Reader Warning: Discussion about and some images of prostitution (but not sexually graphic) in section two. Please skip the notated section if the topic is uncomfortable or triggering and feel free to read this short summary.
Summary of section two: Nozomi's mother is a prostitute due to how lucrative it is, but Nozomi does not approve. Her mother does not wish for her to get a part-time job to help with expenses and wants for her to focus on school instead. Nozomi's mother thinks that Nozomi and Bakura have been a couple for a year because of a lie Nozomi told her.
As March moved into April, the morning sun rose earlier, waking Nozomi Tanaka just a few minutes earlier every morning. As far as she was concerned, she had the worst room in the house. But, if you asked her mother, it was the best room for a student because it woke her daughter up earlier half of the school year which allowed more time to get ready and, therefore, be more successful in class. Nothing was more important to that woman than the education and success of her only daughter.
A gentle breeze blew through the single open window in her small room, casting the sheer white curtain into the space and allowing a bright ray of light to illuminate Nozomi's sleeping face. However, Nozomi was a light sleeper, and that ray may as well have been an alarm clock. The raven hair girl groaned and pulled the worn pillow out from under her head, placing it promptly atop it. It molded perfectly to the shape of her head. Removing the pillow also let Nozomi know that her neck was once again achy from the pillow's awful support, or should she say lack of support.
The teen groaned louder into her futon and threw the pillow on the ground, a mere three inches below her. Why did she even use that pillow?
She remained there for a few more seconds before lifting her body from the futon. She scratched at where her long black hair was pulled into a messy bun. It was too long to not tie up, and she'd be damned if she listened to her mother's advice to just cut it short. The woman's hair was just as long. If she thought long hair was that cumbersome, why not follow her own advice and cut her own? It was so damaged from constantly dying it that cutting it may do it some good.
She groaned again as the ache in her neck became more apparent. Nozomi pulled her head to one side, stretching her neck in an attempt to relieve some of the tension. She hated when the thought of her mother was the first thing that came to her in the morning. What a depressing and stressful thought.
She proceeded to stretch the other side of her neck, allowing her to gaze upon the one object in her room that made her happier than anything else in the world. On the dresser was a single item: a photograph of Ryo Bakura in a simple dark wood frame. He was dressed in his cold weather uniform, and smiling ahead. The picture didn't show it, but it was Yugi Muto and Anzu Mazaki calling him over from the end of the hallway. Nozomi snapped the photograph on her camera phone at that moment.
Maybe one day he'll smile like that for her too.
After she finished with her neck stretched, she stood up and stretched her arms to the ceiling. She interlaced her fingers and stretched her torso. Stretching was a morning ritual for her since discovering that it significantly alleviated her morning pains. It improved her mood as well, which has helped her have better interactions with Ryo.
Anything that helped her have better relations with him was worth the trouble.
She checked the time. 6:23am. She still had plenty of time before needing to be at school. Maybe she would do a little extra today. She looked at the picture of Ryo and smiled. He did agree once that her hair looked nice when she tied it up.
She decided to tie it up today; that should get his attention.
She pulled out an old shoebox with her hair and makeup accessories and got to work. Ryo was going to love it, she was sure of it. She looked up to his picture once more. Her smile dropped, and it felt like a wave of cold water washed over her. His smile soon seemed more distant, like he would walk out of the picture any second.
And he would walk right over to the new girl: Ayame Hirata.
Nozomi's face sterned. It was a fling. It had to be. It seemed too sudden, and she believed that she understood how Ryo's mind worked enough to know that it was off. That was it! It was probably just temporary. It was a distraction because Hirata was new. She was also pretty, but nothing special or different. With Ryo's unique look, there was no way he would be attracted to someone so plain.
She glanced back up at the photo. Would he?
She looked into her box and pulled out her glittering purple scrunchie. She pulled it over her wrist and took out her hair brush. She also took out her mascara and clear lip gloss. Her mother always told her to look her best when she felt her worst. It was one of the few good pieces of advice that her mother gave her, or at least she believed compared to others.
It's not that she necessarily felt her worst today, but she wasn't about to. She tried to address her issues before they became problems, and especially when she felt insecure, because if there was anybody that made her feel worthy, it was Ryo Bakura. It was only Ryo Bakura.
With one last glance, she smiled. Once again, it felt like his smile was her's once again.
Trigger Warning: Start
With her wavy black hair brushed to a sheen, tied into a high ponytail without a fly-away in sight, light mascara, and a light pink matte lip gloss, Nozomi approvingly smiled to herself in the bathroom. She took the extra time to iron her uniform pleats to creased perfection. Her eyes sparkled with pride as she made the slightest adjustments to her uniform bow and purple scrunchie, which, in hindsight, didn't match the pink blazer well. After adjusting it once more and deciding that she wouldn't change it to a better suited color, she turned off the bathroom light and walked to the living room.
The scent of alcohol overwhelmed her senses. She looked into the living room as she exited the short hallway to find the house half destroyed. Picture frames were knocked over on the floor from the three-tier bookshelf next to the television. The one of her and her mother was shattered, again. Nozomi noted that would be the fifth time replacing it.
Was it even worth replacing anymore?
Women's and men's clothes were thrown haphazardly in a trail from her mother's bedroom to the couch. There was a shoe on the kitchen counter. As she took a few more steps into the living room toward the loveseat, she saw her mother asleep… completely naked.
