(no subject)
Part three.
Author's Notes- Three things.
1. I realized that some parts of the last chapter were very Evangelion. I'm glad, because they are both Gainax, and I think Kare Kano needs a little more Evangelion in it.
2. The song C'est La Vie was written by Iwaso Yuuho and sung by Komatsu Ayaka for Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon. The title of this chapter refers to its lyrics.
3. Yeah, I'm gonna have fun with this.
Model Student
Chapter 3- Reasons
Arima's home when I call him. The phone rings once, twice, then his distinctive voice announces that it's the Arima residence. I grip the wireless tighter in my hand, teeth gritting against the dirty plastic. "Arima, this is Asaba," I finally admit. "Can we talk?"
Silence. I squirm in my seat, and my father, doing paperwork in the next room, gives me a disapproving look. Damn, trying to patch things up doesn't mean I'm gonna do whatever he wants for the rest of my life. I wiggle some more just for good measure.
"Sure," Arima says. "Hold on, I have to switch phones." There's some static, then a click. Footsteps, and Arima's back. "Sorry about that."
I reach onto a shelf and grab a gift a girl just gave me from her Spanish vacation, a black bull plushie named Pedro. I stare into its cartoon eyes and decide its Arima. What should I say to you, Arima?
"I've decided to make up with my father," I say, and it's true.
"For real?" Arima asks, and I can feel him frowning, can picture creases appearing in his forehead as his eyes narrow.
"Yeah," I say, "Honest. Listen... I'm sorry. About yesterday, and what I said." Today's Monday, but we have it off, so I won't be seeing him. "I'm sorry about it." Then I find my voice, and Arima must have to jump back from the receiver with the racket I start making.
"Oh, please, Arima, don't hate me! You're my best friend!" I howl. "I'll die without you! I won't have any reason to live! I'll kill myself! I've got a knife and a razor and beer and pills and a big gun and-"
"Hideaki!" Arima yells, cutting off my whining and suicide threats abruptly. My father looks mortified from where he's watching, like if I committed seppuku he'd gladly join me. "Hideaki, it's okay. We are still friends, and we can talk it over."
"Oh, thank you, Arima! You've made my life worth living again!" Sniff, sniff.
"Oh, for God's sake-" an almost affectionate groan. "You're such an idiot, Hideaki."
I walk out of the living room and into the kitchen so I don't have Father as an audience anymore. "Okay," I say finally. It's awkward now that the pain and subsequent relief have started to fade. Arima clears his throat, and I know he's feeling just as weird as I am. God, it's not like I even tried anything- "Listen, can we just forget about it?" I say quickly, even though my stomach heaves at my own words. "Forget I ever said anything- that it even happened?"
Did I give it away? Does he know that I-
I can't afford to lose him.
"Alright," Arima says, and it's a victory, even though I want to throw up.
C'est la vie...
The new art class Hayasaka put me in starts the first day of the second week, the Monday after that one. When it's time for art, he takes me aside from Class A and directs me to a different classroom. I leave to a backdrop of whispers and speculation, just the way I like it. It takes me longer than I'd anticipated just to find the place. It's tucked away in some corner of the seniors' wing. I'm the last one to arrive.
There are four kids and a teacher. The teacher and all but one of the kids are girls, none of whom I recognize, though the teacher and the biggest girl are both really cute. I recognize the boy, if only for the way he starts glaring at me like he wants me dead when I enter the room. He's a senior, Miyamoto Kyo- he's on the kendo team with Arima. I think I stole his girlfriend once. Ah, it's hard to keep track of these things, you know?
Everyone's moved their desks into a circle. There's an empty one left for me to take, fortunately next to the young, pretty teacher, but not so happily right aside Miyamoto. The teacher says that since I've finally arrived, we can get started.
We go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. The teacher's Wakato-san. The girls, respectively, are Chihiro, Risa, and Arisu- I don't bother to memorize their surnames. Arisu already has a guy she's going with, though she thinks I'm cute. Risa's single and likes me a good deal more than Arisu. Chihiro, the cute one, is gay. Yeah, just by looking at looking at people, I can tell these things.
Wakato-sensei flips her hair over her shoulder, a slick move that distracts me for a moment. She orders us to take out our portfolios, and the other four immediately comply, reaching into their bags and withdrawing manila folders. My mind's blank. Portfolios? We're supposed to have portfolios?
"Asaba-kun, please take out your portfolio," Wakato-sensei frowns.
"What portfolio?" I ask. Miyamoto snorts.
"It said in all the packets," Chihiro says, and rolls her eyes, though she does look sympathetic. "You're supposed to have some art to show us."
"Oh," I wince. Like I read a single one of those things. "Eh, sorry?"
Miyamoto doesn't even try to hide his derisive snort of laughter this time. I cross my arms and sulk, pouting rather adorably at Wakato-sensei. The disappointment and annoyance on her face all but disappears.
"Oh, it's okay, Asaba-kun," she says sweetly. "You can just bring yours next time."
There's a brief pause, in which Risa smiles at me, Chihiro checks her watch, Arisu checks her cell phone for messages, and Miyamoto gets this look on his face like I just boned his grandma.
There are gonna be some long, long classes.
I have lunch with Arima and the girls. Sakura, Rika, and Aya just won't stop chattering about something Arima and I are clueless about, some incomprehensible project Class F's doing, so Arima and I are pretty much alone.
"Hey, Arima, you know Miyamoto from the kendo club?"
"Yeah," Arima nods, smiles. "He's good. Why?"
I scratch my head, and Arima and I are comfortable together again. "Did I steal his girlfriend?"
Arima blinks, considers for a second, so I explain. "He's in that art class I told you about, and he totally hates me. Like, more than guys usually do. So did I steal his girl or what? You know I can't remember these things."
Arima thinks, then nods. "Well, yeah, sort of. I think his boyfriend broke up with him because of you, because he had a crush on you or something. That's how the gossip went in the locker room. I think they'd been together for a few years, too."
"Eh?" I groan. "Shoulda known. If he's a good artist, I guess it's obligatory for him to be like that."
"Like you're one to talk," Arima snickers.
"Hey," I protest. "I'm not gay. I'm bi!"
Sakura, Rika, and Aya fall dead silent, turning around slowly and going completely white. "What?" Aya finally chokes out. Arima raises an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. I shrug. Rika chokes on her rice, so Sakura starts pounding her on the back.
"I'm bi," I say. "What, you didn't know?"
In the effortless unison longtime friends often attain, "NO!"
I shrug again, even more nonchalantly. "I just appreciate beauty wherever I find it," I explain. "I'm not so uptight to be exclusive to one gender. I just like girls a lot better, and most of the time, I hate boys, because they're so annoying, and not many are really cute. Few of them are beautiful enough for a second glance, you know? But I couldn't ever see myself being exclusive for a girl, so... But not even liking the female gender? Talk about narrow-minded." I'm getting pretty philosophical here. Wow.
Arima laughs. Apparently, he'd already known, a thought that makes me kinda uneasy. "I don't think people have much of a choice in the matter, Hideaki."
Sakura squints at me, then leans forward and flicks my nose. I let out a squeal of indignance. "Asapin," she deadpans, Rika and Aya forming ranks behind her, and it's inquisition time.
"If you'd only ever date a real bishounen," she asks, and I nod with her cautiously, "What do you think about Arima?"
Huh? I can feel myself turning a very unflattering shade of red. "Arima?" I grin, shake my head, wondering if they're yaoi fangirls at heart. "Ah, if only," I sigh, oh-so-tragically. "Alas, 'twas never meant to be. My Arima spurns me time and again. I am nothing to his frozen heart."
I fall into an ungainly heap and begin to sob. "I'm (sniff) beginning to (sniff) think he's asexual! Oh, I'm so alone in the world!"
Rika puts a supportive arm around me. Sakura and Aya, too smart not to get the joke of my theatrics, both crack up. Arima smacks me on the head, and the way he dramatically rolls his eyes in return makes me think of Chihiro.
When the girls finally recover, Sakura slaps me on the back, causing me to start hacking. I nearly choke on my vegetables. "Aw, man, Asapin, I almost pissed myself!" she laughs.
