38. Studying
Alicia Blade
847 words
They were being so damn loud.
He would have loved to forget that they were out there. Would have loved to ignore their very existence, their unnatural presence, and focused whole-heartedly on the textbook in his lap. But it was simply impossible.
They were just so insufferably, obnoxiously loud.
He should have expected that, of course, when he'd offered to let them use his apartment for their planning. They had insisted it was the only place where they would have peace and quiet (ha!) and not be suspected and not be disturbed. Though they had not told Mamoru that he couldn't join them, he'd thought that this last statement was meant to keep him away.
Which was fine. He wanted nothing at all to do with the planning of Motoki's birthday party. In fact, he didn't even want them doing their planning in his apartment in the first place—he, too, was fond of peace and quiet—but they had begged him.
No, no, no.
She had begged him.
The others he could have resisted. The others he did resist. Until she had been brought into the equation and turned those bewitching, unfair eyes upon him, and pouted with those full, perky lips, and said his name. Not Mamoru-baka, not even Chiba-san. Just… Mamoru. And please. And we promise we won't disturb you… if you'll just let us… just this once… please… Mamoru?
How could he possibly have denied her?
And so here he was, alone, in his bedroom, pretending to study, as the girl's racket vibrated and reverberated along his hallway and assaulted his tender sensibilities and filled him with all sorts of crazy, inane thoughts that had absolutely nothing to do with molecular biology.
He had not cleaned in preparation for their arrival. His apartment was kept tidy to begin with, and he refused to treat this like an occasion. He had considered stopping by the store and picking up some donuts or fresh fruit or something, to play the host, but had written that off as caring too much. He did not want to seem to care. And when they arrived, he answered the door in his pajamas. He felt silly doing it, he had wanted to dress, and dress nicely, but his desire to create a sense of normalcy was even stronger. And so he let them inside, and ignored their awed cooing at such a nice apartment, such an amazing view. He had pointed out the kitchen and the bathroom and then claimed that he had a lot of studying to do and he would be in his bedroom if they needed him.
They did not ask him to stay. He did not invite the invitation.
But he did leave his bedroom door open, just slightly, against his better judgment. Even as the decibels rose, he refused to go shut it. Because there remained that silly hope constantly thriving at the back of his thoughts. This fantasy that she would see that open door and understand it for what it was. An invitation. A welcoming. A deep, intrinsic longing for her to come to him.
Which was purely ridiculous, of course. What, exactly, did he think would happen? That she would abandon the company of her friends to make her way back into the dark recesses of his apartment, to approach the troll himself, hidden away in his secluded dungeon, and… and what? Ask him where he kept the silverware, perhaps? Or if he had any markers? Or how to work the radio? It wasn't like she was going to come traipsing down here in the midst of their top-secret planning party and barge into his room and throw herself at him or profess her secret adoration or something equally absurd.
Frankly, he was embarrassed himself even for harboring that little seed of hope.
But it would not go away. And so long as she remained in his apartment, a single wall and a bunch of kitchen cupboards dividing them, her voice and laughter heard above all the others like a siren in his ears, he could not make the fantasy go away. And he could not make himself shut the door and shut all signs of her out.
And then, suddenly, inexplicably, there was silence.
A silence so loud that it drew Mamoru's attention away from his fantasies with a jolt of surprise. Ashamed, he realized that he had not read even a single page of his textbook, and falling back against his headboard with a sigh he recalled now, too late, the sound of the front door shutting as they had left, a sound that seemed intolerably loud, though it had not disturbed him at all at the time.
They—she—had not even bothered to say goodbye. He supposed his pretense of studying had been far too good for… well, his own good.
At least he had his peace and quiet back. At least he would no be disturbed for the rest of the day. At least he had been kindly returned to his solitude.
Yes. At least there was always that.