Nozomi closed her eyes, using all her self control to suppress a groan. She took a deep breath through her nose, but almost choked from the strong smell emanating from the half drunk beer bottles on the small folding table. She began to pick up the mess.
She picked up the brown beer bottles, rinsed them, and quietly placed them in the glass recycle basket. Thankfully the basket was empty from yesterday's pickup. There were four bottles this morning, and it took up most of the basket. Glass was picked up weekly, so hopefully her mother was done for the week.
She picked up the containers of convenience store foods and disposed of those properly as well. Her mother never stirred from her slumber.
She moved to pick up the clothing belonging to the mystery man. She threw them in the trash, and she'd light it on fire if she could. If the scumbag wanted his clothing, he could fish it out himself. She didn't find male clothes often in her home, but when she did, it always found its way to the trash. Her mother has scolded her many times about it, but she frankly didn't care. As she's argued many times before, trash belongs in the trash.
She moved to pick up her mother's clothing when a used condom fell to her feet, spilling its contents onto her clean, white socks.
Nozomi lost it and shrieked.
"Mother!"
The shrillness of her daughter's voice frantically woke the woman from her deep, alcohol-induced slumber. She looked either way until her eyes met with Nozomi's. It was like staring into a mirror that took away fifteen years. "Wha-? What happened, Nozomi? What-"
"You could have at least disposed of this," Nozomi raved as she kicked the contraceptive at her now awake mother, spilling more of the liquid contents onto her mother's bare torso. "I know I'm used to cleaning up after your escapades, but this is just disgusting."
Her mother's purple eyes widened in horror as she picked up the used rubber and immediately stood to throw it in the trash. She scurried, dejected, and promptly threw it into the trash, completely unaware that she had disposed of it onto a black suit jacket.
"Nozomi, I'm so sor-"
"No, you're not," Nozomi interrupted, arms now crossed over her chest. "If you were sorry, you'd stop doing this and make money for us in a dignified way… or let me get a part-time job."
"No! You need to focus on your schooling!" The woman covered her exposed body with her arms and hands, never feeling more exposed than she did now in front of irate daughter. The shame and guilt coursed through her body faster than rapids and hotter than lava. It never burned like it did today. She looked back to the trash to see what little remained seeping on the blazer. She gasped as she frantically pulled the suit and shoes from the trash. "Di-Didn't I tell you not to throw the clothes in the trash? They deduct the costs to clean them from my pay every time you do that."
"Only because you apologize for my throwing it away," Nozomi snidely commented. "Besides, it's not like they pay you much anyway. You'd figure they'd pay you more for this illegal activity. Can't you see they don't care about you at all?"
"There is nothing illegal about what I do," Her mother replied, taking a towel and wetting it with water from the sink.
Nozomi gawked. "It IS illegal, Mom! Any time you do that," she pointed to the trash. "For money, it's illegal."
The woman blotted the white substance with the wet part of the towel, then blotted it with the dry. She repeated the process three times, ignoring her daughter's arguments. It was the same argument every time Nozomi had to clean up after her. She wouldn't say that it got old, but rather she became numb to it. Her daughter didn't understand, and didn't need to understand. It was a vicious, lucrative cycle. In one night, she could support them both for a week.
But none of that mattered to Nozomi.
Nozomi turned around to begin picking up the pieces of glass, careful to not get cut.
"So, is he still here?"
Her mother looked at her, still mentally waking up from a long night of drinking. "Who?"
Nozomi sighed as she placed a larger piece of glass in the small trash. "Your client. Obviously he didn't get too far without shoes."
"Oh," Her mother replied. Her eyes shifted to her closed bedroom door. Truth be told, that's where the man was last. What was his name? Kosaka? Tasaka? She looked back at Nozomi who was now picking up the smaller pieces of broken glass from the frame, being extra careful to not get any of it stuck in her fingers. The photograph of her with a five-year-old Nozomi at the park was on the ground covered in tiny glass shards.
Nozomi looked back up at her mother from the corner of her eye. "Oh?"
Her mother shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Oh, he was in my bedroom."
"And he's still there?"
"I… don't know."
"You don't-" Nozomi started, but ended with a scoff and shook her head. She took the photograph on the ground and gently shook the glass shards into the trash, replacing the now clean photo back on the ground.
Her mother put down the rag on the counter and walked over to Nozomi, still covering her body with her arms. She sat on the ground, legs properly tucked under her, and picked up the glassless frame, tossing it haphazardly into the trash. The sudden action got Nozomi's attention.
"Put on some clothes first," Nozomi sneered. "Have you no shame?"
Her mother lowered her head, embarrassed more than anything. No matter what she did, she could never do right by her daughter. It ate at her. It made her spiral, and spiral she did. How far she seemed to go in just a few seconds.
Nozomi grew more frustrated. "Look, I'm not going into your room to get your clothes for you. Not while some scumbag sleeps in your bed."
The woman stood up, her head not rising with her. She turned around and dejectedly walked to her bedroom. She reached for the doorknob, but stopped her hand no more than a centimeter away from the metal. She turned her head just enough to be completely out of her daughter's view, tears welling in her eyes. "I hate that you had to see me like this."
