Keep Your Mouth Shut

Really, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but these things just tend to happen sometimes, don't they? Wrong place, wrong time—that sort of thing. You know what I mean?

And what I overheard wouldn't really mean anything to anyone other than me, so I guess it's only natural that I happened upon it.

No, wait. That might be a little presumptuous of me. Sorry about that.

And it's not like I heard something I shouldn't have… What does that even mean, anyway? I remember Master saying something like, "There are things in this world no one should know," but why? Knowledge never really hurt anyone, right? I like to think that it's what you do with whatever knowledge you have that really matters. It speaks to who you are as a person, and all that.

I guess what I'm saying, simplified, is what you do weighs more than what you know. And I certainly hope so. Otherwise, every thought and fact in your head would weigh something, right? Would that mean that I'd weigh a whole bunch?

Oh, sorry. I got seriously sidetracked there.

Anyway, despite what anyone may think, I didn't orchestrate this. I don't know if I could, even if I wanted to. Sometimes other people are so unpredictable. Our minds just don't work in the same way, you know? Like how Person A and Person B can reach the same conclusion through two completely different paths. Unless you really know someone, and I mean truly know them, you can never guess their thought patterns with certainty.

That's the hurdle of finding a kindred spirit, I guess. You could always be wrong.

In this case, I don't think I'm wrong. It happened right in front of my eyes.

What is it… Déjà vu, right?

Yeah. It was happening in real time to her, but for me, I was seeing it through the past. It had already happened to me, anyway.

And honestly, it wasn't fun the second time around, either.

xx

I'm standing in silence for longer than I'd like to admit before I remember that I was listening to a playlist. I must've reached the end. It's no wonder there's nothing coming from my headphones. How embarrassing.

Well, maybe not. I guess it's weird to be embarrassed about something when you're the only one that knows. Can embarrassment exist privately?

Oh. Right. I'm in public.

But it's more like a sense of… what is it called? "Public solitude," or something like that? Like reading a book on a train, or listening to music from the top of a pedestrian bridge, which is my situation. So I guess my embarrassment is justified.

It's getting pretty late, so everything looks kind of orange. The foot-traffic is pretty light, too, for this time of day. Must be a dinnertime lull or something, but I'd be lying if I said the Yokohama streets were empty. There are still several people around, mostly high school students still clad in their uniforms. Going home.

I should probably head back soon too. It's been a slow day. I'm just wandering around, anyway. Maybe a few more minutes. I really should restart my music. The silence is kind of stifling.

I haven't gotten around to it yet as more people pass by, appear, and fade away. Including three girls that suddenly round a nearby corner and catch my attention. I wonder why, since none of them are particularly cute. They continue down the street towards the bridge I'm standing on. The three of them are wearing identical uniforms, and from my spot on the pedestrian overpass I can see a school crest on the front of their jackets. Looks like they attend that private girls' school about three stops over. Two of them look normal enough, while the third has bright yellow hair. A fake shade of yellow. Bleached, probably. She and one of the normal girls are having an animated conversation about something. They slow down as they get closer, and finally halt near the bottom of the overpass.

The first thing I can make out from their conversation is the normal-looking one whining, and her voice is so high-pitched that she's practically squeaking. "But really, that calculus quiz was ridiculous! We were just introduced to that stuff, what, two days ago? I can't believe it." These girls need to get out more, if school is all they have to talk about. What ordinary lives they must lead. Well, I guess that's a preference of some people.

The girl with fake hair responds: "Really. I bet the class average was forty-percent or something."

"Probably. I know I failed with flying colours." That voice. Even through my headphones, I'm fighting to keep a straight face.

"Same here."

"See?" And Squeaky Voice finally turns to the third girl. The quiet one. "What about you?"

"Oh. Yeah, me too." She's obviously lying, judging from the way her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, and the way she glanced off down the street. Looks like the other two didn't catch any of that, though.

"Really? That's surprising." Or maybe I'm wrong. Good work, Fake Hair. "I didn't think you were capable of failing." A grin sprouts onto her face and she steps beside Quiet Girl. "Don't you remember elementary school?"