"You know, though," Aya says, creative as always, casting a speculative look over us. "Two boys together isn't half bad."
Sakura giggles, but Rika looks scandalized- then even she ends up grinning. I'm completely in my element. Is Arima blushing? My head whips around, incredulous- no, it has to be my imagination. He can't think anything from joking around, can he? He has no idea what I might really feel. It's funny.
Some other kids from different classes, especially A, have started watching, attracted by our shrieking and hysterics, whispering to each other. Yeah, this is my place. Suck it up, Arima.
I grin, cut off a piece of strawberry shortcake from Rika's bento, crumbs and dense juicy ripe berries and swirls of whipped ream and sugar and moist vanilla, pick it up with my fingers and lean towards Arima. "Open up, A-ri-ma..."
He stares at me for a second, expression implacable, then he smirks, a predatory grin that makes my knees weak, and parts his lips for me. He leans over towards me, bites down on the cake and strawberries, juice spewing onto his lips, and he lets me feed him the sweet. Everyone around us is quiet. He licks the red off his mouth slowly, dark pink tongue flicking out, then begins to suck my fingers clean of whipped cream, circling them softly. I feel light-headed, blood leaving my head. Then he leans back, my hand slipping away from him, and there's whispers again, louder than before. Sakura-tachi are all starry-eyed.
"You're welcome," I say, more softly than I intended, and I'm not sure who I'm saying it to.
At least everyone's looking at me now.
I face Miyamoto, having caught up to him after our second art class. There are some things we gotta get straight between us.
"So you hate me," I say, playing with a strand of my hair. "Because your boyfriend dumped you for me, right?"
Miyamoto glares at me, looks like he's gonna hit me, and that's a more affirmative response than any he could've spoken. I roll my eyes, Chihiro Arima Father, and study him, lick my lips. Man, wonder if anyone's ever told him how sexy he is when he's angry...
"Listen," I say, fixing my eyes on his so he can't possibly misunderstand. "I don't even know who your boyfriend is. It's not my fault if he chose me over you, because I probably haven't even met him. If he's that kinda person, you're probably better off without him. I'm not even into dating guys. Capiche?"
Miyamoto gapes at me, and I stay haughty, smug. "Satisfied?"
Before I can do anything, Miyamoto's fist has slammed into my stomach and I'm seeing actual fucking stars. Shit. Ow. "What the hell was that for?" I gasp out, wind knocked clean out of me. If he doesn't have a good reason for that, I'll so give him the fight he's aching for.
OW.
Miyamoto sneers at me, and despite himself he doesn't just look pissed off, he also seems really upset. "That's a load of shit. If you're gonna lie, make it something more convincing!"
"What do you mean, lying!" I yell back.
Miyamoto gives me a really hateful glare. "As if you don't know! Like everyone in the whole school hasn't seen the way you drool over Arima Soichiro!"
For a second, it feels like my lungs have stopped working. Miyamoto clenches his fist, and I don't know if he's gonna try to hit me again, except I don't see why he would, since he just slammed me harder than his fist could ever have.
I leer back at him and gather myself together again. "Arima? Are you kidding? I'm just using him to get girls. The sucker thinks I'm his friend, but I'm not even that. Nevermind sex, he doesn't mean anything at all to me!"
There's a small, polite sound emitted from behind us, a familiar cough that makes every part of my body freeze, choke up. Miyamoto and I turn, and Arima is behind us, hands gripping his student council folder so tightly they're white.
"May I get through?" he asks, voice the most pleasant I've ever heard it be.
"A-Arima-" My voice doesn't sound like me at all.
Miyamoto steps aside and Arima walks past us. He doesn't look back. I try to call out, try to go after him, but I can't. Somehow, I just can't. And Miyamoto sees the expression on my face.
Wakato-sensei wanders out of the classroom, flipping through the huge binder she's carrying, then stops when she sees us. "Oh, why aren't the two of you in class?"
I don't see Arima for the rest of the day. He doesn't return to class and doesn't have lunch in any place I can find him. Whenever I ask, I'm told he's at some committee meeting or something. I go to the kendo room after school and find out that he's skipped practice. I can't believe this.
I take the subway home, my college friends watching me mope in silence. One of them tries to ask what's wrong, but I snap at her so sharply for it none of them try to help me again.
Father isn't home when I get back. I know he'll come in within a few minutes. I call an okonomiyaki delivery and order some food that way. I don't feel like cooking tonight. They'll drop it off in maybe half an hour.
I stare at the one address I have taped to the fridge, Arima's mansion, then put my shoes back on, start trying to remember which subway route will take me there the quickest. I scribble out a note for my father: Psychological crisis. Had mental breakdown. Look for me in nearest home for criminally insane. -Hideaki
It takes maybe ten minutes to reach his street by underground. I check my watch countless times while waiting. My hand is cold against my wrist, long fingers playing with the clasp nervously. For the first time in years, my pianist hands feel awkward.
Arima's house seems even huger than it did before. When I ring the doorbell, Arima's mother is the one to answer. I tell her I'm here to see him and she lets me in without question. At least he didn't tell her to say he's not home. He might just have forgotten to.
Finding the way to Arima's room is easy, even though his home's totally different from a normal house. I wouldn't ever forget something like that, see, and it feels like his room's the center of the house, anyway, the gravitational center drawing everyone else in.
I push the door open slowly, turning the knob so cautiously it's as if I've been relegated to slow motion. Despite my efforts the door squeaks, much to my eternal wanting-to-sink-into-a-hole-in-the-ground-ness. Arima's sitting at his desk, staring down at a pile of textbooks. None of them are even open.
"Arima?" I ask, making my way in. He looks up and his face is blank and I HATE myself- "Uh, it's okay if I come in, right?"
Arima nods, sighs, pushes the books aside, turns to look at me, face so painfully empty I feel my words freezing in my throat. "I- I didn't want you to hear that," I finally begin, and know it's the wrong thing to say the moment it leaves my mouth.
"Oh," Arima says blandly. "I think I'd need to know something like that, though."
I feel like, one misstep and I'll be plummeting off some Arima cliff. "I was lying," I moan. "I didn't mean it."
"Alright," Arima says, and turns away from me. He doesn't even believe me.
"I'm sorry, dammit!" I snap, patience ending, hating that all of this, all of myself that I'm putting out gets no response from him. "You should know I don't feel like that! Say something!"
Arima looks at me, still calm, and I wish I could dismiss him for it. "What do you want from me?"
I reach out and try to grab his shoulder. He pushes my hand away. I draw myself up and try to spit at him. "Fine!" I yell. "I'll leave, and I won't come back! I did lie about liking you! I hate you! I hate you even more than my father! What I said was true! You can just stay alone forever!"
I'm saying the same things I did before, only this time on purpose, because I'm hurting, and if I can hurt him, he won't know I-
If I'm going to be rejected, I'll be rejected for someone I'm not, not who I am really!
And this time, we're completely, perfectly alone. Arima gets us from where he's sitting, begins to stalk toward me, as slowly as you could ever imagine, then he's pushed me back onto the bed and his hands have snaked around my neck and are pressing and I know what he's doing but I don't stop him because I'm not even aware, everything is him and him only
"Arima?" I whisper, and he's too close again. I get to see his face finally broken open, a block of ice smashed with a sword. He's someone else again. I can barely think, not because I'm scared, not because he's gonna hurt me, but because it's him, finally.
"I won't let you," he finally breathes out, voice uncontrolled, restrained no longer, low and husky, shaky, dark, and I can feel his fury through his skin, the pressure of his muscles underneath, the burst of miserable darkness. "I won't let you go," he hisses. "You belong to me! You're my friend, mine! I don't care what you think of me, but I won't let you!"
I don't say anything, just breathe in and out and he's so warm through both our uniforms, and I had no idea touch could feel like this, had no idea a human body was this full of heat.
His words-
Is this what I wanted from him?
He cares if I'm here. He actually cares whether or not I exist.
I open my mouth- "Shut up," Arima growls, and his hands tighten, and it does hurt now. "Shut UP, Hideaki."