"It's not like it's the first time, Mom." Nozomi didn't bother with eye contact. Time was running short and she soon had to leave for school. If she didn't finish cleaning this, she knew her mother certainly wouldn't have. Well, she might have, but that really depended on her mental state. Nozomi didn't feel like taking those chances.
"Oh," her mother replied. "Right."
"But," Nozomi started, now looking up to meet her mother's gaze. "It still bothers me."
Her mother's eyes widened, tears flowing now like a storm surge. She was hurting her daughter, and it killed her inside. She clenched her breast tighter, fighting the emotions begging to be free. Tighter and tighter she squeezed, leaving red, swollen nail marks on her supple chest. She gripped it until it stung, but she welcomed the pain as a distraction.
And yet, the hurt she was inflicting never stopped her, and it probably will not stop her. She always justified it as "Nozomi will understand when she's older." It was a reason she used for the last three years since Nozomi's father passed away and left the family without an income.
She did what she had to do. What much could a middle-aged, stay-at-home mother without a high school diploma or recent work experience do in a professional setting? Considering how she was never interviewed for any of the jobs she applied for, it said more than she needed to hear.
Nozomi will understand later. She was sure of it.
The woman opened the door of her room to find the older man sprawled across her futon in a starfish fashion, face up, and also naked. He snored like a trucker, as if he had sleep apnea. It was a wonder how neither of them heard him. As she gazed at him, her daughter's words rang clearly in her head.
Illegal.
Shameless.
Undignified.
Disgusting.
The embarrassment sunk in, and it made her quite quick to grab her fluffy navy blue robe and throw it over her body, tying a bow in the front to secure it. In a shift of energy, she turned the door handle and closed the door slowly, silently. She wasn't about to wake the man and make the situation with her daughter worse.
"I have to go now," Nozomi stated, looking at the watch on her wrist. "If I don't leave now, I might miss the train."
"So soon?" Her mother crossed her arms across her chest, eyes widening in concern. "Without breakfast?"
Nozomi shook her head. "I'll be fine."
"That's not good enough," her mother stated as she walked over to the refrigerator. "At least have some bread."
"It'll be hard and dry coming out of the refrigerator," Nozomi explained. She really didn't want it. Her morning with her mother was too eventful, and she wanted it to just be over.
"A few seconds in the microwave with a wet paper towel will soften it right up. You can eat it on the way to the station. I'll prepare it now." The woman opened the refrigerator and placed the bread roll on the counter next to the sink. She quickly ripped a paper towel and wet it, wringing out the excess water with one hand and shaking it open. "It'll be quick. Ten seconds. You won't be late, I promise."
Nozomi sighed, conceding defeat, but smiled. Nothing brought the teen more joy than watching her mother act like a mother. It wasn't that it was a rare sight, but one that she felt she didn't see enough. At least, not as often as it should have been, in her opinion. She took that brief cooking time to hurry back to her bedroom for a new pair of socks.
And after ten seconds in the microwave, the bread came out as fragrant as the day Nozomi's mother brought it home and steamed slightly. Total time to prepare must have been less than a minute, and now Nozomi had a small breakfast.
"What time will you be coming home today, Nocchan?" Her mother asked, using her nickname. She must have been feeling better to use that embarrassing nickname.
Nozomi maintained her smile. "Same time as usual."
Her mother smiled in return. "I'll be waiting."
"Speaking of waiting, I really need to go now. He's probably waiting for me." Nozomi grabbed her bread with the wet towel from the small plate. She walked a few steps over to the front door and slipped on her dark brown oxfords.
"Ryo?"
Nozomi snapped her head back at the mention of his name.
"When will I get to meet him? It's been almost a year since you two have been dating, hasn't it?"
Nozomi instinctively sucked in and bit her lower lip ever so subtly, ever so slightly. Has it been that long since she told her mother that? At times, she wished she never told her mother, but most of the time she knew it was for the best. It justified the image in her bedroom. It justified her leaving early. It was a reason for her mother to not worry about her walking home "alone" in a rougher part of town at least two days out of the week. Ryo was convenient for her, and he was good for her. They may not have been dating, but her feelings for him were very real.
Ryo Bakura has been saving her every day.
"He's been busy lately, especially with his father opening that new Egyptian exhibit at the Domino Museum," she stated, and it wasn't really a lie… just a real excuse for a fake one. "But I really do want you to meet him. He's wonderful."
"He sounds like he is," her mother smiled. "I'm glad you have somebody like that."
"Yeah," Nozomi agreed. "Me too."
Oh, how depressing her reality was.
"Well! I don't want to make you late! Be safe, Nocchan, and study hard!"
Nozomi nodded with a smile. "And you," She lowered her head and looked up at her mother, eyes wide. "Don't forget to take out the trash."
Her mother pouted. It wasn't cute, but Nozomi wasn't going to let it ruin her morning. Her mother crossed her arms over her chest once more. "He'll be gone before you come home."
"He better be," Nozomi stated seriously, with dangerous intent dripping from her every word. "Or I'll kick him to the curb myself, regardless of if he paid you well."
Her mother opened her mouth to retort, but Nozomi was already out the door and rushing to Domino Station - West.
Trigger Warning: End
Ryo Bakura came to school no earlier than eight every morning. The boy functioned like clockwork, which made it easier for Nozomi to plan her morning schedule. By picking that specific train time, she has consistently arrived at school earlier than him for the past year. The only times she missed him were for the following reasons: Duelist Kingdom and two instances of oversleeping (or so she was told).