Quiet Girl bows her head and says something like, "Please, don't."

But Squeaky Voice is already invested. "What happened?"

So Fake Hair laughs and keeps going: "Everyone was studying for a final exam and the teacher caught her daydreaming. 'Shouldn't you be studying?' and this girl looks her right in the eyes and says 'Why?'" Hah. A valid question. "I was laughing so hard that the teacher got mad at me instead!"

"Okay, that's enough." Quiet Girl grimaces and gives a glance in my direction. She doesn't seem too worried about me, though. Actually, none of them do.

Well, they've probably been ignoring me because my ears are covered by my headphones. But since I haven't had any music playing for a while, I can hear everything they're saying. It's weird how something like wearing headphones can make people ignore your existence. If I look preoccupied with my music, many people pretend like I'm not even there. Makes it easier to overhear things, I guess.

Wow. When I put it that way, it sounds pretty devious. Who knew? It's kind of fun.

Then Squeaky Voice starts laughing, and it's better than I could've ever imagined. My jaw aches from stifling my grin. I'll have to turn around at this rate. "But why?"

I'll try focusing on Fake Hair instead. "She said: 'We've been studying all year.' She left the teacher speechless!"

"We were kids." Quiet Girl mutters.

"You were serious!"

Squeaky Voice leans in. "Yeah, so did you fail, or what?" Okay. I think I'm getting used to how she sounds. As long as she doesn't laugh anymore.

A shrug. "She scored highest in the class, of course. What else?" Oh, really? Fake Hair is revealing you, Quiet Girl. "Without studying. Without even trying."

"If only it were that easy for everyone." Huh. Something about those last lines itches in my ears. I feel like I've heard those words before. Somewhere.

Why can't I place it?

An image flashes in my mind, but it's gone so quickly. Annoyingly quickly. Damn it, I can't grab ahold of it again. There's only a lingering smear of dark blue.

And a feeling… A feeling of ancient history.

Now there's yelling. Wait. No. There's actually yelling. I look down just in time to see Fake Hair snatch a sheet of paper out of Quiet Girl's bag. She holds it up to Squeaky Voice's face.

Quiet Girl is suddenly not very quiet. "Hey! What are you—"

"Are you kidding me?" Squeaky Voice interrupts. What a waste. Getting a quiet person to shout like that is pretty rare, but she completely ignored the opportunity. "A perfect score? Seriously?" Must be that quiz they were talking about earlier.

Fake Hair doesn't know whether to laugh or scowl. "I bet you didn't even study, huh?"

Quiet Girl has gone quiet again. "But I- No, I did-"

"Don't lie to me." She's suddenly livid. "What's the point of it? I knew there was no way you actually failed. You saying you did is just…" A breath. Her face untwists. "You know, I'm not as stupid as you think."

Quiet Girl's voice is so small I can barely hear it. "I don't think that."

Squeaky Voice practically convulses. It's kind of irritating. "But why else would you lie about your score? Don't want us to feel bad about ourselves and our poor grades?" Quiet Girl stays quiet. Squeaky Voice scoffs. My fingers twitch. "Thanks so much for your pity. We really appreciate it."

"I just… didn't want to stand out." And there's that familiarity again. I'm getting annoyed now.

Fake Hair narrows her eyes. "Well lying to me was a great way to accomplish that. What do you think you're doing now?"

But I still can't shake the familiarity. I re-form Quiet Girl's words, silently to myself, just to see if it will trigger my memory. The words fit uncomfortably well in my mouth. This is really annoying.

That dark blue colour is still hanging around too. Mocking me, I guess. With… high-pitched voices. Young voices. Yes, that's it!

Huh. No wonder it feels like ancient history.

"Give me that!" Oh! Quiet Girl is shouting again. She's stolen her paper back from Fake Hair, too. Let's hope she's not interrupted again. "It's stupid, anyhow! It doesn't mean anything! I did well, but so what? Who could accept any kind of praise for something so simple?" Again? I'm getting dizzy from all of this déjà vu. It's also pretty frustrating, but I'm no longer sure if what I'm feeling is real or if it's just a memory.

