It's amazing how quiet a noisy train can be when the sound of your heartbeat thumping in your ears drowns out the rest of the world.

I wasn't a romantic. Hell, that should have been obvious from the start. They say you are what you do repeatedly, and I'd spent my high school career thus far rejecting anything that might be remotely considered eros – I was more than happy to leave that sort of venture in the hands of the opposite gender. I was logos incarnate. I held the banner aloft on behalf of those who had been repressed by the sparkly, rose-colored existence that contaminated our vision on a daily basis, leaving us with barely any time to feel sorry for ourselves. Someone had to speak out, even if no one would listen, and I had been appointed – albeit by myself – to do just that. Viva Hachiman!

And yet, as I felt myself drowning in the watery, honey-colored irises that sucked my spirit into its viscous embrace, I found myself unable to say a word. It didn't help that my ears, plugged with blood as they were, could scarcely believe the oscillations of air that had just passed through my ear canals. I heard the words, but I could not stand to listen.

Allow me to take you back to the good old days of around ten minutes ago. Before all this simultaneously life-changing yet ultimately unimportant nonsense happened. Before I became aware of something that my subconscious had been trying to tell me for weeks, but never managed to summon the strength to break through my veneer of unconscious – and conscious – denial.

Ka-chak. Ka-chak.

The train trundled forward without a care in the world, pushing rhythmically against my feet as it made its way along the worn-out and well-beaten rails. It was just past rush hour, and our carriage, though populated, was nonetheless spacious enough for us to stand without having to squeeze together awkwardly. Which, as you might suspect, would have caused a number of problems.

The fact that the other three happened to be girls was the least of those problems.

After all, there were more pressing issues at hand, and even if none of us said anything, the unspoken understanding between us, coupled with the tangibly heavy and somewhat depressing atmosphere casting a cloud over our faces and postures – as well as the sky outside, judging by the ochre urban glow reflected against the night sky – was more than enough to keep the words we wanted to say lodged uncomfortably in our throats.

I'd never had a problem with speaking my mind. I lived and breathed the sort of earnest, blunt, straight-arrow approach to things that made me easy pickings for the fake, manipulative, self-important people that I called my schoolmates. If I suffered from a lack of perspective, then they suffered from a lack of humanity. There was nothing genuine about the words spoken by the masks they wore, and I prided myself on being the first to see through the lies of the puppeteers. No one could get through me – and trust me, plenty had tried.

But I digress. In any case, if anything productive was to come of this quietness, then it would have to happen soon.

Bzzt. "Next stop is: Kaihinmakuhari Station." Click.

Yukinoshita, who had been staring intently at the floor as though a kitten had been laying there and licking its paws contentedly, perked up and glanced around at us. "Looks like we're getting off at the next station."

"Seems like it." Yuigahama, ever the compassionate one, wore her distress plainly on the sleeve of her thick winter jacket. Her mouth remained slightly open, as though she wanted to say more, but ultimately she figured it was not her place to offer any substantial words of comfort. Not yet, anyway. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night's sleep and some time to think. Her lips eventually closed and pressed together tightly, turning the pale pink color white.

It was my stop, too. Which meant that the only one left on this train after the doors hissed shut would be her, the reason behind all this awkwardness. The mischievously innocent, clumsily calculating, naturally flaxen-haired girl I had the misfortune of calling my underclassman.

If no one would say anything to Isshiki Iroha, then I would have to. As usual.

"Isshiki, I'm gonna get off at the next one too," I said as I turned to her, trying my best not to betray any particular or inappropriate interest in her next move. "What about you?"

Isshiki didn't move, instead continuing to stare out the window at the blur of buildings, cars, trees, and people whistling by, a blur that was slowly but surely coming into focus as the train's unrelenting advance began to decelerate.

"Isshiki?" I pressed. Having received no response, I snuck a peek at the other two. Yukinoshita was looking at Isshiki, a perennial sigh etched across her icy features. Yuigahama, on the other hand, was staring towards me, and as she caught my gaze, the slight crease between her brows deepened.

The train drew near Kaihinmakuhari Station, and the platform eased into view. Within moments, the doors would open, and we would disembark, leaving Isshiki alone to dwell on her sorrows.

Unless, of course, something convinced me to do otherwise. Which it did.

"Senpai," mumbled a wavering voice.