Today must have been another one of those anomalies.
She arrived at 7:50, an hour before school started. Typically, only a few students came at that time including Ryo and sometimes Seto Kaiba, though he usually came much earlier if he came at all. There were also some stragglers, none of whom ever caught Nozomi's eye. None of them mattered.
Only he mattered.
So, when Rei and Yuko arrived at their usual time at around 8:20 and Ryo was nowhere to be found, she panicked. Where could he be? Was he sick? Did he just miss his train? Did he oversleep again?
In her panic, she quickly turned her attention toward her two friends. The sudden action startled Yuko. "Did either of you see Ryo on your way here?"
Rei shook her head.
Yuko frowned. "He's not here?"
Nozomi shrugged. "I didn't see him arrive."
The raven-haired girl crossed her arms, running more scenarios in her mind and stressing herself sick with worry. She looked back up at the clock on the school building. It was 8:30, and school would start in 10 minutes.
"Maybe he's late?" Yuko offered, optimistic.
Nozomi looked back to her petite friend, then immediately went back to the clock. Ryo was never late. His friends arrived earlier looking to be in good spirits, talking and laughing about something she didn't care about. They wouldn't be laughing if he wasn't okay. They'd be worried sick about him because, after all, they were his friends.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
When she opened them and looked into the school windows, her heart sank to the deepest pits of her gut, landing with the hardest impact she has ever felt, because there he was on the second floor, perfectly fine, and walking toward the classrooms. She released the breath she was holding, relieved. A smile grew on her face.
She opened her mouth to tell her friends the fantastic news, but stopped short with the sight of the new girl coming out of 2-A to give him something. She couldn't tell their expressions, but none of that mattered. None of it, except for the girl who caused her to worry for Ryo's safety.
"I found him. Let's go."
The day passed slowly. Ayame was sure it had something to do with the first lesson being history. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the subject. In fact, she loved history. The problem was history instructors. In her experience, every teacher she had in the class was monotonous as if they were taught to present that way when training to become educators. Unfortunately for Ayame, she unconsciously associated monotony with her mother and bedtime stories. As such, she was prone to daydreaming and, on occasion, sleeping.
Today, her mind wandered, and it wandered to the boy with white hair: Ryo Bakura.
She looked out the window and the teacher's voice droned out, not that she was listening at that point anyway. The events of that morning played in her head. The one thing that stuck out was his sudden change in personality. What did her mother call it? Bipolar disorder? No, that felt a bit extreme.
Remember, you're not a doctor.
It's exactly what her mother would say. No, it was exactly what Sumiko would say… regardless, it held a truth that was now repeated twice to her in one day, only this time it was very clearly in her voice. It was the truths Sumiko spoke of that made her a great person to talk to, and right now how she wished she could go home and talk to her about that boy. She would talk about everything that transpired over the last week: his fan club (if Ayame would call it that), his differing personalities, his inconvenient memory lapses, the electric shocks… especially those electrical shocks.
She looked at her hand and remembered the sensation of the energy flowing through her body. She opened and closed her hand twice to get rid of her brain's physical reminder. That last one was the strongest so far. How many times had he shocked her already? She looked out the window with her eyebrows furrowed, growing deeper in thought. Today was the first day that she touched his skin and didn't shock him, but she got shocked when she touched him a second time. One touch out of a few, but the one that it didn't happen gave her hope that the whole thing could very well be related to the weather or the fabrics on their bodies. She was wearing the wool coat as part of their spring uniform, despite Domino City being warmer than Shogi City at the same time of year.
Maybe she should try touching him again? She could justify it as science.
She smiled and propped her arm up to support her head, proud of her conclusion. She was going to figure him out, and if she was going to do that, she probably needed to be friends with Nozomi. Her eyes twitched. Stress.
"Miss Hirata?"
Why would she want to be friends with her? Maybe she didn't have to be friends. Acquaintances would be sufficient. She adjusted her arm so that her finger could push against her temple in an attempt to prevent the stress from causing a headache. Did she really have to go through Nozomi to be better friends with Bakura? The possibility crossed her mind that Nozomi was actually Bakura's girlfriend. Nozomi Tanaka and Ryo Bakura. It was possible, and if it was true, was she overstepping?
No, they can't be together.
"Miss Hirata."
That was what she told herself. Maybe she wanted it to be true, but why would she want it to be true? She closed her eyes to relax, but the thoughts racing in her head allowed for none of that. The train continued with the observation that Bakura seemed keen on letting Ayame know to use his first name, something that even his friends never called him. Not even Nozomi called him Ryo, or if she did it had to have been rarely. The way he said it also confused her. It was sweet, grossly sweet, as if he wanted an emotional reaction out of her.
An emotional reaction?
She opened her eyes and narrowed one side to a wink. Blurred, overlapping thoughts went through her head, none obvious until it hit her. Her eyes opened wide and she lifted her head off her arm. She gazed out the window into the blue sky, a blush creeping onto her face.
Was he flirting with me?
"Ayame Hirata!"
Startled, she snapped her head toward the teacher's loud voice and stood up just as quickly. "Yes, Mr. Nakamura!" She proclaimed in Japanese.
