Author's Note- I've found characterization of Tsubasa to be the hardest thing to do in terms of personality. She's the only one who's really been baffling me. I'm not sure how much it'll show in this chapter. Gomen...
I hope you like the het smex! (I couldn't have written the corresponding Arima scene without listening to Prince of Tennis's Oshitari's "Crafty" many, many times.) Uh.........
For some reason, I'm really drawing inspiration for this from Hunter and Souji in my original story, Asuka.
Sorry this took SOOOO long! I am scum, I know, it's just, real life...
Bounce with it, yo! Love and peace!
Model Student
Chapter 4-
Stella by Moor
"I can't believe this," Tsubasa stutters, and I put down another point for me. I've just found out she's Sakura-tachi's old friend, but she's just found out I'm their new one.
Our mutual friends don't seem to see what the big deal is. "So you two have some sorta fight going on?" Aya says. "Get over it. You're still our friend, Tsubasa, but Asapin's part of our group now too."
I should have known only Sakura, Rika, and Aya would have been crazy enough to befriend the monster. Lunchtime, and I've finally gotten dry, but my experience tells me that won't last long. Tsubasa's in class F, which stopped our fighting for the morning, but it's back full swing, augmented by Tsubasa's new discovery.
"Get your own friends," Tsubasa growls, just like she'd growl, "Get your own Arima."
"They're my friends now," I say, even though I have no idea if that's true, but anything to beat the Tsubasa-bitch.
"What should we do?" Rika asks, then sighs as we both snap,
"Whose side are you on?"
Rika bites her lip, then, "Neither," she says firmly. "Come on, guys, let's go." To my surprise, Sakura and Aya obediently follow her.
"What are you doing?" I call after them, baffled.
"We'll wait it out," Sakura laughs, smirks. "From a safe distance, that is. Looks like this is gonna be entertaining, eh, Aya-chan?" Aya grins, and I'm reminded just how cold and opportunistic the girls can be.
"Let the catfight begin!"
Arima hasn't talked to either of us since this morning. I should have the advantage since I'm in his class, but a fat lot of good it's done. When he ignores someone, he really goes at it with everything he's got. He does it so aggressively it's like he's shocked you into a block of ice.
Tsubasa, how I hate you, you annoying, contemptible baby! Messing my life up, getting in my way! Even if I'm not dating him, I'm still his best friend, not you! I hate everything about you! You're not even cute, you're a slimy, creepy little worm! How could you send everything to hell so suddenly?
Still, I have to admit, it's just a little fun competing against her.
The first skirmish occurs, oddly enough, over homework. The next morning, I'm walking to school as cautiously as I can, but she still manages to get the jump on me. Before I know it, she's ripped my actually-finished math homework from my bag and has shoved it down her mouth. I watch in disbelief as she chomps down on the pieces of my hard work, grinning obscenely.
"Stay away from Arima," she says.
In return, I pick her up and hurl her into the fountain. Water seems to be a recurring theme with us, doesn't it?
I get detention, the only one in my class who lacked their homework to turn in, and Arima actually acknowledges my existence long enough to give me a sad, reproachful look. I wilt into a little puddle of shame in my seat.
Tsu-ba-saaaaaa...
"Hey," I say to one of the more popular girls during break. "Did you know Shibahime Tsubasa is a lesbian?"
The rumor spreads so quickly that I pass Chihiro in the hall and she's shooting Tsubasa a speculative glance. Point for Asapin. This is hysterical. However, she's not one to give up so easily. One minute I'm admitting to Arima that I started the rumor, a blink of the eye later he's asking me if I'm really a cross-dresser.
A new battleground emerges, one I'm confident of my victory on. Just wait, fair Arima, I'll soon smite such a blow it will vanquish the foul Tsubasa and win you back for eternity! For days all my friends ignore Tsubasa and me, but we sure are pretty entertained. It's rare that someone can keep up with me, but can she match me in this?
"Did you know Tsubasa ripped a girl's ear off?"
"Asaba Hideaki is secretly obsessed with Pokemon."
"Tsubasa has sex with animals!"
