Unknowingly, Hikigaya Hachiman reciprocates.

Mornings were never my strong suit. The fact that I rolled out of bed and slammed my face onto the floor only reinforced that notion.

I groaned pitifully. My nose was hurting, my forehead was hurting, everything was hurting. Geez, just my luck. The only thing that could have made my morning even more awesome was if the bookshelf fell on top of me.

I snickered. Even if I was crushed to a pancake, I'd still have more curves than Yukinoshita. Pancakes are exceedingly more alluring than ironing boards, after all. Hehe—ouch. It hurts to laugh.

The sound of my bedroom door opening alerted me to unwanted company. Hurriedly, I glanced over to make sure my porn stash was hidden, sighing in relief when I found my magazines masterfully concealed under my bed's mattress. Not today, rom-com gods.

"Onii-chan? Are you okay?" Komachi's familiar voice announced itself as she peeked into my bedroom. "I heard a loud thump."

"I'm fine," I quickly replied, getting myself upright. "Just fell out of bed."

Komachi sighed, disappointed. "Yeah, that sounds like you. Though, knowing you, I'm sure you're used to embarrassing yourself by now and took the fall like a champ! Oh, I bet that one earned a lot of Komachi points!"

I rolled my eyes. That's my little sister. The most adorable little devil I knew.

Komachi's eyes parked up visibly, as if she remembered something. "Oh yeah, Onii-chan, I forgot to ask, but shouldn't you be hustling to school right about now?"

I took a glance at my clock, thinking I might have overslept. Thankfully, I was still on schedule. "No. Why?"

"Aren't you supposed to be managing your classroom's cultural festival?"

Huh? How'd she know about that? Was there a mole amongst my group of acquaintances?

"Who told you that?" I'd only been managing the class for a couple of days now. Had the rumors finally gotten to her?

Striking a cutesy pose, she winked in my direction. "That information is classified, Onii-chan!"

That sly little... whatever. It didn't really matter. I'm sure she would have found out sooner or later. Komachi has this uncanny ability of knowing where I am and what I'm doing at any given time. Her Onii-chan sixth sense, I guess I could call it.

Grumbling, I got to my feet. Komachi continued off of what she said before. "To be honest, I was really surprised when I found out! You hardly ever exert yourself for anything, much less for something like the cultural festival!"

"Yeah, well don't get used to it," I replied, rubbing my neck. "This is a one-time thing."

She pouted. "Aw! Why's that?" Hey, don't try to guilt trip me. That's below the belt.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I was forced into volunteering."

"Forced?"

Grabbing a fresh pair of undergarments, I made my way to my bathroom. "It's a long story."

While Komachi didn't appear satisfied with my explanation (or lack thereof), she seemed to respect the fact that I didn't wish to discuss it with her. "Whatever you say, Onii-chan. Breakfast will be ready soon, so hurry up and shower, 'kay?"

I gave her a curt nod, and watched as Komachi skedaddled out of my room, shutting the door behind her as she left. I felt much more at ease knowing that Komachi hadn't decided to press on about my situation at school. At the very least, she was less intrusive than most of the other people I happened to know. Though, her gossiping habit was definitely something I wished she wouldn't partake in as often as she did.

I showered quickly, threw on my school uniform and made my way downstairs. I was doing good on time so far—I'd normally try to squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep, but my head was still ringing a bit after my little fall, so that was out of the question. I really hoped that wasn't an omen of things to come. With all of these unfortunate events befalling me of late, I was well overdue for some good luck.

Komachi had just finished setting the table. Two plates of eggs and toast sat opposite of each other. My little sister had apparently decided to go with something conservative and easy to make today, probably to preserve her energy. I'm disappointed, but proud at the same time.

Komachi noticed me walking in and beamed. "Good timing, Onii-chan! Maybe you're not as much of a slob as Yukinoshita-san says you are!"

Taking my seat, I rolled my eyes. "Why would you listen to anything that delusional rich girl says in the first place?"

Komachi took her seat across from me shortly after taking a trip to the kitchen to wash her hands, and after saying our thanks, we started eating. The eggs, as I had expected, were phenomenal. After all, Komachi had years to acclimate her cooking to accurately suit my tastes. Anything less than sensational was unworthy to be called my wonderful little sister's cooking. I was definitely spoiled, in that sense.

Silence ensued over the table for an extended period of time. Not that I minded—any time spent eating should have been solely dedicated to silently appreciating the cook's work. Filthy casuals who spent their time talking over a hot, delicious meal were directly disrespecting the effort poured into the food itself. Such a lack of respect was entirely appalling.

Of course, I'm not implying that the social plebeians had any respect towards others to begin with. That'd be giving them way too much credit. But that's another topic for another day.

"Onii-chan, are you alright?" Komachi pulled me from my thoughts, giving me a cautious look from across the table. "You have this gross look on your face. I'd appreciate it if you would stop, I'm trying to eat."

