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And here's my yaoi Kare Kano fic! -beams- Asaba x Arima, one-sided. AU. Summary inside! It's an important story to me.
Model Student
Starbrigid
Today, on my first day at Hokuei senior high, I met someone very interesting. He's all I can think of, even though it's late, practically midnight, an hour I can stay up to without intervention ever since my father and I parted ways. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about someone like him being here. It certainly does change my plans. It should be an annoyance, but actually, I'm really excited. As I make myself a late night snack, some instant ramen, I picture him swirling with the water I'm heating, silent and formless, but about to be put to use soon enough!
I have to go over what happened in my mind again. I'm still not completely positive I didn't make a fool of myself somehow- I was kind of shocked...
My first day of high school! It was a start of a new time in my life, a signal of the greatness to come! Ah, and the uniforms the girls were wearing, the short skirts, long dark socks, their cute faces all turned up to me, smiling. They were mine! I felt like blowing a kiss out to my adoring audience as I strode up the path to the school's entrance.
Yes, I'm so handsome, I thought to myself. I'd even astounded myself when I looked in the mirror that morning and seen perfection enough to make Dorian Gray throw a hissing fit out of envy. The gods so loved me. And like they love me, I do love girls, have I communicated that yet? Everything about them is so nice. Sometimes I feel they were put on this Earth just for me.
I'm definitely a B-type, even though I've never had a blood test, I think I am because of the way my mind wanders. My father always got angry at me for it, berating me for checking out girls when I should have been studying math, whacking his cane across my hands whenever I zoned out when he started talking to me. I mean, I'm generally the only one who can hold my own attention. But there's someone different now- that's the person I saw.
His name's Arima Soichiro. I first saw him in the opening ceremonies, the highest scorer of the entrance exams for our class. I'd nearly fallen off my chair when he walked up the stairs to the stage and I got a full view of him.
There was shock, disbelief, worry, anger... I don't now. I didn't see the girls around me at that moment, which is something very rare. The only thought I can remember is: He's prettier than me! My inner voice was frantic, but my ego tried to fight back. No, of course he wasn't. He was a nerd, wasn't he? He's smart. Plus, I'm myself.
I know girls. I can tell they all like him, just like they al like me. Arima Soichiro. For the first time in my life, someone's beaten me.
You don't know Arima? It's hard to explain someone like him. Like extolling the virtues of God to an infidel. No, that was a bad analogy, I don't know what I meant. What I mean is that like me, Arima's gorgeous. Handsome. Hot. Bishounen. You name it, that's him. Not just cute, striking, in a bring-out-the-rain-of-sakura type way. He's got this shiny dark, dark hair framing his face, really black eyes, flawless skin like a movie star's. He's tall and slender, and he's got this presence that makes you look up when he comes into the room, charisma, like a famous singer, or some manipulative dictator with aspirations of world domination. He's in my class, so I watched him all day, as if I was a stalker or something. It was a really weird experience, I'd never done anything like that before.
His voice is gentle and soft and sounds different from the other boys, more mature, though what do I know about maturity? We picked up right where we were supposed to have left off in junior high- god, like I remembered any of that stuff- and he knew it all. He's really smart, but he's not mean about it, either. It's hard to take your eyes off him. It's like he's this weird human magnet or something.
He's nice to everyone, and I mean everyone, from pretty girls to obvious losers. He ate lunch in a circle of kids who'd been popular in their junior highs. I think he'd been too polite to turn them down, because they were the first offer he got. That's because it seemed like he would have been happy anywhere.
I was there too, surrounded by girls, and their fawning and flirting did feel great, but I kept watching Arima. He seems so perfect it's unreal- surreal. He's like a doll. I mean, is anyone like that? And anything else can be affected or earned, but- why is he so beautiful?
He didn't notice me. He smiled faintly at me, the same way he smiled at everyone else in the room. I didn't talk to him. I sat next to him in the afternoon, though, and it drew even more girls to the two of us, not that he seemed to care. He wasn't modest, but he was above them all, above concerning himself with them. He's so amazingly intelligent, like a genius, a dictionary. A doll.
I went out with some girls after school. Some kids had asked Arima to go out with them, but he'd announced he had to stay and help clean. The girls and me sang karaoke, and I enjoyed it a lot. My father and people like him can't understand how it makes me feel. It's the one thing I'm actually good at, and consequently, I'm great at it. I don't touch them, though. I've never kissed anyone. Thinking of the way Arima's gaze went right over me as I flaunted myself in school- I won't defile their purity. They are tender flowers waiting to burst into bloom. They'll always be a carpet of trapped sakura petals on the ground, bright, fallen, unfading, there for me to fall into and disappear.
When we were waiting for our new math teacher to arrive, Arima started working on review problems in the book. He was smiling this really- god, how many stupid synonyms for beautiful can I find- dazzling smile. I had been gonna talk to him, show the class we'd be friends, because even if he didn't like me once he knew me- and I would know if he didn't like me- he'd put up with me. And Arima Soichiro and I, the ladies man, the two of us being the beautiful people, would be a fixed set.
I had taken my earring out for some reason during history. I guess I'd felt like playing with it in the boredom of lecture and review. I dropped it, and it bounced and rolled a little. Arima picked it up for me with complete distant and bland good-boy courtesy and of course for a second I hated him and was miserable. And he has to be fake, and I wonder what his family's like-
So we had gym, played basketball outside. It was way too hot to do anything, but that sure didn't stop the teachers. Well, you always hear about people being ice princes, cold, stuff like that, right, in manga and all? Well, everyone was visibly sweating, boys and the girls near us playing soccer. Well, they didn't sweat, they glistened- but that's not the point. The point is that Arima, as predicted a stunning athlete, didn't get tired at all. He's frozen.
I don't feel like cooking tonight. I'd probably end up burning whatever I try to make anyway. My life has been altered. I'm a new Asaba Hideaki. I have a mission. For the first time in my life, I'm gonna have a friend.
I call up one of the girls I met today and we talk for a while. She's smart, interesting, it's nice. She likes girls just as much as I do. Her name's Tsubaki Sakura- double flower name. Camellias and sakura, what a contrast. She's in a different class, so we don't have to compete with each other. We only have a few little points of contention. Naturally, it's about what we have the most in common- our dedication to the fairer sex. But I can't resist- I drop Arima's name. It just bursts out of me in this sympathetic company.
"Arima," I blurt, just like that.
"Huh?" Sakura says. "What about him?" She doesn't sound properly respectful. It's very annoying.
"We're best friends," I say, and know she'll tell all her little girlfriends about it.
I can picture the boyish girl on the other end of the line making a face at me, snickering. "All the girls are just gonna have yaoi fantasies about the two of you, you know... and no way are you even telling the truth."
"I am," I protest. Normally, I'd defend myself a lot more vehemently, but I don't want her to beat me up.