"Asaba rapes elementary-schoolers!"
"Tsubasa had plastic surgery!"
"Asaba had plastic surgery!"
"Tsubasa's a Nazi!"
"Asaba's a devout Christian!"
"Tsubasa worships the devil!"
"Asaba had a sex change!"
"Tsubasa had a sex change!"
"Asaba's a virgin!"
"Tsubasa has a tail!"
"Asaba's the love child of Hamasaki Ayumi and Gackt!"
"Tsubasa used to be a baby prostitute!"
"Asaba's in love with Arima!"
I attack her when she says that last one, and we start rolling on the floor trying to hit each other. That way the character defamation ends and the super kung-fu death match begins. Besides, no one believed us after the first few rumors, anyway. Arima later told me he hadn't believed any. It's weird he'd get anything wrong like that. One of those things was true.
It's unbelievable the way Tsubasa can fight. For someone who seems so dim she sure is multi-talented. She fights like some kinda wild cat, a dirty scavenger like a hyena, shrieking and growling, at complete odds with her ethereal appearance and name. She's tiny but quick, and she kicks harder than anyone's business, especially in the places that hurt. Fighting her doesn't make me guilty like I thought it would, because it's not fighting a girl, it's fighting a Tsubasa.
We brawl anywhere and everywhere, somehow managing to escape getting in trouble. Sakura-tachi have taken to watching each of our fights and bringing popcorn. Arima denies even knowing us, much less ever having associated with us.
I end up with a dashing manly scar across my cheek, inflicted by her nails, and my sheep tractor beam increases its power quite exponentially, girls swooning over it constantly. However, Tsubasa always ends up able to look forlorn and helpless, so she racks in the love as well.
Our areas of competition expand as the hostility between us flares to an all-time high. Flirting becomes another opportunity for contention. Subject 1: Female of the species. A Class C girl named Namie, to be precise, a girl neither of us know. Odds are she's straight, but Tsubasa can melt any girl's heart with her littleness and cuteness. I think she capitalizes on the whole maternal-instinct fluffy bunny fangirl clinical-insanity thing. Midorino Namie is a musician, friendly, and nice. She's like a blank slate for both of us. The games shoot forward!
Tsubasa gets to go first. As classes are letting out, she slinks into class C and crawls right up to Namie's desk. Namie looks up from packing her bag. "You're Tsubasa," she says, "Right?" The girl's already become infamous.
Tsubasa nods, then becomes smaller and cuter than I thought humanly possible. She bites her lip in such an adorably shy way even I want to glomp her, then asks, big, beautiful eyes watery, "Can I have a hug?"
Namie stares at her for a second, then shrieks, "So CUTE!" and pounces on Tsubasa so forcefully they both tumble over, knocking down a few chairs in the process. Go, Tsubasa. Shit. Well, I'll just have to do better.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, Namie's finally said goodbye to her friends, and, apparently part of the go-home-right-after-school club, is heading out. I'm waiting for her there in the deserted hallway, standing in her path, framed by sunlight.
"Hey, Namie-chan," I say, voice oozing charm. "Can I talk to you?"
"Asaba-san," she blinks, nervous suddenly. "Uh, yeah, of course." We go into some empty classroom, and Tsubasa, peering out at us from behind a corner, sticks her tongue out at me.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. She knows my reputation, but she never thought I'd talk to her. I'm so good-looking...
"Namie-chan," I begin, "I have something to say. You'll hear me out, right?"
"Of course," she says, almost stammering over those little words, and I can tell what she wants me to tell her. Girls are all the same, completely.
"Namie-chan," I breathe, "I like you."
"What!" she shrieks, turning an ungodly red.
"I like you," I say, fixing my eyes on where she stands. "You don't know me, but I know you. I've been watching you for a while. Not in a perverted way, I promise. You're just really special."
Namie gapes at me, struck almost mute. "You're joking, right?" she gasps.
I feel a sudden wave of guilt sweep over me, burying itself in my gut uncomfortably. It isn't in me to lie to women, and Arima would hate me for this. I lean in closer to her, take her shoulder so I can whisper in her ear. She freezes, breathless.
