6. Fushimi hated the rain
The bell that signalled the day's end rang out through the halls. Everybody stood up at once, the silence suddenly filled with chairs clattering, people chattering and teachers trying to shout last minute instructions for homework. The crowd was more like a swarm as the students filed out the rusty school gates.
Fushimi eyed the dark grey clouds with a certain level of detest. Being the "kind-hearted" and "generous" friend that he was, he'd leant his umbrella to that idiot Yata last week. Unfortunately, said idiot had completely forgotten to return it. It really figures. Now, with the scent of oncoming rain sticking to his skin, he wished he'd made Yata walk home in that storm.
"Hey!" the aforementioned umbrella-thief greeted him at the gate, an unusually cheerful expression on his dirt smeared face. Fushimi didn't even have to ask how that dirt had gotten on his cheek; it was probably from another fight.
"You've got dirt on you," he pointed out in reply, lifting a slender finger to prod Yata's cheek. The shorter boy shied away, trying to mask his wincing. "Hmph." So he's hiding his bruises now. "Not that I care," Fushimi brushed it off with a vague sigh, shouldering past Yata to get out the gate. "I'm going home before it rains."
"What about groceries?" Yata asked, trailing after him, still brimming with excitement for whatever reason. Fushimi waved his hand, indicating his lack of interest. Groceries can wait. He could feel the first few sprinkles of rain coming from the sky and it made him shudder involuntarily.
How fast he walked didn't really make any difference; he couldn't outrun the rain. Yata was still tagging along, blabbering about baseball, which Fushimi had even less interest in than the groceries at this point. The clouds were getting darker and the air was getting cooler. Not a good sign. The spattering of raindrops was becoming heavier. Fushimi held up a palm, droplets landing on his palm, and glared. He could feel his hair starting to plaster itself to his forehead. Yata kept talking about baseball, seemingly oblivious to the rain. Does that kid ever think about anything else?
"Keep up," Fushimi said, increasing his pace to a light jog. Yata's legs were way shorter than his, and he knew the boy could never keep up otherwise. The huddled under the closest bus shelter just in time to witness the downpour, rather than become drenched by it. "I really hate the rain," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.
7. They had their arguments
Yata's fist slammed down on the desk, making Fushimi wonder how the desk didn't just cave in on itself. "I told you that's not how it works!" he shouted, growling through clenched teeth.
"Then why don't you explain it to me again," Fushimi said calmly, uncrossing his lanky arms. "Because I still don't understand." That would make it their third time having this conversation.
"That's because you're an idiot!" Yata snapped, his chair scraping the ground as he forced himself to sit down again. He sat tensely at his desk, as if he might leap up again at any given moment.
"Am I really?" Fushimi sighed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and trying to ignore some of the stares the other classmates were giving them. He didn't care about their opinions; he just didn't really want their attention.
"Shortstop gets more balls than the other bases, that's a fact," Yata continued, his brows still furrowed, "because most batsmen are right-handed, so the ball is usually hit in that direction."
"I really don't care anymore." Fushimi was already opening his Calculus book.
8. Fushimi didn't get video games
It had taken a few days but the weather had finally cleared, and they celebrated by clambering up the narrows stairs to each lunch on the building's rooftop. Yata yawned and stretched himself out on the bench, resting his head the schoolbag he didn't take much care of. Fushimi could see the corners of his books poking out the small hole in the side, and he had to smile. Sometimes his friend didn't seem to take anything seriously. Except for baseball – that he did take too seriously. Fushimi watched Yata laze around for a moment, wondering how he could act so careless towards his education, even if it was something as small as his schoolbag.
Rolling his eyes at Fushimi – who was taking his usual time eating his food – Yata reached behind his head, rummaging around in his frayed schoolbag to produce a handheld game consol. While he'd had to pay from his own pocket for his baseball bat, this had been a present from his parents a few years ago. There was no way he'd have the patience to save up for something like that. Well, maybe I could if I starved myself or some shit like that.
Bleeps and bloops drifted over from Yata's game and Fushimi tried to ignore them by concentrating on what was left of his rice and skimming over his messy History notes. He kind of wished he'd been born with neater handwriting, but he was glad he wasn't Yata – that boy often had marks deducted from his essays because the teachers had trouble deciphering his scrawl.