I watch TV, then end up just going to sleep. I have a dream about Arima, since I'd been thinking about him as I lay in bed beforehand. Midnight. Something about him made me-
I comb my hair extra this morning and wish it's a lighter blonde. It suddenly seems to dull to me, so ugly, the original sin, and the waves itching over my cheeks make me want to scream. I'm ugly. Arima made me ugly. Nobody will ever want me anymore. What reason is there for me to exist? And I close my eyes and of course when I open them I'm fine, I'm just the same as I was before. It was just an illusion, a trick of the light. I'm under stress. I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. This image of me now is the right one. I'm Arima Soichiro's best friend. Black uniform on, earring for once changed. I feel like singing and dancing and screaming. I'm dignified if I'm confident enough to say I am, that's the only qualifier that matters.
I ride the subway to school. My junior high was closer than Hokuei, I could walk there. I have to stand, but some girls from a nearby college stand with me, and we have a good time joking around. I'm a gift to them also. It's times like this when I can really enjoy that.
Arima was early today, as he is every day, coming before even the teacher to study or whatever. Now, by the time I arrive, the classroom is full, freshman congregated in little, mostly gender-segregated groups, waiting for their freedom of action to be taken away.
No one has ever made the particular assertion that I can't work quickly. Somehow, there's a seat next to him empty, I guess because he's studying and obviously not interested in talking. He's not the kind of guy who'd get pissed off if I interrupted him, though. Somehow, he's even more like a manga hero today. The adventures of the model student. Until I met him, I didn't know what model student meant.
"Hey," I say. He looks up, distant, perplexed half-smile.
"Hello," Arima greets me blandly.
"Arima Soichiro, right?" I say, and my voice and pose are confident. I lean towards him with the utmost of poise and compellingness- is compellingness a word? Probably not. Well, anyway I was compelling. Bloody stupid hell. So anyway, I say, "I've been wanting to talk to you. I'm Asaba Hideaki."
Arima sort of bows in his seat. "Nice to meet you," he says politely, closing his book. Good, he's giving me his attention.
I could open by complimenting him, but that's not my style. I could ask some inane, completely pointless question about what junior high he went to or something- well, ditto.
"Hey, wanna be friends?" I blurt. He doesn't look very surprised, only putting some minute half-shock on his face for my benefit.
"Alright," Arima says, looking at me, then asks nicely, "Do you understand everything the teachers have taught us so far?"
"Yeah," I lie. I want to give him a good impression of me.
"A-ah," Arima says, "You seem so laid-back, though." He probably didn't believe me. He laughs quietly, breaking the ice- eh, bad expression- and I laugh, too, relieved. Kids are staring and whispering and I can hear one girl say how handsome we both are. Even though she probably thinks I didn't hear her, I did. Even if I hadn't been listening, I would have known she'd said it. It's my due, after all.
I don't know what to think about Arima. We're friends. I've attached myself all parasite-like to him and we sit next to each other and have lunch together and he stays and helps me clean after school even when it's my turn and not his. I'm the only one who talks to him. When Tsubaki Sakura sees us at lunch, I shoot her a smug glance, an I-told-you-so that would have made any other girl swoon. She sticks her tongue out at me, not mad, and goes off and sits somewhere with her two best friends, Rika and Aya. They're okay. They're not Arima.
He doesn't seem to want to talk about himself. Whenever I ask him something remotely personal, he skims over it quickly. I don't know. I guess he doesn't trust me. It's not like I've given him a reason to but still, that's not normally the way guys my age think. And I can hide, but I am always staring at him. I want to see why he is the way he is. That's what I really want. Would he let me come over to his house? I can't think of any real reason he could use to turn me down.
Tonight, and some nights, weeks after that, I find myself wondering, past the ease and surety I feel with him, if he doesn't actually like at all, if I'm just an annoyance that he's too nice to push aside. Does he know I'm using him? Well, of course, and he doesn't seem to care. I like being with him, but I'm not giving him anything in return.
Whenever I invite him to go with me and some girls somewhere, he turns me down. He won't date anyone, has smoothly turned down any and all confessions of love he receives. I've seen love letters in his locker, virtually identical to the ones I find in mine, an he does read them, he gives the authors that courtesy, but they don't mean anything to him.
What do we talk about? I talk about girls and looks and art and music. I talk to him about popularity and school and I try to talk to him about myself. He will talk back. He's great and both listening and speaking. I think he's honest with me. When I asked him if he fakes his perfect persona, he said he doesn't.
One day he lets me sketch him during lunch. We're "alone in a crowd" and I have a pencil and a sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper, and I told him I like to draw after he pried me about it, as close as Arima comes to prying. When I tell him and then I start drawing, and he knows I do it sometimes by myself and like drawing I feel so stupid and embarrassed, and I'm not sure if I know exactly why. Somehow I never thought I'd be giving him anything of myself.
He still doesn't like me. He doesn't. I've realized that, seeing a look in even his impenetrable eyes of pure irritation once. It's like most of the time, it's alright I'm there, and that's it.
I invite him to come to my apartment. I'd invite myself to his house, but that doesn't seem right. I tell him to come after his kendo practice- it lets out at 8- and I'll give him dinner. I show him my address, and he nods in assent, and he probably just doesn't want to get into an argument.
Merryland. Well, it's kind of a joke to me, I'm not that serious about it. But I am getting more and more cute little sheep now that I'm in high school. I feel so utterly wonderful and myself when I'm surrounded by them and their beautiful voices and smiles. It's such a peace.
I go right home and do my homework today, because Arima's coming. We don't have anything that awful, but it sure takes a while. Halfway through I just give up and watch TV instead. Like I care about my grades. Ooh, swimsuit contest.
I start making dinner at 5 or 6 or so. I decide on something special, because I want to impress him, because maybe he actually will like me if I have Hidden Depths, and would anyone have guessed I can cook? I never cook for anyone and no one knows, but I have to. I live by myself, you know.
Arima arrives a few minutes after quarter past eight, ringing my doorbell only once. I know he's rich. I hope my place isn't too low for him. He's taking his shoes off when I open the door. He looks around, probably expecting to see a mother or a father or siblings, then bows when he catches sight of me. "Thanks for having me in your home, Asaba-kun," he says formally, studies his surroundings and I guide him in. He doesn't really want to be here.
I made sushi and teriyaki and rice and fish, squandering a good part of my food budget, way too much. It's in platters on my table. I've moved another chair up for Arima to sit on. "Dinner's ready," I announce. "Come on, I bet you're really hungry after practice." Yeah, he does look pretty sweaty.
Arima sits down. "Why doesn't your mother serve the food she made?" he asks, and I sit down across him, an obscene amount of food between us, plates and bowls empty.
My heart feels weird, that sensation of emotion in that indefinable place inside my body, my throat, my chest, my enemy, and I'm confident. "I made this," I say, and I'm not lying.
Arima tilts his head, stares at me. "Really?" He's surprised now, of course.
"Yeah," I shrug. "Hope you like it. You can start eating whenever you want."