Every effect has a cause.
I'm afraid.
And Arima presses closer, and then I can see the shock in his black, black eyes as against his thigh he feels something hard. I stare up at him, watch him understand. He's the smartest person I've ever met.
We don't move, though there's something different on his face, pressure letting off. I don't know whether to scream or smile. "Is this the part where you confess?" Arima asks dully.
I laugh, lick my lips, shift so I can reach his hands, pull them off my shoulders. "Confess what?"
Then he's laughing, too, and I think we're both so relieved and so scared all at the same time.
"I'm sorry I said those things," I blurt, say it because it has to be said. "You do know how important you are to me, right? You believe me?"
Arima draws himself up, and his leg brushes between mine as he moves. I start, a gasp escaping my lips from the exquisite sensation. "I do now," he says, and we start laughing again.
His eyes have cleared, so I smirk and reach into my pants pocket. "Sorry," I say, deliberately, snicker. "Keys," I say, and dangle them off my fingers, one gold, two silver.
He giggles, so I hug him, he hugs me back, I can feel his smile.
"You were jealous?" I ask, snuggling against him. God, it feels so wonderful, I can't imagine how anything could feel better than this. He lets me enfold him in my arms, since I think we're both kinda shell shocked or whatever. I mean- guys usually wouldn't, but he's letting me. "You care if I like you or not?"
"I trusted you," Arima says.
"You were jealous?" I ask.
"Jealous of what?" he shoots back, speaking into my neck. "What, did you tell that boy those things because you want him?"
"Miyamoto?" I can feel myself twitching. "No way. I hadn't even thought of that. Ugh."
"No girls?" Arima asks. "No boys, either?"
"'Course not," I say, lifting my hand to stroke his hair, other one feeling down his side, the curve of his back. Like aftershocks I can see waves of rage still sweeping his face, pathos. "You?" I ask.
"There's nobody," Arima says. "If I met anyone, I'd tell you."
"So I'm the only one you-"
Arima nods.
"Same," I breathe.
Arima turns, looks at me suddenly, coughs. "Don't get nervous, okay, Hideaki. I don't mean it in a bad way. We're not like that, you know? I'm not after your ass like everyone else."
I let myself collapse into him, scrunching my eyes shut as tight as they'll go.
---
fade-
out.
---
I walk back into my apartment, dropping my keys onto the pedestal. Father looks up. "So you and Arima made up," he says.
I stare at him for a second, then whisper, "What business of yours is it?"
"Excuse me," he says after a second's dead silence. "What did I just hear you say, you stupid little boy?"
"I said that it's none of your concern, right?" I snap.
Father gets up and hits me. I fall back into the chair he just vacated and am quiet.
---
I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper. Reading off its contents, I dial Josh the gaijin's number into my wireless phone.
It rings once, and I hang up.
---
I see Father off at the end of the three weeks he's stayed at my house. We part the same way we always do, an argument.
---
The En-
---
Just kidding! You really think I'd do that? End it so soon? I mean, me? I mean, this is a story about me! Me! It's the best kinda story! Heh heh. So even if things get weird sometimes, everything's still cool. So this is gonna go on a bit longer. I don't really care if anyone like Arima's reading it. I've always been my own best audience.
Besides, there are some pretty interesting characters in this story I haven't told you about yet. First is Shibahime Tsubasa, one of my favorite people in the entire world. But things weren't exactly peaches and roses and stuff between us at the beginning, you know...
---
I didn't tell him I was gonna do it. I wanted it to be a surprise. I hope he doesn't hate it. I hope he doesn't think I'm stupid now. I stare at my reflection in one of the windows of the art classroom, tilt my head, squint at myself. Miyamoto elbows me. "Hey, Asapin, Wakato-sensei called on you."
Huh? "Thanks," I whisper back, and look towards the lesson again.
"Pay attention, Asaba-kun," Wakato says severely, and Risa gives me a sympathetic look.
"Sorry," I mutter, and normally I'd just roll my eyes at a teacher who called me off like that, but I'm actually interested in this stuff. I like art, and art class is fun, but I can't concentrate today. Wish I could, so maybe I'll start trying to harder, though that actually implies me working, which is a totally foreign concept, lemme tell you.
In a few minutes, Wakato leaves early. If it hadn't been first thing in the morning, I would have definitely made some crack about her going off to see her boyfriend. Or girlfriend, or whatever. Arisu-tachi and I are left to pack up our new supplies together. I think we're starting to form a sort of group, the five of us, albeit a very understated, weird one. We all have something in common, though, which probably should be linking us together.
"Oh, Asapin, I love your hair!" Arisu exclaims the moment Wakato leaves. "If that's what you're worried about, you shouldn't be."
"Really?" I blink. I'm actually unsure about this, I'm not pretending to be to get ego-boosting reassurances like people often do, like I've done so much in the past. "I mean..."
"It fits you," Chihiro says dryly. "Reflects your brains."
"Hey!"
I look at the others. Risa hands me something. It's a sketch of the new me, radiant streaks of color across her off-white canvas paper. "I like it too," she says, still a bit shy.
"Chihiro's right," Miyamoto nods. "Asapin's always been a dumb blonde in his soul, so why shouldn't he really be one now?"
I begin to stew in my seat. "Oi!" I protest. They all have a good laugh at my expense.
"We just tease you 'cause you're so cool, Asapin," Chihiro says, pushing her last pencil into her overstuffed bag and getting up. "See you, everyone. Kyo, tell Mamo-kun I said hi."
"Sure," Miyamoto says. "He's got a killer crush on you, you know."
Chihiro groans, stalking out dramatically and sighing, "Boys."
I leave the room with the others, checking my reflection in every surface I can find. Risa and Arisu leave for their room, but since Miyamoto and I are going in the same direction we walk together. Miyamoto's walking funny, since he got a bad hit to the knee sparring a few days ago. He feels compelled to fill our silence with words. I'm glad he's decided to give me a chance, but it's still kinda awkward.
"You know," Miyamoto says, taking on his I'm-your-knowledgeable-sempai tone, which I hadn't even known he had until now, "Arima's not gonna stop liking you if he doesn't like your hair."
My feet falter and I nearly trip over them, feeling meaningless syllables of indignation spill over my lips. Am I that transparent? "None of your business," I say haughtily. Miyamoto always gets me defensive, probably because even though we're kind-of friends now, he seems to consider my relationship with Arima his business. Sempai suck.
Miyamoto grins conspiratorially, and it's a sign of the state of our newfound camaderie that I want to hit him a lot more than I did when we were rivals. "Come on, I know you've got at a least a thing for the ice prince. After that incident we had, you can't hide it..." he trails off.
"So what if I do," I say grumpily. I wish he didn't know. I wish no one knew, or even guessed. "I don't care what he thinks about my hair!" I got highlights because I thought he might like them.
"If you like someone, you know," Miyamoto prods, a point of contention already old between us, "You shouldn't be ambivalent about it." I'm surprised I actually know what ambivalence is. "I know it's more complicated with friends, but initial feelings don't really indicate much. And even straight or crooked or whatever doesn't really mean much these days, neh? I'm just saying-"
"Oh," I snap, "Because all that worked so well with Tsuyoshi." Tsuyoshi's the guy he hated me over. Miyamoto's got a hell of a temper, so I thought he might try to hit me for saying that, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or annoyed that he doesn't.
"Whatever," Miyamoto says, shrugging. "I'm just saying the way you act with that guy isn't like you, Asapin." Like he knows me at all. "And," he grins, and sometimes he's too charming for his own good, "He'll like your hair, kid."
I hate it when he calls me that.
Class F went on a field trip by themselves today, so it's just Arima and I at lunch. It's raining pretty hard outside, sky a foreboding slash of charcoal, so we're all inside. Somehow, Arima and I have some classroom all to ourselves. I don't think I feel anything in particular about that.
Arima'd stared at me when he got his first good look at me today, and he stares at me now as I unpack my bento and sprawl out in a chair, propping my feet up on a desk dangerously close to his food. I don't have the patience to wait for him to say anything about it.