Fake Hair is not amused. "Simple, huh?" Quiet Girl suddenly looks terrified. "But still too much for us. Just out of our reach. Why should I be surprised? Of course it's simple for you."

Squeaky Voice doesn't notice the look on Quiet Girl's face. Of course. "We failed, remember? We're not allowed to call it 'simple'." I've decided that I don't like her very much. There's something about the way she leers that gives me an unbearable urge to punch her. Which is pretty concerning, since I'm not a fan of punching schoolgirls.

Maybe it's because of that familiarity. But if that's true, who do I want to punch so badly?

And Squeaky Voice just keeps getting louder. It's not helping my punching issue, but she does pull me back, saying something facetious like "surrounded by idiots who can't understand."

Fake Hair sighs. "Look. We've been friends for a long time, right? You're always like this. Why do you have to make everything so complicated?"

"I don't it's just… how I operate." Looks like Quiet Girl is still on the defensive. "It's on another level, I guess."

"You mean a higher level." Squeaky Voice scoffs, and I suddenly really want to punch her again. Something about "levels" triggers another feeling that I've heard all of this before. But I still can't place it!

"Wow. Okay." How thoughtful of you, Fake Hair. "I guess I'll never understand your reasoning, huh? After all of these years…" She laughs through her nose. "Sorry for not living up to your expectations." I hear those words in someone else's voice. Someone from far away.

And suddenly I can see a kid in dark blue, but it's like he's sitting behind a wall of dirty glass. I can't tell if I want to hit him or call out to him.

Or if… it is actually glass. The image is so dim, it could even be a reflection.

The memory swims away before I can figure it out.

Quiet Girl clenches her fists. "But I don't have any expectations! That has nothing to do with it! With any of this!"

"God, you're so tiring sometimes." Fake Hair mutters and waves her hand. "Go on and hide, then. I feel stupid just being around you." And that statement hits me just as hard as it hits Quiet Girl, although Fake Hair's voice is not the one that reached my ears.

… Oh. So that's it.

I finally remember why I'm suffering all of this déjà vu. I have heard this before. In a way. It was so long ago… maybe eight years or so. It's no wonder I couldn't remember. Or really, I never wanted to remember…

It's the same theme, but different words. "Conceited" comes to mind. Well, some of it is verbatim. That must be why I'm so uneasy.

Those long-lost days… Looking back, my alma mater really was an unpleasant place.

Quiet Girl stares at the ground. "Well… sorry. But all I'm doing is existing. I'm not putting forth any effort to make anyone feel stupid."

"Not even trying!" Squeaky Voice laughs. How obnoxious. At least now I know that it's not her I want to punch, but the kid she reminds me of. I can't remember his name. I probably didn't know it to begin with. "What would happen if you did try?" I recall That Kid asking me something similar. I didn't respond.

What kind of answer would work, anyway? Whoever asks a question that stupid… what do they expect anyone to say?

Quiet Girl gives the only answer I can think of. "I don't know."

And if Squeaky Voice and Fake Hair are anything like That Kid, they won't accept that for an answer. There is no answer. She could've said anything, really, because they'll just disregard it. They've already made up their minds. There's nothing Quiet Girl can say.

I think I realized that for myself back then, so I didn't answer That Kid when he asked me his question. He was just goading me. I remember studying my reflection in the window glass so I'd have an excuse to ignore him. It didn't work very well. But still, I stayed quiet. I kept my mouth shut despite the instigating and the words stacking in my head.

Now I wonder if that was the right move. But what else could I have done? I can't imagine it would've made a difference.

Him calling me "conceited" and vanishing into the folds of my memories has to be the best conclusion. That wouldn't happen if I had engaged him. From my perspective, That Kid doesn't even have a name, and an insult from some nameless silhouette is the easiest to ignore. Or forget entirely, in my case.