"Where are your parents?" Arima asks, and his voice is very different. The million-dollar question.
I lean back in my chair and tell him, trying very hard for nonchalance. "My mom died when I was little. My dad and I don't get along, so I live here by myself."
And he's looking at me in a way he's never looked at me before, like he's seeing me for the first time, and we're friends. He serves himself some rice and chicken, and so do I, and it's really, really- I love that word- really good, and I don't think I'm so much of a nuisance anymore.
And so we do the same things at school together, and somehow I'm telling him all about myself, how girls really do compose me, about my father and his rejection of me, my rejection of him, the drawings of my mother which never turn out right, which never look anything like her.
I go to his house a lot for the nights and meet his rich kind old parents, which when I ask he confesses aren't his real ones. And we lie awake on his futon and he won't tell me what happened to his real parents or what anger there is in him and I'm almost out of space to write in for the moment and of course of course of course I love him.
Sakura, Rika, and Aya. Rika is so sweet, Sakura and Aya are so incorrigible. Eh, sorry, vocab word in Japanese class. Well, anyway, I think they're my favorite girls in the freshman year. They do gush over me sometimes, but we're friends, too, and can have lots of fun. It's like, I wouldn't want them for my Merryland. I respect them. We can have lots of fun together.
When Arima's not at lunch, I always go to eat with them, so I guess they're my friends now, too, even though Sakura and I argue a lot. Arima's busy with his kendo and committees and stuff like that a lot of the time, so when I'm not with my other girls, I go to an arcade or something with them. A word of advice, stay far, far away from Sakura and Aya if they decide to play the car racing game against each other...
I don't know how to explain time. Time passes, but it sort of doesn't, except in the changes of people around me. I'll never change, because I'm happy to be the way I am. I don't have ambitions. But I like Arima, though I'm kind of confused about that right now, and I love Hokuei and its girls.
I want to have lunch with all my new friends today. It's weird, because normally I'd rather keep Arima all to myself, but I do feel kinda self-conscious around him, and I don't know why. I talk about him all the time, and Aya says I have a crush on him. I nearly throttled her for that. She almost pushed me over the edge.
It's a while before I actually introduce Arima to my girls, since they're in different classes. I look forward to it, then finally, today at lunchtime, I think it's time.
Instead of sitting down with Arima the way I usually do, I stop in front of him and call down to him. "Hey, Arima, there are some friends I want us to eat with today."
"Girls?" Arima groans, getting to his feet with the bento he'd just unpacked in hand. He whacks me on the back of my head. "Hideaki no baka." Yeah, he's not really the perfect, angelic boy you'd except. He says I'm bringing out a bad side in him.
Because the weather's nice, everyone's outside today. The girls are sitting on the steps of the door out of Class F's room. Rika looks particularly pretty today. She brought some food she'd made for all three of them to eat and they're dividing it amongst themselves, Sakura trying to sneak the lion's share.
"Sakura-chan, Rika-chan, Aya-chan!" I call, charming as usual, and they turn to face me, Sakura taking the opportunity to pocket not a few little octopuses. "I present you with... A-ri-MA!"
"Hi," Sakura says bluntly. "Asapin talks about you constantly, and I mean constantly. I'm Tsubaki. You gonna eat with us?"
Arima looks rather taken aback. Sakura's manner has that effect on a lot of people. "Nice to meet you," he finally says, bowing, and sets his bento down and sits next to her. "Hideaki dragged me with him. Are you in another class? I don't know any of you."
"I'm Sena Rika," Rika introduces herself, smiling invitingly. "This is my best friend, Sawada Aya. I'm really happy to finally meet you, Arima-san. It's a pleasure."
"Huh," Aya says. "I liked your essay on the Bakumatsu of the Tokugawa Era. Very professionally done."
"Oh, aren't you an author?" Arima asks, sounding interested.
"Yes, she is," Rika answers proudly. "There's plenty of food here for you too, Arima-san, if you'd like some."
I, miffed at being ignored, have to jump in. "Hey, Sakura-chan, Arima can beat you up at basketball!"
"WHA?" Sakura turns to me and Arima with a truly frightening look on her face. Arima only has time to blink, then Sakura's dragging him away.
In a few weeks later we've become a group, and Arima's stuck with the unenviable task of making sure we don't all fail the upcoming midterms. Insultingly enough, I'm the one he's particularly concerned about. He seems to have become comfortable around me to point out my shortcoming, and in truly excruciating detail.
He ends up taking me on as his personal mission. He says I'm not actually stupid, just lazy. It's okay that I'm not a genius like him, we both know that, but it pisses him off, he says, the way the only class I even try a bit in is art class. I guess he's right. I don't even know why he always tries so hard, and he's never given me a real answer to that question, but since he's always trying... well, he's my best friend. It's wrong to not work at all when he's doing so much. Saying that, of course, is easier than doing something about it.
Arima's everything to me. Well, okay, girls are everything to me, but after them, he's everything. And I want to help him, to understand him, because for the first time in my life, I've found someone I'm committed to. So I'll pass the midterms even if it kills Arima- I mean, eh, me?
My life isn't too different for the next few weeks, now that I'm temporarily Serious. I mean, I need my girls more than ever. I watch them during lunch, listen to their high sweet voices, stare at their small beauties- at which point Arima usually smacks me, but that's beyond the point. I still act carefree in class, because that's just my personality. But I am going to help Arima. I mean, could anyone be happy the way he is? He's really so closed off from the world. I need to help him. I need him to let me inside him, because he makes me feel worthwhile.
"I don't get it," I whine for the three-thousandth time. Arima is patient with me when we study, though, unless I'm goofing off, and right now, I'm not. I really don't understand why my proof for this particular math problem is wrong.
Arima would be a good teacher. He doesn't talk much, but he really is articulate. I don't know if his help's making me smarter, but if I can get him to like me more, respect me- if I can get at least a B or a C on my midterm-
That idea's crap, of course. On these things, I've always been lucky not to fail, and I'm not lucky that often.
He shows me the step I messed up. It's just a stupid mistake, a multiplication error. I'm too impatient, that's my problem, I rush through and mess up like that. I need to stop trying to just get done as fast as I can. Arima tells me this now, words spoken in tones of honey, reassurance. I could just listen to his voice for days.
I go to watch one of his kendo practices. Even I can tell he's good, really good, and he wins all his practice matches, even the ones where he's pitted against seniors, though he's not arrogant about it. I cheer for him as I watch. There's no reason to pretend I'm not there. I'm not embarrassed to be. I know that after he's changed back into his regular uniform, he'll come out to where I am, sitting waiting for him, and we'll go back to his house and study some more.
I want to be closer to him, that's all. It's not that I'm insecure about our friendship, it's that... well, I don't take things halfway. I can't look back on those times before him anymore, because I promised I'd be a part of his life, whether he liked it or not. I mean, he's just so Arima!