It was no longer the history teacher. It was the English teacher, Mr. Thompson. He was a tall, lanky, young American with large glasses, brown eyes, and short, blonde hair, gelled and parted to the left. His Japanese sounded surprisingly native, but once he spoke English, it would become obvious that he was American like Eri. Had she not known better, she would have thought he was Japanese. Maybe he's one of those half-Japanese? They do all seem to look different from each other… but not that it mattered, because he wasn't pleased and it showed.
Mr. Thompson raised an eyebrow as the class giggled at her mistake. Her eyes widened when she realized it definitely was not the old Mr. Nakamura. "Ah, sorry Mr. Thompson," she corrected, again in Japanese and with her face flushed pink.
"Glad to have you back, Miss Hirata," he said in English. Her spine straightened, nervous. While she understood him, he spoke at a native pace unlike her last English teacher at Shogi who was Japanese and had a noticeably thick accent. She peered over to her right to find Seto Kaiba's seat empty, but that only meant it was only one less pair of eyes on her. The whole class starred, some still chuckling. Uncomfortable, she turned her attention back to Mr. Thompson who stood in front of the clack board that had a few sentences written on the chalkboard with pronouns underlined.
"Be here with us, please," Mr. Thompson instructed in English. "And sit back down."
"Yes, Mr. Thompson, I'm sorry," Ayame responded in Japanese, sitting down quickly.
"Mr. Thompson," he responded in English. "Please do your best to speak only English in my class as I've reminded you before." He picked the novel up again. "Now, continuing with chapter four, page 56 in our text and continue reading under the topic 'Pronouns'."
Her face paled. When was the last time she felt this embarrassed in class? Never was the correct answer. She had never been this embarrassed. She was the perfect student her mother expected, and it was something she took pride in.
Yet, here she was at Domino High school completely unprepared. She didn't even have the correct textbook out. She quickly opened her bag and pulled out the book earning a disdainful look from Mr. Thompson and chuckles from her peers. Didn't these classmates know when to stop chuckling? Aren't they supposed to be mature and top of their class? Ayame thought that these classmates were getting annoying. The icing on the cake would have been if Seto Kaiba was there. Would he have laughed at her too? Would he have given her another disappointed look? Or, would he have not cared at all? Ayame was sure it would be the latter, and that was oddly comforting. Oh, how she wished everyone would just ignore her right now like she imagined Seto Kaiba would have.
"Quickly, please," Mr. Thompson urged, though with a gentle voice.
Ayame had the book pulled out and the page opened. "The first paragraph?"
Mr. Thompson's eyes widened in surprise. Ayame spoke in a near-perfect American English accent. It crossed his mind if perhaps she was half-Japanese. He smiled in approval.
"No, the second."
Ayame nodded. She was good at English because her mother made sure of it, and Eri ended up having a semi-lucrative English tutoring service with Ayame as her best student. Sumiko was always impressed, and Ayame felt like crying at the end of each session, her pain only lessened by Eri's mother bringing food up from the restaurant at the end of every session… free American food mended the wounds from Eri's often sharp tongue.
However, while Mr. Thompson was indeed very impressed with her English and compared her skill to that of Kaiba's, it was not enough to get her out of disciplinary chores. He felt that cleaning the chalkboard and erasers to be sufficient, and all with a big smile on his face and in front of the entire class. If Ayame could disappear, she would have. The only positive was that she was not going home to a disappointed mother.
It wasn't the first time Ayame had been subject to such consequences, which is not to say that she was a delinquent or especially lazy during school hours. However, this was the most lenient of the chores she has ever been made to do as a consequence. She supposed it fit the crime, but it was still a chore she could have avoided all together if her mind hadn't wandered to a certain boy that got her into trouble when he wasn't even around.
She clapped the two erasers a little harder, causing dust to burst into the air and the tiny white particles to float down slowly like a light snowfall… like how it did back in Shogi City around February. She watched the dust fall to the ground, gradually building up on the clean tiled floor. She regretted her decision immediately and thought about how long it would take to clean the floors too after she finished the chalkboard. She looked at her favorite white, analog watch to see it was 3:25, just twenty minutes since school ended. In just twenty minutes, the school was cleared out of most of its students. It would probably take her an extra five minutes to clean the floors if she did it quickly and used a rag instead of the mop. The mop would have looked too suspicious anyway.
She nodded in approval of her decision and walked to the small broom closet in the back of the room and got a small rag, wet it with some water from her water bottle, and proceeded to pick up the dust off the floor. As long as it looked clean, she was satisfied.
With that standard in mind, she finished in about two minutes. The tile was white and the chalk was white. There were no noticeable piles of dust on the floor, and the teachers probably wouldn't notice a few specks of dust… would they? She pursed her lips and looked at the floor, all missed specks of chalk dust becoming glaringly apparent under the indirect sunlight from the window. There may as well have been signs over each speck that said "look here," "look there," and "don't forget about me." However, the signs would have been a waste of material since Ayame's brain did the work for her and let her know of every speck between here and over there.
She could almost hear Ryuji's snarky remarks over her shoulder. "Model student, my foot," his silky voice seemed to speak into her ear. "I'll tell the teacher it was you if you don't clean it right."
"RYUJI!" Ayame yelled without thinking, slapping her hands over her mouth. Stupid! She snapped her head to either side of her then turned around to find the classroom empty. She leaned her body and used her hands to support herself on the desk to look out the open door at the back of the classroom for any stopped students. She dropped her hands and sighed in relief.