"You're right," I admit. "Tsubasa and I are fighting, and we bet about who could get your attention better. I don't even know you, but I have to win against her. Will you let me kiss you?"
Namie gasps, then looks down. "You asshole," she mutters, "I've never even been kissed before."
"I promise it'll be good," I whisper, "and I'll take you out sometime to make it up to you. Please, Midorino-san?"
She stares at me for a second, evaluating, then her blush intensifies and she nods. I can feel Tsubasa's alien gaze boring into us. I reach out and run a hand down her face, her soft cheek, and gently cup her chin in my hand, through the pulse point on her neck can feel her heartbeat accelerating.
Slowly, I lean in and place my mouth against hers, my arms around her waist leaning her back. She's warm and surprised and I try to imagine this is what kissing Arima would be like, that I'm kissing him. At first it's just lips to lips, chaste and innocent. I can feel her trembling beneath me, find an unexpected compassion for her rising in my chest. Pleasure runs through me, a dull yearning, then brightness, delicious heat. I think of Arima and dip her further back, tongue finding its way into her mouth, smooth and wet and aching, gliding against the sharpness of braces I hadn't noticed. It overwhelms my brain, the satisfaction I feel at her submission to me. She moans and reaches a delicate hand up, runs it through my hair, a caress that lingers as I pull away from her, disentangling the two of us as I help her back up. Whoo. Damn. I see Tsubasa gaping at us, forgetting about concealing herself. I point deliberately to myself. My win.
I turn back to Namie after Tsubasa's stomped off. "Thanks," I say. "When are you free?"
Namie looks dizzy, there's no other word for it, dazed and confused. She doesn't answer my question. "Is kissing always that good?" she asks, almost dreamily.
"I dunno," I say, and repeat, "When are you free?"
"Oh, forget about that," Namie says. "I mean, you're gay, right?"
My mouth drops open indignantly. "Bi!" I snap. "I'm bi!"
The musician girl shrugs. "I've just seen you with Arima Soichiro, and you seemed pretty close, that's all. Sorry if I made a mistake there, but I don't think I did."
Why is it that when it comes to this I feel so vulnerable, so unsure of myself? I don't know if I'm obvious about it, but if so many people suspect it I must be, past my shounen ai fanservice and my attention-grabbing. Someone could be joking about it with Arima right now. Why is it that when it comes to this I'm no good anymore?
"Nonsense," I say. "I'd never be able to forgive myself if I wronged a lady."
It's also strange. I mean, I'm making so many friends this year. Arima must be changing me.
Arima doesn't like it when I stop. He growls, a low sound from the depths of his body that cuts straight through my own. I stare at him, overcome by the intensity of this feeling, this realization, so much like pain only so scarily different. I've never, ever felt this before. I never even imagined I could feel like this. The normal sensation of my chest, my emotions, usually just there, oxygen, turns to something completely unfamiliar, a strange new part of me, miserably cloying flame. It's kind of like being sick, the foreignness, the desperation, the connection to something else, someone else, another part of myself. I want to give in to you. I want to stop existing right this instant.
Arima pushes me against the wall so hard it knocks the air out of me, and I can't feel my mind anymore, only his. His mouth delves into mine this time, pushing against me as I return it, hands digging into my shoulders and neck so hard I think I'm gonna come right here right now, without even being touched. I can't say anything, no smart comment, no stupid thing I'll end up regretting, no lies or denial. He wants me. Only me.
It's the principle of inevitability, his mouth on my neck, taking the place of his hands, greedily eating me up and sending my senses to the moon and reason to its dark side as he makes me cry out, hands trailing down my chest and my stomach and up my legs, my knees that want to give out beneath me. The fantasy gives out beneath me, because it's only what I imagined, not reality. If Namie had been Arima, I wouldn't have stopped.
We interrupt this program with these messages.
I should type with my whole hand, but I've only ever learned how to do it with my two index fingers. My grammar school teacher tried to teach us differently, but me, along with a few others in my class, never quite understood. It makes my typing slowly, this problem I've never lost, but it's alright. Typing slow gives me time to think, something I need on occasions like these.