Damnit, that Ice Bitch really had started to infect Komachi. I'd have to have a little chat with her about tainting my sister's naïve and innocent mind.

"I'm alright," I replied, albeit a bit despondently. "Just got a lot on my mind, is all."

Komachi seemed intrigued. "Ooh, like what?"

"Why are you so interested?" I decided to go for a wary approach. A curious Komachi was a dangerous Komachi.

"No reason," Komachi countered, trying her best to manage a stoic expression as she took a bite out of her buttered toast. "Say, Onii-chan?"

"Hm?"

"How's Kawasaki-chan?"

My eyes narrowed. "Okay, now I know you're up to something."

She frowned in accordance with my suspicions. "I'm just wondering!"

"Mhm," I took a quick swig of orange juice. "I'm sure you were."

I was content just to leave it at that, but Komachi pressed further. "Well, how is she?"

"How is who?" I played dumb. In turn, Komachi pouted.

"Kawasaki-chan! Stupid Onii-chan!"

Hostile now, aren't we? And I had just praised you earlier for minding your own business.

"She's doing fine," I gave her as simple an answer as I could manage. I wasn't willing to disclose the entirety of my "relationship" with her to Komachi quite yet. "Why are you so fixated on her?"

My little sister looked around sheepishly, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have. "N-No reason. Like I said before, I'm just curious... you two have been spending a lot of time together, after all."

The moment she finished talking, she covered her mouth. The damage had already been done, though.

"Komachi," I started slowly. "How do you know that?"

"U-Um..!" My sister's eyes frantically looked for escape. "I don't know anything! J-Just a guess!"

Seeing Komachi flustered set off a flurry of red flags in my mind. It was obvious that she was hiding something, but that very fact in itself was troubling. My little sister rarely decided to keep things concerning me in the dark—so much so that it was almost unnatural whenever she did attempt to conceal something from me. I was her most trusted confidant, after all.

Something had to have been wrong with her. Was she sick? Had Yukinoshita unknowingly affected my dear sister with some incurable disease? As much as I'd love to acknowledge (and trademark) the existence of "Yuki-germs", that scenario seemed rather unlikely. Which only meant that someone else was informing my little sister, and giving her false delusions.

Wait. She had been talking about Kawasaki, right? There are only a few people on this great green earth who know about my part-time job with Kawasaki, and both of those aforementioned individuals are in the Service Club. But Yukinoshita, abominable as she might be, is most certainly not the type to spread that sort of information out randomly. And, as much of a ditz as she is, neither is Yuigahama. That should rule them out.

Then, who else? Isshiki Iroha could be a possibility. But then again, what good reason would daddy-cop have to tell her daughter that I work at a bar? For an alcoholic police officer, he seems pretty capable of keeping things quiet. Besides, even if Isshiki had somehow learned of my new pastime, what reason would she have to tell Komachi?

If it wasn't them, then who was it? Those are the only three people who could have possibly known and tattled to Komachi. There wasn't another person on this planet who could have possibly—

Wait.

How could I have forgotten?

Kawasaki Saki... has siblings.

One of which happens to be of similar age to my little sister.

"Komachi... have you been talking to any bugs recently?"

Komachi looked confused. "Huh?"

Oh, that's right. Unfortunately, that abhorrent insect had a name.

"Sorry. What I meant to ask was, have you, by chance, been conversing with..." I was having trouble even saying his name without scowling. "... Kawasaki Taishi?"

Her eyes immediately widened, giving me all the confirmation I needed. Looks like I was going bug-hunting later this weekend.

"B-But, Onii-chan!" Komachi frantically tried to redeem herself. "You told me that you'd gotten a job at some grocery store in town! Not some high-end bar!"

"Because you have no business knowing that I work there," I shot back with a disappointed gaze. "And if I would have told you, you would have wanted to come. Which, by the way, you are absolutely not permitted to do under any circumstances."

"I know, I know," Komachi grumbled. "But still, you should have told me that you were working with Kawasaki-chan!"

For what felt like the millionth time that morning, I asked, "Why?"

"So I could hook you two up, of course!"

My stomach felt a little weird at the mentioning of that. "Hook us up?"

"Yeah! Taishi-kun and I are all for it! We just need you two to—"

"You know what, never mind." I interrupted. I didn't need to hear where this conversation was going. "I don't care. Stop talking about it, please."

It came out a bit angrier than I had intended it to. Maybe I was still a little grumpy from falling out of bed. My voice rarely rises above a set amount of decibels, especially in the morning. Komachi knew that well.

Thankfully, Komachi seemed to get what I was trying to say, and relented. "Well, if you insist."

"Also, don't tell go telling people about my job. I have no idea why that inse—er, Taishi decided to pass that on to you, but you aren't allowed to disclose this information to anyone. Got it?"

A nod. "Got it!"

