"I met the girl you're always bitching about," Ayako says, randomly one morning.
Yuuko glances at her, turning from her vanity. She even stops brushing her hair. "What girl? Where did you go?"
"Tennis courts," Ayako says, laughing. "Aiha? She thought I was your twin!"
Yuuko frowns at her sister. "In other words, you went over there pretending to be me?"
"No, I just thought I'd take a look," she explains, glaring at Yuuko. "Why are you getting ready so early anyways? School isn't for another hour and a half. Don't be such a try hard. You'll literally never get a boyfriend like that."
Yuuko almost throws her hairbrush at her, stops herself last minute. "None of your business," she snaps, standing. She straightens her shirt, making sure it's neatly tucked into her pants. Too tight and it'd appear staunchly. She's aiming for that subtle but still preppy look today. She's even went light on her makeup.
After a moment of contemplating whether or not to unbutton the button on her V neck, she turns to her sister. "Oh, by the way, you're going to have to take the subway today. I'm not driving you, or picking you up."
"Fine with me. I'd rather not be seen with you," Ayako says, and when she yawns Yuuko flings the hairbrush at her, giggling at the way she screams.
"Oops," she giggles, grabbing her bag. "Sorry about that."
She shuts the door behind her, runs down the stairs. If she makes it in time, she'll be able to turn in her report, disappear without a trace. She's done sticking up for Irie, creating excuses in his name, and she's done adhering herself to useless company.
The drive to the campus is a nice one, a calm one, and Yuuko's always been a good driver, a calm driver. She lets some pedestrians cross the sidewalk, a mother and her son, no older than say five years old. She smiles back at the woman, pressing her foot back to the gas when they're halfway across.
She parks evenly, cleanly, and in her usual spot. It seems that's the only luck she has, a vacant parking slot each and every morning. She'd rather not purchase one, not when God has left this open for her. Yuuko laughs a little, amused by her own rationale.
She's in a good mood, even when she knocks on the door, receives no response. Oh well. She'll show up at the designated time, whatever. Yuuko tries one more time, and when it is evident that no one is there, she leaves.
Her shoulders hurt a bit, but it's nothing intolerable. Besides, it is so ugly to walk like a hunchback, no matter how depressed she is. The only thing she's willing to admit as one of her flaws, is her anger. She plans on enrolling in yoga, firm and adamant in her success. Nothing like keeping a nice smile on your face, and meaning it. She'd like to reach that point. It'll be difficult, but she'll manage.
Yuuko sighs. She's heading back to her car, wondering if she really should pick her sister up. Knowing her, she's probably still in bed, hair messy, pajamas crumbled. She's a lost cause. Hopeless. There is no saving someone like her, rude, overconfident…an overall bully.
Her mood sours as she spends more time thinking about her sister. She'd be wrong to return back home, kind, patient, honking her horn for Ayako.
She wonders if she put on her hair oil. Her hair is prone to frizz, extremely so, and without that extra, subtle weight of the oil, it'll be too voluminous. Not that she minds, of course. She'd rather keep her bouncy, voluminous strands. It's infinitely better than nursing thin, stringy strands back to life, everyday.
Yuuko decides to grab breakfast, at the cafeteria. They've got some delicacies, sure they're a bit pricy, but she's got extra pocket money. Ayako's, but who cares. She'll drain her sister's pockets so long as she gets her gas money.
Still. She wonders where Ayako gets her cash.
She hopes her sister hasn't landed herself in any shady crowds, in any unfamiliar company. She is only in high school, and she's easily influenced, easily impressionable, easily swayed.
Her ability — which seems to be common in all extroverts — to stick to people like glue may prove detrimental, especially if it's the wrong person.
Yuuki frowns. Why does she care?
She purchases an extra cinnamon roll, asks for a light drizzle of syrup on top, no cream. Today, she thinks, is a day for me.
The entire day belongs to her now, and she'll make use of it accordingly. She hopes.
The server at the counter smiles sweetly at her, and Yuuko smiles back as waving goodbye.
She'd be a menace to ask if she could possibly have the second roll for free? though she's sure the Auntie there would oblige.