"Father," I type, and stop, inspect the six letters I've put on the screen. Alright. That's fine.
"This is Hideaki. I guess you're wondering why the hell I'd be writing to you. Eh, that's a pretty good question."
I stop. Fuck, that's awful. Well, what else can I say? It's not like Arima's here to help me. It's been a week since he started ignoring Sakura and me. I keep on writing, and I think I lose the plot somewhere, but who cares, really?
"Somehow it feels like ages since I last saw you. It's only been a few weeks. It's weird, I never used to feel like this after years. Do you think we got to like each other better on your visit? I mean, we're not ready to forgive and forget, either of us. I know I'm sure not. But I really don't want to disappoint Arima. Plus, when I think about what we fought about, it seems kind of stupid to me now. Am I wrong, or am I right? What do you think?
"I haven't had any major tests, so my grades are the best they've been since about second year of elementary school. Arima and I aren't talking. He won't talk to me because I've been fighting with this girl over him. Even if he keeps ignoring me, I won't let her get the better of me. It's important to me.
"I'm not gonna change that I love Arima anytime soon. I'm not gonna stop messing around with girls. I'm not gonna be a businessman, I'm gonna be an artist. I wouldn't mind if you came to stay at my apartment again sometime.
"I want you to tell me what Mom was like sometime."
Only Father could ever understand how much that sentence hurts me to write.
These messages conclude.
Wakato-sensei announces something that totally freaks me out during our next art class. We're going to have to paint some things to be put in a museum exhibition. The saddest thing about my reaction to that, aside from the subsequent panic and screaming, is that when she says exhibition my brain goes snap to exhibitionism. Enough said there.
To be fair, Chihiro, Risa, Arisu, and Kyo are all completely dumbfounded, too. Arisu actually asks her if we're joking. We just started this class. None of us think of ourselves as real artists. We don't even know what we'd paint. My life is a sucky, sucky thing.
To make matters worse, she goes off to get a coffee for the rest of the class, just telling us to make preliminary sketches of our paintings. This woman is a lazy bitch. More than that, she is psychotic. The five of us artists are left scared to death and pissed as hell.
"This might be a good opportunity," Chihiro finally points out, and the rest of us snap at her so vehemently that even she shuts up.
"Sounds like we're stuck, though," Kyo groans. "Hey, Arisu, if we actually do have to do this, what would you do?"
Arisu stops hyperventilating for a second to look thoughtful, then shrugs. "Who knows. Well, I think we all know what Asapin's thinking about..."
Slowly, everybody's eyes turn to me. "Wha?" I say.
"She meant Arima, right?" Chihiro says.
"He wouldn't model for me, anyway," I groan. "I'm still fighting with bloody Tsubasa."
This elicits a series of moans and eye rolls from my compatriots. They've been hearing me whine about our battle for so many days on end now, they know it better than I do. "You should just give up," Chihiro says.
"No way," I retort.
"Would you paint Arima?" Risa asks, and she looks intellectually stimulated. You can tell, because when she gets like that, she grips her pencil tighter and her eyes get, like, ten times wider.
"I can't even paint that well," I mope. "And I'd never be able to do justice to Arima's beauty."
"You're such a sap," Kyo says, the exact same time Chihiro says,
"You are so whipped." God, I need new friends, like, right now.
Arisu starts sketching furiously. I look over and only see lines. Maybe she's doing modern art. That would stink. Oh, well. At least no matter what I ended up with, it would look better than hers. I think modern art is even lower than Tsubasa.
"I am not whipped," I say, pulling myself back to the topic at hand. "And I am not a sap! Come on, you've got to admit Arima is dreamy!"
"Yeah," Kyo says grudgingly.
"Yeah," Risa says.
"Yeah," Arisu says.
"I wouldn't know," says Chihiro, and in light of our stress, that makes us all crack up.
"When is the exhibition?" Risa asks, another girl hard at work sketching. My brains goes "Exhibitionism!" and just refuses to stop it. Sometimes it's actually kind of annoying being me.