I half sighed and half groaned. Just great. This was the absolute last thing I wanted. Now I had Komachi trying to scheme some way to get me popular with people through my job. I love her to death, but this is too much.

I needed to find a way to silence anyone who knew about my job. Hell, at this rate, everyone in town would somehow know that Hikigaya Hachiman was working—underage, mind you—at the Angel Ladder. Not only would that shine a negative light on me, but it would shine on Kawasaki, too. That was something I absolutely couldn't afford to bring about. She trusted myself and the Service Club with her secret, and I wasn't willing to haphazardly betray her trust.

Of course, ensuring all of the witnesses' silence was much easier said then done. I'd somehow have to—and it makes my skin crawl to even think of this— get close to Kawasaki's brother and convince him to shut his yapper. And, sometime in the near future, I'd have to have a discussion with Isshiki about my job as well. She was bound to coerce that information from someone sooner rather than later.

Though, Isshiki had been mostly M.I.A. as of late. That whole faking to be a good student council president must have been taking up a lot of her time. That makes it all the more difficult to get ahold of her. Typical.

Honestly, this was such a pain. Not only was my school life a disastrous mess, but it seemed that my personal life was starting to quickly follow suit.

"Hachiman," Komachi meekly called from across the table. It must have been serious—she hardly ever used my real name. "Are you mad at me?"

I'd been expecting this. A question as old as time itself had finally revealed itself. Though, the way she said it made me feel like some sort of disappointed, doting parent. Well, our relationship was never really much of a traditional "brother-sister" one to begin with.

Was I mad at her? A hodgepodge of emotions were swirling through my head, but anger at her wasn't really one of them. Disappointment? Yes. Irritation? Most certainly. These things came with little sisters, after all. I already knew that plenty well.

But I knew that Komachi was just doing her best to look out for me. Sure, it was a pretty stupid thing to hide from me. But we were both pretty stupid. We're Hikigayas, after all.

I stood up, at the surprise of my little sister. In a few short strides, I made my way over to her side of the table. We stared at each other for a few short seconds, my own rotten eyes staring into her glistening, innocent ones.

Then, I sighed melodramatically.

"As if I could stay mad at you," I said with a tiny smile. "You're my precious little sister, aren't you?"

She brightened instantly. "Of course I am, you dummy! And don't you forget it!"

All's well that ends well. Komachi was, in most cases, rather easy to handle. If only the rest of my life was that simple.

I took a glance at a nearby clock. Right on schedule, with a few minutes to spare.

Turning to collect my finished dish, I made to wash my plate. "Hurry up and finish, we should be heading out soon."

A coy smile formed on my sister's face. "Ooh? So eager to see your girlfriend this morning?"

"I have no such thing. Shut up and eat."

"...I know a couple of people willing to change that, you know..."

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir!"

I used to think that riding my bike to school would, inexplicably, make me popular.

That was another product of my wishful, naïve thinking from when I was younger. I'd read about it in health magazines and manga, back when it was still a fad, and had automatically assumed that if I were to arrive at school in a shiny metal steed, that I'd have been topping the social hierarchy in record time.

Of course, I was immediately disappointed upon learning the truth. For one, I wasn't even able to show off my bike on the first day of school (thanks, Sable), putting me at a disadvantage from the get-go. Secondly, I was surprised to learn that I was one of roughly a dozen students who actually bothered riding a bicycle to school. I was understandably confused, until I had learned that the magazines I had been taking popularity notes from were published around two years prior to me reading them.

It didn't take long for me to discern the truth concerning bicycles. I was still as inconspicuous as I always was when I rode one, and if I was noticed by someone whilst riding one, it was so that they could mock me for using such an outdated means of transportation. "He can't even afford the public transit? What a broke, hopeless loser!"

Despite these continuous jeers, I never found a reason to give up bicycling to school. For one, it was faster than walking, and less of a hassle than having to sprint to school, were I ever to be short on time before the first bell rang. On colder days, the wind in my face felt nice, and the leisurely pace I could ride with was oddly refreshing. It was pretty good exercise, too.

In somewhat of a weird way, my bike was like my best friend. It had been there for me since day one, through all of the ups and downs (mostly downs) that the school year continuously threw at me. My bike didn't interject its worthless opinion needlessly, or try to offer some half-hearted advice to me. It just rolled its wheels and rang its bell, silently understanding all of my hardships and grievances without me having to utter a single word.

Is it sad that an old and outdated inanimate object is my closest ally? Perhaps. Is it impractical? Not in the slightest.

Standing outside of the school building, I wished that I could have somehow kept my bike with me during class. The building sense of dread spreading within my bowels was making me feel uneasy. This had been a regular occurrence since I had taken up the position of project manager, and had persisted for quite awhile. Maybe I really was allergic to working.

I gave my old friend a pat on her worn out handlebars, as I set gently her against the bike rack. Farewell, my sweet. May we reunite soon.

