21. Sometimes it was easier to scare Yata than he liked to admit

In the distance, the school bell rang out shrilly, releasing the students from another tiring day. Yata and Fushimi, however, had decided they wouldn't miss out on much if they ditched last period's Literature class, so they were already enjoying the freedom of the weekend.

Dozens of claw machines were lined against the poster covered wall, the colourful LED lights flashing on the fronts and the eyes of the stuffed animal prizes taunting the patrons. Electronic music attempted to set the mood, although it was difficult to hear over the beeping of machines and shouting of gamers. Fushimi hadn't been to the arcade in a while, and he'd forgotten how noisy it was.

Yata was practically bouncing with excitement, briefly motioning for Fushimi to follow as he disappeared behind a row of Pachinko machines. As Fushimi passed them, they lit up and their crappy speakers blared irritating music, hoping to tempt him, but he rolled his eyes. Even if he'd had the money to waste, he wouldn't have considered it.

"Hey, can we play this one next?" Yata called to him, forcing him to continue deeper into the arcade. The shorter boy was hovering in front of a shooting-type game. Images of blood and zombies flashed across the screen, which didn't seem all that appealing to Fushimi.

"I don't know, can you play it?" Fushimi teased with a smirk, slowly folding his arms across his chest to indicate he had no intention of playing. He also wanted to comment on the fact that Yata wasn't known for his accuracy in aiming, turning this whole exercise into an even bigger waste of money.

"What are you an English teacher or something?" Yata snapped, already turning to insert some of his spare change into the machine. There was a click and a soft whirring sound and the controls beside the gun flickered and lit up, ready for action.

As expected, the on-screen character began their journey in a dull, shadowy room. With the curtains tattered and torn and the bookshelves virtually reduced to rubble, it was obvious that something unpleasant had happened here. As they progressed down the eerily empty hallway, bloodstains on the cracked tiles became evident and the white-washed walls took on an unpleasant hue that no longer resembled white. Even Fushimi had to admit the graphics were pretty detailed.

Creepy ambient sounds like creaking and scuffling occasionally came through the speakers, giving the illusion that the protagonist was being pursued by something, but unlike most arcade horror games where music was a big feature, everything else was silent. Well, silent other than the rest of the arcade. Yata focussed his eyes on the screen intently, his finger ready on the trigger and a bead of sweat dripping down his temple in anticipation.

His character rounded a corner and an undead monster jumped out of nowhere. Yata yelped and stumbled backwards, pulling the gun's cord slightly too far and consequently fumbling with the controls. He managed to recover and fire two shots – both of which predictably missed the target – but by then the zombie had already latched onto his character and "Game Over" was dripping in blood across the screen.

Fushimi clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly. "That was stupid," he murmured, although the arcade noise drowned him out and Yata, who was dropping more coins into the game, didn't hear a single word.

22. Yata was stubborn about the stupidest things

"This is your third time playing this game, Misaki," Fushimi pointed out. "If you couldn't get past the first stage the first two times, what makes you think you'll have better luck this time? You haven't improved at all. Actually, I think you've somehow gotten worse."

"You're ruining my concentration," Yata growled, slowly squeezing the trigger and hitting the on-screen enemy in the shoulder – not bad, but he'd been aiming for the head. "This would be a lot easier with two people playing, you know."

"I'm still not playing with you," Fushimi sighed, finally giving into exhaustion and sitting on a nearby stool. The wobbly legs didn't quite match his height, leaving him awkwardly hunched over as he forced himself to watch Misaki waste an excessive amount of ammunition on one enemy.

Fushimi didn't wear a watch, but he could pretty accurately guess the time with a swift glance around the place. There were significantly less customers than there had been earlier, which (to his relief) meant less noise as well. Some of the newer machines that were on timers were beginning to switch off or dim their lights, and the arcade atmosphere was slowly calming down. They'd ended up staying there much longer than he'd intended to. He supposed he could have left a long time ago, but it seemed like a lot of effort.

"Hey, boys, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now," the manager approached them warily, having already witnessed Yata's angry outburst at the "Game Over" screen.

"Like hell you are! I haven't beaten this damn game yet!" Yata argued, refusing to release the gun from his grip. He pulled the trigger, sending a bullet directly into the eye socket of the nearest zombie – his first decent shot of the afternoon. He cheered silently, moving to target the next one, but everything was moving at a faster pace now and he had difficulty locking on.

"The system will automatically shut off in a couple of seconds," the manager warned him. "You can always come back tomorrow and try again."

"No, we won't be coming back tomorrow," Fushimi interrupted, shuddering at the thought. If he saw Yata tomorrow, they'd be doing something he wanted to do.

The game's screen abruptly fizzed out and faded to black, causing Yata to howl shamelessly in frustration. "I was winning that time, too!" Fushimi didn't bother to correct him.

23. Dogs didn't like Yata, and Yata didn't like dogs

Glistening puddles lined the streets, throwing off shimmering reflections of the street lights. The main street was rarely used by cars, but on the occasion that one did pass them, it would spray up a shower of dirty water which pattered against the disgruntled pedestrians. Being especially wary of this, Fushimi insisted that Yata walked on the side closest to the kerb.

Walking with his hands in his pockets, Fushimi barely listened to a word Yata said, as the boy still seemed to be complaining about that damn video game. He sighed, his breath creating a fine mist in front of his face. The groups of schoolgirls passing them seemed full of life, talkative and smiling despite the dreary weather. He eyed them off, unimpressed by any of them. They were just too bubbly for his liking. Anyone like that would surely grow irritating sooner than the average person.