She pays at the mini register, and as she'd suspected, the lady server comes over, her protective hair net nearly kissing her thinning eyebrows.
It can't be helped, she thinks, not with such a low forehead.
Yuuko pauses when the server shakes her head at her. "It's on the house," she tells her, pointing to the second cinnamon roll as she punches in a number.
"That's quite alright," Yuuko says, smiling. "I'll pay, just like everyone else."
The lady pauses, and after a moment of consideration, she still shakes her head. "Nonsense. The second one's free, for you."
Yuuko eventually gives in, thanks the lady, once, twice. Ayako's never had this happen to her, she thinks, gleefully, smiling bigger. The lady waves at her again, lingering around as Yuuko seats herself in a small, far-away booth.
The cafeteria is mostly empty, but as Yuuko eats, students trickle in, and the staff switches accordingly. More people means more noise, and Yuuko wonders if the library allows students to bring their food with them. She thinks it would be a no, but she's seen a few girls with steaming cups of coffee clutched in their hands.
Yuuko decides against it. There's no point. She's already almost finished with her food. It's a little too sticky with the added syrup, but she eats it anyways. The window next to her is foggy, dim. She can't really see that far, but she can see the familiar silhouettes of people, people in backpacks, people with others. Just all sorts of people.
She's happy to be alone. It's nice to be alone in a comfortable, dreary setting like this. It's even started to rain, just a light drizzle, but as always, the rain clings to the metal window. The cafeteria's ground level, so everyone outside the window scrambles, walks faster, or pulls out their umbrella. Yuuko is amused, until she remembers she herself doesn't have an umbrella with her.
She sighs, resumes eating the last bits of her breakfast-not-really-breakfast. It's filling, she supposes, but when she smacks her lips together she can taste a bit of her lipstick and that does it for her. No more of this, she thinks, walking over to the garbage.
There's a group of people, herded together like sheep, blocking her way entirely. She'd rather not reach over and stretch her arm across the garbage can. When they don't move after five seconds — much too long — she clears her throat, loudly.
The male turns around first, the longish haired one, dressed lamely. Yuuko frowns at him, recognizing him. What is in the world is the server doing in his own line?
The sheer absurdity of the situation makes her take an entire step back.
Aihara turns around as well, when he taps her on the shoulder. She makes a noise, and Yuuko is stunned. Can she not control anything about herself?
"This your friend?" He asks her, what he thinks is quietly, but Yuuko can hear them all too well.
"No," Yuuko says, curtly, at the same time Aihara replies with a weak, "Not really."
The two of them eye each other for a moment, dismissing Kinnosuke entirely.
"I'd like to throw away my food," Yuuko says, as if it wasn't already obvious to them. "You'll have to move."
Aihara frowns, but she steps to the side anyways. The server doesn't move. He's watching her, with a strange expression. Yuuko realizes that's just his face, almost laughs.
Yuuko steps around him, impatient. Still, despite the slight drawback in her mood, she smiles at the two of them, dumping her tray. "You two make a good couple," she comments, eyeing Aihara.
The server lights up. Yuuko can't help but giggle harder at the fact that he stays stagnant in terms of…attractiveness (not that she is attracted to him, she finds it impossible) even with a bright, large smile on his face. In fact, he appears dumber with it, appears a lanky, goofy, meddling mess.
She ignores Aihara, tuning her out. It's admittedly difficult to do so, because Aihara's cut out of the line now, following her out the cafeteria.
"I thought you cut your hair," Aihara is saying, lightly, "but then I realized that wasn't you."
"You're stupid," Yuuko replies, still not turning around. It's hard to keep the haughtiness out of her tone. "My sister and I look nothing alike."
"She's much cuter than you," Aihara giggles, and Yuuko halts.
She blinks hard, before turning to glare at Aihara. "Don't talk to me," she tells her. "I don't need you telling me about looks."
"You don't need a brain to know beauty," Aihara says, turning to glance at the oily haired server, who's now caught in a discussion with the lady server from earlier.
Yuuko's blood boils, hardens, and reaches a melting point again. "Go chase after Irie," she spits, crossing her arms. "It's about time you prove yourself useful with your one-track mind."