"So what do you think of it?" I ask, touching my highlighted hair to show what I'm talking about.
Arima keeps staring at me for a few more seconds, so long I become uncomfortable, shifting in the precarious position I've perched myself in, then gets up and walks behinds me, so he's standing above me and I'm staring up at him. "I like it," he says, runs a hand through it, color struck through by the flickering flourescent lights. "It's just like gold. The light makes it like the sun."
I feel that dangerous feeling in my chest again and try to squish it. I can't. I didn't know Arima ever talked like that.
"Thanks," I grin up at him, enjoying the feel of his hand caressing my head. "I got it because of you."
"Eh?" Arima says. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to stick out," I say, try to put my feelings through my smile, and feel so lucky.
I turn to snag a little octopus from Arima's box, and there's someone standing at the door, watching us. Her hair's the color mine was, honeyed dirty blonde, and I think for a second she's someone's little sister from elementary school, she's so small and cute. Her face is like a porcelain doll's, but the look on that face makes me uneasy, makes me unable to appreciate her like a normal girl. It's Arima's look, discontent, maybe, but more. She's angry.
Arima asks me what's wrong, and when I turn back to the door she's gone, just like some movie. But I know she wasn't a spirit or anything like that, so I'll probably be seeing her soon. She looks like a total brat.
Thank God Arima likes it.
Arima and I are walking to his kendo practice, cutting through one of the school's yards, when we meet the girl again. She's standing there, little face deliberately fixed in place, arms crossed under her diminutive chest. She must have followed us after we left Class A. I assume she's been waiting here for us.
I don't understand, though, why Arima smiles when he sees her, why he runs forward to where she is. He comes to a stop before her, laughs. "Hey, Tsubasa!" he calls down to her as I walk up to them, standing behind them.
"Hey, Arima," she says. Then, he does something that makes me nearly fall over. He hugs her!
"You're finally back!" he says. "I'm sorry, I didn't visit you as much as I should have. I didn't even know you'd be in school again this soon."
"It's okay," Tsubasa says, rubbing against his shoulder with her head like an animal would. She has the weirdest little-kid voice. She sticks her tongue out at me under his arm.
"Eh... explain?" I say weakly.
"This is Shibahime Tsubasa," Arima says. "Tsubasa and I went to the same middle school. She's kinda like my little sister." I wouldn't want my little sister to look at me like that. "She got into an accident skateboarding, so she's been out for a while. Glad to be back, Tsubasa?"
"Mm," she mutters, pouting as he releases her from his arms. "Sorta."
Arima looks inexplicably psyched. Yeah, I've got this feeling jealousy down pat by now. I should give people expensive lectures on it. I could write one of those self-help books about it, and make bundles of money, write about experiencing it to its fullest intensity, and what can be found there-
This is silly.
"Your best friend?" I ask slowly, just staying where I am.
Arima blinks. "Well, no, not really." He looks at me for the first time. "Tsubasa, this is my best friend, Asaba Hideaki. Watch out for him," he says wryly, "He's a really big womanizer."
I wish the happiness he's showing right now wasn't so pure and sweet. That girl... she's so pretty. I wish she was my sheep. I wish I could wish that. I wish that could be what I'm thinking right now.
Thus the introductions are made, and the positioning begins.
Some guy runs up and tells Arima practice is starting. Arima leaves with him, so it's just me and Shibahime. I don't dare to follow Arima with her there, and she doesn't go after him either. Instead, she turns and faces me, look on her face way too vindictive for someone so adorable.
"I like Arima," she says. "You can't have him. Leave him alone."
So what if she's known him longer? What does she take me for? Brat.
I take a step forward, and she sticks out a foot and trips me. I topple over and fall face-first onto the grass, taste dirt. She blows a raspberry at me and runs off, and it's in that way that the war begins.
I come to school early the next morning to lie in wait for her. I put on a classic disguise, fake glasses and nose and mustache, the works. I peer out through the limbs of a particularly large bush, the most strategically placed one available. There, she's walking up the path. She came early to school because she must have known Arima always does. Ah, perfect. Such perfection must have been engineered by the Gods, smiling down on me for my victory!
She's humming lightly to herself as she makes her way down the yard. Normally such a whimsical, feminine sound would soften my chivalrous heart, but I have no pity for the likes of her! Besides, her voice really, really annoys me.
The birds chirp, sun already risen and still slowly climbing up the sky, grass she felled me upon ready to become her home. I let myself laugh evilly for a second before launching into action. I reach into the barrel at my side and pull out a water balloon. Ah, a perfect toss!
A second, then impact. She lets out a shrill scream and is drenched, puny body thrown to the ground with the force of the impact. She looks up disbelievingly, then sees me and my bush. I jump out, barrel cradled in my arms, and laugh hysterically. Her eyes widen.
"Face the water balloons of judgment!" I yell, and begin to throw again. She hits the ground, but cannot escape their righteous fury. I crow in victory as she squeals again. I wonder if she's gonna cry.
In the blink of an eye, she's inched over to the other building, and- oh, shit. Is that a hose? Yeah, it's a hose. Shit. She lets out a feral, animalistic growl, and pulls the faucet down.
Thus the first battle of the war commences.
I get soaked, too! My ethereal beauty tarnished! This calls for revenge! I let the barrel drop, ducking behind it. Her eyes narrow. I jump out and throw another balloon at her with each hand, letting my ammunition scatter. That's right, I'm the only star who's needed on this stage! Hah!
It's just like a movie where people duck behind walls and shoot each other with guns, except we fight with water on this unusually cold day. Damn, I'm already frozen. She runs behind a corner, dragging the hose with her, and our two streams of water meet. I'd sooner die than back down now!
"He's mine!" I yell. Toss.
"No, mine!" she yells back, stubbornly. Hoooooose.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"MINE!"
"MINE!"
This could have gone on quite a while if something hadn't happened to stop us. An unknowing Arima walks up, swinging his school bag, right where we are- I try to stop my barrage, but they've already flown- Shibahime freezes, letting out a gasp of shock, and her hand clamps down on the hose, sending a huge spurt of water out, all on-
Yeah. Arima.
Arima can't even scream as a tsunami-size wave of water crashes down on him from both sides. He falls and doesn't get up.
Slowly, Shibahime and I approach, petrified. "I-is he dead?" I breathe.
"No!" he snaps, getting to his feet. "I'm not!" We both gasp at the look on his face.
He's completely fucking furious.
"What the hell were you two doing?" he bellows.
I scratch my head sheepishly. Shibahime manages to squeak out, "Uh, fighting over you?"
Arima whirls on us. "You two STUPID little-" Then he storms off, cutting himself off. Again, neither of us dare follow him.
Shibahime and I slowly turn to face each other. "It's all your fault!" I finally shriek.
"It's yours!" she growls.
"No, it's yours!"
"Yours!"
"Yours!"
It was in such a way that negotiations between the two hostile parties broke down even further.
"I'd sooner die than lose to you!"
---
Stirred by impulses that there's something I can do
It begins for me now, feelings searching for you!
Just like, predictable old books and movies are boring-
In real life, you have to make things a little more exciting!
This warm feeling is-
C'est la vie!
I want to become the best me possible!
C'est la vie!
I want to keep on loving you!
There's something right in front of my eyes
For the moment, let's just live!
Keep on running!
Why is it that people have but one chance to live life?
Why doesn't time stand still even for one second?
Just like, an unexpected someplace causes sores from the shoes on my feet
From time to time someplace in my heart feels pain-
I know I will find you-
C'est la vie!
I have my reasons for being myself!
C'est la vie!
You have your reasons for being yourself!
I can't see anything, but I want to see something
So I chase after you!
Predictable old books and movies are boring-
In real life, you have to make things a little more exciting!
This warm feeling is-
C'est la vie!
I want to become the best me possible!
C'est la vie!
I want to keep on loving you!
C'est la vie!
I have my reasons for being myself!
C'est la vie!
You have your reasons for being yourself!
There's something right in front of my eyes
For the moment, let's just live!
Keep on running!
Keep on running-
C'est la vie...
Author's Notes- Three things.