One day after art class the teacher says he wants to talk to me. Considering my general experience with teachers, I'm pretty pissed off about it. I go out into the hallway with him. Arima may be off at some impromptu committee meeting, but my sheep had just been informing me how good my hair looks today. You see the depth of my irritation, to be taken away from that, you see my dark tragedy.
My art teacher is a guy, mid-thirties or something, unruly hair, very Japanese-looking. He's really strict for an art teacher, too, so no one's really overflowing with love for him, but he's generally considered okay. I, of course, in direct contrast to Arima, hate his stupid oyaji guts.
I wonder what I've done now. Maybe it's that I talk too much. I await his attack with barbed tongue, body tensed for flight. Okay, not really. Man, we just had lunch, but for some reason I'm already hungry. Oh, yeah, I made Arima eat most of my bento because he's got extra kendo today. Well, that would do it.
Hayasaka-sensei is smiling faintly when he closes the door of class A behind us and turns to address me, which I find pretty surprising. I feel my eyebrows shooting up. Going into juvenile delinquent mode? Maybe. I'm touchy about art class. Things are pretty loud in class C down the hall, so Hayasaka tells me to walk with him.
"Asaba-kun," he begins, "You're not in trouble."
"Huh?" Blink blink.
"In fact," Hayasaka says, and it's like I've entered that Western Twilight Zone, "I called you here because you're easily one of the best students in the class, and you don't even use any of your potential."
"Uh, thanks," I say, scratching my head, though careful not to mess up my hair with my nervous habit. So what? He just wanted to compliment me?
"I want to put you in a special class I'm forming," Hayasaka says. "You and a few other students would leave your classes during your at period and go to work with a paid professional."
"Is Arima going?" is my automatic question. The one I ask out loud, that is. My mind lets out, groaning, "You are so shitting me."
"No," Hayasaka says. "I understand he's very gifted in most everything else, but you're the one I've seen a talent in art in."
My heart is beating like crazy. Fuck, fuck, fuck... what the hell? "Why?"
Hayasaka sighs. "To be honest with you, Asaba-kun, I was hesitant to include you because of your personality, but I don't think I'm wrong about you. Are you interested?"
"Sure," I say.
"I don't want to keep you from class," he says warmly, "so I'll give you the details later. I'm very excited about this opportunity."
He runs off, and I begin the suddenly long trek back to class A. My first, intensely cynical thought, is that he's a closet homosexual pedophile who was just using that as a clever plan to get me alone and rape me. The second thought is that all the teachers are sick of me distracting the girls and are going to chop me to death with their protractors and graph paper. I go back to class A anyway, and resolve that if I see a single line of drool on Hayasaka or if he's in a possession of a mere compass, I'm so outta here.
When we only have a week left till midterms, Arima decides we need to start studying even more. He's being let out earlier from kendo this week, so he makes me wait for him to go with him to hit the books. It really puts a cramp in my social like, lemme tell you, but since it's Arima, I don't complain. Well, I stop sometimes.
One of these nights, a Saturday, we're up so late, Arima just tells me to stay for the night. There's no one I have to call to tell. No one would worry about me not being at home.
Arima lets me borrow some of his clothes to sleep in. Even though I'm bigger than him, he still finds some that fit me alright. He's good at stuff like that. He turns off the lights and we lie down on his futon, red numerals on his digital clock declaring it well past midnight. I think he's more tired than I am. Being here, I don't know how I could ever sleep, not in a hundred thousand million years.
He lies on his side, facing away from me, clad in black silk pajamas like the rich boy he is. It's pretty dark, but the outline of his shape is still clear, light from the window from the half moon and stars, from his computer and clock, light glinting highlights off his hair.
I don't know if he wants to sleep, but I feel like talking. I hope he won't get mad if I start blabbing. Getting angry wouldn't be like him. I wonder if he's drowsy at all. I'm not. He shifts to get comfortable and his side brushes against mine. It startles me. It's funny, for someone who's so cold, he really is warm.
"I'm not gonna in art with Class A anymore," I tell him, making my voice quieter than usual. He's not looking at me, though I'm looking at him, staring a wound into the back of his neck. "Hayasaka put me in this special class for gifted artists. Isn't that just the weirdest thing you've ever heard?"
"It suits you," Arima says, voice clear, and I know he hadn't been falling asleep before I started talking. "It's time someone recognized that about you."
I don't blush when someone says something like that about me, but I feel weird inside. It's really hard to believe what they're saying. It's good, though, it feels warm, because I know Arima's not a liar.
I used to watch Evangelion when I was younger, much younger, watched it religiously until it started getting really violent. It started giving me nightmares, and Mom, who was still alive then, wouldn't let me keep seeing it. But anyway, there's this scene in one of the first episodes, more than once, where the main character's in an unfamiliar place. His words- this ceiling is unfamiliar. Episode title- Unfamiliar Ceiling. I'd say it, speak that blank feeling, if it wasn't too dark to see above me at all. When I move, my hand brushes a soft strand of his hair. He can't feel it, doesn't move or react. I shift back quickly, guilty.
"What happened to your real parents?" I ask.
"They're dead," Arima says. "Like your mother." I should have assumed that. I want him to look at me, but I won't ask him to.
"Should I be sorry?" I ask.
"No."
My frustration's boiled over and before I know it I'm grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to me. "Look at me, dammit!" I yell, blurt it out, and his face makes me choke. He looks... discontent, unhappy, like maybe it was hard for him to say that. That like every single person on Earth, there are things he regrets.
"I'm sorry I made you tell me," I whisper, feeling awkward, stupid, like my body's too big for me, and Arima's too close, but I'm the one who dragged him here.
"It's alright," Arima says. "Hideaki..."
The sound of my name on his lips sends a shock through my body. He's looking at me now, and I want-
"Wanna tell me?" I ask, and he does.
His father was his family's outcast. The family consider his just like his parents, a demon child. They hate him, fear him. They think he's scum, dirt, and so he CAN'T be. Every year, despite how he's such an incredible person, they cast him out further and further.
His father hurt him. He hit him. He was just a child.
I knew things like that happened, but I never thought they had happened to someone of mine.
Arima doesn't cry. And I think he needs to say this, even though it's late, and he's telling me what it's like, and I can feel it, and it's hell, that's all. And I want to reach out and touch him, but I can't. There is absolutely nothing I can do.
"Thanks for telling me," I finally say, as if my words could even reach him. His face is different as he turns to me, and I'm scared suddenly. He's transformed, another person. He looks murderous.
"I don't know why you'd tell me, except that I'm here," I say miserably, and I'm not like myself. "I don't know what to say." A pause. Then I whisper, "Should I just be quiet?"
A nod, and then warmth. Arima's reached over and grabbed ahold of my hand. He says he's the most worthless person in the entire world, that he hates himself, that he's deceiving everyone, that if they knew what he was really like they'd all hate him just as much. He says he's a monster.