The walk to class was slow. Well, slower. Rushing to class was a rather pointless endeavor in my eyes. Rushing anywhere was a rather pointless endeavor in my eyes. Rushing to a place you very clearly didn't want to be in was a fool's errand.

Thus, I had taken to indulging in many more detours on my way to my class. Stopping for water breaks, using the restroom, taking different flights of stairs, that type of thing. As it would happen, these journeys by the wayside had expanded my knowledge of the school to a greater extent—whether that was for better or worse remained to be seen, but it at least gave me some quiet time alone with my thoughts.

After my third stop by the water fountain, I decided that was enough stalling for one morning. Hiratsuka was still very much on my case about the whole manager thing, and being punctual was a high point on a very long list of expectations she'd forced on to me. Typically, I'd do my best to ignore these expectations, but as someone now in a position of "power" (I use that term extremely loosely), I had to set a good example.

The journey back to my class was painstakingly short, and as I neared the entrance, I could already hear a commotion from inside. That was hardly ever a good sign. Sighing, I gave a mental count to three, before sliding the door open as quietly as possible, attempting to draw as little attention to myself as I could manage.

Oshino was the first to spot me from across the room, roughly a half second after I had opened the door. He had a habit of arriving to school much earlier than I did during his off days, presumably just to get to know my classmates. The class absolutely loved the guy, so it wasn't too much of a problem, at least for them. "Top of the morning, Hikigaya-kun! How are you?"

Ugh, early morning conversation. The very bane of my existence—well, the second biggest bane to my existence. Yukinoshita had sole possession of first. "Fine."

Oshino, however, seemed intent on having a lengthy discussion about nothing with me this morning. "Fine? Surely there's something you're looking forward to on this glorious day!"

I could practically feel the admiration and awe oozing from my classmates as they stared upon my employer. This must have been where crappy animation studios got the idea for the concept of putting exaggerated heart eyes on high school students. The people before me looked about as ridiculous as those anime characters did.

"Is there something you need?" I prodded along, dropping my school bag off near my desk. Oshino normally didn't egg me on this much unless he needed me to do something for him.

The sneaky bastard gave me a genuine smile. "Yes, actually! Hiratsuka and I were wondering if you would go down to the crafts room to help Kawasaki-chan with decorations. She said that she would do it alone, but it's nice to have some supervision, you know?"

I had actually been expecting much worse. Oshino was allowing me to skip class, as well as my managerial duties, just to help someone I actually tolerated set up streamers and balloons? It almost felt too good to be true.

"Is that all you need?" I asked him, still a bit wary. Nothing ever went this well. Not ever.

"Yep, pretty much," Oshino nodded enthusiastically. "I'll be sure to keep things in order on this front. You just make sure Saki-chan isn't in over her head!" Oshino then turned back around to face my classmates, resuming some conversation I must have inadvertently interrupted upon my entering.

It was a tad ironic. Since he had arrived, Oshino felt more like the class festival manager than I ever had. Of course, given his natural charm and charisma, no one really had a problem with him telling them what to do. People tended to listen to him more so than they listened to me. Even when I made the rare attempt at suggesting something, it usually deviated from something that Oshino had already said.

But, I had very little qualms with this change in circumstance. For the first time ever, I actually felt okay being used as a puppet. Less work was a welcome acquisition in exchange for a bit of my pride.

Inwardly, I chuckled dryly. Even though I'd been adamant on telling him only to guide me through the managerial process, he'd gone ahead and pretty much taken the reigns from me entirely. And I wasn't going to do anything about it. Typical.

I promptly exited my classroom, leaving the sounds and activity behind me as I meandered my way over to the crafts room. It was on the other side of the school, and was hardly ever used, the rare exceptions being for preparation before graduation and the occasional meeting place for the art club. I wouldn't be surprised if the room was empty, exempting Kawasaki.

Briefly, I wondered as to why Kawasaki had insisted on making crafts by herself. Though she was more than skilled with making clothes and accessories, I hadn't ever really known her to be a very artsy person, given her demeanor and schedule. Maybe she had a secret gallery of paintings or sculptures that I didn't know about? The possibility of finding a few clay statues of her many siblings within the confines of her room didn't seem very farfetched in my mind.

A few silent minutes had passed, and I found myself closing in on the room's entrance. The hallway was vacant, amplifying the sound of my footsteps. I wondered if Kawasaki could hear me getting closer. She probably wouldn't even know it was me. I quietly entertained the idea of scaring her upon entering the room, before discarding the idea just as quickly. I wasn't really in the mood for a black eye this early in the morning, especially from someone I was on relatively good terms with.

I slid open the door, and sure enough, I was greeted with the sight of Kawasaki working quietly in the middle of room, fiddling with some streamers and markers. She had headphones plugged inside of her ears, and still hadn't noticed me walk into the room. The thought of scaring her again crossed my mind, but just as before, I squelched the idea.