1. I realized that some parts of the last chapter were very Evangelion. I'm glad, because they are both Gainax, and I think Kare Kano needs a little more Evangelion in it.
2. The song C'est La Vie was written by Iwaso Yuuho and sung by Komatsu Ayaka for Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon. The title of this chapter refers to its lyrics.
3. Yeah, I'm gonna have fun with this.
Model Student
Chapter 3- Reasons
Arima's home when I call him. The phone rings once, twice, then his distinctive voice announces that it's the Arima residence. I grip the wireless tighter in my hand, teeth gritting against the dirty plastic. "Arima, this is Asaba," I finally admit. "Can we talk?"
Silence. I squirm in my seat, and my father, doing paperwork in the next room, gives me a disapproving look. Damn, trying to patch things up doesn't mean I'm gonna do whatever he wants for the rest of my life. I wiggle some more just for good measure.
"Sure," Arima says. "Hold on, I have to switch phones." There's some static, then a click. Footsteps, and Arima's back. "Sorry about that."
I reach onto a shelf and grab a gift a girl just gave me from her Spanish vacation, a black bull plushie named Pedro. I stare into its cartoon eyes and decide its Arima. What should I say to you, Arima?
"I've decided to make up with my father," I say, and it's true.
"For real?" Arima asks, and I can feel him frowning, can picture creases appearing in his forehead as his eyes narrow.
"Yeah," I say, "Honest. Listen... I'm sorry. About yesterday, and what I said." Today's Monday, but we have it off, so I won't be seeing him. "I'm sorry about it." Then I find my voice, and Arima must have to jump back from the receiver with the racket I start making.
"Oh, please, Arima, don't hate me! You're my best friend!" I howl. "I'll die without you! I won't have any reason to live! I'll kill myself! I've got a knife and a razor and beer and pills and a big gun and-"
"Hideaki!" Arima yells, cutting off my whining and suicide threats abruptly. My father looks mortified from where he's watching, like if I committed seppuku he'd gladly join me. "Hideaki, it's okay. We are still friends, and we can talk it over."
"Oh, thank you, Arima! You've made my life worth living again!" Sniff, sniff.
"Oh, for God's sake-" an almost affectionate groan. "You're such an idiot, Hideaki."
I walk out of the living room and into the kitchen so I don't have Father as an audience anymore. "Okay," I say finally. It's awkward now that the pain and subsequent relief have started to fade. Arima clears his throat, and I know he's feeling just as weird as I am. God, it's not like I even tried anything- "Listen, can we just forget about it?" I say quickly, even though my stomach heaves at my own words. "Forget I ever said anything- that it even happened?"
Did I give it away? Does he know that I-
I can't afford to lose him.
"Alright," Arima says, and it's a victory, even though I want to throw up.
C'est la vie...
The new art class Hayasaka put me in starts the first day of the second week, the Monday after that one. When it's time for art, he takes me aside from Class A and directs me to a different classroom. I leave to a backdrop of whispers and speculation, just the way I like it. It takes me longer than I'd anticipated just to find the place. It's tucked away in some corner of the seniors' wing. I'm the last one to arrive.
There are four kids and a teacher. The teacher and all but one of the kids are girls, none of whom I recognize, though the teacher and the biggest girl are both really cute. I recognize the boy, if only for the way he starts glaring at me like he wants me dead when I enter the room. He's a senior, Miyamoto Kyo- he's on the kendo team with Arima. I think I stole his girlfriend once. Ah, it's hard to keep track of these things, you know?
Everyone's moved their desks into a circle. There's an empty one left for me to take, fortunately next to the young, pretty teacher, but not so happily right aside Miyamoto. The teacher says that since I've finally arrived, we can get started.
We go around in a circle and introduce ourselves. The teacher's Wakato-san. The girls, respectively, are Chihiro, Risa, and Arisu- I don't bother to memorize their surnames. Arisu already has a guy she's going with, though she thinks I'm cute. Risa's single and likes me a good deal more than Arisu. Chihiro, the cute one, is gay. Yeah, just by looking at looking at people, I can tell these things.
Wakato-sensei flips her hair over her shoulder, a slick move that distracts me for a moment. She orders us to take out our portfolios, and the other four immediately comply, reaching into their bags and withdrawing manila folders. My mind's blank. Portfolios? We're supposed to have portfolios?
"Asaba-kun, please take out your portfolio," Wakato-sensei frowns.
"What portfolio?" I ask. Miyamoto snorts.
"It said in all the packets," Chihiro says, and rolls her eyes, though she does look sympathetic. "You're supposed to have some art to show us."
"Oh," I wince. Like I read a single one of those things. "Eh, sorry?"
Miyamoto doesn't even try to hide his derisive snort of laughter this time. I cross my arms and sulk, pouting rather adorably at Wakato-sensei. The disappointment and annoyance on her face all but disappears.
"Oh, it's okay, Asaba-kun," she says sweetly. "You can just bring yours next time."
There's a brief pause, in which Risa smiles at me, Chihiro checks her watch, Arisu checks her cell phone for messages, and Miyamoto gets this look on his face like I just boned his grandma.
There are gonna be some long, long classes.
I have lunch with Arima and the girls. Sakura, Rika, and Aya just won't stop chattering about something Arima and I are clueless about, some incomprehensible project Class F's doing, so Arima and I are pretty much alone.
"Hey, Arima, you know Miyamoto from the kendo club?"
"Yeah," Arima nods, smiles. "He's good. Why?"
I scratch my head, and Arima and I are comfortable together again. "Did I steal his girlfriend?"
Arima blinks, considers for a second, so I explain. "He's in that art class I told you about, and he totally hates me. Like, more than guys usually do. So did I steal his girl or what? You know I can't remember these things."
Arima thinks, then nods. "Well, yeah, sort of. I think his boyfriend broke up with him because of you, because he had a crush on you or something. That's how the gossip went in the locker room. I think they'd been together for a few years, too."
"Eh?" I groan. "Shoulda known. If he's a good artist, I guess it's obligatory for him to be like that."
"Like you're one to talk," Arima snickers.
"Hey," I protest. "I'm not gay. I'm bi!"
Sakura, Rika, and Aya fall dead silent, turning around slowly and going completely white. "What?" Aya finally chokes out. Arima raises an eyebrow at me, clearly amused. I shrug. Rika chokes on her rice, so Sakura starts pounding her on the back.
"I'm bi," I say. "What, you didn't know?"
In the effortless unison longtime friends often attain, "NO!"
I shrug again, even more nonchalantly. "I just appreciate beauty wherever I find it," I explain. "I'm not so uptight to be exclusive to one gender. I just like girls a lot better, and most of the time, I hate boys, because they're so annoying, and not many are really cute. Few of them are beautiful enough for a second glance, you know? But I couldn't ever see myself being exclusive for a girl, so... But not even liking the female gender? Talk about narrow-minded." I'm getting pretty philosophical here. Wow.
Arima laughs. Apparently, he'd already known, a thought that makes me kinda uneasy. "I don't think people have much of a choice in the matter, Hideaki."
Sakura squints at me, then leans forward and flicks my nose. I let out a squeal of indignance. "Asapin," she deadpans, Rika and Aya forming ranks behind her, and it's inquisition time.
"If you'd only ever date a real bishounen," she asks, and I nod with her cautiously, "What do you think about Arima?"
Huh? I can feel myself turning a very unflattering shade of red. "Arima?" I grin, shake my head, wondering if they're yaoi fangirls at heart. "Ah, if only," I sigh, oh-so-tragically. "Alas, 'twas never meant to be. My Arima spurns me time and again. I am nothing to his frozen heart."
I fall into an ungainly heap and begin to sob. "I'm (sniff) beginning to (sniff) think he's asexual! Oh, I'm so alone in the world!"
Rika puts a supportive arm around me. Sakura and Aya, too smart not to get the joke of my theatrics, both crack up. Arima smacks me on the head, and the way he dramatically rolls his eyes in return makes me think of Chihiro.
When the girls finally recover, Sakura slaps me on the back, causing me to start hacking. I nearly choke on my vegetables. "Aw, man, Asapin, I almost pissed myself!" she laughs.