I really hate how that reduces to 'Defending myself would have just made it worse,' but at that time, I guess, it was what I believed. I'd say I was just picking my battles, but back then, I remember making a lot of silence. Docile and disengaged.

Just thinking about it makes me feel a little sick.

Squeaky Voice's loudness catches my attention. How long has it been? I haven't been listening.

Quiet Girl sighs. "Come on. That's stupid."

Fake Hair smiles some kind of freaky, angry smile. Do girls do that kind of thing often? "Sorry! But I can't help it! All I'm doing is existing, right?" She turns to Squeaky Voice: "I need some coffee. And maybe cake. Let's go."

Squeaky Voice nods. "Great! We can be idiots together." And so they leave. But of course, Squeaky Voice calls back to Quiet Girl from over her shoulder: "Sorry to bring you down." Ugh. She really isn't cute.

It's good to see that Quiet Girl has enough sense and self-control left to wait until they turn a corner before craning her head back and yelling at the sky.

When she brings her head down her attention goes straight to that sheet of paper. She doesn't move for a while. She just stands there, staring at the page in her grip. I can't see her face, but her hands are trembling. Then she crumples the paper. She wads it up until it's a tiny ball and tosses it high over her shoulder.

It hits me in the face.

I must've made a noise, because now she's gaping up at me like she just remembered I was standing here. The paper ball is held tightly in my hand.

Well, now that I'm roped in, I might as well say something. I pull my headphones down and let them hang around my neck. She's making panicked little sounds and half-words as I unbundle the paper ball and come down the overpass stairs.

"Littering is a pretty bad habit, you know." Eh. That didn't come out sounding as cool as I hoped it would.

Her face is so red I have to hold back my laughter. "Please… return that."

The creased paper in my hands is a quiz. I know that, of course. I was listening in to her and her friends' conversation. It would probably be strange if she figures that out, though, so I look over the quiz as if it's all new information. Calculus, like they said, and a perfect score. All neatly done, too. Looking at these questions, I can see why she called it simple.

Well, I'd have no trouble with it, anyway.

I'll whistle and pretend like I'm impressed. "You must be proud of yourself." I wonder if she bought it.

"Not really." From the tone of her voice, I can tell that she did not. "It doesn't feel right—being proud of something I didn't try to do."

"Oh?"

She brings a hand to her face. "But then just saying that sounds prideful too..."

"Just a bit."

"I… I know people think I'm conceited, but really I'm…" That word again. She changes direction. "At least, I don't think I am. I'm just a realist."

Oh, really? "So it's not that you think you're better—you actually are."

She recoils from that. "I didn't say that."

"You kind of implied it." To be fair, there's really no good way to word what she's trying to say, but her reactions are too lively for me to just leave it at that.

Ah, is that a little sadistic? I wonder.

"But that's not what I-" she stutters. Her face is even redder now. Oh, man. I'm grinning. I can't help it. She takes a breath and glares at me. "I am aware of where people place me."

"Oh, that's a good one." I point at her, and she takes the opportunity to snatch her paper back. My hands reflexively find my pockets. "It's like running blind and then finding out that everyone else has pushed you to the front." Huh. That doesn't help her glare. I'll shrug. That's unassuming, right? "Someone has to take that blow. There has to be a top, you know? Thank you for your sacrifice."

Wow. And I thought she was glaring at me before. "Shut up." I have to laugh. "You're… You're not wrong and it's annoying!"

"That sounds familiar."

A scowl. "I'm sure it does."

Everything around her is familiar. "Oh? Is it to you?"

She mirrors my grin. That's new. "You already know the answer to that, don't you?"

"I wouldn't say that. Why would I ask if I already knew the answer?"

"To keep from putting words in my mouth." Then she shrugs. "But really, you've already done that."

"I have? How careless of me."

"That's not how apologies work."

"Correct again."

"Enough."

"But are you surprised? It's familiar, after all." She doesn't respond. Looks like I cut too close. She's gone back to being quiet. "What a shame."

