Pre-Chapter Notes:

- Hatate is street-dumb and really really cute.

- Aya gives her new favorite girlfriend a nickname.

Before Aya invited her to eat with her during lunch, Hatate always thought that eating alone during lunch was a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to do. Apparently, once you eat with someone, you're expected to eat with them for the rest of your school life. Or so Hatate hears.

She thinks it's a good thing she still remembers where Aya's table is situated, because that's immediately where she goes once lunchtime rolls around the next day. After all, she's expected to start eating with Aya all the time. If she stays quiet, sits as far away from Aya as possible, and just leaves quickly, it shouldn't be a problem.

Aya, however, does not think it's a good thing.

"Wha-Wha-What are you doing here?!" Aya stammers, staring incredulously at the brunette sitting on the bench and nibbling on her food.

Hatate blinks in surprise, shoulders tensing. She flinches away from the reporter, instinctively shrinking to attract less attention. Seeing this, Aya's expression softens, and she places her cafeteria tray on the table, taking a seat beside Hatate. "H-Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… well… I g-guess you can eat here, but when I'm working…"

It is perfect that Hatate shoves the last spoon of rice in her mouth at that point, because she then fixes up her bento and stands up, stalking away and fading back into the shadows like she always has.

But one person still notices her. Ruby-red eyes narrow.

The next day, there are whispers again. Hatate frowns at each and every one she hears and manages to comprehend, which also means that her face is set in a very unhappy expression for most of the day. To perhaps slow down the rate of the whispers and rumors, she takes a seat at Aya's table once more, but finishes her food so quickly that she's already packing up when Aya arrives.

The reporter sets her tray on the table and furrows her brow in confusion at the brunette. "Hey, you always look pretty uncomfortable here… don't you usually eat alone? I mean, if you don't want to sit here, you don't have to…"

That's where you're wrong, Hatate wants to say. Don't you study in this school? Isn't it that when you sit with somebody for lunch, that's automatically the person you'll always eat with? But every time she opens her mouth, her tongue refuses to move, not even twitch, and Hatate realizes that it's just not in her place for her to tell the reporter as such. Instead, she stands up, brown eyes fixated on the floor as she makes her way back to the classroom. There's never anybody in the classroom during lunch. It's perfect.

And finally, when September 8 comes, Hatate has her phone in her blouse pocket and about three new pens in her bag. She's ready. She hopes.

She knocks on the door this time. Just to make sure, she keeps her eyes on the floor, because Aya's eyes make her feel a little faint and gives her the idea that she should lie down for a little while. Hearing a 'come in' from inside, she twists the knob and totters inside.

Glancing around, she sees that the music room is just the same as four days ago, littered with papers and boxes and pens. Hatate spots the same table, the same chair, and the same person sitting on the chair situated in the middle of the room. She takes a deep breath and, before Aya can exclaim in surprise (as she's sure would happen if she doesn't react faster), she thrusts the flyer in Aya's face.

The reporter seems to be shock-still for a moment, taking in the implication of the unspoken statement, before she suddenly… the only appropriate word for it would be that she explodes. "Ha-Ha-Hatate! You're joining the club?! I mean, well… auditioning for the club – no, screw it! Even if you didn't know noun from verb, I'd still take you in! Are – Are you really joining it?!"

With as much effort as she could possibly put in, Hatate nods. She actually speaks, in a way. Her pigtails bob slightly, and she is reminded of how much work she put in them this morning, tying them as carefully as possible with her favorite violet-checkered ribbons.

Aya squeals. If Hatate isn't fast and reflexive, she would've been trapped and squeezed to death in a very Aya-like hug. She jumps away, back hitting the door, knees knocking together. Despite the breakthrough with the nod, she perhaps isn't very keen on the idea of a full-body hug just yet. But –

Their pinkies link.

Aya's hand.

Rough.

Calloused.

She loves it.

