She's partnered up with Irie for lab, and they move to an isolated table, with her asking and the teacher agreeing. He looks at her quizzically, following her regardless. She loves that about him, his ability to not ask questions when most would. His only fault is that he interferes at the worst times.
Matsumoto looks up at him, adjusting her eyeglasses. The bulkiness of them makes it difficult to see, and she'd like to not minimize her daily eyeful of Irie, thank you very much. He's got a red stopwatch in his hand, and although she's not that short, taller in her platform closed toed shoes, his large hand almost engulfs the entire stopwatch.
"Alright," Irie says, glancing at her. "All we need now is to find the time. You write down the numbers I tell you to."
She nods, placing the lab sheet on the table. "Sounds good," Matsumoto says. She glances at Irie. "I hope you don't mind, but I thought it would be easier to turn in only one sheet, instead of two." She smiles at him. "That way, you don't have to copy down the times on a separate sheet. It'll be quicker."
He takes a step closer to see the sheet, and she's thrilled that he doesn't mind standing so close to her. Matsumoto points at the top of the paper. "I've already written both our names, as well as the title and date."
"Very efficient," Irie says, nodding. "We'll be the first ones done, thanks to you."
She almost floats the rest of the class period, which is so unlike her. Irie reads her the numbers, and she marks them down in the appropriate section of the table. She's careful to maintain her straight, blocky handwriting. Irie's handwriting isn't as neat as she'd been expecting, a few of his numbers are crooked and messy. The thought makes her smile.
They do finish first, with an extra 45 minutes to spare. Quite efficient. Matsumoto thinks the two of them make a great pair, in virtually everything.
When they go to submit the sheet the teacher corrects it right in front of them. As expected, the paper's perfect, not a single mistake. Matsumoto returns the teacher's bright smile.
"Splendid. Everything here is accurate," the instructor says, flipping the page over. He pauses, smile fading off his face. He seems confused.
Irie speaks up, pointing at the paper. "We've got only one paper for this report. Both our names are at the top."
"Yes, yes," the teacher says, still fumbling with the paper. "I can see that, but where's the reflection statement?" He peers up at them through his glasses. "I can't finish grading this if you don't have a written post-lab reflection," he says, handing Irie the paper back. "Come back when you've got that completed."
They walk back to their lab station, quietly. Matsumoto sighs, leaning her elbows on the table. "I didn't think we'd need an entire statement for a lab this simple," she says, glancing at Irie.
He nods. "You're right," Irie says, pulling out their supplies from under the table. "Then again, not everyone can understand even the basics. It's really a hassle." The supply bin lands on the table, loudly.
"Oh, is it heavy?" Matsumoto asks, rushing to the other side of the table. "You could've asked me to help."
Irie frowns, looking at the bottom of the bin. "That's not it," he says, running his hand across the bottom. "It's broken," he calls out, waving out to the instructor, who is already rushing to them.
The teacher calls the lab assistant from the other room, who cleans up the solid debris. Matsumoto stands a distance away, watching as Irie, the assistant, and the instructor chat together. She feels a twinge of loneliness, but it dissipates when she realizes that they aren't purposefully excluding her. Still, she'd really like to be included in the conversation.
Irie shakes his head, pointing to glass shards on ground. "The beaker's also broken."
"Oh dear," the instructor sighs, glancing at Irie. "You broke all this, Irie?"
Irie's lips twitch. "Things got out of hand," he admits, solemnly.
The two of them share a look, and the instructor bursts out in laughter. Irie smiles, and the two men share a laugh. The assistant seems entirely out of place, like Matsumoto. She watches as the assistant awkwardly excuses himself to sweep up the area underneath their feet.
The assistant coughs, interrupting Irie and the teacher. "Excuse me," he says, quietly. "Was there any hazardous solutions in this beaker? A more through cleanup will be needed if so…"
Irie speaks up, taking a step forward. "The Pyrex beaker broke," he confirms, "but there wasn't any sulfuric acid left in it."
Matsumoto nods, walking towards the group. "That's right," she tells them. "We disposed of it properly."
The rest of the class has long since halted their work, choosing to instead listen in on the happenings in the back of the classroom. Matsumoto is not unaware of the whispers behind her.
"Well, there's still a possibility," the assistant starts, but he stops talking when the instructor waves his hand dismissively.
"We'll get the janitor to clean the rest of this up," the instructor says nonchalantly, and then he turns to the rest of the classroom. "Everyone back to work. Make sure to keep your gloves on," he adds, his gaze sweeping across the students. "Accidents happen, but we've got to do our part too. Cleanup in thirty minutes!"