"Few months," Chihiro says, and even she and Kyo are writing down ideas for styles.
"Well, Asapin," Arisu says, "Either you and Arima will be fucking by then, or you'll have turned into a complete miserable heartbroken loser. Anyone wanna take bets?"
I love my fellow artists, but every once in a while they get on my nerves.
Tsubasa and I are in an empty classroom together, after school hours. She's just proven she's superior to me at stealing stuff. I have something to ask her.
"Tsubasa," I ask, "Do you love Arima?"
Her little alien head jerks up, muscles in her jaw shooting back, stricken. There's a moment when everyone first really sees another person, when they first understand the innate similarity they have to the other. I can rarely ever tell when that happens, though, and it's not really that cut and dry, but still, I feel a little shadow of that prick me.
Words don't come easy to Tsubasa, ever. She probably had trouble learning to talk as a kid. Her nature is really one of the shyest ones there is. Her big green eyes are like the grass on the grounds out the window, not particularly happy being where they are. Her hands fidget, in out, in out, Evangelion.
"I'll say if you do," she says.
"What?" I blink. No. No way. "You first."
"No," she says, "You first."
"No," I snap. "You."
"We can at the same time," she says.
"1," she says.
"2," I say.
"3," we say together.
"Yes."
I whirl around, stare at her, and she does the same. "You-"
Something in Tsubasa seems to just explode. "It's not fair!" she screeches. "It's not fair!"
I step back, freaked, even though I can't believe I told her. How could I have been so stupid? But- she feels like I do.
"Tsubasa?" I say softly.
"It's not, not fair!" she sobs. "I've loved him for years, years, and he's never noticed! I'm just his cute little sister! I've tried so many times, but I've never been able to tell him!"
A noise falls from my lips, pushes its way out of my heart. Guilt. Pity. Self-hatred.
"I-" Tsubasa turns on me. "So many times! It HURTS! And you! I don't even know you! You just met him, and you already took my place! I hate you!"
"He doesn't like me," I finally say, and her eyes widen.
"I- I'm his friend, because I know him," I say slowly. "Arima wouldn't be friends with just anyone. But he doesn't think of me that way, either. I feel like you do about him."
"R-really?" Tsubasa breathes, and she's a little girl again.
"Maybe we should stop fighting," I say, "So Arima will like us again. We can call it a tie."
So much happened in just a few seconds, just a few words, it's making my head spin, I can't think straight. I'm not a compassionate person, but it's not fair for her or me. "It was fun, though," she whispers, breaking an agonizing pause in our dialogue.
"Yeah," I say, and smile. "It was fun fighting, wasn't it? I mean, maybe we can be friends."
Because Arima-
Tsubasa's face crumbles and she starts to cry. No way. She's crying? Well, of course. Remembering things like that, things she must have gone through, and all for nothing- well I guess she is a girl, after all. I hesitate, then the sound of her sobs makes me walk forward and cautiously pat her on the head. With a wail, she grabs onto me and buries her head in my chest. Tentatively, I pat her head again, wrapping her arms around her. I hate it when girls cry.
Arima walks in, stops walking at the sight of us. He raises an eyebrow.
"Guess what," Tsubasa whispers. "We made up."
I sleep over at Arima's house the night afterwards. We spend all the time before bed studying, because Arima, even after our little hiatus (heh) still knows me way too well. Somehow he makes it seem like doing homework is a good idea at the time, you know. I spend the next three hours contemplating if I can commit suicide with a ballpoint pen, and if I do, will angels give blow jobs?
We try to go to sleep, eyes swelling in our heads to accommodate the sudden, startling lack of light. I like to think of this particular time as "our time." We can just talk, and Arima's always more open in his own domain, plus when he's tired, his facade slips a bit. It's not as conscious a pretension as you'd expect, but most of the time, he isn't like himself at all. This, the boy lying next to me, black eyes huge, is the real Arima Soichiro.
"I missed you," I confide in him. "I hate you for leaving me alone all that time."
Arima sighs. "Tsubasa's important to me, too, in a different way than you. I needed to keep my distance. How did you manage to make up with her, anyway?"