I turned again to find Isshiki's arm outstretched, her slender fingers latched onto my sleeve. With her other hand, she held up the bag of goodies and souvenirs she had so enthusiastically procured from Destinyland. Yet her willingness to hold on to me was not matched by her willingness to look me in the eye, and all I could see of her face was a pair of trembling lips.

"These bags… are too heavy."

I looked at the bags – or rather, the bag, as there was only one. It was small, patterned with the fancy, multi-colored livery of Destinyland, and could surely not have held more than half a kilogram or so of goods. If Isshiki really found a load of that size heavy, then I pitied the tendons in her arm muscles, because they surely must have wilted and died long ago. And indeed, the cynical and sardonic part of me, a part which more often than not took center stage, was about to say so.

The other part of me, that burgeoning, sappy, frustratingly soft, yet also strangely sentimental portion of my psyche, held my tongue and extended my arm out towards hers without so much as a hint of hesitation.

"You must've bought too much stuff," I said, lifting the tiny bag from her grasp. Her own arm remained static, hovering in mid-air even without anything to hold, as though she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. The plastic handle rustled as I curled my fingers, the lingering warmth of Isshiki's grip meeting mine.

A smile gradually spread across Yuigahama's features. "Maybe this would be for the best," she commented, raising the pitch of her voice near the end as though unsure whether what she had just said was a question or a statement. If she was going to say something like that, it would at least be ideal for her to make up her mind about it.

Yukinoshita immediately took on a look of concern. "Isshiki-san," she said sternly. "Please exercise all possible caution." She pointedly refused to look at me, making it patently clear who – or what – she was referring to.

Really? A jibe like that was all she could come up with in the circumstances? Though knowing her, it might not have been all that much of a joke to her mind. Even now, after so much time spent together, it was difficult to know exactly what she thought of me. Our interactions could chiefly be described as a love-hate relationship, but without any love involved. In other words, mainly just hate, then.

Whatever she thought of me, I was wholly convinced that she was wrong. Well, maybe not wholly. There was no smoke without fire, after all.

The doors slid open, and the two largely unconcerned parties stepped onto the concourse, followed closely by what seemed like the entirety of the train's other passengers. They had done their part. Isshiki and I were left to stand there, alone in the carriage, unsure of what would happen next.

Yuigahama looked back at us and nodded. Then, as the doors closed again, she caught up to Yukinoshita and disappeared into the rest of the crowd.

Isshiki sighed. "Well, that sucked."

She and I had found a seat amongst the numerous vacant ones now available. We remained a healthy distance apart, close enough to look like friends, but not close enough to look like anything more. And far be it from me to suggest otherwise.

I knew what she was talking about. How couldn't I? It had been hard to enjoy the fireworks with the sight of her looking upwards desperately at the object of her affection, almost screaming what she felt like she needed to say amidst the din of the cacophonic display of sparks and sprays dancing above her head. Even more so when she had dashed past us, hand in mouth, an iridescent sprinkle of tears trailing in her wake.

Falling in love is a double-edged sword. You can never know peace until you've confessed, but when you hear the apology and see the shake of the head, you almost prefer the erstwhile restlessness. Still, it was hard to feel sorry for someone who'd checked the weather forecast but refused to bring an umbrella and ended up getting drenched.

"I mean, like I said." I wondered what tone of voice I should adopt with her. I didn't want to hurt her feelings more than was necessary, but a little voice inside me kept shouting, "I told you so!", and I was nothing if not a man of many voices. "It was never gonna work out, knowing him."

"Yeah, but I couldn't really help it, could I?" Isshiki whined. "It was just so perfect. The setting, the words I said, the way we looked at each other… everything was the way I'd imagined it. Except the ending, anyway."

Was Isshiki always this emotionally-driven? I didn't think she had it in her. "That's kinda surprising. I never thought you'd be the type to just rush in like that without thinking, or let the mood get to you. That doesn't seem like you."

"I was surprised, too," she replied, twiddling her thumbs as she spoke. "I thought there'd be a little more… calmness. Level-headedness. Something like that."

I snorted. "That's what you get for always pretending to know so much about love, and making a show of being experienced about these things. Maybe you should've-"

"I wasn't talking about me, Senpai. I was talking about you."

I frowned, bemused by this sudden twist in the conversation. "About me? What do you mean?"

Isshiki flashed me a half-smile, as impish an expression as she could manage at the moment. "Who wouldn't be moved after hearing something like that? I know you like your speeches, but even for you, that was… on a whole new level."

"Okay, now I really don't know what you're talking about."