Before I could move any further, her eyes suddenly became aware of my presence, and she faced me with surprise. So much for stealth, I suppose. She probably hadn't been expecting any company, let alone me. A part of me hoped that she wasn't too disappointed.

Tentatively, I made to address her. "Uh, hey."

If she was at all concerned with my sudden entry, she wasn't keen on showing it. "Hey. Good morning, Hikigaya."

Her response had been pedestrian enough, and so I took that as a sign that I was welcome. Slowly, I made my way over towards a free seat a comfortable distance away from the blue-haired girl, plopping myself down. Kawasaki turned her attention back towards the streamers she'd been decorating.

The crafts room was everything you'd expect from a room called the crafts room. Multiple drawers containing coloring utensils aligned themselves along the walls of the room, each drawer sporting a different bright color. A few abandoned canvases stood near the back of the room, alongside a plethora of paintbrushes and color pallets that littered the marble floor. A plastic skeleton's head covered in paint marks and a lazily drawn on mustache enjoyed its faux decease silently, next to an overflowing trash bin near the emergency exit.

Already bored with looking at the room (why had I decided to leave my bag and phone in the classroom?), my eyes unconsciously drew themselves towards Kawasaki. She'd already graduated from streamers, and was now focusing on coloring a large poster adorning practically every color in the rainbow. After angling myself to get a better look, I was able to make out the words on the large graphic—"Formal Ballroom Dance in Class 2-F! Come well-dressed and ready to be blown away during the Cultural Festival!"

In all honesty, I thought the design was decent. Were I a normal person, I might have gone as far as saying that it was the perfect poster for the cultural festival. Being that I wasn't a mindless sheep, while also acknowledging that perfection didn't exist in any plane of reality, I resorted to quietly staring admirably at Kawasaki's work.

Kawasaki, coincidentally, had apparently caught my staring, and a somewhat sheepish look crossed her face. "Yeah, yeah. Cheesy, I know. But as long as it gets attention, it shouldn't be much of a problem, right?"

"Have you always been like this?" I inquired, a bit randomly. Judging by the girl's confusion, I made to clarify. "Artsy, I mean."

She leaned back, placing the markers in her grasp on the table. "Originally, no. Arts and crafts were never really my thing back in the day—I was always running around, flinging mud at other kids, getting into fights, the usual." She chuckled dryly. "Girly stuff like that was just never all that appealing to me. It still kind of isn't, even today."

Her eyes then seemed to temporarily gloss over, as if she were reminiscing on a time long ago. "Though, I can't say that I wasn't jealous. All the other girls could make such creative, pretty drawings, and color them in so neatly—I could hardly draw a straight line. My drawings weren't ever praised by my teacher, and more often than not they were laughed at. I already hated my classmates, but seeing them mock something I put actual effort into made me want to bash their heads in even more."

I noticed her hands subconsciously clench, and her eyes narrow the tiniest bit. In that moment, she looked like the girl she'd been when I had first met her—standoffish, untrusting, and angry. Before I even thought of consoling her, however, she reverted back to the present, releasing the tension that had been building within herself.

"But, it's whatever." She conceded, a rare sight for someone like her. "Why pay attention to anything that brings you down? Just ignore it and move on. It can't hurt you if you don't care about it."

It very clearly wasn't "whatever". She obviously didn't sound very enthused to have to revisit that particular chapter of her life, especially considering that it served to remind her of what she was like when she was younger. Not a lot of people enjoying talking about the bad parts of their childhood, so I honestly couldn't blame her for it. My past wasn't exactly rainbows and gumdrops either.

Though, it was a bit surprising to hear that little portion of her past from her. I certainly didn't peg the girl to be the sentimental type. Then again, I didn't peg her to be any type that wasn't "delinquent" up until a few weeks ago.

Kawasaki, apparently remembering the gravity of what she was saying to me, tried to backtrack. "Oh, um... I'm sorry. For that."

"For what?"

She became increasingly flustered. "For, you know... telling you all of that. I'm sure you have better things to do than to listen to my life story."

Shrugging, I replied. "Not really. I never really listen to a lot of things anyways. You're one of the few people I'm okay with giving my attention to."

"Huh?" She looked a bit surprised. "Aren't you in a club where the only thing you have to do is listen to other people?"

"There's a big difference between listening to other people, and understanding other people." I decided to enlighten her. I figured it was about time I shared some of my teachings with the girl across from me. I'm sure she was the only one willing to take what I had to say to heart, anyways.

"Wow..." Kawasaki's eyes narrowed in contemplation. "That's actually... not totally useless information." Of course it isn't. Do you think someone as great as I would dawdle in the learnings of trivial, needless concepts and ideas? You disappoint me, dear pupil.

"So, what's the difference?" Kawasaki was apparently intrigued. "Between listening and understanding."