The students clamor back to their stations, and Matsumoto waits as Irie and the teacher finish their personal conversation. The assistant has left already; she didn't even notice his disappearance.
The instructor sighs, and Matsumoto looks up at him. "I'm afraid the two of you will have to continue your work in a different location," he says, raising a hand to smooth back his hair. His hand is dotted with paper cuts, and Matsumoto fleetingly wonders why he's got no gloves on. "I'll give you a list of the materials, and you'll use the data you just collected in your report."
Irie moves along, waiting for the teacher to finish writing the list of materials they used, and Matsumoto collects their belongings, running a hand over Irie's bag. Well crafted leather, clean enclosures, and his name is even embroidered on the top. It's entirely like him.
Matsumoto suggests they work in the library, and Irie agrees. She smiles as they walk out the room, equipped with two pens, one sticky pad, and one lab report. She pointedly ignores the whispers of their classmates, the of course they get to leave together, and they're attending community college for what? The only one that makes her lips curl up in a smirk is the are they a couple? they sure do look like one!
He holds the door open for her, and she smiles up at him. "Thanks," she says, linking her arm with his. He glances at her, briefly, but she notices that he doesn't try to move away from her.
To her dismay, it takes them an exceedingly long time to make it to the school's library. Irie is stopped by strangers constantly, and he pauses to chat with each of them, taking his time. Matsumoto nods accordingly and smiles, clinging a little bit closer to Irie's arm each time a new person stops to say hi.
"I never knew you were this popular," she comments, as they finally turn down the hall across the library. "Everyone likes you."
He says nothing to that, and Matsumoto takes it as her cue to be quiet. After all, they are in the library, where students cram for last minute retakes, huddle together in study groups, or simply seek out a quiet, calm environment. The library is large, which is surprising for an escalator school, Matsumoto thinks, but Irie seems undeterred. He knows his way around, she doesn't, and so Matsumoto just follows him to the study booths. She doesn't come here too often; she's always at home with her little sister, studying and helping her catch up.
Per usual, Irie does most of the work, coming up with an extraordinary outline. "All you need to do is fill in the details," he tells her, sliding the paper towards her.
She does so, on a separate sheet, using his notes and his outline as a guide. It's tedious work, and she has to glance back between the separate sheets, repeatedly. Matsumoto doesn't even notice Irie pick up a random book off a nearby shelf; she's that engrossed.
"What's this number supposed to be?" She asks, using the end of her pen to point at a suspicious mark.
Irie glances up from his book, and Matsumoto hands the paper to him. "That's a seven," he replies, looking at her. "The problem wouldn't make sense if it was any other number."
"Well, I couldn't tell. Your handwriting is surprisingly bad," Matsumoto adds, amused. "Definitely not what I would have expected."
Irie shakes his head and she can't tell if his anger is real or feigned. He's so difficult to read. "My handwriting isn't bad," he says, turning a page out of his book, and Matsumoto laughs, a little too loudly.
She's about to say something when the librarian approaches them, and Matsumoto sighs. Being told off in the library isn't how she imagined her afternoon to go. She's sure the instructor will reprimand them. Though he might lessen consequences for them, since Irie is around.
"Irie? Is that you?," the librarian asks, waving a hand out. "Ah! It is you. You're just the man I need. I've got a quick question for you, care to help?"
"Sure, what's up?" Irie's already standing, moving away from Matsumoto. She huffs again, mostly to herself, resigned to the fact that she'll end up completing this herself. It's not difficult, per se, but she'd like Irie to work with her. Everything is much more…fun when he's around. His mere presence is comforting.
"There's a student struggling with a PC problem," she hears the librarian say, his voice fading as he walks with Irie. "I'm not all that sure on how to fix the error, but I know you'd be able to fix it…"
Matsumoto watches them disappear, and picks her pen back up. No use wasting time, she supposes. She'll finish up their assignment, hand it in, and then return to the library. It'll be better to get the work out of the way. Plus, she can familiarize herself with the library, show up more often. It is better to spend time in an academic setting like this one, than in a store or a shopping center.
She walks slowly back to the lab room, taking her safety glasses out of her lab pocket only when she enters the room. Some students gawk at her, while others are completely engrossed in their work. She's watching a few students, wondering how they could be still taking measurements when there's so much more to do, in such a short time.
"Matsumoto," the teacher says, finally acknowledging her. Her mood changes when he asks about Irie.