She got down on her knees and wiped the floor a second time, and this time with more effort and a newfound motivation to evict Ryuji Otogi's voice from her head. Even when he's not here, he found a way to continue being her annoying best friend. She made a mental note to ask him if he was telepathic. She stopped wiping and raised her eyebrow. Telepathic? She shook her head and resumed wiping each dust she found.
After five minutes, she finally finished. The linoleum glistened from the light shining from the fluorescent ceiling lighting and the water she used to clean it. She gave a small cheer, grabbed her bag, put the rag in the laundry, and proceeded to run out of her classroom in hopes that, by some chance, her friends would still be on campus. If they were, and Bakura wasn't around, maybe she could ask them about his weird behavior. They probably knew about it, right-.
BAM.
Her thoughts were immediately interrupted by the sudden pain in two locations: her fed face (specifically her nose) and her rear that was now pulsing on the cold linoleum hallway flooring. She winced as she held her nose with both hands. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," she muttered quickly in succession. She looked at her palms to check for blood, but it was clean. She returned her hands to her nose. She repeated her pained words under her breath.
"Oh my goodness, Hirata! Are you okay?"
Ayame opened one eye to see who she ran into, and then both eyes widened in surprise with her hands still covering her nose, forgetting that they were at one point checking for pain.
Nozomi Tanaka.
She sighed. Of all the people who attended Domino High School, why did she have to run into Nozomi Tanaka? It was as if God was gratifying himself in some cruel joke to force some sort of interaction involving a certain snowy-haired male that would almost guarantee to almost blow the calm, friendly demeanor she has been trying to portray Ayame Hirata to be, which was not too far off from Ayame Ishida… but still required more effort and self-control because there was more at stake than cleaning the chalkboard.
Ayame removed her hands from her face and nodded. Calm and friendly. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."
"It's okay," Nozomi proclaimed as she offered her hand to Ayame. "I don't pay attention sometimes when I'm in a rush, too."
Ayame chuckled and took her hand, standing to her feet with little help on Nozomi's end. It was more a hand of support than a pulling up to stand on her feet. Perhaps she was injured more than Ayame realized. Her face faltered.
"Are you okay?" Ayame inquired with worry creeping ever so slightly to her eyes. "I ran into you pretty hard."
Nozomi waved a hand in front of her face and smiled. "I'm fine. I didn't fall or anything like you did."
If there was one thing Ayame felt Nozomi was good at, it was at crafting insults to sound sincere. "Oh, good," Ayame replied with a forced reciprocated smile and a chuckle. "I was worried that the back of your head might be hurting as much as my nose."
And if there was one thing Ayame was bad at, it would be insults that she thinks sound intelligent but come out as a concern that did not hold a hint of intended malice. Her mother would have been very proud of her, and Ryuji would have been chuckling not so subtly in the background. She would have snapped at him for doing so, and he would have laughed it off, calling her delusional for even thinking he would be laughing at his best friend. She couldn't imagine the trouble they would get in when he is there in-person.
"No, no. The back of my head is much tougher than your nose, after all," she laughed. Yep, this girl was good. "Oh, by the way, have you seen Ryo around?"
Ayame shook her head. "No, I haven't since this morning. Did you check his classroom? It is kind of late too, he might have gone home already," she trailed.
"No, he wasn't there… I checked just before you ran into me," Nozomi noted, making direct eye contact with her for just a second. She groaned obnoxiously in her disappointment. "Ahh, I thought you would know. You two seem so close after all, especially this morning."
She didn't understand why, but Ayame felt a pit forming in the bottom of her stomach. "This morning?"
"Yeah, you were giving him something in the hallway?"
The pit expanded. "Oh, yeah. I gave him a pair of chopsticks," she stated, plainly. However, plainly stating the fact did not make that gnawing pit disappear. It felt as though she was lying, but she knew she wasn't. Perhaps she was nervous about telling the truth? Since when was she nervous about telling the truth? Oh, that's right, since a few weeks ago when her life was upended.
Nozomi's eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Chopsticks?"
She nodded. "He noticed that he had forgotten them when he got to his classroom and he came to ask if I had extra."
Nozomi raised an eyebrow, not at all buying the fact that anyone would ask for chopsticks for their lunch before the first class of the day, especially Bakura. "So you rushed out to give him your chopsticks?"
"I wouldn't say I rushed... " Ayame responded, partly in denial that she did rush, but even more in denial that it was mostly the fact that her spare convenience store chopsticks that she kept in her school bag finally came in handy after two years of having them but never needing to use them. She also detested being tardy as timeliness was something she took pride in… except for that one time she was late in her second year of middle school for taking a detour for a pastry and getting stuck in a line… but she liked to pretend that it was out of her control.
Nozomi crossed her arms over her chest. "It was really only chopsticks?" She asked, mostly in disbelief, that Ryo Bakura would make a specific trip to a classroom across the hallway to ask for chopsticks. She expected that he would know by now that she would have given him her own chopsticks if he had only asked. She was also in the room next to him. What was better about her chopsticks? What kind did Ayame give him that would make them any better than her own?
It was now Ayame's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Yes?" It truly was, and Nozomi's disbelief confused her more than her initial friendly approach. "I usually keep a disposable pair in my bag just in case I forget to pack my set."