"Well..." I took a moment to think. No one had really asked me that kind of question before. "... you can listen to pretty much anybody. Your parents, teachers, friends, even your pets. They say something to you, you comprehend it, formulate a response, and vice versa. So as long as they say something to you, and you say something back that is somewhat related to what the theme of discussion was, that can be labeled as listening." Kawasaki nodded attentively.

I paused briefly. "But... understanding someone goes beyond just comprehending words and sentences. If that makes any sense."

"It doesn't," The girl across from me stated bluntly. I made to elaborate.

"Well... put it like this. Say a teacher you kind of don't like is rambling on about something you don't really care about. They talk, and you listen, jotting down a few notes and making eye contact a few times, but nothing more. Just getting down the basic summary of what they're trying to convey. You hear what your teacher is saying, and you're comprehending the main basis of the lesson, and that's it. There's no effort put forth into going into the finer details of what he or she might be trying to teach you."

"And that's... just listening?" Kawasaki inferred.

"Bingo." I affirmed, before continuing. "Understanding someone goes beyond that. Let's say a close friend of yours just experienced a super painful breakup. He or she has tears in their eyes, their voice is hitched and weak, but they say that they're fine. That everything is okay. Would you be inclined to believe them?"

An immediate shake of the head. "Of course not."

I was glad that Kawasaki was catching on quickly. "Therein lies the basis of understanding one another. Anyone who was simply listening to that person would shrug it off and believe them—because listening is based off of words, and words alone. If you understood that person on an emotional level, you would know that they obviously weren't okay. You could make an assumption about their wellbeing from their facial expression, tone of voice, mannerisms, etcetera. Understanding is more intricate than simply listening. It's about looking underneath the underneath, and basing a response on whatever you find."

I leaned back in my chair. My throat was a little dry from all the talking. "Of course, understanding goes past just looking at someone and examining them. If you yourself had experienced a breakup, you could go back and reflect on how you looked and acted, compare that with how your friend currently is, and make a judgement off of that as well. You could also try just engaging in some simple conversation—just to get an idea of how the other person is feeling. There's more than one way to go about understanding a person, and there's no definite 'right way' either. It's simply based on you and the other person. Make sense?"

Kawasaki had brought a hand to her chin, and looked to be in deep contemplation. Was what I said really that profound? Maybe if the househusband thing didn't work out, I could try my hand at public speaking. That's a growing industry, right?

"I think I get it..." The azure-haired girl finally murmured, mostly to herself. "So, by your standards, understanding is bred through... friendship?"

"Ugh, don't say it like that," I blanched, cringing internally. "You make it sound like something from a kid's manga."

While Kawasaki looked partially bewildered by my sudden outburst, I made to clarify. "Though, I guess technically speaking, yes. Understanding primarily comes from... frie... friendsh... friend... the F-word."

The girl frowned. "You really do hate all things positive, don't you?"

"You're just figuring that out? Do you know who I am?"

She ignored my jab and kept going. "So, you only listen to the people who request help in the Service Club?"

"Precisely."

"Why?"

"Understanding requires effort," I replied casually. "And frankly, I have better things to do than invest myself in petty love quartets and Christmas parties."

"Like what?" Kawasaki scoffed. "Reading that perverted light novel you always carry around with you?"

"How does everybody in school know about that?!"

Her stoic face remained intact as she continued to barrage me. "You're not even going to deny the fact that it's utterly and entirely perverted?"

"..."

"..."

"... it's not perverted."

"It's too late to defend yourself now, dumbass."

I quickly tried to change course. This was just getting embarrassing. "I-In any case, nothing you say will make me care about whatever the people who come to the club have to say. It's worked for me thus far, there's no point in changing anything."

Kawasaki sighed, half in resignation, half in agreement. "Yeah... I guess you're right. Even I have to admit, some of the requests I've heard you three receive are more than a little ridiculous."

"Right?" Finally! Someone agreed with me! I never thought I'd live to see the day!

"Though... that better exclude my requests." Kawasaki crossed her arms in a dignified manner. "I'm sure you understand that my predicaments are far more serious than anything else your club has handled."

I wouldn't go as far to say that it was the most serious request we'd ever received, but I decided to roll with it. "Uh.. yeah. Definitely. One-hundred percent."

Her eyes narrowed, and her tone turned icy. "Don't tell me that you haven't treating my situation with extreme caution."

"Of course I am," I replied in as calm a manner as I could manner. "You... were totally at the top of my priority list."

Though, it appeared that my attempt at consolation failed, and her demeanor only further worsened. "Were? What are you trying to say? That I'm now not something for you to worry about? That my situation is whatever? Do you even care about what I have to go through?"

Now she was angry? But we just had a lengthy discussion over the secrecies and in-depth components of what separates the two primary forms of communication! I had given her my knowledge, and in turn, she'd given me her emotional outbursts? This has been the worst trade deal in the history of trade deals, maybe ever.

