simpler than fairy tales.
Kise is standing outside the classroom in the morning, grinning boyishly as he converses easily with a pair of girls. Mitsuru hears them stammer the words "fans" and "autograph" as she passes by, and repeats them to herself in her head—fans, autographs, fans, autographs—until she sits down at her desk, stacking her English books in a neat pile in the center.
She's surprised to realize that she's never thought about it seriously: about the fact that she is, indeed, always in the same room as a famous person—a person famous enough to merit fans and autographs. The thought becomes more and more foreign to her as she thinks about it: famous, because an entire country decided he had the physical characteristics to advertise clothes and makeup and cologne; famous, because he was tall and muscular and boyish; famous, because he had a pretty face.
But beautiful? Mitsuru asks herself, thinking of Yuzu's question. Is Kise Ryota beautiful?
She pushes the question away as class begins. The teacher announces a page number in their textbooks to turn to, but instead she picks up her pen and carves the kanji for truth into the corner of her notebook, tracing it over and over until the word dents all the way to the back page.
Gym class, they play soccer. Mitsuru is doing pretty well by using her special style: staying clear away from wherever the ball is and avoiding both the opponent's team and her own equally. She stands off to the side, her arms tightly folded as she shivers in the not-quite-warm spring weather, letting her eyes follow the ball back and forth across the field.
At halftime, she turns to watch another class running relay races. She thinks she sees Kou with her typical scowl, racing like a Tasmanian devil across the muddy terrain. As Kou pumps her arms furiously, holding the baton in her left hand, she wonders if, had she tried, she could be as good as Kou-chan at sports—or maybe even Kise-kun, the basketball genius…
She scoffs at herself. Impossible.
When she turns back around, she realizes something is flying toward her face. Still, it doesn't register until it's only two meters from her head—the soccer ball. Panicking, she twists around, lifting her arms to protect her face, but somehow the rest of her body doesn't follow her brain's lead and she finds herself falling to the ground as a sharp pain runs through her ankle.
The next thing she knows, she's staring up at the cloudless sky. Her ankle throbs dully, but it's not unbearable. She has a secret for pain, and for feelings: Pain is imaginary, she tells herself, as she always does when she gets a paper cut or a scraped knee: It's all in your head. It doesn't hurt, right?
Sure enough, the pain slowly fades; still, she can't bring herself to stand up. And even if she could physically, she realizes it would be impossible with the growing crowd around her, half-chanting, half-wailing her name: "Mitsuru-san! Mitsuru-san, are you okay? Oh my god, did you see her fall?"
She glares at her ankle, like it's her body's fault. Thanks, she tells it telepathically. This is what I wanted. More attention.
"Mitsuru-san!" someone shouts, cutting through the low murmur, and everyone turns to see Kise Ryota running toward her. "Are you all right? Jesus, I'm so sorry—I keep doing these things to you—I don't know what's wrong with me, I—" He stops and breathes, pounding his head with his fist. "I'm sorry. I'm so careless. Let me—please let me take you to the infirmary."
"No, it's fine," Mitsuru begins, grabbing one of the girls' hands as she attempts to stand up. "I think—it's just a little twisted. I'm not hurt."
"Mitchan," the girl says carefully. "I think you should listen to Kise-kun. It's swelling up, and it's not pretty."
Mitsuru looks down to see for herself, but the sudden movement causes her to stagger forward, and she feels her head collide with someone's face. She gasps and jerks her head up to see Kise, clutching his nose with a pained expression.
"Ow, Mitsuru-san," Kise says, but she can hear him restraining laughter. "That was a headbutt. It actually hurts."
"Kise-kun!" the girls wail collectively, and suddenly the crowd around them is deafening. Mitsuru winces and ducks her head, looking for a way out of the mob. "Kise-kun, are you all right? Is your face okay?"
"Yeah, Kise," laughs one of the boys, "is your million-dollar model face still flawless?"
"I'm fine, but it stings." He pauses. "I'm going to the infirmary," he declares, like he's announcing some grand adventure. "You'll lead the way, won't you, Mitsuru-san? As an apology? I might faint if I go alone…"
She frowns. His yellow eyes are watching, challenging.
Sneaky.
She rubs her eyes and gives in, sighing resignedly. Kise drapes himself over her shoulder, limping overdramatically to make the PE teacher roll his eyes and disperse growing crowd; but with each step, she can feel him shifting their weight so that it's really him supporting her.
By the time they reach the infirmary, she's practically levitating because Kise is holding her up, and when she looks up to say something, he only grins at her with that brilliant smile and she loses her words in a heartbeat.
Which came first, Mitsuru asks herself as she and Kise stand awkwardly in infirmary, shoujo manga or real life?