"He's helping someone at the library," she says, straightening the papers in her hand. "I'm here to turn in the reports. Mine and Irie's," she adds, as the instructor examines the sheets.
"Good," he says, returning back to his seat. "That's all I needed from you two." He pulls out his pen, scrawls a quick something on there — though it can't be anything less than a 95 — and looks back up at her. "One last thing, Matsumoto."
"Yes?"
"Where's your gloves? Even if you were in the library, you've come back to the lab…we need gloves on at all times."
She pauses, noticing her hands for what seems like the first time ever. He continues talking. "Rules are rules, I'm afraid."
"Sir, with all due respect, you don't have any gloves on either," Matsumoto says, and the class is quiet, quieter than normal.
The teacher frowns. "This isn't about me," he says, and other students start up their whispering. She can't stand that fact, that the people in this class do nothing but whisper. They can never do anything meaningful until it affects them, and it is so annoying. Beyond maddening. She feels like storming out the classroom and never returning.
Is the instructor only nice to her because of Irie? She feels her head spin, a little bit, and her thoughts waver. She'd known it all along, so why's the realization stunning her now? Why's it bothering her like this?
She takes a breath in, and she regains her focus when she breathes out. Her glasses fog up, slightly, but just enough so she can't quite make out the instructor's facial expression.
"I'm sure you'd be setting a better example by wearing them yourself. As always, I don't mean anything rude by it," Matsumoto adds, an afterthought.
The instructor is quiet. He doesn't even look at her as he gets up, addressing the class about their class is almost over, clean-up, start writing!
Matsumoto understands this cold dismissal. Things really would have gone better if Irie were with her, but alas. He has a tendency of disappearing when she needs him most.
She leaves herself, hanging up her coat in the thin broom closet, not before throwing away the blue gloves stashed in its pockets. Her glasses go in her small bag, and she eyes Irie's, hesitating a moment before picking it up as well.
She's started to completely ignore the whispers of her classmates; they're just boring individuals who don't have any entertainment in their lives whatsoever. Still. They've got each other, they've got other pairs of ears to whisper useless things in.
It does make Matsumoto a bit…sad. She'd never thought she'd be so alone, even at an escalator school like this one.
The walk to the library is quiet without Irie, and while the occasional staff member smiles at her, no one else interacts with her. Even her footsteps are dull, muted. It seems she's not even there, unnoticed, undetected.
She huffs, finally entering the library. She'd almost gotten lost. Embarrassing.
She wanders a little, walking slowly. The weight of two bags would normally slow her down, but she's got stamina from tennis and Irie's bag isn't that heavy, in fact, it's lighter than hers. The dull embroidery isn't seen from where she's got in positioned, but she's still amassing some stares. She feels like an exhibition.
Matsumoto spots Irie, finally, after a few more minutes of walking around aimlessly. He's hunched over a medium-sized desk, and he's pointing at the monitor, speaking quite loudly. The person seated at the computer nods, solemnly, as Irie chides him for almost installing a virus.
He seems so much like an old man, she thinks, amused. Getting so worked up over something solvable. She's never seen him expend so much energy.
She approaches him cautiously, holding up his bag. "Sorry to interrupt," she says, when he finally turns to her. "Class is almost over, so I thought I'd pick up yours too."
He thanks her, taking his bag from her. "The papers?"
"Turned them in already."
"Thanks," Irie says, smiling a small smile at her. "That's considerate of you."
"Of course," Matsumoto replies, breaking eye contact. His gaze is suddenly intense. "It's no big deal."
"Is that your girlfriend?" The person asks, and Matsumoto doesn't even register the words, too preoccupied with the boy's appearance. He's noticeably short, has braces installed on his teeth, and he's got bright, orange-ish hair.
"How old is he?" Matsumoto asks Irie, pointing to the boy. "Do you know?"
Irie turns to the boy, expectantly. Matsumoto does the same, and the boy fidgets underneath their combined stares.
"W — What?" His previous curiosity is quickly gone, and Matsumoto can't help but to let out a smile.
"Are you in middle school?" She can't help but ask.
"No," the boy says, frowning. "I'm a first year. High school." His shoulders puff out a little bit, and Irie shakes his head, closing his eyes momentarily.
"What are you doing here?" Matsumoto asks, leaning against the table. "Don't high schoolers have a library of their own?"
"Well, yeah, we do, but this one's closer to my house and I just wanted to check it out, I'm actually going to go this exact college someday so I just thought …"
Irie shakes his head again. "I don't even know if you're supposed to be here," he admits, glancing back at the computer. "The librarian is so absentminded, how did this kid even get here?" He's muttering under his breath.
