"You're
going out." It was a statement, not a
question, and it was delivered flatly.
"Yes."
"Running
again?"
"Yes."
"With
all the running you've been doing recently, you're sure to make team captain
when school starts."
"You
think?"
Shinobu
grunted in what could have been taken as an affirmative. He reshuffled the papers on his desk
randomly, his back to his roommate. He
had not made eye contact with Mitsuru at all since he'd initiated the
conversation. But it was something; the
two hadn't exchanged more than half-hearted good mornings since the day began.
"So
what are your big plans today?" Mitsuru's tone was determinedly light.
"Nothing
special." Shinobu's response brooked no encouragement, but his roommate clung
to the meager hope his comment afforded and forged on.
"Then
why don't you come with me? It's
starting to cool down and you've been cooped up in here since Friday and…"
"No."
The
temperature in the room suddenly dropped a good ten degrees but both boys
fiercely ignored the miasma of tension that seemed to hover like a hungry
cloud. It had converged on them ever
since that day at the track and it was steadily suffocating their friendship
with its oppressive weight. But neither
boy had wanted to put name to it; doing so would have been an affirmation that
it existed.
"Well,
if you're sure then…?" Mitsuru trailed off hesitantly, still hoping for a break
in the storm.
All
he received was silence, punctuated by the rustling of papers being endlessly
shuffled. Mitsuru let out an audible
sigh, and because his back was to him, Shinobu wasn't quite sure whether the
sigh was one borne of anger or exasperation.
It
was this uncertainty that spurred him out of his self-imposed exile. Shinobu decided he'd had enough of stoicism.
He missed his roommate. He missed the laughter and the easy
companionship they had shared since they'd first met. This ongoing estrangement was not how he had pictured his summer
vacation to be. Damn his pride! This would end now.
Shinobu
turned around in his chair eagerly, ready to air out the dirty laundry and
clear things between him and his friend. He was just in time to watch the dorm room door snick shut behind the
blonde.
Damn
his pride.
Sunlight
dappled in through partly drawn curtains and the canopy of low-slung trees
outside the window. The effect was
sickly, as if the room had developed a sudden case of chicken pox. Shinobu grimaced and decided it was time to
confront his feelings before he got even more maudlin and morose.
I don't own Mitsuru. He is his own person. He is independent. He doesn't cling; he's not needy. I like this about him; it's why we get along so well in the first place. He is free to be friends with whomever he wants, regardless of my opinions on the matter.
Shinobu
almost managed to convince himself. He
laid aside the stack of papers he had been obsessively organizing and stood to
wander to the open window. What was it
about Sakata that rattled his chains until he couldn't hear himself think? Why did thoughts of the boy conjure up a
churning in his gut and a tightening in his temples?
Could
it be that Sakata reminded him too much of himself? Could he truly be that narcissistic that he could not allow
anyone else who remotely resembled him have a share of the spotlight? Shinobu remembered the way the other boys in
the class had clustered around Sakata that first day and gritted his
teeth. Was that it, then? Was the reason for this antipathy as prosaic
as that?
Staring
sightlessly out the window, the sharp beams of mid-afternoon sun lancing across
his cheekbones, Shinobu harrumphed to himself. Petty, petty! If his antagonism
toward Sakata stemmed from his own insecurities, then there was no reason for
him to take it out on Mitsuru. It
wasn't fair to his roommate.
And
besides, who was the one who had made top of the list in academic
standings? Who was the one who had next
year's student council presidency in the bag? Shinobu had been acting the threatened alpha male for nothing…
But
the nagging unease persisted. Shinobu
ruthlessly plucked it from the poison tree festering within and held it up to
the light. It wouldn't be rooted
in…jealousy? No. Jealousy implied the existence of another
emotion that the boy simply did not want to admit to being there. Yes, he'd been roommates with Mitsuru for a
year and in that time they had become as close as brothers. Yes, they were compatriots, partners in
crime, the dynamic duo. But surely the
dynamic duo had room for a sidekick?
Yes, but not him!
And
it all came full circle, back to Sakata. Shinobu fisted at his eyes with his knuckles and groaned. He was acting like a spurned lover. And his imagined rival was a skinny
nonentity from America. What was it about the supercilious bastard
that set his teeth on edge? Shinobu
wished he could pinpoint it in order to effectively exorcise it from his mind.
This is ridiculous. And pointless. I'm tying myself up into knots when this could all be resolved by
simply talking it over with Mitsuru. Since when have we ever walked on eggshells around each other? I'll just wait for him to get back, tell him
how I feel and…
And
what? Make Mitsuru choose between him
and the new boy? Because that's what
his friend would have to do; Shinobu was not prepared to make nice with
Sakata. Not a chance in hell.
I need to get out. Too much thinking can't be healthy for
me. If I stay here and dwell, I'm
liable to do something rash. Like call
up Nagisa and ask her to a movie or something.
Shinobu
shuddered at how low he'd apparently sunk to even entertain that thought. He grabbed his wallet, checked to make sure his train pass was in
it along with some spare yen, and headed out the door. As he bounded down the stairs, calling out hasty
hellos to the few dormers who had also decided to stay on that summer,
Shinobu's mind was already whirring.
A visit to the dojo to see
if any of my old judo buddies are available for a quick spar. The manga store. Then perhaps a frosty beverage at the local coffee shop. I've lived without Mitsuru for almost
fifteen years; I think I still remember how to amuse myself without him, the boy muttered to
himself.
He
deliberately chose to ignore the forlorn little voice that told him his
adventures in town would be infinitely more fun if only a certain blonde
accompanied him.