These are things that would never happen to a typical girl in a typical world: things that are too coincidental, too romantic, too… Yuzu-like for reality. As Kise rubs the back of his head, looking around the empty room, Mitsuru sighs softly and seats herself on the bed, pushing away the white curtains.
"I don't think sensei is here," Kise says. His eyes are wide and surprised, like he's sincerely amazed. "I don't see her."
He turns to look at her, but Mitsuru ducks her head behind a curtain of her thick black hair just before he can meet her eyes. "Yeah," she says. "I don't think so, either." She turns toward the nurse's desk and opens a few drawers, digging through room-temperature ice packs and boxes of Aspirin before she finds a package of bandages.
She holds them up triumphantly, showing Kise, who peers at her curiously. "You seem to know this place well, Mitsuru-san," he says, a hidden question in his words.
She only shrugs and picks at the tape on the Band-Aid box until it releases. "Aa," she agrees, pulling out one of the strips. She holds it up to the light, squinting, and makes out the image of Puella Magi Madoka Magica, holding Kyubey in her arms, in the orange light of the sun. She holds back a giggle at the thought of Madoka casting spells on Kise's face before putting it back and selecting a plainer one.
He's still looking at her questioningly, so she gives an uncomfortable shrug, forced to go on. "I have accident-prone friends," she says simply, and thinks of Kou, who injures herself at least twice a week while participating in her many sports; and Yuzu, who seems to have the uncanny ability to draw sharp or heavy objects to herself, like dictionaries on her toes and thumbtacks in her fingers. "The type that wouldn't bother to take care of themselves if I didn't do it for them."
Kise watches her. "Are you taking care of me, too?" he asks her. Conversational, innocent, friendly.
But she stills, and doesn't meet his gaze. You brought me here, she almost says, but doesn't.
Instead, she motions for him to sit on the stool before her, which he does obediently. She's glad he doesn't pressure her to answer his question, and busies herself taking his face in her hands, focusing her attention away from his yellow diamond eyes. "Nothing seems broken," she says, her voice wavering for some reason as she turns his head left and right. She clears her throat and tries again. "And you're not bleeding, Kise-kun. I don't think you had to come."
Mitsuru quickly releases him, her fingers burning.
"Well, you did," Kise says. Mitsuru swallows, looking out the window and waiting for him to turn away. But he doesn't; and, frustrated, Mitsuru finally turns to look straight back at him with a frown.
They sit that way for several ageless seconds: Mitsuru, on the edge of the bed, one hand gripping the bandages and the other coiled in a fist, resting on her knee between their bodies like a weapon; and Kise, smiling amiably, his yellow eyes piercing through layers and layers of the otherworldly dimensions his presence itself created, through the air and through her skin and into the depths of her soul.
Mitsuru squirms, but can't bring herself to turn away. Kise Ryota is dangerous, she thinks; dangerous because he doesn't seem like it.
"You have strange eyes," he says finally, to break the silence. "Pale."
She frowns. "That's kind of rude."
"Aa…," he says, and laughs, boyish and warm. "I didn't mean it that way, Mitsuru-san."
"You don't have to say 'san,'" she says suddenly, and then immediately regrets it. She's read enough shoujo manga to know that's a big deal between girls and boys—it's just that she doesn't talk to a lot of boys, and almost everyone she knows calls her "Mitchan." "I mean—" she says quickly, and falters, wondering why she's even trying—like there's even a chance to fix this. "I mean, do whatever," she finishes lamely.
That's worse than what I started out with. What's this, some tsundere crap? she thinks miserably, and realizes with horror that she's blushing in embarrassment. Well, if it wasn't tsundere before, now it's definitely tsundere.
When she looks up, she realizes that Kise is staring at her with the most amused expression. "What are you thinking about?" he asks in a tone that means he's restraining laughter. "You look like you're holding the essence of cold fusion in your lungs."
"That doesn't even make sense," she mumbles, and turns away from his gaze. "Did you fail chemistry?"
Neither of them says another word after that. Mitsuru doesn't look at Kise's face again, keeping her eyes outside the window at the white-white clouds, her fists clenched beneath her skirt as Kise takes the cloth package and wraps it expertly around Mitsuru's ankle. She mutters a quiet thanks when he's done, throws out the wrappers on the ground, and gives him a bow before hurrying out the door.
She can feel his eyes on her as she leaves. Mitsuru is a coward, but she is safe.
A/N: This was supposed to be a lot longer than it is, but school and the homework load started, and the chapter is already late as it is -_-;;; I can't believe I actually thought I'd be able to keep up a regular schedule for this story T^T
PS. KUROBAS SEASON 2 IN TWELVE DAYS SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMM
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