She looks away from Irie. "Well," Matsumoto says, sensing Irie's changing mood. He's so quick to become irritable. "Don't get into too much trouble," she tells the kid, and he laughs and nods.
"Done with everything here?" Matsumoto points to the computer. Irie nods, readjusting his bag strap on his shoulder.
They say goodbye to the boy, leaving him in the questionable hands of the librarian, and they walk towards the cafeteria together. She likes the different servings, the variety here, and the large, spacious area. It's surely a given, but even for an escalator school, it's fairly impressive.
Entering with Irie is even more impressive.
Matsumoto laughs as they enter the line, and she even giggles a little bit when he gets into a squabbling match with one of the servers, which is so unlike him. He's surprising her more and more lately, she's come to realize.
"So," she says, placing her tray down. "Coming to practice today?" Matsumoto knows his answer already, but she's got nothing else to talk to him about.
He's already eating, shoveling food in his mouth. She waits for him to finish chewing, and he glances at her, chopsticks dangling in his hand. Very casual. Still, despite his relaxed demeanor, he looks so handsome. She admires him as she waits for his response.
"Maybe," Irie answers, his eyes searching the cafeteria. She wonders who he's looking for — is Sudo is still berating him? "I might just show up today," Irie admits, turning his attention back to her. "I can't guarantee it though."
Matsumoto nods. "Of course," she says, taking a bite of her own food. "I was just wondering if you'd like to do a double with me. I've been practicing solo for a while now, and it's gotten boring."
Irie ponders it; she can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Hmm," he says, working out a crick in his neck — is he injured? — "I guess I can do that."
She smiles at his response. "I'll be counting on it."
They eat the rest of their food in silence, and when Irie offers to throw out her own tray she lets him, waiting for his return. It'd be rude to just leave, even though their last class starts in a few.
He's exchanging words with the oily-haired server again, waving a hand his way and shaking his head. They don't seem to get along. Still, it's amusing, watching them bicker and squabble like high schoolers. Matsumoto thinks of the boy from the library, how naive and quick to assume he was. Little kids are always fun, she thinks.
Matsumoto walks over to Irie and the lunchroom server, finally deciding to intervene. She can't sit at a table and wait for Irie all day now, can she?
As she nears them, she notices that Aihara is with them, standing behind Irie. She's so small that Matsumoto didn't even notice her.
Matsumoto nods at her, all the acknowledging she's willing to do, but Aihara rushes over to her. So much for social cues, she thinks.
"I heard you were looking for a tennis partner," she sputters, and Matsumoto leans a little bit away from her grasp, taken aback.
"A what? No, sorry," Matsumoto says, pulling her arm away from her. "I've already asked Irie to be my partner."
"Matsumoto," Aihara whines, and fleetingly, Matsumoto is reminded of Sudo. He says her name the same way. The thought makes her frown. "I can't keep picking up the balls all day," Aihara says, and the lunch server glances up at her, his eyes bright and wide.
"Kotoko!" he says, and Matsumoto wonders how his hair shines even underneath his sanitary cap. "Don't spend anymore time with the nerds, come hang out with me! Papa's let me off early tonight, so let's catch a movie."
Papa? Matsumoto smiles. Looks like Aihara's finally moved on. It's good for her, Aihara that is. It's also good for her; she'll be able to pursue Irie freely.
Matsumoto turns to Irie, who's oddly stiff. Her smile fades."Irie," she says, cocking her head to the exit. "Shall we?"
"Are you alright?" She asks him, once they're out of the cafeteria. "You seem quiet."
He blinks, as if lost in a trance. Matsumoto stops walking when he does. "Sorry," he says, glancing back at her. "I left something back in the cafeteria. Go on without me, I'll join you later."
"O — kay," she replies, slowly. She thinks about going after him, maybe spying on him, but she feels like a schoolgirl. I'm not Aihara, she thinks, why would I do something like that?
The rest of lecture passes by, and Irie doesn't show up. It is an optional lecture, but still. He'd promised.
Matsumoto isn't surprised to see him after school, walking with Aihara. He doesn't look happy, however. Matsumoto wonders if that's how he appears when he's with her, disgruntled, awkward, bothered.
He'd canceled on her for Aihara. Irie's not even happy when he's with Aihara, so why?
The sight of the two of them together saddens her. Angers her. She doesn't know who to be angry with.