When we go to sleep, my fingers are still wrapped around his.
Model Student
Starbrigid
Today, on my first day at Hokuei senior high, I met someone very interesting. He's all I can think of, even though it's late, practically midnight, an hour I can stay up to without intervention ever since my father and I parted ways. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about someone like him being here. It certainly does change my plans. It should be an annoyance, but actually, I'm really excited. As I make myself a late night snack, some instant ramen, I picture him swirling with the water I'm heating, silent and formless, but about to be put to use soon enough!
I have to go over what happened in my mind again. I'm still not completely positive I didn't make a fool of myself somehow- I was kind of shocked...
My first day of high school! It was a start of a new time in my life, a signal of the greatness to come! Ah, and the uniforms the girls were wearing, the short skirts, long dark socks, their cute faces all turned up to me, smiling. They were mine! I felt like blowing a kiss out to my adoring audience as I strode up the path to the school's entrance.
Yes, I'm so handsome, I thought to myself. I'd even astounded myself when I looked in the mirror that morning and seen perfection enough to make Dorian Gray throw a hissing fit out of envy. The gods so loved me. And like they love me, I do love girls, have I communicated that yet? Everything about them is so nice. Sometimes I feel they were put on this Earth just for me.
I'm definitely a B-type, even though I've never had a blood test, I think I am because of the way my mind wanders. My father always got angry at me for it, berating me for checking out girls when I should have been studying math, whacking his cane across my hands whenever I zoned out when he started talking to me. I mean, I'm generally the only one who can hold my own attention. But there's someone different now- that's the person I saw.
His name's Arima Soichiro. I first saw him in the opening ceremonies, the highest scorer of the entrance exams for our class. I'd nearly fallen off my chair when he walked up the stairs to the stage and I got a full view of him.
There was shock, disbelief, worry, anger... I don't now. I didn't see the girls around me at that moment, which is something very rare. The only thought I can remember is: He's prettier than me! My inner voice was frantic, but my ego tried to fight back. No, of course he wasn't. He was a nerd, wasn't he? He's smart. Plus, I'm myself.
I know girls. I can tell they all like him, just like they al like me. Arima Soichiro. For the first time in my life, someone's beaten me.
You don't know Arima? It's hard to explain someone like him. Like extolling the virtues of God to an infidel. No, that was a bad analogy, I don't know what I meant. What I mean is that like me, Arima's gorgeous. Handsome. Hot. Bishounen. You name it, that's him. Not just cute, striking, in a bring-out-the-rain-of-sakura type way. He's got this shiny dark, dark hair framing his face, really black eyes, flawless skin like a movie star's. He's tall and slender, and he's got this presence that makes you look up when he comes into the room, charisma, like a famous singer, or some manipulative dictator with aspirations of world domination. He's in my class, so I watched him all day, as if I was a stalker or something. It was a really weird experience, I'd never done anything like that before.
His voice is gentle and soft and sounds different from the other boys, more mature, though what do I know about maturity? We picked up right where we were supposed to have left off in junior high- god, like I remembered any of that stuff- and he knew it all. He's really smart, but he's not mean about it, either. It's hard to take your eyes off him. It's like he's this weird human magnet or something.
He's nice to everyone, and I mean everyone, from pretty girls to obvious losers. He ate lunch in a circle of kids who'd been popular in their junior highs. I think he'd been too polite to turn them down, because they were the first offer he got. That's because it seemed like he would have been happy anywhere.
I was there too, surrounded by girls, and their fawning and flirting did feel great, but I kept watching Arima. He seems so perfect it's unreal- surreal. He's like a doll. I mean, is anyone like that? And anything else can be affected or earned, but- why is he so beautiful?
He didn't notice me. He smiled faintly at me, the same way he smiled at everyone else in the room. I didn't talk to him. I sat next to him in the afternoon, though, and it drew even more girls to the two of us, not that he seemed to care. He wasn't modest, but he was above them all, above concerning himself with them. He's so amazingly intelligent, like a genius, a dictionary. A doll.
I went out with some girls after school. Some kids had asked Arima to go out with them, but he'd announced he had to stay and help clean. The girls and me sang karaoke, and I enjoyed it a lot. My father and people like him can't understand how it makes me feel. It's the one thing I'm actually good at, and consequently, I'm great at it. I don't touch them, though. I've never kissed anyone. Thinking of the way Arima's gaze went right over me as I flaunted myself in school- I won't defile their purity. They are tender flowers waiting to burst into bloom. They'll always be a carpet of trapped sakura petals on the ground, bright, fallen, unfading, there for me to fall into and disappear.
When we were waiting for our new math teacher to arrive, Arima started working on review problems in the book. He was smiling this really- god, how many stupid synonyms for beautiful can I find- dazzling smile. I had been gonna talk to him, show the class we'd be friends, because even if he didn't like me once he knew me- and I would know if he didn't like me- he'd put up with me. And Arima Soichiro and I, the ladies man, the two of us being the beautiful people, would be a fixed set.
I had taken my earring out for some reason during history. I guess I'd felt like playing with it in the boredom of lecture and review. I dropped it, and it bounced and rolled a little. Arima picked it up for me with complete distant and bland good-boy courtesy and of course for a second I hated him and was miserable. And he has to be fake, and I wonder what his family's like-
So we had gym, played basketball outside. It was way too hot to do anything, but that sure didn't stop the teachers. Well, you always hear about people being ice princes, cold, stuff like that, right, in manga and all? Well, everyone was visibly sweating, boys and the girls near us playing soccer. Well, they didn't sweat, they glistened- but that's not the point. The point is that Arima, as predicted a stunning athlete, didn't get tired at all. He's frozen.
I don't feel like cooking tonight. I'd probably end up burning whatever I try to make anyway. My life has been altered. I'm a new Asaba Hideaki. I have a mission. For the first time in my life, I'm gonna have a friend.
I call up one of the girls I met today and we talk for a while. She's smart, interesting, it's nice. She likes girls just as much as I do. Her name's Tsubaki Sakura- double flower name. Camellias and sakura, what a contrast. She's in a different class, so we don't have to compete with each other. We only have a few little points of contention. Naturally, it's about what we have the most in common- our dedication to the fairer sex. But I can't resist- I drop Arima's name. It just bursts out of me in this sympathetic company.
"Arima," I blurt, just like that.
"Huh?" Sakura says. "What about him?" She doesn't sound properly respectful. It's very annoying.
"We're best friends," I say, and know she'll tell all her little girlfriends about it.
I can picture the boyish girl on the other end of the line making a face at me, snickering. "All the girls are just gonna have yaoi fantasies about the two of you, you know... and no way are you even telling the truth."
"I am," I protest. Normally, I'd defend myself a lot more vehemently, but I don't want her to beat me up.