"You know, though," Aya says, creative as always, casting a speculative look over us. "Two boys together isn't half bad."
Sakura giggles, but Rika looks scandalized- then even she ends up grinning. I'm completely in my element. Is Arima blushing? My head whips around, incredulous- no, it has to be my imagination. He can't think anything from joking around, can he? He has no idea what I might really feel. It's funny.
Some other kids from different classes, especially A, have started watching, attracted by our shrieking and hysterics, whispering to each other. Yeah, this is my place. Suck it up, Arima.
I grin, cut off a piece of strawberry shortcake from Rika's bento, crumbs and dense juicy ripe berries and swirls of whipped ream and sugar and moist vanilla, pick it up with my fingers and lean towards Arima. "Open up, A-ri-ma..."
He stares at me for a second, expression implacable, then he smirks, a predatory grin that makes my knees weak, and parts his lips for me. He leans over towards me, bites down on the cake and strawberries, juice spewing onto his lips, and he lets me feed him the sweet. Everyone around us is quiet. He licks the red off his mouth slowly, dark pink tongue flicking out, then begins to suck my fingers clean of whipped cream, circling them softly. I feel light-headed, blood leaving my head. Then he leans back, my hand slipping away from him, and there's whispers again, louder than before. Sakura-tachi are all starry-eyed.
"You're welcome," I say, more softly than I intended, and I'm not sure who I'm saying it to.
At least everyone's looking at me now.
I face Miyamoto, having caught up to him after our second art class. There are some things we gotta get straight between us.
"So you hate me," I say, playing with a strand of my hair. "Because your boyfriend dumped you for me, right?"
Miyamoto glares at me, looks like he's gonna hit me, and that's a more affirmative response than any he could've spoken. I roll my eyes, Chihiro Arima Father, and study him, lick my lips. Man, wonder if anyone's ever told him how sexy he is when he's angry...
"Listen," I say, fixing my eyes on his so he can't possibly misunderstand. "I don't even know who your boyfriend is. It's not my fault if he chose me over you, because I probably haven't even met him. If he's that kinda person, you're probably better off without him. I'm not even into dating guys. Capiche?"
Miyamoto gapes at me, and I stay haughty, smug. "Satisfied?"
Before I can do anything, Miyamoto's fist has slammed into my stomach and I'm seeing actual fucking stars. Shit. Ow. "What the hell was that for?" I gasp out, wind knocked clean out of me. If he doesn't have a good reason for that, I'll so give him the fight he's aching for.
OW.
Miyamoto sneers at me, and despite himself he doesn't just look pissed off, he also seems really upset. "That's a load of shit. If you're gonna lie, make it something more convincing!"
"What do you mean, lying!" I yell back.
Miyamoto gives me a really hateful glare. "As if you don't know! Like everyone in the whole school hasn't seen the way you drool over Arima Soichiro!"
For a second, it feels like my lungs have stopped working. Miyamoto clenches his fist, and I don't know if he's gonna try to hit me again, except I don't see why he would, since he just slammed me harder than his fist could ever have.
I leer back at him and gather myself together again. "Arima? Are you kidding? I'm just using him to get girls. The sucker thinks I'm his friend, but I'm not even that. Nevermind sex, he doesn't mean anything at all to me!"
There's a small, polite sound emitted from behind us, a familiar cough that makes every part of my body freeze, choke up. Miyamoto and I turn, and Arima is behind us, hands gripping his student council folder so tightly they're white.
"May I get through?" he asks, voice the most pleasant I've ever heard it be.
"A-Arima-" My voice doesn't sound like me at all.
Miyamoto steps aside and Arima walks past us. He doesn't look back. I try to call out, try to go after him, but I can't. Somehow, I just can't. And Miyamoto sees the expression on my face.
Wakato-sensei wanders out of the classroom, flipping through the huge binder she's carrying, then stops when she sees us. "Oh, why aren't the two of you in class?"
I don't see Arima for the rest of the day. He doesn't return to class and doesn't have lunch in any place I can find him. Whenever I ask, I'm told he's at some committee meeting or something. I go to the kendo room after school and find out that he's skipped practice. I can't believe this.
I take the subway home, my college friends watching me mope in silence. One of them tries to ask what's wrong, but I snap at her so sharply for it none of them try to help me again.
Father isn't home when I get back. I know he'll come in within a few minutes. I call an okonomiyaki delivery and order some food that way. I don't feel like cooking tonight. They'll drop it off in maybe half an hour.
I stare at the one address I have taped to the fridge, Arima's mansion, then put my shoes back on, start trying to remember which subway route will take me there the quickest. I scribble out a note for my father: Psychological crisis. Had mental breakdown. Look for me in nearest home for criminally insane. -Hideaki
It takes maybe ten minutes to reach his street by underground. I check my watch countless times while waiting. My hand is cold against my wrist, long fingers playing with the clasp nervously. For the first time in years, my pianist hands feel awkward.
Arima's house seems even huger than it did before. When I ring the doorbell, Arima's mother is the one to answer. I tell her I'm here to see him and she lets me in without question. At least he didn't tell her to say he's not home. He might just have forgotten to.
Finding the way to Arima's room is easy, even though his home's totally different from a normal house. I wouldn't ever forget something like that, see, and it feels like his room's the center of the house, anyway, the gravitational center drawing everyone else in.
I push the door open slowly, turning the knob so cautiously it's as if I've been relegated to slow motion. Despite my efforts the door squeaks, much to my eternal wanting-to-sink-into-a-hole-in-the-ground-ness. Arima's sitting at his desk, staring down at a pile of textbooks. None of them are even open.
"Arima?" I ask, making my way in. He looks up and his face is blank and I HATE myself- "Uh, it's okay if I come in, right?"
Arima nods, sighs, pushes the books aside, turns to look at me, face so painfully empty I feel my words freezing in my throat. "I- I didn't want you to hear that," I finally begin, and know it's the wrong thing to say the moment it leaves my mouth.
"Oh," Arima says blandly. "I think I'd need to know something like that, though."
I feel like, one misstep and I'll be plummeting off some Arima cliff. "I was lying," I moan. "I didn't mean it."
"Alright," Arima says, and turns away from me. He doesn't even believe me.
"I'm sorry, dammit!" I snap, patience ending, hating that all of this, all of myself that I'm putting out gets no response from him. "You should know I don't feel like that! Say something!"
Arima looks at me, still calm, and I wish I could dismiss him for it. "What do you want from me?"
I reach out and try to grab his shoulder. He pushes my hand away. I draw myself up and try to spit at him. "Fine!" I yell. "I'll leave, and I won't come back! I did lie about liking you! I hate you! I hate you even more than my father! What I said was true! You can just stay alone forever!"
I'm saying the same things I did before, only this time on purpose, because I'm hurting, and if I can hurt him, he won't know I-
If I'm going to be rejected, I'll be rejected for someone I'm not, not who I am really!
And this time, we're completely, perfectly alone. Arima gets us from where he's sitting, begins to stalk toward me, as slowly as you could ever imagine, then he's pushed me back onto the bed and his hands have snaked around my neck and are pressing and I know what he's doing but I don't stop him because I'm not even aware, everything is him and him only
"Arima?" I whisper, and he's too close again. I get to see his face finally broken open, a block of ice smashed with a sword. He's someone else again. I can barely think, not because I'm scared, not because he's gonna hurt me, but because it's him, finally.
"I won't let you," he finally breathes out, voice uncontrolled, restrained no longer, low and husky, shaky, dark, and I can feel his fury through his skin, the pressure of his muscles underneath, the burst of miserable darkness. "I won't let you go," he hisses. "You belong to me! You're my friend, mine! I don't care what you think of me, but I won't let you!"
I don't say anything, just breathe in and out and he's so warm through both our uniforms, and I had no idea touch could feel like this, had no idea a human body was this full of heat.
His words-
Is this what I wanted from him?
He cares if I'm here. He actually cares whether or not I exist.
I open my mouth- "Shut up," Arima growls, and his hands tighten, and it does hurt now. "Shut UP, Hideaki."