"That's a secret," I tell him, and grin. "A secret between friends."
"You and Tsubasa are friends?" Arima asks skeptically.
I find myself reaching over and stroking his arm, drawing whimsical patterns on his hand. The sensation of skin on skin is like a static shock, like I pulled off a wool sweater too fast. Arima's soft.
"We have a lot in common," I say, and let Arima stew over that.
"I'm glad you like me again," I say, and I don't have the energy to be my normal, silly self this late.
"I missed you too," Arima confesses, voice so soft it's like he doesn't want to hear himself say it.
"Really?" I hate sounding so hopeful. I remind myself he never lies, an optimistic assumption in this circumstance.
"Yeah," Arima sighs. "Tsubasa's great, but she has her own problems, and we haven't talked for a while. You're the only one who really knows me that well. I can actually have fun with you."
"Arima?" I ask, voice kinda squeaky, "Have you ever fallen in love?"
"No," Arima says after a moment of thought. "Why, have you?"
"Yeah," I say. I stop looking at him. It's harder to lie to someone when they can see your eyes. I hide my hands under the covers so he'll only be able to feel them shaking.
"What's it like?" Arima asks, and he's really looking at me with his full attention, the complete intensity of his I've always found a drug for me, but I'm nervous.
I'm not sure how to describe it, and this situation feels kind of precarious, the movement of Arima's chest up and down with each breath he takes, my heartbeat striking up a drumbeat in my ears, the way my lips move but no sound is coming out. "It's like resignation," I admit.
"Resignation?" Arima's confused. "Why is it like that?"
"You have to just accept," I say, voice getting sharper, pissed, "That what you feel has no point."
Arima sighs. "Well, that stinks. I'd always thought love would be something positive."
"A redemptive force?" I snort. "Arima, you poor sucker. Love is the scourge of the modern world."
"Who wouldn't be interested in you, Hideaki?" Arima asks.
I want to hit him. "You're so smart. Don't you already know?"
He might actually not.
The two of us go to sleep.
"Alright," Kyo tells me. "So I was thinking maybe I'd do something with surrealism."
"Your surrealism bites," I say bluntly. Kyo glares at me. "Well, it does!" I say. "Come on."
Kyo groans. "Then what do you suggest I do? It's not like you have any ideas for yourself, Asapin."
"You know what would be cool?" I tell Kyo. "Well, you're better in monochrome than color. Maybe you should paint something in black and white."
"That's shit," Kyo says. "What would I paint?"
"I dunno," I say. "A landscape. A historical scene. A portrait. A cathedral. An everyday object. Something really cool. Maybe that guy who's giving us this weird look."
"Huh?" Kyo blinks, then freezing. "Oh, fuck."
"Who is it?" I ask, then I grin. "Oh, is that guy your ex? What was his name?"
"He's Tsuyoshi," Kyo says. He's very studiously not looking at the guy.
I have no shame. I turn and walk over to him, despite Kyo's frantic throat-cutting gestures.
Tsuyoshi looks up and frowns when he sees me approaching. "Hey," I say. "Can I talk to you?"
He nods, and we walk off, leaving Kyo gaping after us. We stop by a big window, pushed open because of the recent heat, sending wind sweeping over me. I exhale contentedly. Ah, man, that feels good. I turn to Tsuyoshi, who looks annoyed. Gee, I wonder why.
I lack subtlety. "Kyo's a cool guy," I say. "Why did you dump him?"
Tsuyoshi snorts derisively. "What, are you his best friend now?"
"We're in an advanced art class together," I say. "And no, we're not like that. So why'd you dump him?"
Tsuyoshi rolls his eyes, and I study him. He's short with an athlete's frame, face unblemished, eyes and hair their natural black. He's alright-looking. Kyo's hotter. "How is it your business?" he says.
"I heard you liked me, and that's why you broke it off," I say.
Tsuyoshi shifts, turning his gaze out the window, like he's trying to see something that's already passed. "That isn't really true. Kyo and I were having a fight, so I told him I'd fucked you."
My eyes widen. "He believed you?"