"I see," Nozomi sighed. "Sorry, my mistake."
"Mistake?"
She belly laughed, holding her diaphragm as she did so. "Yeah, I thought you were giving him something else."
Ayame blinked, her eyebrow still raised. At this rate, she was going to get a wrinkle between her eyes, and Ryuji didn't pack any of her mother's heavier emollient night creams to relieve it and prevent it from becoming permanent. "Like… what?"
She should probably stop by a cosmetic store on the way home today.
Nozomi shrugged, nonchalantly. "I don't know, something like a gift?"
"A gift?" Now, both of Ayame's eyes went wide, confused, and her concerns about permanent wrinkles now extended to her forehead as well. A few questions popped into her head simultaneously. The first was why would she buy him a gift? What would she even buy that confusing boy? Her thoughts trailed to Nozomi. Why would it bother her if she did buy him a gift? Though not physically showing their shock, Ayame was sure her eyes looked like saucers. Big, blue saucers. It wouldn't have surprised her if her jaw was slack as well. She brought her teeth together for a second noting that they were in their normal relaxed position. Thank goodness, because that would have been embarrassing, she thought to herself… but nowhere near embarrassing as she felt her thought process was. "Why would I give him a gift?"
Nozomi chuckled. "I know, how silly of me to assume that. You two aren't going out after all, why would you get him a gift? It would send the wrong message, right? You had me worried for a bit."
Without question, Ryo Bakura was going to be the death of her, and it was going to be by proxy of Nozomi Tanaka.
Ayame's face faltered; and the probable realization finally materialized in her mind. "Are… you and Bakura going out?"
Nozomi's eyes narrowed, insulted. "Are you dense?"
"Pardon?" Ayame responded, confused.
Nozomi looked away, disappointed that Ayame Hirata, with her large words and serious tone, could not see that Ryo Bakura belonged to no one. However, she was also partly flattered that her feelings for him gave that impression that he may have belonged to her, and if Ayame truly believed this, why would she walk alone with an unavailable man? She scoffed at both her and the thought. "If we were, do you think I'd let you anywhere near him?"
Ayame sighed. "You already try to keep me away, so I thought-"
"You're my competition, Ayame Hirata," Nozomi declared, gripping the handle of her bag over her shoulder. She clenched her jaw and pursed her lips. She closed her eyes tight. For the past year, it was just her, her group, and Ryo. It was intimate. It was special. It was comfortable. Everyone understood her feelings and what he was to her. He was her sense of normalcy. He was her positivity. By all other means, he was her everything… and she was okay with her not being his everything, because nobody was.
That all changed suddenly when she arrived.
He was no longer walking to school by himself. He smiled around Ayame more than he ever did with her. Ryo seemed to lose that oblivious innocence he once had around girls, dare she say that he seemed confident. It wasn't the Ryo she knew; her Ryo. Ayame influenced him, changed him; and Nozomi was sure of it.
She flipped her hair with her hand away from her face. Her untied jet black hair landed half on her other shoulder. For a second, Ayame was impressed. If she wasn't concerned about Nozomi's sincerity or her twisted definition of friendship, she would have asked what hair products the girl used to get such volume and shine. Her, Ayame, and Anzu could have gone shopping together and bought all sorts of hair and skin care items… but when their eyes met after that terse conversation, Ayame knew that would never happen, not so long as Nozomi Tanaka loved Ryo Bakura the way she did.
"I will not lose Ryo to you," Nozomi stated boldly with her fist gripped firmly on the two leather handles and arm muscles tense and frigid. Her voice did not break nor did it waiver. She needed this to be a sign of strength. She adjusted her grip on her handle, releasing some of the grip. Color quickly found its way back to her white knuckles. "I cannot lose Ryo to you. You have no idea what he means to me."
Ayame threw her bag over her shoulder and sighed. "You won't lose him to me."
Nozomi started shaking, anger coursing through her veins. "Are you making fun of me?"
Ayame pursed her lips, took in a very shallow breath, and released it just as quickly. "No, I'm not," she stated directly as she looked straight into her eyes.
"Then what do you mean?"
"I don't like him that way," Ayame explained, at least believing that she didn't, but now wasn't the time for introspection. She blinked twice at the thought of needing to think about if she had feelings for the boy. She shook her head, banishing the internal conversation. "You don't have to worry about me."
"And if you do later?"
This girl was really testing her self-control to not yell at her. Her lower eyelid started twitching in response to the sudden increase in stress. Even if she did, was there anybody left on campus to really scold her? Was Nozomi the type to make a scene or tell a teacher? If the school were to investigate her "record" for instances of violence, she and the Otogi's would probably be in a decent amount of trouble, and decent would probably be an understatement… so, she resorted to her internal "how to handle Ryuji fangirls" manual. Surely if it worked on them, it could work on Nozomi too.
She shrugged her shoulders. "Then it should be up to him at that point, right?" Ayame turned her heel and cringed: wrong response. She started kicking herself mentally, and kicking herself hard. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She mentally insulted herself. If Ryuji was there, he would have publicly chuckled at the very least, and told her privately later that she should have a "how to piss off Ryuji fangirls" manual with all the dumb things she impulsively said to make the target on her back bigger, and if there was ever a time where making herself smaller was prudent, it was in that moment. She was supposed to be keeping a lower profile so as to not arouse any sort of suspicion. She resisted the urge to groan and the even bigger urge to turn and see Nozomi's face.