"You know…" She let out a contemplative breath and leaned her head back onto the window behind her. "I don't always like putting up a front of being the Isshiki Iroha that everyone knows. It's exhausting. But it's become a little bit of a habit, and it smooths things over with people, so why not? Even so… I wanna find something genuine. Something that's true to me." She turned to me and winked. "Just like you do."

"Oh, man." Now I knew. That heartfelt, yet in hindsight unbearably embarrassing diatribe against the haplessness of my situation – our situation – back then was the last thing I wanted to think about right now. Yet it seemed I'd had an unintended audience alongside my intended one – that is, if there had been an unintended audience at all. "You… heard that, huh?"

"Sounds carry really well in the corridors, you know. Especially the sound of someone yelling their heart out."

"Yeah, no. I'd rather you forgot about that."

"No can do." She grinned, but then abruptly reverted to a more serious face. "I won't forget it. I can't forget it. Especially not after I tried taking my first steps towards something truly genuine. Something I thought might really be my own."

And look how that turned out. Life really has a way of kicking you when you're down. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, you know… um… just don't sweat it too much. Look at it this way – it's not your fault. You tried your best, didn't you?"

Isshiki immediately recoiled, a familiar look of mock disgust distorting her youthful guise. "Eh? What's this all about? Are you trying to take advantage of my being sad just so you can come in and try to fill the gaping hole in my heart? That's pretty devious of you, Senpai, and while I have to admit my heart did skip a beat, I just can't do it after all. I'm really sorry about that. You know I am."

"No, I don't think you are." I waved a hand dismissively. "Enough of that already."

"But I mean, it's not really over yet, if you think about it," she continued, ignoring my retort with practiced ease. "If you think about it, this could possibly be a better way for me to get closer to Hayama-senpai. Now that everyone knows that I confessed to him, and that I like him, they might give me a wider berth to go after him. That way, I won't have to worry about rivals, or annoying people, or anything else that might get in the way."

Well, talk about a U-turn. It was comforting to see Isshiki return to her typically conniving self, though I had to admit it was also equally comforting – in a friendly and definitely not sociopathic way, of course – to become privy to her vulnerabilities just for that briefest of moments. Above all, it meant that she trusted me more than before, which was nice to know. "Right…"

"Also," she added hurriedly, "now that he's rejected me, he's bound to be more aware of me as a person, right? He rejected someone who gave their all into confessing, so he'd probably feel pretty sorry for her, wouldn't he? He'd take more care when talking to me afterwards, so he'd be more sympathetic to my feelings, right? In other words, this screw-up is just a stepping stone towards something greater. Yep, that's it! So, next time, I'll try… I'll try…"

A hiccup, and a tear pooling at the corner of her eye.

There it was.

"I'll try… hic… try harder next time… hic… so, you know… if I don't do my best, then… then I'll…"

The dam was burst, and the pool became a stream, one that Isshiki could not keep from flowing despite her efforts. As she rubbed her eyes, she blinked as hard as she could, yet that only served to paint small dark specks on the seat between us.

I was at a loss. What was someone meant to say to a girl who'd just been rejected? Should I act like her buddy and go, "He didn't deserve you anyway"? Or was it better to give it to her straight and say, "That's just how it is"?

As with most things, I suspected the answer lay somewhere in between. In the end, all I could really do was settle for the middle ground and profess my quiet admiration of her abilities, perhaps in the same way that Hayama had done for me. She had gone somewhere that I, in my current state, would never dare to set foot towards. It was the least I could do to tell her so.

"You're kinda amazing, you know," I said quietly. "And… I think I appreciate this side of you better."

"Don't talk like… like it's not your fault I'm like this right now, Senpai." Isshiki wiped away the last of her tears, though the remnants still glistened on her cheeks. "This is on you."

"Come on." I couldn't resist bleeding a little indignation into my voice. "I know I talked you into becoming student council president, but this and that are-"

In an instant, she closed the meager gap between us, leaning towards my stunned face, lapping up my shock as she stared into my eyes, barely inches from her own, her nose and lips one jolt away from brushing against my cheek, her warm breath tickling the errant hair falling around my ears. Her arm pressed onto mine, and the heat of her skin became a blazing inferno that set my shoulder alight. I had no time to react, but I'd had no desire to pull away in the first place. Isshiki had an uncanny ability to do what you least expected of her, and she had taken even me, a self-proclaimed stoic and steady-handed person, by surprise.