"Isn't that what you're doing?" Aihara's eyes follow from Yuuko's eyes down to her folded arms. "What's with your shirt? Revealing much?"
Yuuko reddens. The nerve of her! The audacity!
She recovers, quickly, spotting the oily haired server waving goodbye to his coworker. "Jealous much?" She taunts, pushing her arms up. "I heard Irie likes women, not whatever you are."
Aihara is quiet, Yuuko smiles. "Your boyfriend is here," Yuuko sings, waving goodbye. She walks away, briskly, but she can hear them discussing her, in hushed whispers.
"Who's that?"
"Matsumoto Yuuko," Aihara replies, sulking.
"Do Jinko and Satomi know about her?"
She fetches her glasses out of her car, stepping into the drizzle out of necessity. Her hair doesn't frizz too much, but she still clips it back in a ponytail. Her outfit status does drop; ponytails are far too casual. Still. It is a look. Everything is a look when she's the muse.
Everyone has completed both the mock exam, as well as the required labs for the half mark, so the instructor reluctantly lets them off early, succumbing to the pleads of the weary students. She doesn't leave immediately, earning more than a few stares from her fellow pupils. Even the instructor glances at her, suspiciously, when she's still lingering around, fumbling in her bag.
"Matsumoto, is this a question about Irie?" He asks cautiously, and she pauses, lowering her folder.
"No," she tells him, setting her folder down. The confusion in her voice is obvious, mainly because she is genuinely confused. Irie?
Opening her folder, she pulls out her short stapled report, only three pages. "I'm just turning in the extra credit."
He laughs, presumably at his own denseness. "Ah," he says, taking the papers from her extended hand. "I've had a couple students ask me about him, so I suspected you were one of them."
"Why were they asking about him? Has something happened to him?"
"Well, no, nothing's the matter. He's in the process of switching courses, that's all."
"He's dropping this class?" Matsumoto is shocked.
"No, not exactly. He's tested out, requested something else. Something more challenging, I suppose." The instructor watches her, sighs. "It can't be helped."
She nods, glancing at the ceiling. His absence will make things difficult for her. She can manage, though, when has she not?
"I know you'll be missing a partner," the instructor tells her, frowning suddenly. "But there's other people in the class — get to know them. Irie isn't the only student in the class."
Her eyes catch his, steely. It seems he's flipped things onto her now. Placing words in her mouth — even if they are true — isn't fair of him. She gives him no reaction.
"I've been meaning to speak to you about that, actually," she says, quelling the anger out of her voice.
"About Irie?"
"No, about your mistreatment towards me."
He is taken aback. "Mistreatment? I — I don't think you understand the weight of that word."
"I understand it quite well," Matsumoto replies, evenly. "I wouldn't have used it if I didn't know the meaning."
He is quiet, leaning back in his chair. It groans, as the instructor leans back, further and further, until she is sure it will snap, break under pressure.
A knock at the door, muted, dull, but it rings clear in the unpleasant, silent room.
When there's a second knock, chasing after the first one, the teacher sits back up, quickly. He tilts his head at the door, silently addressing her.
She opens the door, handling it roughly. The metal, cool against her palm, reduces her anger, somewhat. Still, it's only lowering the physical rage; her mind still spins and blurs with frustration.
Speak of the devil.
It's Irie, carrying two folders, standing at the door. He's dressed casually, a loose, unzipped sweater, and his hair is damp. He's just dropping by, she guesses, examining him. He's much clearer, now that she's got her glasses on. Admittedly, she is surprised by the sight of him, having not seen him in the halls for quite some time.
It is a pleasant surprise.
No matter how annoyed she becomes with Irie, seeing him always makes her forget it, forgive him.
He is her vice.
Irie acknowledges her, surveying the classroom. "Is this a bad time?" He asks, looking back at her. Matsumoto doesn't school her features this time, not like she usually does in this classroom. She smiles at him, briefly.
"Irie! Come in," the instructor calls out, standing. He's pleased by Irie's arrival. He gets to his feet so quickly, it's like he was told to stand at attention, militarian almost.