Nozomi, however, stood there silently with her mouth ever so slightly agape with a myriad of emotions running over her. There was that overwhelming sense of bafflement that Ayame seemed to challenge her for the affections of her love, but that sense was at odds with how impressed she was that Ayame seemed to have challenged her for his affections. It was respect and anger, intimidation and excitement… and it left her speechless.
"There you are, Ayame!"
The female voice snapped both girls back to reality in an instant. Ayame turned her head back to see Anzu walking over where her and Nozomi stood in the middle of the hallway. "Oh, hey Anzu!" She responded with a smile and a wave, turning her body to face the direction Anzu was walking from. I guess Anzu stays late on Fridays, Ayame thought to herself. What a relief.
Anzu continued walking and stopped between the two girls. She turned her gaze and gave a genuine smile to Nozomi, because despite how she feels about Bakura, Anzu felt that her classmate did not deserve the courtesy of a genuine greeting. "Hey, Nozomi."
"Hey," was all Nozomi choked out, and not without a quick clearing of her throat.
Anzu turned her attention back to Ayame, one hand now positioned upon her hip. "We were wondering where you were when you didn't meet us in front of the gate after school," she explained. "We're heading over to Yugi's family game shop and were wondering if you'd want to come too. Maybe you could learn about Duel Monsters from some of the best?" She concluded with a wink.
Ayame glances at Nozomi who caught it, then looked back to Anzu with a chuckle and a smile. "I hope you mean Yugi. I just had some compulsory duties to do early, but I'm done now."
"One, I won't tell Jounouchi you said that," Anzu replied, giving Ayame a dirty yet playful look. "And two, I want to know what you did to get compulsory duties."
Ayame scratched the back of her head embarrassingly. "I fell asleep through two classes, thought Mr. Nakamura was Mr. Thompson, and then replied to him in Japanese."
"Now THAT I'm telling Jounouchi."
"Oh goodness, please don't," Ayame pleaded, genuinely embarrassed by the situation, but Anzu's laughter caused her to chuckle a bit too. Part of her still believes that her mother would find out about it and she would experience worse compulsory duties at home such as taking on most of the chores her mother did or cooking all meals for both of them for a week. It was never good meals, but edible in her opinion and in her mother's as well. After all, it wasn't the quality of food, but rather the act of service to instill the meaning and purpose of consequences associated with negative actions. She felt a pit at the bottom of her stomach, the same one from just minutes ago. Her mother-no, Sumiko. Sumiko, Sumiko, Sumiko. Her chuckles soon drily faded out and her eyes shifted to a random lightswitch next to the door; anything to prevent Anzu from asking another potentially revealing question.
Nozomi gripped her hand but then released it. "Ayame Hirata," she called at a volume just higher than speaking, grabbing the attention of both her and Anzu.
"I respect you for what you said," She said. "But I'm not giving up without a fight."
"There isn't a fight to be had, Nozomi," Ayame replied, nonchalantly, just wishing she would stop talking about Bakura. "If you could see that, I think we could have all been friends."
"Perhaps," Nozomi stated, putting her hands behind her back. "But what I want is something a friendship with you couldn't give me."
"Are you sure about that?" Strike three, and with her industrial-sized shovel, she dug herself the deepest grave she ever dug herself, and then gave the shovel back to Nozomi to bury her with it, or at least that's the scene that played out in Ayame's head. However, despite thinking that, she absolutely refused this time to let her emotions show. Would it have been such a bad thing for Nozomi to think she was confident? Maybe, but probably not. Could she continue slipping up and letting those unfiltered words come out? Nope, not at all. How did that woman do it for so many years?
"Just wait," she challenged. "You'll see."
Ayame gave her an approving nod then turned her attention to Anzu. "Shall we go?"
Anzu nodded enthusiastically. "Of course!"
They began walking down the hallway talking about where the shop is, how long it takes to get there, and how Yugi's mom made the best dinners for all their friends.
Nozomi Tanaka, on the other hand, stood silently in that same spot in the hallway, the sun hitting her jet black hair just right to show off the hint of violet that sometimes glows from the darkest of hair. She gripped her fist again, her slightly grown out nails digging into her flesh. How insulting, she thought to herself regarding how crass Ayame's comments seemed to appear. The voices of the two girls slowly faded as they made their way down the stairs, but her words still echoed in her mind over and over again like a broken record. Are you sure about that? As much as she hated to think it, Ryo Bakura was not hers, not truly, but she knew she deserved him. To love and to be loved by the person who has her heart would be the best reward for all the good she has tried to achieve and all the bad she experienced at home. Perhaps for once, just once, life would work out in her favor, and that was all she truly asked for.
Notes
For more information about prostitution in Japan, please look it up.
It's been asked if Shogi City is real, and the answer is no. Shogi City is, however, based loosely off of Aizuwakamatsu City and Tsuchiyu Town in Fukushima. If you look at a lot of names that I use, you will also see similarities to places in Fukushima Prefecture. It wasn't originally planned that way, but it ended up being a happy coincidence that I fully embraced and included more of. However, in terms of geography, I always likened Domino City to Tokyo in its size and development as well as its location. Shogi City is located in a similar location to Nagoya. Lastly, Shogi is Japanese chess.
…and hello world! I'm alive!