Every effect has a cause.
I'm afraid.
And Arima presses closer, and then I can see the shock in his black, black eyes as against his thigh he feels something hard. I stare up at him, watch him understand. He's the smartest person I've ever met.
We don't move, though there's something different on his face, pressure letting off. I don't know whether to scream or smile. "Is this the part where you confess?" Arima asks dully.
I laugh, lick my lips, shift so I can reach his hands, pull them off my shoulders. "Confess what?"
Then he's laughing, too, and I think we're both so relieved and so scared all at the same time.
"I'm sorry I said those things," I blurt, say it because it has to be said. "You do know how important you are to me, right? You believe me?"
Arima draws himself up, and his leg brushes between mine as he moves. I start, a gasp escaping my lips from the exquisite sensation. "I do now," he says, and we start laughing again.
His eyes have cleared, so I smirk and reach into my pants pocket. "Sorry," I say, deliberately, snicker. "Keys," I say, and dangle them off my fingers, one gold, two silver.
He giggles, so I hug him, he hugs me back, I can feel his smile.
"You were jealous?" I ask, snuggling against him. God, it feels so wonderful, I can't imagine how anything could feel better than this. He lets me enfold him in my arms, since I think we're both kinda shell shocked or whatever. I mean- guys usually wouldn't, but he's letting me. "You care if I like you or not?"
"I trusted you," Arima says.
"You were jealous?" I ask.
"Jealous of what?" he shoots back, speaking into my neck. "What, did you tell that boy those things because you want him?"
"Miyamoto?" I can feel myself twitching. "No way. I hadn't even thought of that. Ugh."
"No girls?" Arima asks. "No boys, either?"
"'Course not," I say, lifting my hand to stroke his hair, other one feeling down his side, the curve of his back. Like aftershocks I can see waves of rage still sweeping his face, pathos. "You?" I ask.
"There's nobody," Arima says. "If I met anyone, I'd tell you."
"So I'm the only one you-"
Arima nods.
"Same," I breathe.
Arima turns, looks at me suddenly, coughs. "Don't get nervous, okay, Hideaki. I don't mean it in a bad way. We're not like that, you know? I'm not after your ass like everyone else."
I let myself collapse into him, scrunching my eyes shut as tight as they'll go.
---
fade-
out.
---
I walk back into my apartment, dropping my keys onto the pedestal. Father looks up. "So you and Arima made up," he says.
I stare at him for a second, then whisper, "What business of yours is it?"
"Excuse me," he says after a second's dead silence. "What did I just hear you say, you stupid little boy?"
"I said that it's none of your concern, right?" I snap.
Father gets up and hits me. I fall back into the chair he just vacated and am quiet.
---
I reach into my pocket and pull out a piece of paper. Reading off its contents, I dial Josh the gaijin's number into my wireless phone.
It rings once, and I hang up.
---
I see Father off at the end of the three weeks he's stayed at my house. We part the same way we always do, an argument.
---
The En-
---
Just kidding! You really think I'd do that? End it so soon? I mean, me? I mean, this is a story about me! Me! It's the best kinda story! Heh heh. So even if things get weird sometimes, everything's still cool. So this is gonna go on a bit longer. I don't really care if anyone like Arima's reading it. I've always been my own best audience.
Besides, there are some pretty interesting characters in this story I haven't told you about yet. First is Shibahime Tsubasa, one of my favorite people in the entire world. But things weren't exactly peaches and roses and stuff between us at the beginning, you know...
---
I didn't tell him I was gonna do it. I wanted it to be a surprise. I hope he doesn't hate it. I hope he doesn't think I'm stupid now. I stare at my reflection in one of the windows of the art classroom, tilt my head, squint at myself. Miyamoto elbows me. "Hey, Asapin, Wakato-sensei called on you."
Huh? "Thanks," I whisper back, and look towards the lesson again.
"Pay attention, Asaba-kun," Wakato says severely, and Risa gives me a sympathetic look.
"Sorry," I mutter, and normally I'd just roll my eyes at a teacher who called me off like that, but I'm actually interested in this stuff. I like art, and art class is fun, but I can't concentrate today. Wish I could, so maybe I'll start trying to harder, though that actually implies me working, which is a totally foreign concept, lemme tell you.
In a few minutes, Wakato leaves early. If it hadn't been first thing in the morning, I would have definitely made some crack about her going off to see her boyfriend. Or girlfriend, or whatever. Arisu-tachi and I are left to pack up our new supplies together. I think we're starting to form a sort of group, the five of us, albeit a very understated, weird one. We all have something in common, though, which probably should be linking us together.
"Oh, Asapin, I love your hair!" Arisu exclaims the moment Wakato leaves. "If that's what you're worried about, you shouldn't be."
"Really?" I blink. I'm actually unsure about this, I'm not pretending to be to get ego-boosting reassurances like people often do, like I've done so much in the past. "I mean..."
"It fits you," Chihiro says dryly. "Reflects your brains."
"Hey!"
I look at the others. Risa hands me something. It's a sketch of the new me, radiant streaks of color across her off-white canvas paper. "I like it too," she says, still a bit shy.
"Chihiro's right," Miyamoto nods. "Asapin's always been a dumb blonde in his soul, so why shouldn't he really be one now?"
I begin to stew in my seat. "Oi!" I protest. They all have a good laugh at my expense.
"We just tease you 'cause you're so cool, Asapin," Chihiro says, pushing her last pencil into her overstuffed bag and getting up. "See you, everyone. Kyo, tell Mamo-kun I said hi."
"Sure," Miyamoto says. "He's got a killer crush on you, you know."
Chihiro groans, stalking out dramatically and sighing, "Boys."
I leave the room with the others, checking my reflection in every surface I can find. Risa and Arisu leave for their room, but since Miyamoto and I are going in the same direction we walk together. Miyamoto's walking funny, since he got a bad hit to the knee sparring a few days ago. He feels compelled to fill our silence with words. I'm glad he's decided to give me a chance, but it's still kinda awkward.
"You know," Miyamoto says, taking on his I'm-your-knowledgeable-sempai tone, which I hadn't even known he had until now, "Arima's not gonna stop liking you if he doesn't like your hair."
My feet falter and I nearly trip over them, feeling meaningless syllables of indignation spill over my lips. Am I that transparent? "None of your business," I say haughtily. Miyamoto always gets me defensive, probably because even though we're kind-of friends now, he seems to consider my relationship with Arima his business. Sempai suck.
Miyamoto grins conspiratorially, and it's a sign of the state of our newfound camaderie that I want to hit him a lot more than I did when we were rivals. "Come on, I know you've got at a least a thing for the ice prince. After that incident we had, you can't hide it..." he trails off.
"So what if I do," I say grumpily. I wish he didn't know. I wish no one knew, or even guessed. "I don't care what he thinks about my hair!" I got highlights because I thought he might like them.
"If you like someone, you know," Miyamoto prods, a point of contention already old between us, "You shouldn't be ambivalent about it." I'm surprised I actually know what ambivalence is. "I know it's more complicated with friends, but initial feelings don't really indicate much. And even straight or crooked or whatever doesn't really mean much these days, neh? I'm just saying-"
"Oh," I snap, "Because all that worked so well with Tsuyoshi." Tsuyoshi's the guy he hated me over. Miyamoto's got a hell of a temper, so I thought he might try to hit me for saying that, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or annoyed that he doesn't.
"Whatever," Miyamoto says, shrugging. "I'm just saying the way you act with that guy isn't like you, Asapin." Like he knows me at all. "And," he grins, and sometimes he's too charming for his own good, "He'll like your hair, kid."
I hate it when he calls me that.
Class F went on a field trip by themselves today, so it's just Arima and I at lunch. It's raining pretty hard outside, sky a foreboding slash of charcoal, so we're all inside. Somehow, Arima and I have some classroom all to ourselves. I don't think I feel anything in particular about that.
Arima'd stared at me when he got his first good look at me today, and he stares at me now as I unpack my bento and sprawl out in a chair, propping my feet up on a desk dangerously close to his food. I don't have the patience to wait for him to say anything about it.