"You're not listening, are you?" Yata asked, a slightly defeated tone colouring his voice. "That's cool. I get it. Video games are stupid, right?"

"Not all of them," Fushimi replied, much to Yata's surprise. Yata's eyebrows shot upwards, hiding underneath the scratchy beanie he was still trying to get used to. He opened his mouth to ask what the taller boy meant, but Fushimi continued anyway. "I actually own a few computer games that I enjoy playing. I just don't really like...the games you like, Misaki."

Yata simply shrugged, about to brush it off when he was interrupted once more. He suddenly found his legs tangled, bound together by something, and he stumbled clumsily, tipping dangerously towards the concrete. Fushimi lazily reached out and caught his elbow, yanking him upright again. He looked down, confusion all over his face.

Beady black eyes almost completely hidden behind masses of white fluff stared back at him. A small dog bore its teeth at Yata, a pathetic growling sound coming from its throat. With its ears pricked up, it tried to take a step back to lower itself into the attacking position. However, its leash was still tangled around Yata's legs, so all the fluffy creature succeeded in doing was unbalancing the boy again.

Yata swayed, looking to Fushimi for support. Fushimi rolled his eyes and, emphasising the great effort it took him, slowly unwound the dog's leash. He reached out with a hand to the tiny canine, which didn't seem to fear him at all. Its nose wiggled while it considered his scent thoughtfully for a moment, and then it happily shoved its head into his open palm, panting and demanding affection.

"Why isn't it growling at you?" Yata demanded, glaring at the dog angrily. The dog responded to the loud noise by snarling at him – well, as well as a small dog could snarl, anyway. Yata flinched, his pride slightly wounded. The fact that a dumb mutt could would his pride so easily only added insult to injury.

"Can we get going now?" Yata asked, stubbornly crossing his arms and spinning so his back now faced Fushimi and the dog. Fushimi knew he was still scowling, even though it wasn't directed at anyone in particular.

"We have to find its owner," Fushimi said, slowly rising from his crouch. The little dog yapped at him, apparently irritated that petting time was over. He ignored it, glancing up and down the street, looking for signs that someone was searching for a run-away dog.

"Who says?" Yata grumbled, twisting his neck to peek at his friend over his shoulder. "It can probably find its own way home." Even over his shoulder, the curve of his cheek gave away his slight pout. Fushimi rolled his eyes again, snapping his fingers at the dog, but the dog ignored him, growling at Yata one final time before wandering off in the direction of the park. Fushimi shared a glance with Yata and shrugged as if to say 'I guess you were finally right about something.'

24. Fushimi was a non-participant when it came to sports

Today he decided he was going to buy root beer. He'd had it once before and he hadn't really liked it, but it was something to drink at least. While the other students were running the annual endurance test, Fushimi had decided to take a break – technically he'd decided not to participate at all – and stop in at the convenience store that was fairly close to the route. Glancing out the glass doors, he could see a sea of sports uniforms jogging past, and he smiled to himself, taking a sip of his drink.

He almost gagged, reminded of why he hadn't liked really it in the first place. But he'd used the last of his tangible money on it, so he figured he may as well drink it. He wasn't the richest kid in school, but he knew he had more money than Yata so he wasn't going to flaunt any sort of wastefulness. He strolled to the magazine section of the store, fingers tracing the front covers and eyes not really focussing on the words. Every now and then, he glanced out the doors to see if he could spot Yata passing by.

Even if the boy was ahead of him, he could easily catch up. It wasn't as if he was unfit, he just didn't like exerting that much energy without a reason. He'd gone to the effort of putting the sports uniform on, but that was as far as he would go; that was where he drew the line. He took another tentative sip of the distasteful liquid, suppressing a grimace. He'd have to remember not to buy it a third time.

Suddenly, he caught a glimpse of Yata's beanie bobbing up and down amongst the crowd, evidently not running with the front-runners. Fushimi didn't have to see Yata's face to know his emotions; he already knew the boy was ridiculously stubborn and competitive, and the way his arms were swinging gave hint of his determination. To do what, I wonder? I hope he doesn't think he can win.

"You're not running this year?" the pimply clerk behind the counter asked, directing Fushimi's attention elsewhere. A friendly smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and he leant forwards on the counter, since there was no queue at that point in time. He'd obviously noticed Fushimi's uniform and made the connection.

"I never run," Fushimi said in his usual bored tone, draining the last of the root beer. He dumped the empty bottle into the trash can and wandered lethargically back onto the street, not intending on joining the rest of the group. Instead, he walked in completely the opposite direction, much to the dismay of the supervising teacher.

25. Fushimi hated nicknames

"Hey Saru!"

Less than 10 seconds after opening his mouth, the junior student sincerely wished he hadn't. He found himself pinned roughly against the wall, with two fists balled in the fabric of his shirt and his feet were unable to touch the ground. He whimpered as his body was slammed against the bricks.

"Don't call me that," Fushimi threatened in a low tone, his eyes gleaming. He slammed the boy against the wall one last time, for good measure.

"I just...Yata calls you..." The boy was dropped to the ground, visibly distraught. His right hand clutched at his ribs, but Fushimi doubted he'd broken any bones.

"And you thought that meant you could too? Tch." Fushimi turned on his heel, leaving the boy in the dirt. Damn that Misaki.