer.
     Their hands touched.
     Mukashi felt his heart pulse again, but he stifled it as quickly and powerfully as he could.
     Miya was surprised by how cold his hand felt. She looked him in the eyes as the laptop sat on the table between the two of them. She still had small signs of saltwater on her face.
     He made eye contact with her.
     Her normally captivating voice was weak.
     "P-please, Mukashi... D-don't read that." She said quietly.
     He opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, then stopped.
     Miya's eyes widened as she saw Mukashi hesitate. He'd never done anything like that before.
     "M-Mukashi?"
     He pulled his hand away from hers slowly, almost as if he was reluctant. He closed his eyes.
     "I will... allow this." He said, his voice almost inaudible. He opened his eyes.
     Miya couldn't fight the smile that forced its way onto her face. 
     He took the laptop and closed it, then stood up and slid it under his arm. 
     "I will be gone for a half hour or so while I deliver your letter." He said calmly. "If you plan on going to the fourth floor for recreation, clean up your appearance." 
     "Of course, Mukashi." She said as he went towards the door of her bedroom. As he put his hand on the doorknob, she spoke again. "U-um, Mukashi..."
     He turned to look at her, and his hair rustled as he looked directly into her amber eyes.
     "Thank you." She said as she closed her eyes and smiled sincerely.
     Mukashi stared.
     She didn't notice how his eyes shimmered, because her own were shut. 
     Before she could see his reaction, he stepped out of the room and closed the door. The laptop was in his arms. His steps were weak and stumbling, and his chest throbbed. His head pounded. His throat felt like it was too small. 
     It took him nearly a minute to reorient himself, and by the time he did he was already at the elevator. He brushed his hair back into place and breathed sharply as his calm demeanor took over once more.
     The doors closed and he pressed the button that led to the sixth floor. 
     As the elevator went up, his foot was tapping constantly. He noticed just before the doors opened once more and stopped it. 
     He came to the realization that the memory he'd just created with Miya was extremely disruptive. He thought about what he could do with it. 
     Briefly, he tucked it away with every other file in the cabinet for Miya. 
     But as he walked through the offices of the sixth floor, he realized that the memory wasn't just like any other one. He puzzled over what to do with it as the letter Miya had typed came off the printer. He wondered about the memory as he folded the letter and put it into an envelope without a single glance. 
     He contemplated the memory as he stepped back onto the elevator and headed towards the first floor and the mail room. Eventually, as he stepped into the mail room and held the envelope in his hands, he came to a definitive conclusion about what to do with the memory.
     It contained a lot of very important information about Miya. It would be efficient to keep that memory close at hand at all times, so that he could reference it whenever Miya needed anything. 
     As he handed the envelope over to the older woman working in the mail room, he took the file containing the memory with Miya and placed it in a new cabinet in his mind.
     The filing cabinet was amber, and it smelled like honey. He gingerly placed the file into it. In his own mind, it was the most professional response he could think of. 
     He began returning to Miya's room.