Matsumoto feels her chest tighten. She looks at Irie, who's still waiting for her response.
"It is a bad time," she tells him regretfully, glancing back at the instructor, who's already approaching them.
Irie looks confused as the instructor shakes his head.
"There's nothing more to discuss," he cuts in, frowning. "We're finished here."
Matsumoto watches as Irie glances between the two of them, takes a step back. "I'll come back," he says, sensing the tension in the room. The instructor all but snatches the folders, almost tearing them out of Irie's hands in his haste.
"No need, Irie! Matsumoto has nothing left to say."
"Why don't we hear it from her?" Irie replies, glancing at his folders. His words are short, clipped, blunt.
The instructor glances at his watch. "I won't have time to enter these in, Irie," he warns.
"There's always tomorrow." Irie's indifference seems to confuse the teacher; he doesn't know whether to smile or frown, like a theatre mask.
She smiles.
The teacher heads back to his desk, taking Irie's folders with him. "Are you comfortable sharing your concerns with an audience?" His creaky chair spins slightly, and the instructor straightens. "If not, you may take your leave, Matsumoto."
"I'm fine with that," she says, walking back to the wide desk. "Irie, it won't be long," she tells him, turning slightly.
He nods, still at the door. His arms are crossed, like they always are.
The instructor lets go of Irie's folders, places his hands on his desk. He clears his throat.
"Actually, do you mind if we have Irie settle this for us?" The instructor proposes, and Matsumoto folds her own arms, feeling a chill in the air. "We really need an unbiased third."
She can feel both their eyes on her. "What exactly do you mean by that?" she asks, not looking away from the teacher. "I thought Irie was the audience."
Irie shuffles from his place at the door, as if he's deciding whether or not to leave. Matsumoto turns to him, hoping he receives her silent plea.
The teacher, sitting amidst the silence, somehow sensing their private conversation, frowns.
"Look. Your unwillingness to listen is what's started this entire mess. I don't want to continue this," he says, finally fed up. He stands, walks over to Irie himself.
Irie sighs. "Things like this don't occur without a reason," he starts, motioning to Matsumoto. "If she has a complaint concerning you, it's best that you listen."
Matsumoto takes a seat at a random table, tracing her finger over the grooves carved into it. Her fingers feel out so many patterns, and she distracts herself with them, uncaring anymore. The two of them carry on, gradually speaking in a quieter, more hushed tone, and when Matsumoto finally looks up from the thin table, she sees the instructor placing his hand on Irie's shoulder, laughing at something.
The conversation subject has taken a strong turn. Her grievances are forgotten entirely. She is forgotten entirely. The instructor rambles on about what a pleasure it has been, how Irie is welcome anytime, how he's here for him if Irie ever needs any further help.
Wishing him so much success on his future academic endeavors, when he's just switching courses? Absurd.
Matsumoto glances at the large desk, spots Irie's folders atop her paper report.
The metal stool scrapes against the floor when she stands up. She doesn't bother to push it back underneath the table.
The instructor and Irie are right in the way of the exit, blocking her from leaving. Irie stops speaking when she approaches them, glancing to the instructor, who's oblivious, smiling and chattering on, cheerfully.
"Excuse me," Matsumoto says, looking ahead at the door. "I'll be leaving."
The instructor steps aside, eager to rekindle the conversation. He pauses when Irie remains standing, pauses when Irie doesn't move.
"You forgot your bag," Irie says to Matsumoto, pointing next to the teacher's desk.
Her eyebrows raise, and she turns swiftly, retrieving it. When she comes back to the door, she smiles at Irie, and he nods at her, before turning his attention back to the instructor.
"I'll make sure to stop by," Irie says, though Matsumoto doubts he ever will. Irie is like that. "Thanks for everything."
"Of course," the instructor says, shaking Irie's hand. "It's been a pleasure. I'll transfer your scores later today. You should see your final mark by the end of this week."
"I appreciate that," Irie says, placing his hand back in his pocket. He turns to Matsumoto, who's still standing off to the side.
"Is there anything else you need?" Irie asks her, lightly.
She almost sighs. "There's nothing." She lies, shaking her head.