"Look, Kawasaki... I never meant to—"

"Stop, stop," The girl interrupted me mid-sentence. I was confused slightly, and only more so when she, of all things, smiled playfully at me. "It's just a joke, Hikigaya. Relax. I'm not really mad."

I felt my eyes knit together. "You were... joking?"

"Uh... yeah." Kawasaki noticed my awkward expression, and her grin disappeared almost instantaneously, replaced by a look of equal nervousness. "Um... I'm sorry if it wasn't funny. I was just thinking... since you deal with girls getting mad at you over stupid stuff all the time... gosh, I really shouldn't have done—"

"No, no, it's fine," I decided to console her attempt a little. Partially to cancel out the secondhand embarrassment I was feeling. "I just... didn't really expect that from you."

"... really?" She almost sounded disappointed. "You don't expect jokes from me?"

I decided to be honest in this situation. No use lying to her. "Well... not particularly." I saw her face drop, and for whatever reason, I suddenly felt obligated to at least make my answer a little less rude. "But, I'm just surprised, is all. I didn't think that you were comfortable enough around me to share jokes."

"Of course I'm comfortable enough around you." She answered with little hesitation. She apparently noticed the oddity in her response, and quickly tried to explain herself. "I-I mean... we work together, and we don't really have any issues with each other. Plus, you walk me home... and... you're a pretty nice guy, too..."

She trailed off on that last line. What was with this girl? She had been acting a little strange of late, but this was probably the strangest I'd seen her in... well, ever.

We fell into another awkward silence. Desperately, I looked for something to help alleviate this uncomfortable situation, before I remembered the entire reason that I came here in the first place. "So... the poster..."

That seemed to do the trick, as Kawasaki snapped out of whatever funk she was, and turned to me, poster in hand. She looked glad that I had changed the subject. "Oh yeah... actually, I was going to ask for your input on something. I was thinking about using these colors for the letters, but I tested some of the other colors and..."

We spent the next hour or so discussing possible edits to her designs, and put the finishing touches on any loose ends that we may have missed. By the time we had finished, the streamers were decorated and sorted neatly, all the posters were ready for printing, and the tablecloths had been cut and arranged to Kawasaki's liking.

We sat, partially exhausted, on the floor, taking sips of bottled waters that Kawasaki had thought to bring. I hadn't imagined that interior design and decoration could take so much out of you. The fact that Kawasaki had prepped most of this by herself was quite impressive in it's own right.

Taking another hearty swig of water, Kawasaki pushed some rebellious strands of hair from her face. "I think we're done."

I flexed my hand. It had gotten sore from having to color in all the streamers. "Okay then. What's next?"

To my surprise, the girl shook her head. "That's it. We're done with everything."

My eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really."

It took me a few seconds to process that. "Oh... okay."

"Yeah, I know," She seemed as surprised as I was. "I thought it would take me till at least the end of the week to finish all of this. This is only, like, my second day of doing this."

"Wow," I repeated. "Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

She smiled softly in my direction. "I guess we do."

I felt obligated to thank her for all the work that she did. While I didn't necessarily like working, I felt that working people weren't as rewarded and celebrated within society as they really should have been. They had to put up with a lot of crap from other people, and did it on a daily basis, with little to no recognition for it. As someone who knows quite a bit about the aforementioned crap people can force upon others, dealing with that kind of stuff is certainly no easy feat.

Personally, I felt that Kawasaki was the physical incarnation of the working class people. She worked, kept quiet about it, and went about her day in about as regular and average a fashion as one could manage to pull off. Sure, she had a bit of temper and flair to her personality, but considering everything she had dealt with, it was well warranted.

Slowly, I stood up. "Hey, Kawasaki."

The girl had just tossed her bottle in the trash can from about ten feet away. "What's up?"

"Wanna go grab a bite to eat?"

It was Kawasaki's turn to look perplexed. "Huh?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. This was becoming more embarrassing the longer I thought about it. "I... well, I was just thinking... since you worked so hard on this, maybe you wouldn't mind me treating you to something?"

Kawasaki's face froze, as did my thoughts. "Um... You don't have to say yes, I was just wondering, is all."

"..." She was silent. Against my wishes, my mind started to drift to rather depressing thoughts. What if she was thinking of the nicest way to say no? I meant the request as something cordial and polite, but what if she took it as some kind of backwards confession? What if she was grossed out by something like that?

It was weird. Normally, I wouldn't have really minded creeping someone out. I had been doing that all my life, after all. But something about unintentionally driving Kawasaki away irked me. I didn't really know why, but I felt super against losing her... companionship? Was that what it was?

"You're..." She cleared her throat midway through her first word, snapping me from my thoughts. "You're aware that we'd technically be skipping class, right?"

Well, that was a silly question. "We both know that you don't care about something as meaningless as attendance."