"So what do you think of it?" I ask, touching my highlighted hair to show what I'm talking about.
Arima keeps staring at me for a few more seconds, so long I become uncomfortable, shifting in the precarious position I've perched myself in, then gets up and walks behinds me, so he's standing above me and I'm staring up at him. "I like it," he says, runs a hand through it, color struck through by the flickering flourescent lights. "It's just like gold. The light makes it like the sun."
I feel that dangerous feeling in my chest again and try to squish it. I can't. I didn't know Arima ever talked like that.
"Thanks," I grin up at him, enjoying the feel of his hand caressing my head. "I got it because of you."
"Eh?" Arima says. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to stick out," I say, try to put my feelings through my smile, and feel so lucky.
I turn to snag a little octopus from Arima's box, and there's someone standing at the door, watching us. Her hair's the color mine was, honeyed dirty blonde, and I think for a second she's someone's little sister from elementary school, she's so small and cute. Her face is like a porcelain doll's, but the look on that face makes me uneasy, makes me unable to appreciate her like a normal girl. It's Arima's look, discontent, maybe, but more. She's angry.
Arima asks me what's wrong, and when I turn back to the door she's gone, just like some movie. But I know she wasn't a spirit or anything like that, so I'll probably be seeing her soon. She looks like a total brat.
Thank God Arima likes it.
Arima and I are walking to his kendo practice, cutting through one of the school's yards, when we meet the girl again. She's standing there, little face deliberately fixed in place, arms crossed under her diminutive chest. She must have followed us after we left Class A. I assume she's been waiting here for us.
I don't understand, though, why Arima smiles when he sees her, why he runs forward to where she is. He comes to a stop before her, laughs. "Hey, Tsubasa!" he calls down to her as I walk up to them, standing behind them.
"Hey, Arima," she says. Then, he does something that makes me nearly fall over. He hugs her!
"You're finally back!" he says. "I'm sorry, I didn't visit you as much as I should have. I didn't even know you'd be in school again this soon."
"It's okay," Tsubasa says, rubbing against his shoulder with her head like an animal would. She has the weirdest little-kid voice. She sticks her tongue out at me under his arm.
"Eh... explain?" I say weakly.
"This is Shibahime Tsubasa," Arima says. "Tsubasa and I went to the same middle school. She's kinda like my little sister." I wouldn't want my little sister to look at me like that. "She got into an accident skateboarding, so she's been out for a while. Glad to be back, Tsubasa?"
"Mm," she mutters, pouting as he releases her from his arms. "Sorta."
Arima looks inexplicably psyched. Yeah, I've got this feeling jealousy down pat by now. I should give people expensive lectures on it. I could write one of those self-help books about it, and make bundles of money, write about experiencing it to its fullest intensity, and what can be found there-
This is silly.
"Your best friend?" I ask slowly, just staying where I am.
Arima blinks. "Well, no, not really." He looks at me for the first time. "Tsubasa, this is my best friend, Asaba Hideaki. Watch out for him," he says wryly, "He's a really big womanizer."
I wish the happiness he's showing right now wasn't so pure and sweet. That girl... she's so pretty. I wish she was my sheep. I wish I could wish that. I wish that could be what I'm thinking right now.
Thus the introductions are made, and the positioning begins.
Some guy runs up and tells Arima practice is starting. Arima leaves with him, so it's just me and Shibahime. I don't dare to follow Arima with her there, and she doesn't go after him either. Instead, she turns and faces me, look on her face way too vindictive for someone so adorable.
"I like Arima," she says. "You can't have him. Leave him alone."
So what if she's known him longer? What does she take me for? Brat.
I take a step forward, and she sticks out a foot and trips me. I topple over and fall face-first onto the grass, taste dirt. She blows a raspberry at me and runs off, and it's in that way that the war begins.
I come to school early the next morning to lie in wait for her. I put on a classic disguise, fake glasses and nose and mustache, the works. I peer out through the limbs of a particularly large bush, the most strategically placed one available. There, she's walking up the path. She came early to school because she must have known Arima always does. Ah, perfect. Such perfection must have been engineered by the Gods, smiling down on me for my victory!
She's humming lightly to herself as she makes her way down the yard. Normally such a whimsical, feminine sound would soften my chivalrous heart, but I have no pity for the likes of her! Besides, her voice really, really annoys me.
The birds chirp, sun already risen and still slowly climbing up the sky, grass she felled me upon ready to become her home. I let myself laugh evilly for a second before launching into action. I reach into the barrel at my side and pull out a water balloon. Ah, a perfect toss!
A second, then impact. She lets out a shrill scream and is drenched, puny body thrown to the ground with the force of the impact. She looks up disbelievingly, then sees me and my bush. I jump out, barrel cradled in my arms, and laugh hysterically. Her eyes widen.
"Face the water balloons of judgment!" I yell, and begin to throw again. She hits the ground, but cannot escape their righteous fury. I crow in victory as she squeals again. I wonder if she's gonna cry.
In the blink of an eye, she's inched over to the other building, and- oh, shit. Is that a hose? Yeah, it's a hose. Shit. She lets out a feral, animalistic growl, and pulls the faucet down.
Thus the first battle of the war commences.
I get soaked, too! My ethereal beauty tarnished! This calls for revenge! I let the barrel drop, ducking behind it. Her eyes narrow. I jump out and throw another balloon at her with each hand, letting my ammunition scatter. That's right, I'm the only star who's needed on this stage! Hah!
It's just like a movie where people duck behind walls and shoot each other with guns, except we fight with water on this unusually cold day. Damn, I'm already frozen. She runs behind a corner, dragging the hose with her, and our two streams of water meet. I'd sooner die than back down now!
"He's mine!" I yell. Toss.
"No, mine!" she yells back, stubbornly. Hoooooose.
"Mine!"
"Mine!"
"MINE!"
"MINE!"
This could have gone on quite a while if something hadn't happened to stop us. An unknowing Arima walks up, swinging his school bag, right where we are- I try to stop my barrage, but they've already flown- Shibahime freezes, letting out a gasp of shock, and her hand clamps down on the hose, sending a huge spurt of water out, all on-
Yeah. Arima.
Arima can't even scream as a tsunami-size wave of water crashes down on him from both sides. He falls and doesn't get up.
Slowly, Shibahime and I approach, petrified. "I-is he dead?" I breathe.
"No!" he snaps, getting to his feet. "I'm not!" We both gasp at the look on his face.
He's completely fucking furious.
"What the hell were you two doing?" he bellows.
I scratch my head sheepishly. Shibahime manages to squeak out, "Uh, fighting over you?"
Arima whirls on us. "You two STUPID little-" Then he storms off, cutting himself off. Again, neither of us dare follow him.
Shibahime and I slowly turn to face each other. "It's all your fault!" I finally shriek.
"It's yours!" she growls.
"No, it's yours!"
"Yours!"
"Yours!"
It was in such a way that negotiations between the two hostile parties broke down even further.
"I'd sooner die than lose to you!"
---
Stirred by impulses that there's something I can do
It begins for me now, feelings searching for you!
Just like, predictable old books and movies are boring-
In real life, you have to make things a little more exciting!
This warm feeling is-
C'est la vie!
I want to become the best me possible!
C'est la vie!
I want to keep on loving you!
There's something right in front of my eyes
For the moment, let's just live!
Keep on running!
Why is it that people have but one chance to live life?
Why doesn't time stand still even for one second?
Just like, an unexpected someplace causes sores from the shoes on my feet
From time to time someplace in my heart feels pain-
I know I will find you-
C'est la vie!
I have my reasons for being myself!
C'est la vie!
You have your reasons for being yourself!
I can't see anything, but I want to see something
So I chase after you!
Predictable old books and movies are boring-
In real life, you have to make things a little more exciting!
This warm feeling is-
C'est la vie!
I want to become the best me possible!
C'est la vie!
I want to keep on loving you!
C'est la vie!
I have my reasons for being myself!
C'est la vie!
You have your reasons for being yourself!
There's something right in front of my eyes
For the moment, let's just live!
Keep on running!
Keep on running-
C'est la vie...