The answer is no one, she knows. She can't be angry at Aihara, she's done nothing. She can't be angry at Irie, he'd told her he was unsure. He has his own life, she knows.
Still, she's a rational thinker, she's smart, she's beautiful, she's perfect. She's everything. She's worked hard, worked hard to maintain her long hair, worked even harder to maintain her physique. She's worked at odd jobs, just to afford her wardrobe. She puts in the work, studies, reads, writes, learns, so what is missing?
She resorts to being angry at herself. She is the problem that needs to be fixed.
Coming home from another unsatisfying tennis practice, Matsumoto stares at herself in the mirror that night, twisting and turning her body each and every way, inspecting every part of herself. She tries on every piece of clothing in her closet. She braids and unbraids her hair. She puts on mascara and a sultry dark red lipstick.
Her self awareness threatens to throw her into a cycle of scrutiny, forever nitpicking at everything about herself, displaying her insecurities shamefully instead of correcting herself and her mindset.
It's still not enough. She feels weak. She feels unlike herself. It is the third time since the day has started that she has felt out of place. She finds herself regretting the escalator system, though she doesn't even know why. Matsumoto doesn't know anymore.
What more will I need to do? What does she have that I don't? What is it?
Some part of her knows, already, a very large part, actually. Aihara and Irie. It's an odd couple, no logic can explain it, like with some odd couples in the media. There's the ugly man and the beautiful girl; that can be explained with 'well, he's rich'. Then there's the old man and the cute, young girl; that can be explained with 'well, he'll die soon,' and 'she'll take his money'. There's the standoffish man and the sweet girl, that can be explained with 'they balance each other'.
Matsumoto wracks her head with what-ifs and hypotheticals. What does he see in her? What is it? What does she have to offer someone like him?
She just can't put her finger on it. It must not exist. Since when does the perfect guy go for someone who isn't the perfect girl?
But she knows. There's some things that can't be explained. Some things that logic simply cannot answer. Some things require a different kind of intelligence, the emotional kind.
She lays in bed, thinking about cutting her hair. It is random. She decides against it, wonders why she's falling apart so fast. But she's loved Irie since high school. Who cares about Aihara's feelings? She wonders if the world will stop spinning on its axis if Aihara is hurt, in any way, be it large or small. Matsumoto thinks that even she would come for Aihara, like everyone else would.
She feels a horrible person for thinking such thoughts, but she's seen the way Irie rushes to her whenever she falls (all the time), she's seen the way she can even manage to soften Sudo's tennis temper tantrums with just her smile (which is too bright), she's seen the way even the cafeteria worker halts his day job for her (he's in love with her).
Matsumoto wonders the reason why she's devoid of that. Is she not deserving? Deserving of some kind attention? Deserving of some kind treatment?
She is desirable, she knows, but why isn't it enough? Matsumoto feels the memory of the man grabbing her arm resurface, and she can feel her mind twisting the memory into something it wasn't — he wanted you all to yourself, you're so beautiful even strangers will harass you, you aren't undesirable at all — and so she flushes the memory out of her mind, erasing the mustached man and Aihara's help both down with it.
She sighs. What does Aihara have that she doesn't? She feels childish as she crumples in her bed, holding the covers tight to her face. She thinks about her day again, her day with Irie until he wasn't there and it was just another day again.
That child. That child was the only one who'd even thought about them as a true couple, she thinks, remembering. That random child, who'd spawned in the library, at will it seemed. Usually, it'd be her initiating the thoughts of her and Irie dating in everyone's minds, but after a while, she realized that you'll just seem desperate if you do that. So she's stopped. Since then, no one else seems to acknowledge the idea of a relationship between the two of them.
That's not entirely true. Her classmates come to her mind, but they're just envious. It's not what she wants. It's not what she wants, so it's not worth anything. No, what she wants is that pure hearted adoration. It seems for her that it's the opposite. They're all envious, hateful, spiteful. What fun is having envious people around you all the time? She is tired of it, but it's all people are when it comes to her, so she adapts. Conforms. She gets used to it. It is her life, after all.
Still. No one is envious of Aihara and Irie. The thought, as depressing as it is, is also amusing, almost…comforting. The freak couple, Aihara and Irie.
She thinks, hard. Who could possibly be envious of Aihara, for God's sake?
No one in their right mind would be envious of her.
So why is she?
The thoughts blur in her mind, and she hopes her rare midnight cry — crying over a high school crush —will be erased from her memory by morning.
Matsumoto falls asleep, thinking about the uncanny resemblance between the library boy and Aihara.