"Fair point," Kawasaki conceded. "Hiratsuka will kill you if she finds out."

It was more like when, not if, she found out, but that was beside the point. "I've dealt with that woman for months. What's one more scolding?"

I saw Kawasaki's facial expression relax. "And you're absolutely sure that you wanna do this?"

Smirking, I replied. "We're finished. What else do you wanna do? Watch paint dry until school ends?"

We both laughed. I don't think it was because my joke was in any way funny—rather, I think it was because we both felt so relaxed around each other, that even something as trivial and dumb as a bad joke helped to ease the atmosphere around us. A stark contrast from how it had been barely a minute ago. Teenagers really are fickle.

It was apparent that Kawasaki had agreed with me. Wordlessly, she went to grab her bag, and washed her hands in the nearby sink, to wash away the lingering marker stains on her fingers. I made to do the same.

I decided to leave a note on one of the desks, in the off-chance that someone (namely Hiratsuka) happened to stumble in the room to find us missing. The note read that we had finished up the decorations, gone to grab some food, and that if anyone had any problems, they could take it up with our manager (Kawasaki had found that rather humorous. I felt it was justice, and that Oshino needed some kind of payback).

Just as we were about to leave, however, Kawasaki halted at the door. "Oh, hold on a second." She briskly walked back in the direction of the poster she had showed me, located a blank space on the front, and grabbed a black marker. Feeling my confused stare, she spoke. "We should leave our names on this. For credit."

I smirked again. "I didn't know someone as independent as yourself needed validation."

"Shut up, you know I don't," The girl grunted, scribbling her name with surprisingly neat penmanship. "But I'll be damned if I don't get recognized for putting effort into this thing."

I stood silently, watching Kawasaki write diligently on the poster. After a few brief seconds, she finished. Standing up, she moved away from the poster, retrieved her bag once more—and pointed the marker in my direction.

Confused, I didn't move. Kawasaki, giving me a curious glance, cocked her head at me. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you gonna write your name?"

"Why should I?"

She looked at me as if I'd grown another head. "You worked on this too, didn't you? You deserve as much credit as I do."

"Hardly," I snorted. "You planned everything out. I just did grunt work. I shouldn't get credit for something you thought of."

"Dumbass," Kawasaki seemed adamant on disagreeing with me. "You helped with the streamers and the poster. There's no way I would have come remotely close to finishing today if you hadn't helped."

I didn't have a retort for that. But I still didn't feel like taking credit. Maybe it was having my name out there for people to see that made me uneasy. I don't know. "It's fine. I really don't need to be recognized or anything."

"Yeah, well I want you to be recognized." Kawasaki spoke with a resolve that I couldn't quite describe. "Lord knows that too many people have taken advantage of you. It's about time people learn to respect you and your work."

I realized that there was no winning this argument. Something about her expression and her eyes made it clear that she wasn't giving up any ground in this disagreement. Though, for the life of me, I couldn't understand why she was taking this so seriously.

Slowly, and reluctantly, I took the black marker from her outstretched hand. Lazily, I trudged over to the board, and as quickly and legibly as I could manage, I wrote down my name.

I turned to the girl. "There, happy?"

With a grin, the girl twirled in the direction of the door, taking a few tentative steps as she approached the door. "Yeah," she spoke, and then, in a lower voice, she continued.

"I'm very happy."

I stood, gently placing the marker next to the poster. With Kawasaki waiting patiently outside of the door, I followed her, taking one final look at the poster, before tailing her as we exited the school.

On the poster, our names were scribbled rather neatly. They weren't big enough to draw any unnecessary attention, but not small enough to go entirely unnoticed. They were arguably the perfect size. But it wasn't the names themselves I still thought about as we walked—rather, it was the manner in which they were written.

Our names were written in close proximity, side by side. The beginning of my name was dangerously close to touching the end of hers. Strangely, I was quite alright with that.

Been awhile, hasn't it? A happy Halloween, Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, Happy Valentines, and any other holiday greetings I may have missed.

Again, apologies for the lack of updates. I can offer a ton of somewhat plausible excuses, but I don't think I have the time to write them all down. Hope you understand.

This chapter was originally supposed to include the actual festival, but the opening scenes took up so much space that I figured I'd just divide them in three. Otherwise, it would probably take another year before this chapter dropped.

Big thanks for getting this story to 200 Favs and Follows. I didn't think this dumb story of mine would get so much traction, but here we are. Again, I have no plans of abandoning this story, especially this far in, so I do hope you'll stick around for the end. I'm thinking about 4 or 5 more chapters of stuff, so stay tuned.

Thanks or being patient with me. I don't have a timetable as to when the next update will drop, so the only advice I can give you is to hit that Follow button and see what happens. And do leave a review, if you feel so obliged to do so. Just keep it constructive is all I'm asking.

My gratitude for your viewership, and I hope you have a swell day. Until next time.

~Slalem