I watch TV, then end up just going to sleep. I have a dream about Arima, since I'd been thinking about him as I lay in bed beforehand. Midnight. Something about him made me-
I comb my hair extra this morning and wish it's a lighter blonde. It suddenly seems to dull to me, so ugly, the original sin, and the waves itching over my cheeks make me want to scream. I'm ugly. Arima made me ugly. Nobody will ever want me anymore. What reason is there for me to exist? And I close my eyes and of course when I open them I'm fine, I'm just the same as I was before. It was just an illusion, a trick of the light. I'm under stress. I haven't been getting enough sleep lately. This image of me now is the right one. I'm Arima Soichiro's best friend. Black uniform on, earring for once changed. I feel like singing and dancing and screaming. I'm dignified if I'm confident enough to say I am, that's the only qualifier that matters.
I ride the subway to school. My junior high was closer than Hokuei, I could walk there. I have to stand, but some girls from a nearby college stand with me, and we have a good time joking around. I'm a gift to them also. It's times like this when I can really enjoy that.
Arima was early today, as he is every day, coming before even the teacher to study or whatever. Now, by the time I arrive, the classroom is full, freshman congregated in little, mostly gender-segregated groups, waiting for their freedom of action to be taken away.
No one has ever made the particular assertion that I can't work quickly. Somehow, there's a seat next to him empty, I guess because he's studying and obviously not interested in talking. He's not the kind of guy who'd get pissed off if I interrupted him, though. Somehow, he's even more like a manga hero today. The adventures of the model student. Until I met him, I didn't know what model student meant.
"Hey," I say. He looks up, distant, perplexed half-smile.
"Hello," Arima greets me blandly.
"Arima Soichiro, right?" I say, and my voice and pose are confident. I lean towards him with the utmost of poise and compellingness- is compellingness a word? Probably not. Well, anyway I was compelling. Bloody stupid hell. So anyway, I say, "I've been wanting to talk to you. I'm Asaba Hideaki."
Arima sort of bows in his seat. "Nice to meet you," he says politely, closing his book. Good, he's giving me his attention.
I could open by complimenting him, but that's not my style. I could ask some inane, completely pointless question about what junior high he went to or something- well, ditto.
"Hey, wanna be friends?" I blurt. He doesn't look very surprised, only putting some minute half-shock on his face for my benefit.
"Alright," Arima says, looking at me, then asks nicely, "Do you understand everything the teachers have taught us so far?"
"Yeah," I lie. I want to give him a good impression of me.
"A-ah," Arima says, "You seem so laid-back, though." He probably didn't believe me. He laughs quietly, breaking the ice- eh, bad expression- and I laugh, too, relieved. Kids are staring and whispering and I can hear one girl say how handsome we both are. Even though she probably thinks I didn't hear her, I did. Even if I hadn't been listening, I would have known she'd said it. It's my due, after all.
I don't know what to think about Arima. We're friends. I've attached myself all parasite-like to him and we sit next to each other and have lunch together and he stays and helps me clean after school even when it's my turn and not his. I'm the only one who talks to him. When Tsubaki Sakura sees us at lunch, I shoot her a smug glance, an I-told-you-so that would have made any other girl swoon. She sticks her tongue out at me, not mad, and goes off and sits somewhere with her two best friends, Rika and Aya. They're okay. They're not Arima.
He doesn't seem to want to talk about himself. Whenever I ask him something remotely personal, he skims over it quickly. I don't know. I guess he doesn't trust me. It's not like I've given him a reason to but still, that's not normally the way guys my age think. And I can hide, but I am always staring at him. I want to see why he is the way he is. That's what I really want. Would he let me come over to his house? I can't think of any real reason he could use to turn me down.
Tonight, and some nights, weeks after that, I find myself wondering, past the ease and surety I feel with him, if he doesn't actually like at all, if I'm just an annoyance that he's too nice to push aside. Does he know I'm using him? Well, of course, and he doesn't seem to care. I like being with him, but I'm not giving him anything in return.
Whenever I invite him to go with me and some girls somewhere, he turns me down. He won't date anyone, has smoothly turned down any and all confessions of love he receives. I've seen love letters in his locker, virtually identical to the ones I find in mine, an he does read them, he gives the authors that courtesy, but they don't mean anything to him.
What do we talk about? I talk about girls and looks and art and music. I talk to him about popularity and school and I try to talk to him about myself. He will talk back. He's great and both listening and speaking. I think he's honest with me. When I asked him if he fakes his perfect persona, he said he doesn't.
One day he lets me sketch him during lunch. We're "alone in a crowd" and I have a pencil and a sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper, and I told him I like to draw after he pried me about it, as close as Arima comes to prying. When I tell him and then I start drawing, and he knows I do it sometimes by myself and like drawing I feel so stupid and embarrassed, and I'm not sure if I know exactly why. Somehow I never thought I'd be giving him anything of myself.
He still doesn't like me. He doesn't. I've realized that, seeing a look in even his impenetrable eyes of pure irritation once. It's like most of the time, it's alright I'm there, and that's it.
I invite him to come to my apartment. I'd invite myself to his house, but that doesn't seem right. I tell him to come after his kendo practice- it lets out at 8- and I'll give him dinner. I show him my address, and he nods in assent, and he probably just doesn't want to get into an argument.
Merryland. Well, it's kind of a joke to me, I'm not that serious about it. But I am getting more and more cute little sheep now that I'm in high school. I feel so utterly wonderful and myself when I'm surrounded by them and their beautiful voices and smiles. It's such a peace.
I go right home and do my homework today, because Arima's coming. We don't have anything that awful, but it sure takes a while. Halfway through I just give up and watch TV instead. Like I care about my grades. Ooh, swimsuit contest.
I start making dinner at 5 or 6 or so. I decide on something special, because I want to impress him, because maybe he actually will like me if I have Hidden Depths, and would anyone have guessed I can cook? I never cook for anyone and no one knows, but I have to. I live by myself, you know.
Arima arrives a few minutes after quarter past eight, ringing my doorbell only once. I know he's rich. I hope my place isn't too low for him. He's taking his shoes off when I open the door. He looks around, probably expecting to see a mother or a father or siblings, then bows when he catches sight of me. "Thanks for having me in your home, Asaba-kun," he says formally, studies his surroundings and I guide him in. He doesn't really want to be here.
I made sushi and teriyaki and rice and fish, squandering a good part of my food budget, way too much. It's in platters on my table. I've moved another chair up for Arima to sit on. "Dinner's ready," I announce. "Come on, I bet you're really hungry after practice." Yeah, he does look pretty sweaty.
Arima sits down. "Why doesn't your mother serve the food she made?" he asks, and I sit down across him, an obscene amount of food between us, plates and bowls empty.
My heart feels weird, that sensation of emotion in that indefinable place inside my body, my throat, my chest, my enemy, and I'm confident. "I made this," I say, and I'm not lying.
Arima tilts his head, stares at me. "Really?" He's surprised now, of course.
"Yeah," I shrug. "Hope you like it. You can start eating whenever you want."