"Too much," Tsuyoshi snaps. "We're over now, okay? There's nothing to talk about."
"I heard you two were together for a while," I say, frowning. "And I mean, he knows you were lying now. Don't you want to-"
"No," Tsuyoshi says, still not looking at me. That says something in itself. "I wouldn't want to start anything with him again. He's stupid and ugly and boring, and way too obsessive. That bitch-"
My hand forms into a fist and I slam it into his face. He cries out, falls back against the windowsill. I storm off, right into Arima, who saw. Arima always seems to be everywhere. Right now, he's staring at me with this really funny open-mouthed look of surprise.
"What was that for?" Arima breathes.
"He was dissing Kyo," I say.
"Kyo?" Arima asks.
"Miyamoto," I tell him.
"You really like that guy, don't you?" Arima says after a second. There's something weird in his voice, something about its tone. I don't get it.
"Yeah," I say. "Everyone in my art group's really cool. We're gonna go out to see a movie together. I'm pretty psyched about it."
"Can I come?" Arima asks. I stop walking. Arima turns. "Come on, Hideaki," he says, "I'm gonna be late to kendo."
"You..." I try to find my voice, "Wanna come to the movies with us?"
Arima nods, and we start walking again. I'm dumbfounded, which is a stupid word, but it really expresses my feelings right now. "You're kidding," I say.
"No," Arima says patiently. "I want to."
"Are you really Arima Soichiro?" I shriek.
Arima nods, cool. "Last time I checked."
"Of course," I manage to say, and find the corners of my mouth rising into a smile. "I mean, I'd love if you came with us. I can introduce you. It's just not like you."
Arima shrugs. "Well..."
God, my hand hurts.
Arima and I walk to the theater and wait around for the others. Arisu, Risa, and Chihiro are all pretty late, but Kyo shows up just a few seconds after we do. Kyo stops in front of Arima and they nod to each other. For some reason, Arima isn't very friendly to him. Funny.
I immediately start bombarding Kyo with painting ideas. He's my sounding board. He thinks they're all crap, and says so, says I'd never make them work. I take it easily, I know I'm no artistic genius. For some reason, though, he looks smug, and Arima looks sour. Ah, well, males are stupid.
Arima and Kyo start talking about kendo. For the first time in my memory, Arima actually brings up one of his victories and brags about it. Kyo sulks, but recovers, and they start snarking at each other. I can feel my eyes bugging out. Okay, what the fuck?
Chihiro arrives, does a double-take when she sees how well Arima and Kyo are getting along- basically, they're not. "What's gotten into them?" she asks me. She's wearing these shiny black pants and this pretty blue sweater. I spend a few seconds ogling her. Nice.
"I don't know," I say, putting my eyes back at her face, since Chihiro is, you know, "grass is greener on the other side?" Yeah. "I think they have something against each other."
Chihiro wrinkles her nose. "Think they had a bad sword match or something?"
"Arima doesn't have bad matches," I say proudly. Chihiro shakes her head.
Arisu and Risa show up together. I wouldn't have thought they'd like each other, but those two girly-girls have gotten closer than any of us. I mean, they're both kinda bitches, so I guess birds of a feather flock and all that. Arima and Kyo are arguing some obscure intellectual point about kendo, way more aggressively and emotionally than is probably healthy. I am so freaked out.
Arisu and Risa raise their eyebrows in unison when they hear Arima and Kyo going at it. "Hey," Arisu says, "Arima's jealous."
"What?" I freeze. Okay, I just had, like, a one-second heart attack. 'He was too young and pretty to die.'
Risa, less shy than usual, giggles. "Arisu-chan thinks Arima's jealous over the relationship Kyo has with you."
I groan. "Don't tease me, idiots, you know I hate that. As if. Come on, let's go see the movie."
We're walking out of the film, a truly rabid action movie, and Arima and I are ahead of the others. He asks me, "Why do you call me by my family name?"
"Why shouldn't I?" I ask, blink. Huh?
"You call all your friends by their given names," Arima says.
"They're girls," I say. Duh.
"What about Miyamoto?" Arima asks, and his voice is dangerous somehow.