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience." And suddenly she's serious. Something's changed.

"Hm?"

"Earlier. That was clearly an insider's perspective." Oh, so that's what she means.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She ignores me. "It's why you're not wrong. You know."

"What do I know?"

"The implications!" She shouts. So much for quiet. "You were standing there the whole time, weren't you? You were there on the bridge! Even if you couldn't hear it you could still see what just happened!" A pause. What kind of look is that? Wide eyes, and her entire body is involved when she speaks. I guess this is what they call 'passion,' huh? She's looking at me—searching for something within me. Validation, maybe? "You know the implications of this quiz in my hand, and why I threw it away. It's more than just a passing understanding."

"What makes you say that?" My voice is annoyingly small. I clear my throat.

She smiles a bit. "Based on what you've said… call it a hunch."

I see. That's what she's after. Not exactly validation, but a kindred spirit. Huh. I guess I can see the appeal of it. "I did see what happened with your friends. It was pretty ugly."

She waves the quiz around, "I'll never understand why they place such importance on things like this."

My shoulders shrug. "It's a standard. Everyone wants to be above average, even if it's just in their own circle. Herd mentality, evolution, survival of the fittest, and all that."

"I really don't see how calculus has any animalistic advantages."

Hah, now who's downplaying? "Oh, come on. It's a metaphor."

"If you say so. A drive to be the best doesn't have any other advantages."

"No, not really. It's all perspective and self-esteem. A want to be the Alpha."

"Alpha, huh?" She smirks in some cynical way. "That sounds like shoving everyone else down in order to reach the top."

"Basically."

She looks at me again. Searching. "But I'm not doing that. At least, I don't think I am."

That's not the real problem. "If your friends were capable, do you think that they wouldn't climb over you to be on top?"

Another scowl. "At this point… no. I think they would."

"Exactly. But you manage to reach the top without feeling like you're doing that. You're not struggling—not sacrificing anything. That's something they can't even hope for."

"You make it sound so simple." Because it is. You're just too close to the issue to see it. "So 'just existing' is problematic too? There's nothing I can do."

"It's perspective, remember?"

"You just said that my friends see me standing above them without sacrifice. Without trying. How am I supposed to change that perspective? It's not exactly up to me." Maybe not, but that's not the point.

My hands are twitching in my pockets. She's frustratingly close. Looks like I'll have to push her. "They don't want to acknowledge it. They're not the only ones with perspective."

She ignores my hint. "But… can it really just be jealousy?" Come on, Quiet Girl. Though I guess I can't call her that anymore. "I can't help but feel at fault too."

"Well, that's because you are."

She doesn't like that response. "It's not like I think little of them or anything. I call them friends for a reason."

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. Like you said: you're 'aware' of where you are. But you don't think about what that means for them. To them, that's just like lording it over them."

"That's ridiculous." She stutters. Have you really never thought of it? "Why would I make an effort to seem conceited?"

There's that word again, and the déjà vu that comes with it. "That's just it, right? Whether you announce it or hide it, you're still conceited. There's no way to win."

"But it's just a stupid quiz. It doesn't say anything. It doesn't mean anything."

"Your friends didn't see it that way." And neither does she, since she's still stuck on it.

"It's probably because I called it 'simple,' but I've never had to try very hard on things like this." She shrugs like she's resigned to it. She's already given up on trying to not sound conceited. "Sometimes not at all."

"'Only those without talent ever exert any effort,' huh?"

"There you go putting words in my mouth again." She mutters. But it's her own fault. There's a fine line between being sure of yourself and being full of yourself, right?

"Saying something is easy while others are struggling forces them to see their own weakness." Those words are painful in my throat. I have a sudden urge to turn and walk away.

"Hmph. That's why I try to just stay quiet. If I don't say anything, no one will know just how loud it is in my head." She looks at the ground. Her smile isn't happy at all. "Looks like I'll have to start including my friends in that as well."