"Where are your parents?" Arima asks, and his voice is very different. The million-dollar question.
I lean back in my chair and tell him, trying very hard for nonchalance. "My mom died when I was little. My dad and I don't get along, so I live here by myself."
And he's looking at me in a way he's never looked at me before, like he's seeing me for the first time, and we're friends. He serves himself some rice and chicken, and so do I, and it's really, really- I love that word- really good, and I don't think I'm so much of a nuisance anymore.
And so we do the same things at school together, and somehow I'm telling him all about myself, how girls really do compose me, about my father and his rejection of me, my rejection of him, the drawings of my mother which never turn out right, which never look anything like her.
I go to his house a lot for the nights and meet his rich kind old parents, which when I ask he confesses aren't his real ones. And we lie awake on his futon and he won't tell me what happened to his real parents or what anger there is in him and I'm almost out of space to write in for the moment and of course of course of course I love him.
Sakura, Rika, and Aya. Rika is so sweet, Sakura and Aya are so incorrigible. Eh, sorry, vocab word in Japanese class. Well, anyway, I think they're my favorite girls in the freshman year. They do gush over me sometimes, but we're friends, too, and can have lots of fun. It's like, I wouldn't want them for my Merryland. I respect them. We can have lots of fun together.
When Arima's not at lunch, I always go to eat with them, so I guess they're my friends now, too, even though Sakura and I argue a lot. Arima's busy with his kendo and committees and stuff like that a lot of the time, so when I'm not with my other girls, I go to an arcade or something with them. A word of advice, stay far, far away from Sakura and Aya if they decide to play the car racing game against each other...
I don't know how to explain time. Time passes, but it sort of doesn't, except in the changes of people around me. I'll never change, because I'm happy to be the way I am. I don't have ambitions. But I like Arima, though I'm kind of confused about that right now, and I love Hokuei and its girls.
I want to have lunch with all my new friends today. It's weird, because normally I'd rather keep Arima all to myself, but I do feel kinda self-conscious around him, and I don't know why. I talk about him all the time, and Aya says I have a crush on him. I nearly throttled her for that. She almost pushed me over the edge.
It's a while before I actually introduce Arima to my girls, since they're in different classes. I look forward to it, then finally, today at lunchtime, I think it's time.
Instead of sitting down with Arima the way I usually do, I stop in front of him and call down to him. "Hey, Arima, there are some friends I want us to eat with today."
"Girls?" Arima groans, getting to his feet with the bento he'd just unpacked in hand. He whacks me on the back of my head. "Hideaki no baka." Yeah, he's not really the perfect, angelic boy you'd except. He says I'm bringing out a bad side in him.
Because the weather's nice, everyone's outside today. The girls are sitting on the steps of the door out of Class F's room. Rika looks particularly pretty today. She brought some food she'd made for all three of them to eat and they're dividing it amongst themselves, Sakura trying to sneak the lion's share.
"Sakura-chan, Rika-chan, Aya-chan!" I call, charming as usual, and they turn to face me, Sakura taking the opportunity to pocket not a few little octopuses. "I present you with... A-ri-MA!"
"Hi," Sakura says bluntly. "Asapin talks about you constantly, and I mean constantly. I'm Tsubaki. You gonna eat with us?"
Arima looks rather taken aback. Sakura's manner has that effect on a lot of people. "Nice to meet you," he finally says, bowing, and sets his bento down and sits next to her. "Hideaki dragged me with him. Are you in another class? I don't know any of you."
"I'm Sena Rika," Rika introduces herself, smiling invitingly. "This is my best friend, Sawada Aya. I'm really happy to finally meet you, Arima-san. It's a pleasure."
"Huh," Aya says. "I liked your essay on the Bakumatsu of the Tokugawa Era. Very professionally done."
"Oh, aren't you an author?" Arima asks, sounding interested.
"Yes, she is," Rika answers proudly. "There's plenty of food here for you too, Arima-san, if you'd like some."
I, miffed at being ignored, have to jump in. "Hey, Sakura-chan, Arima can beat you up at basketball!"
"WHA?" Sakura turns to me and Arima with a truly frightening look on her face. Arima only has time to blink, then Sakura's dragging him away.
In a few weeks later we've become a group, and Arima's stuck with the unenviable task of making sure we don't all fail the upcoming midterms. Insultingly enough, I'm the one he's particularly concerned about. He seems to have become comfortable around me to point out my shortcoming, and in truly excruciating detail.
He ends up taking me on as his personal mission. He says I'm not actually stupid, just lazy. It's okay that I'm not a genius like him, we both know that, but it pisses him off, he says, the way the only class I even try a bit in is art class. I guess he's right. I don't even know why he always tries so hard, and he's never given me a real answer to that question, but since he's always trying... well, he's my best friend. It's wrong to not work at all when he's doing so much. Saying that, of course, is easier than doing something about it.
Arima's everything to me. Well, okay, girls are everything to me, but after them, he's everything. And I want to help him, to understand him, because for the first time in my life, I've found someone I'm committed to. So I'll pass the midterms even if it kills Arima- I mean, eh, me?
My life isn't too different for the next few weeks, now that I'm temporarily Serious. I mean, I need my girls more than ever. I watch them during lunch, listen to their high sweet voices, stare at their small beauties- at which point Arima usually smacks me, but that's beyond the point. I still act carefree in class, because that's just my personality. But I am going to help Arima. I mean, could anyone be happy the way he is? He's really so closed off from the world. I need to help him. I need him to let me inside him, because he makes me feel worthwhile.
"I don't get it," I whine for the three-thousandth time. Arima is patient with me when we study, though, unless I'm goofing off, and right now, I'm not. I really don't understand why my proof for this particular math problem is wrong.
Arima would be a good teacher. He doesn't talk much, but he really is articulate. I don't know if his help's making me smarter, but if I can get him to like me more, respect me- if I can get at least a B or a C on my midterm-
That idea's crap, of course. On these things, I've always been lucky not to fail, and I'm not lucky that often.
He shows me the step I messed up. It's just a stupid mistake, a multiplication error. I'm too impatient, that's my problem, I rush through and mess up like that. I need to stop trying to just get done as fast as I can. Arima tells me this now, words spoken in tones of honey, reassurance. I could just listen to his voice for days.
I go to watch one of his kendo practices. Even I can tell he's good, really good, and he wins all his practice matches, even the ones where he's pitted against seniors, though he's not arrogant about it. I cheer for him as I watch. There's no reason to pretend I'm not there. I'm not embarrassed to be. I know that after he's changed back into his regular uniform, he'll come out to where I am, sitting waiting for him, and we'll go back to his house and study some more.
I want to be closer to him, that's all. It's not that I'm insecure about our friendship, it's that... well, I don't take things halfway. I can't look back on those times before him anymore, because I promised I'd be a part of his life, whether he liked it or not. I mean, he's just so Arima!