Arima and I end up alone at his house again, alone in his dark room, always dark even with the lights on. A thought comes to me, a thought brought by the heaviness of Arima's footsteps, by the folded corner of his ancient history textbook. "Arima," I begin, disbelieving. "Are you- jealous?"
I expect him to deny it, to tell me how retarded I am for even thinking such a thing, but he just leans down, taking off his house shoes, and says, "Maybe."
"Why?" I can't believe this. He has to be joking. But Arima doesn't joke about things like this.
Arima turns to me, turns on me, and his face is the other-him again, the desperation of repression breaking open. "I want to keep you to myself."
"I-"
"I need you," Arima says, and sits down on his futon and hugs his knees to his chest. "I can't do this alone anymore. I can't lose you. I can't."
"Oh my god," I whisper, and walk over to him, sit next to him, his demonstration of the fetal position. My brain won't start working. I have no idea what to say. Oh, God.
I'm kissing him. My hands are wound up his hair and neck, lips on his forehead, cheek, neck, mouth, and if I just pretend I'm not really doing this, then I'm not afraid of anything. My eyes slide closed, feel the tenseness of the body next to me, muscles clenched beneath skin, shock. I can't help it, either, Arima. I'm not doing anything right, clumsy, too fast, too rough, but when I open my eyes, there's his own, black, unreadable. He doesn't move beneath me. You're not going to lose me, Arima. You couldn't even if you wanted to.
Everyone always talks about how kissing and sex all that is what you do with the person you love. They say it's better that way, that unless you love someone, it isn't half as good, it doesn't mean anything. I didn't believe them.
If I only have this moment, I'm going to make it last as long as possible. Arima gasps into my mouth, and I can't tell if he's trying to get closer or pull away. How could anyone not feel the way I do about this boy? How could anyone not want him this much? How could anyone not feel the way I do at this moment, such a guilty, screaming happiness? I've waited for so, so long. He's the only thing in the entire world I want. This is the only thing I ever want to do for the rest of my life.
He wants me. He was jealous over me. He made a fool of himself over it.
Fuck it all, fuck everything, I want him to know, I want to tell him, show him everything I've been hiding from him. I want him to accept me. I want him to say it's alright.
Arima pushes me away. He looks dazed, lips swollen. I'm breathing hard, and I can't talk, but-
"I love you," I say.
"Leave," Arima says.
"W-what?" I had to have heard him wrong.
"Get out!" Arima screams, and pushes me away.
I leave.
I walk all the way home. The sun's setting, casting an unearthly glow on the cars that roll past me. It's too bad it isn't raining, the mist would make them shine. Two schoolgirls walk beside me, sharing a box of pocky and giggling over some magazine. A group of salarymen and OL's climb the steps down to the subway together, too tired to offer any meaningless pleasantries to each other. I nearly knock over an old woman and her granddaughter. I turn my head so I don't have to apologize.
I stare up into the sky, blocking the busy sidewalk. It's blue and pink and orange and yellow, a smear of oil pastels with the clouds cut clean through with silver colored pencil. The sun'll take a few more minutes up before disappearing into the horizon. It's pretty close, though, I figure it won't take long.
The stores I pass all have signs advertising sales. I don't know if they're just doing badly, or if they're trying to one-up each other in generosity. A cute young girl is the only person in one of the stores, and I feel sorry for her, so I buy some little statue. It's of a stone dragon, head raised, fake red plastic trails of flame shooting out but caught motionless.
Damn, my bag is heavy. Why did I want to bring so many left-over snacks home? Oh yeah, I thought Arima and I would eat them. I give the bag full of chocolate and flat soda to a homeless guy begging the aloof schoolgirls for some money.
I stare down at the cracks in the sidewalk and try not to step on them. That's really kind of harder than you'd think, because the moment you stop looking, there you are.
The cars beep their horns at each other. Traffic is bad today. I can hear someone playing piano in a nearby club, some outdoor restaurant blaring j-rock. I stare down at the cracks in the sidewalk and wish I could disappear into them.
When I get home, I have an email message from my father. I delete it without looking at it.