That makes something click in my head, and I'm frustrated that I can't place it. It carries that familiarity. "Hm… Then, will you ever speak again?" Maybe my voice was a little harsh. Meh, whatever. Her eyes flit over my face like she's searching for something. "If you constantly keep your mouth shut, when will you ever speak?"

A smirk. That amuses her? "When I can't take the silence anymore, I guess."

I can't help but laugh. "That sounds pretty dangerous."

"Compared to the alternative of not having anyone to be silent for, I'll take it."

I guess I can understand that, but "I still don't like it." She tilts her head. "They're your friends, right? That sort of thing," why is this getting caught in my throat, "it shouldn't matter." I suddenly remember that time Art yelled at me and laugh through my nose. "That doesn't mean they won't get annoyed with you every now and then, though. It all depends on your… zealousness, I guess." When I look back to her she's staring at me—no, through me. It's a look of understanding. I squirm without meaning to.

"I see." Is that all she's going to say? That kind of pisses me off. Whatever happened to equivalency in conversation?

Or maybe I just made that up. "You see?"

Her smile is strange. I… I can't read it. "Doing what comes so naturally, and doing it without holding anything back… That can be so easily misconstrued, can't it?"

Oh. That's not a smile. It's a smirk. It's my smirk. I'm not used to seeing it on other people.

"Unfortunately, people don't always appreciate such openness. Most of the time they just find it belittling… Uncomfortable." I'm not so sure about that. "No one enjoys putting their friends in that position. Holding back becomes necessary." Wait. What the heck is she talking about? That doesn't work. I should know.

I have to force myself not to scowl. "Downplay, huh?" Or playing docile. "That's not very honest."

She shrugs like she's so pleased with her reasoning. "Consider it a necessary evil. Where honesty is condescending… deceit is kind."

"What a load of crap." Oh, I slipped. Might as well go for it then.

"Eh?"

I'll look away from her so she can't interrupt. "You've gone ahead and assumed that these so-called friends of yours are so small-minded that they'll immediately and completely write you off for being better than them at something. You don't want it to be important enough for them to notice, but you're the one making it important enough to hide. So you decide to put all of this effort into making yourself seem smaller just to let them feel good about themselves. So they'll treat you like an equal… Are you sure you're not the one with the complex?"

"But—"

"It sounds to me like you're the one underestimating them. Did they ever ask you to look out for their self-esteem? What makes you think that they're so fragile? How can you assume that they're as petty as you? Because it's not their perspectives you need to worry about. You can only attempt to change them by changing your own."

"I…"

"Besides, anyone that can't see through their feelings of inferiority to the person standing on the other side isn't worth associating with, anyway. That also means that you can't end up doing the same thing. Walking on eggshells is so much work. It's impossible." Huh. I guess I've been holding onto that for a while. It feels like I have. That's a relief, although I've worked myself up. But she hasn't said anything back yet. When I glance down, her eyes are glassy. She's just gaping at me all teary-eyed. Biting her cheek and everything.

Oh, damn. I made her cry. I've made a girl cry. Damn it. Just when I was feeling pretty good about myself.

My hands come out of my pockets and hover in front of me. I wonder if that's some kind of instinct. Everyone seems to do it whenever someone starts crying unexpectedly.

If it is instinct, why does it never work?

She lowers her eyes. "You're right. It's not for them." Eh? What is she— "It's for me. I hold back for me." Ah, we've really reached the root of the problem now, huh? "I stay quiet because I… I don't want to be above them—I want to be beside them! I want them to speak to me like an equal. But what's wrong with that?" She looks back up at me with tears streaking her face. Still crying. Damn. "Why shouldn't I hold back if it lessens the distance between us? When they pull away every time I'm honest? As if I'm showing off... I don't want that to be all they see when they look at me. So I just… keep it in, and hope that they ignore it." My mouth is hanging open. But what does she expect me to say? This isn't something I can fix for her.

That feeling of déjà vu is creeping back too… It's ominous. I hate it.

It figures the next time she opens her mouth I hear my own voice come out of it. "I don't want to be treated differently. I don't want to be isolated."