One day after art class the teacher says he wants to talk to me. Considering my general experience with teachers, I'm pretty pissed off about it. I go out into the hallway with him. Arima may be off at some impromptu committee meeting, but my sheep had just been informing me how good my hair looks today. You see the depth of my irritation, to be taken away from that, you see my dark tragedy.
My art teacher is a guy, mid-thirties or something, unruly hair, very Japanese-looking. He's really strict for an art teacher, too, so no one's really overflowing with love for him, but he's generally considered okay. I, of course, in direct contrast to Arima, hate his stupid oyaji guts.
I wonder what I've done now. Maybe it's that I talk too much. I await his attack with barbed tongue, body tensed for flight. Okay, not really. Man, we just had lunch, but for some reason I'm already hungry. Oh, yeah, I made Arima eat most of my bento because he's got extra kendo today. Well, that would do it.
Hayasaka-sensei is smiling faintly when he closes the door of class A behind us and turns to address me, which I find pretty surprising. I feel my eyebrows shooting up. Going into juvenile delinquent mode? Maybe. I'm touchy about art class. Things are pretty loud in class C down the hall, so Hayasaka tells me to walk with him.
"Asaba-kun," he begins, "You're not in trouble."
"Huh?" Blink blink.
"In fact," Hayasaka says, and it's like I've entered that Western Twilight Zone, "I called you here because you're easily one of the best students in the class, and you don't even use any of your potential."
"Uh, thanks," I say, scratching my head, though careful not to mess up my hair with my nervous habit. So what? He just wanted to compliment me?
"I want to put you in a special class I'm forming," Hayasaka says. "You and a few other students would leave your classes during your at period and go to work with a paid professional."
"Is Arima going?" is my automatic question. The one I ask out loud, that is. My mind lets out, groaning, "You are so shitting me."
"No," Hayasaka says. "I understand he's very gifted in most everything else, but you're the one I've seen a talent in art in."
My heart is beating like crazy. Fuck, fuck, fuck... what the hell? "Why?"
Hayasaka sighs. "To be honest with you, Asaba-kun, I was hesitant to include you because of your personality, but I don't think I'm wrong about you. Are you interested?"
"Sure," I say.
"I don't want to keep you from class," he says warmly, "so I'll give you the details later. I'm very excited about this opportunity."
He runs off, and I begin the suddenly long trek back to class A. My first, intensely cynical thought, is that he's a closet homosexual pedophile who was just using that as a clever plan to get me alone and rape me. The second thought is that all the teachers are sick of me distracting the girls and are going to chop me to death with their protractors and graph paper. I go back to class A anyway, and resolve that if I see a single line of drool on Hayasaka or if he's in a possession of a mere compass, I'm so outta here.
When we only have a week left till midterms, Arima decides we need to start studying even more. He's being let out earlier from kendo this week, so he makes me wait for him to go with him to hit the books. It really puts a cramp in my social like, lemme tell you, but since it's Arima, I don't complain. Well, I stop sometimes.
One of these nights, a Saturday, we're up so late, Arima just tells me to stay for the night. There's no one I have to call to tell. No one would worry about me not being at home.
Arima lets me borrow some of his clothes to sleep in. Even though I'm bigger than him, he still finds some that fit me alright. He's good at stuff like that. He turns off the lights and we lie down on his futon, red numerals on his digital clock declaring it well past midnight. I think he's more tired than I am. Being here, I don't know how I could ever sleep, not in a hundred thousand million years.
He lies on his side, facing away from me, clad in black silk pajamas like the rich boy he is. It's pretty dark, but the outline of his shape is still clear, light from the window from the half moon and stars, from his computer and clock, light glinting highlights off his hair.
I don't know if he wants to sleep, but I feel like talking. I hope he won't get mad if I start blabbing. Getting angry wouldn't be like him. I wonder if he's drowsy at all. I'm not. He shifts to get comfortable and his side brushes against mine. It startles me. It's funny, for someone who's so cold, he really is warm.
"I'm not gonna in art with Class A anymore," I tell him, making my voice quieter than usual. He's not looking at me, though I'm looking at him, staring a wound into the back of his neck. "Hayasaka put me in this special class for gifted artists. Isn't that just the weirdest thing you've ever heard?"
"It suits you," Arima says, voice clear, and I know he hadn't been falling asleep before I started talking. "It's time someone recognized that about you."
I don't blush when someone says something like that about me, but I feel weird inside. It's really hard to believe what they're saying. It's good, though, it feels warm, because I know Arima's not a liar.
I used to watch Evangelion when I was younger, much younger, watched it religiously until it started getting really violent. It started giving me nightmares, and Mom, who was still alive then, wouldn't let me keep seeing it. But anyway, there's this scene in one of the first episodes, more than once, where the main character's in an unfamiliar place. His words- this ceiling is unfamiliar. Episode title- Unfamiliar Ceiling. I'd say it, speak that blank feeling, if it wasn't too dark to see above me at all. When I move, my hand brushes a soft strand of his hair. He can't feel it, doesn't move or react. I shift back quickly, guilty.
"What happened to your real parents?" I ask.
"They're dead," Arima says. "Like your mother." I should have assumed that. I want him to look at me, but I won't ask him to.
"Should I be sorry?" I ask.
"No."
My frustration's boiled over and before I know it I'm grabbing his shoulder and pulling him to me. "Look at me, dammit!" I yell, blurt it out, and his face makes me choke. He looks... discontent, unhappy, like maybe it was hard for him to say that. That like every single person on Earth, there are things he regrets.
"I'm sorry I made you tell me," I whisper, feeling awkward, stupid, like my body's too big for me, and Arima's too close, but I'm the one who dragged him here.
"It's alright," Arima says. "Hideaki..."
The sound of my name on his lips sends a shock through my body. He's looking at me now, and I want-
"Wanna tell me?" I ask, and he does.
His father was his family's outcast. The family consider his just like his parents, a demon child. They hate him, fear him. They think he's scum, dirt, and so he CAN'T be. Every year, despite how he's such an incredible person, they cast him out further and further.
His father hurt him. He hit him. He was just a child.
I knew things like that happened, but I never thought they had happened to someone of mine.
Arima doesn't cry. And I think he needs to say this, even though it's late, and he's telling me what it's like, and I can feel it, and it's hell, that's all. And I want to reach out and touch him, but I can't. There is absolutely nothing I can do.
"Thanks for telling me," I finally say, as if my words could even reach him. His face is different as he turns to me, and I'm scared suddenly. He's transformed, another person. He looks murderous.
"I don't know why you'd tell me, except that I'm here," I say miserably, and I'm not like myself. "I don't know what to say." A pause. Then I whisper, "Should I just be quiet?"
A nod, and then warmth. Arima's reached over and grabbed ahold of my hand. He says he's the most worthless person in the entire world, that he hates himself, that he's deceiving everyone, that if they knew what he was really like they'd all hate him just as much. He says he's a monster.
When we go to sleep, my fingers are still wrapped around his.