In that moment, I was beholden to an emotion that I refused to understand.

"You'd better take responsibility, okay?" she whispered.

"How… how would I do that?" I breathed, unsure of what else to say. That sort of vocabulary was usually reserved for someone who'd… well, you know. And knowing me, I would likely dig myself into a hole from which there was no escape if I tried to make sense of what Isshiki was saying. Better to let her joke run its course, then attempt to calm my frantically beating heart and hope that the blush overtaking my face and ears would soon be alleviated. She enjoyed my reactions as only someone like her could, and I was determined to give her as little joy in that respect as possible.

One second passed. Then two.

By the third second of silence, I was positively panicking. Forget staying still – I was just about getting ready to run away, before realizing that we were still on the train, and there was essentially nowhere to go. Though if the window behind me had by some miracle opened up, I wouldn't have been totally averse to leaping out and onto the tracks.

Amidst all this turmoil, Isshiki continued smiling, still just one push away from easing her entire face – and body – onto mine.

"W… what?" I muttered. "Is there something on my face?"

"Nothing," she chirped, the tears on her face having fully dried up by this point, leaving only the teasing countenance that I knew so well. "Just wondering what I should get you to do."

"I haven't actually promised you any favors, you know."

"Don't be a miser, Senpai. You owe me for getting me into this mess," she replied with a huff. "The least you could do is make up for it. Here, let's do this. We'll make it fun." She held up three fingers. "I can think of three things I want you to do, and each of those things matches with one of my fingers. I won't tell you what they are until you've picked a finger. Got it?"

I raised an eyebrow. Knowing her, none of them could be anything good. "I hope there isn't anything weird in there," I grumbled.

Her voice took on an almost singsong tone. "Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows? C'mon, Senpai, don't bail out on me now."

"Fine, fine." I scrutinized the three fingers, as though reading the creases at each joint might somehow allow me to divine what Isshiki had in mind, but all I could derive from my investigation was that she had some very thin fingers. Was she actually eating properly?

"I pick… this one." With a flourish, I pointed at her ring finger.

"Oh. That one." She sounded a little disappointed, but when I looked up at her, I was immensely surprised to find that her own cheeks had taken on a tinge of red. It took me a while to realize that it wasn't disappointment she was feeling, but actually something approaching embarrassment.

Her, embarrassed? Perish the thought. Yet it could really be nothing else.

"Well?" I said.

"Well what?" She tilted her head innocently, as though not understanding my confusion.

"What did I pick?" I poked her ring finger, and she instinctively drew her hand away. "Oh, sorry."

"You'll… you'll find out tomorrow!" She shot out of her seat and hurried towards the nearest doors, which were now wide open. In my reverie, I had failed to notice that her stop had arrived, and I could barely summon the strength to lift my numbed limbs up and chase after her. She'd caught me in her trap, hook, line and sinker. What the consequences of that were, I would simply have to wait and see.

"Meet me outside the family restaurant near the station after school!" she called as she leapt out of the carriage. "Bye, Senpai!"

"O… Okay…" I eventually held up a hand, but by then she was already long gone, having vanished down the stairs towards the turnstiles. And just like that, the train – and the world at large – seemed empty again, her parting words reverberating around the recesses of my beleaguered mind. She was a force of nature, a whirlwind that pulled in everyone around her, but there was always a method to the madness. At least, there had been. Now, I truly could no longer tell what she was thinking.

A prickling sensation on my thighs made me look down. There, hanging over my knees, were two bags of stuffed toys, accessories, and assortments of other items. I chuckled as I realized what that meant.

"How silly of her," I said aloud to no one in particular. "She left her baggage with me."

As she always did.

A/N (14th December 2021): Having translated some chapters for the Monologue manga, and having written fanfics for a few years, I decided I would try and combine the two and write a fic for Oregairu. It's not exactly going to be mind-blowing, as my knowledge of the entire story is limited to the manga and some of the anime, but I will do my best to make something worth reading. (So, please go easy on me!)

This story starts after Iroha's rejection by Hayato, and takes a slightly different turn from there. I tried to put my own twist on how this particular section of the original story unfolded, but from here on out it'll pretty much be AU. It's also going to be about my favorite girl from the series (as you probably guessed), so if you don't particularly like her, it may be time to turn away. Or not, depending on how well you think I've written this. In any case, it will be a nice way to practice writing something I'm not totally familiar with.

Until next time.