Those words are like being punched in the jaw. I have no idea how long the following silence is. "It's such a burden, right?" I'm laughing, even though nothing about this situation is funny. At all. "If you don't want to be isolated, then don't isolate yourself. It's as simple as that."

"But it's not—"

"Everyone is grappling with their own issues. Yours are no more relevant than your friends'. The real trouble is finding people whose struggling complements your own." My voice isn't real anymore. Whose words are these? "It all lies in your intentions, and the thing about good intentions is that they eventually carry over. Usually." That's right, isn't it? Hah, who am I even asking? I shut my eyes, and I can still see an image of that kid in dark blue. His cheeks are rubbed raw. "They may never get over it, but… a friend will appreciate how open you are with them, even at the expense of themselves… You just have to be conscious of it sometimes." Again, Art's shouting crosses my mind and I laugh. It's real. Quiet Girl looks at me. She doesn't say anything. I think she's stopped crying. "They'll have limits. And you'll break them. They'll get aggravated, but forgive you anyway. Then you'll get carried away again and they'll yell at you. Friendship isn't stagnant. Life… isn't stagnant."

Another pause. I have nothing to say.

When I close my eyes again there's nothing but darkness. The kid in blue is gone.

She's rubbing at her eyes. No more crying. Good. "Ups and downs…" And her voice is her own again. "Balancing give and take, huh? I guess I should stop assuming so much… Yeah, I see what you mean. I call them friends for a reason, after all. If they put up with me… I guess I should have more faith in them."

"It's a burden, for sure."

"But it's… a worthy one."

"Oh?"

"I'm prepared to struggle for it, I think…. That's life. I think it's something I can handle."

"And you've decided that so suddenly?"

She rolls her eyes. "I'm willing to try. People can come to conclusions in an instant, you know." Looks like I broke through to her after all. "Besides… what else can I do after you've said all of that?"

"Oh, I wouldn't look too far into it. I'm nothing more than an observant bystander."

"What a lie," she laughs. I'm not surprised. "Keep deflecting like that and no one will know when to take you seriously."

I shrug my shoulders. "That's okay. I've never been serious in my life."

"No, you're just stubborn."

"How rude. That's not cute at all."

I can hear the grin in her voice. "That's okay. I've never been cute in my life."

I have to laugh at that. I'll let her have that one.

Someone's cellphone starts ringing. It's not my tone, so it must be hers. She digs it out of her pocket and stares at the screen. "Wow, it's…" Her expression says that it's one of her friends from earlier. I have to applaud them on their timing. She glances at me for some reason. Why the heck does she want my permission? Just answer it and stop being so hyper-aware of your own thoughts for once.

I lift my arm and turn to leave. I've wasted enough time here, anyway. It's almost dark. My wave is met with a nod and a smile.

I can hear her answer the call as I go. She and her friend exchange apologies, and there's the Happy End. Great. I feel like I just completed some kind of local service.

Ah, damn! I should've asked her to pay me for my trouble. At least enough to buy dinner... Haah, but running back just to say something like that would be so uncool…

Hmm, in that case, I wonder what Art's up to.

xx

Author's Notes— I've debated with myself for months about whether or not I was going to post this. Well. I decided the fandom could always use more of these sorts of fics, so here it is. Plus I had a lot of fun writing in Nice's voice. He's so everywhere, all the time. Such fun. I always enjoyed his monologues at the beginning of Re: episodes too. He's also my favourite character, so... I guess all of that's to be expected.

Anyway: This fic is slightly experimental and full of my feels on various things and themes. I tend to have more feels about this kind of stuff than I do ships… Oh well. This is one of those fics that I feel I needed to write. For the characters' sakes as much as my own. Now on to other things! (Yes, Hamatora oneshots are still a problem and they're still clogging my brain.)

And of course, much thanks to the lovely syviki for doing beta things!

Remember that impressions, critiques, and incredulous stares are always welcome!

I'll just be here with my face buried in my hands,

-Destiny