The bleeping and blooping was gradually increasing in volume, and Yata's facial expression was somewhere between intense and hilarious. Fushimi gave up, packing his belongings away and slinking over to his friend. "What're you playing?" he asked, squinting at the badly lit screen.
Yata didn't answer him for a moment, his fingers violently mashing the buttons. "Idiot, you made me fuck up and I died!" he snapped, sitting up so suddenly that Fushimi had to jerk backwards to avoid head-butting him. Fushimi cocked an eyebrow, again wondering what kind of game he was playing. Yata tossed him the console, indicating that he should have a turn.
Fumbling to catch it, Fushimi pressed the A button and attempted to play the game. He didn't last 10 seconds. "This is stupid," he commented, tossing it back to Yata.
9. Yata had trouble talking to girls
A girl stood at the top of the stairs, silently watching the two boys bickering about a videogame for a little while. Yata was attempting to defend it but Fushimi was easily shooting down all his arguments. To her, they seemed like polar opposites; Yata with his raised voice and sharp hand gestures, and Fushimi with his calm tone and often condescending stare. She didn't understand how their friendship worked but she admired it.
Fushimi happened to glance up at that moment, spotting the girl. "Hey," he greeted, beckoning to her. Doesn't she know it's rude to eavesdrop? She stumbled over and he suppressed a sigh. What now?
"I'd like to talk to Yata," she declared in a small voice, nervously glancing at the boy. Fushimi rolled his eyes. Good luck with that. He stood without a word, giving them enough distance so their conversation would be private. His eyes glossed over the girl. He wasn't stupid – he knew what was going on here. But she was too mediocre-looking to evoke any form of jealousy from him.
"Uh, um..." Yata stammered for a second, feeling his face flush red. He avoided the girl's gaze, trying to remember where he recognised her from. Class, maybe? She stood a few feet away from him, waiting for him to speak, but he really had no idea what to say. What does she want with me, anyway?
"I'd like to talk to you," she repeated, staring him down.
He felt his blush deepen, his words catching in his throat. "I, uh..." He wanted to clear his throat. His mouth was dry. His palms were sweaty. His knees were weak. His arms were heavy. The silence between them carried an uncertain weight that was almost suffocating. He glanced at Fushimi and could tell he was laughing silently. Scowling, Yata just wanted the girl to come out with whatever it was she wanted to say. "Yeah, so talk!" he snapped, knowing he was being unnecessarily rude.
"I-" she stopped herself short, tears brimming in her eyes. Shit, did I make her cry? My bad. She shook her head. "Oh, nevermind!" She ran to the stairs, past Fushimi who wasn't bothering to contain his laughter now.
10. Fushimi tried not to start fights
Fushimi had every intention of going straight home after school. He was determined to catch up on the sleep he'd lost finishing his assignments at the last minute. But he wouldn't tell Yata that. If Yata wanted to believe his friend was a "model student"...Well, who was he to correct him?
Just in the last few hours, Fushimi felt like the bags under his eyes had somehow gotten heavier. He was looking forward to a long nap as he exited the school grounds. A group of angry looing guys, from the year above him were loitering near the gate. One of them actually tried to trip him, but his reflexes were too fast. He smiled. "Can I help you with something?"
A finger was pointed at his chest. "You're messing with my sister!" The guy's tone screamed I'm an idiot looking for someone to beat up. "You made her cry!"
"Excuse me?" Fushimi asked, a low chuckle escaping him. Some people are just so dense. "You've got the wrong guy. You want Misaki Yata." He had no problem virtually handing his friend over on a silver platter. Yata got into so many fights, he wouldn't be able to keep track of what any of them were over.
A clenched fist grabbed the front of his uniform, attempting to lift him from his feet. However, Fushimi was taller than his attacker. A foolish mistake. I wish they'd found Yata before me, but whatever. He curled his hand into a fist and introduced it to the guy's nose.
As the guy stumbled backwards, clutching his leaking nose, his group of lackeys did nothing but gawk at the sight of all that blood. They've obviously never been in a real fight. I wonder what they were hoping to accomplish today. Fushimi brushed the dirt from his uniform, relieved no blood had stained it. He glared at the group, readjusting his glasses. "I'm going home now. Don't even think about following me."