The instructor glances at her. "Your report was done well. I'll grade it after I finish Irie's paperwork."
"Report?" Irie looks to Matsumoto. "Something I missed?"
"No," Matsumoto replies, almost laughing at his suddenness. "Just extra credit."
The instructor smiles at the two of them. "I don't know why star students like you two even bother with extra credit," he admits, "but it's always good to see hardworking people."
He smiles at Matsumoto. "I know it'll be a great rest of the term with you around," the instructor tells her. He's considerably less grumpy when Irie is around. "Stay on top of everything and work hard, now that Irie will be leaving us."
Matsumoto smiles back, cautiously. She doesn't know how to respond to that. A hidden message behind a smile.
The two of them exit the room, and Matsumoto walks with Irie down the hall, not saying anything. Perhaps she's waiting for him to say something.
He does break the silence, eventually. "What were you going to confront him about?"
The question, though she'd known it would be coming, is daunting now. She really doesn't know. Her anger seems…petty, now that she revisits the scenarios. Irie will think of her as a rash individual, if she tells him the truth.
Matsumoto sighs. She can't lie to herself, can't disregard her emotions. "He just didn't think too highly of me," she replies, finally getting it off her chest. "He dismissed my efforts, and scrutinized everything I did…I just couldn't take it."
Irie is quiet, staring straight ahead as they continue walking, slowly. "I did see that today," he tells her. "You should have continued."
She feels conflicted. Her bag seems to grow heavier. Irie's seen what she's been dealing with firsthand, and she's happy about that, but something is still off.
"I like having you around," she starts, not looking at him. "I really do enjoy your company, but sometimes, Irie, you make things hard for me."
He turns to her, confused. "What do you mean?"
Matsumoto pauses. The light ahead of them turns on and off, repeatedly flickering. She turns to Irie, who's already looking at her.
"Maybe the bulb is damaged," he says, at the same time she says, "It could just be a bad light."
Matsumoto laughs, stepping a little closer to Irie. He just shakes his head, showing the slightest bit of amusement. The sight of him happy makes her happy.
They walk down the hall, and Matsumoto feels her smile fade as she watches Irie. He's frowning, squinting at the end of the hall.
"Is something wrong?" She asks him, turning to stare at what he's looking at. A figure bounds down the corridor, rapidly approaching them. Matsumoto freezes, shielding herself with her bag.
Irie huffs. "It's just Sudo," he says, rubbing his eye. He pauses, squints.
"Is Aihara with him?" Matsumoto asks.
"I don't think so," Irie says, glancing back to Matsumoto.
"What a surprise," Matsumoto says, sighing. "They're always together. Inseparable, really."
Irie side eyes her, warily, but he doesn't say anything, even when Matsumoto straightens, even when Sudo finally nears them, starts slowing down, glancing back his back constantly.
"Please," Sudo gasps, breathless, "tell him to leave me alone. Tell him to leave me alone!"
Matsumoto frowns at him. "Why are you always in this building?"
"Whatever happens to you, it's deserved," Irie says, frowning. "Why are you here?"
Sudo is distraught, shaking his head. "Tell him to leave me alone, Irie! Please, you're the only one he's after, Irie, save me!"
Irie shuts his eyes. "I'm not doing anything," he says, but when he opens his eyes he's searching around. "Who's after you?"
Matsumoto tightens her grip on her bag, adjusts her glasses. "I don't want to be apart of this," she says, walking ahead.
It proves difficult. Sudo's cries are especially hard to ignore, and while she feels pity for Irie, she decides it's payback.
Really, she just wants to see if he'll chase after her, like he would with Aihara. Irie always seems to be extra aware when it comes to Aihara, extra active and extra involved when it comes to her.
Matsumoto thinks back to her ruined date, thinks about the way Irie swooped in to save the day, bravely so, all for the sake of Aihara. She frowns at the memory of him clasping her hands in his, pulling her behind as they ran off somewhere.
She's got too many memories of Irie touching Aihara in her mind than she'd personally like.
She walks a little slower, a lot slower actually, and she even turns her head to glance back at Irie, hoping he'll chase after her.
He doesn't.