Hatate looks away, brown eyes feeling a little wet, as she tightens the hold. She feels Aya jolt the slightest bit, as if she hadn't been expecting that, but she can imagine the reporter's warm smile as she tightens the link, too.

It's as close to hand-holding and hugging as Hatate will ever get. Somehow, she feels it's okay. (It won't last. She knows. She doesn't care.)

After Hatate is properly signed up, Aya eyes the brunette top-to-bottom, causing the poor girl to start shivering and trembling. Aya, of course, quickly attempts to amend that, and proceeds to talk instead. "S-So, Hatate… is it okay if I call you that? Well, I've been calling you that for the past few days, so I guess it doesn't really matter… anyway, you're really sure you're going to join the Newspaper Club? You're sure, you're absolutely sure? I'll be fine with it if you want to back out at any time, you know. Being a member means you have to go around interviewing others…"

And then, quite suddenly, Hatate realizes that this is a horrible idea and why did she ever think she could possibly do good in this oh God oh God she can feel the terrible, hot bubbling feeling rising up again –

"Are – Are you pani – no! Hatate, it's okay. It's okay. Look, I can do the interviewing. You can do the writing – err, some of it. I mean, I'd never make you do anything like that. I p-promised, right?" Aya laughs, trying to alleviate the brunette's rising panic. It comes out horribly nervous, though. "Hata–urgh, are you alright…?"

Hatate blinks, brown eyes glinting with confusion. Whenever she had an attack, it'd take more than just Aya's words and voice (God, her voice) to calm her down. No, this time, she calmed down like the reporter is somehow her psychiatrist… not that an actual psychiatrist would help her calm down at all, but Aya…

… had…

The brunette nods again. It's still tiring, and it still gives her that momentary feeling that the world's about to end, but it comes along a bit easier now. A glance upwards gives her the sight of Aya's smile, and Hatate feels her stomach wrench. "Glad you're okay, and I swear, I am so so sorry for suggesting you go around talk–well, I mean, doing that with your… situation… thing. Really, I can do all the social work. You can do anything that I need help with. Really! Promise!"

'She's making a promise I'm sure she won't keep,' Hatate thinks, but it's more of her mother's voice than her own. It hurts to have it embedded in her brain, the cynicism her mother holds and imposes upon her…

"So anyway, the main thing I need right now is that I just want you to come around with me and see if there's anything happening. You know? Just keep an eye out for any and all incidents that look like they may be interesting. If they do, call me!" The reporter flashes a grin, simultaneously handing Hatate a slip of paper and a small keychain of a calligraphy brush. "That's my number – the paper, I mean. The keychain's something I made when I was bored. It's like a symbol for being in the Newspaper Club, you know? I'd like it if you, uh…" At this, a light blush overtakes her features, and Hatate blanches away from it. Someone as cute as Aya can't possibly be allowed to get any cuter than that. "… hang it on your weird flip-phone, too. If it's okay. I guess."

She takes the paper and the keychain, pocketing both in the same pocket she uses to keep her phone. That way, she'll definitely remember.

Aya suddenly starts talking again, though it's not like she ever stopped. "By the way… Hatate, um… do you… well, talk? Not to be rude, and all, but… if we can't communicate, how are we going to…"

Hatate winces, but nods to at least convey that yes, I can talk. She spots Aya's grimace, and internally frowns herself. "Well, if you can… I guess you just prefer not to? That's cool and all, but… hey, this is probably kind of creepy, but can you look at me?"

The brunette blinks. She hesitates, but obediently brings her face up to be visible. Her brown eyes swirl with reluctance and confusion, to which Aya seems to catch on immediately. "Sorry, I just… I can see the gist of what you're trying to say through your eyes. Like, I can kind of tell what you're feeling by looking in them. Just so you know, your eyes are pretty… I mean. Um." She flushes red, but quickly catches herself and keeps talking to draw attention from the statement. (It doesn't work. Hatate thinks about your eyes are pretty all day.) "I guess if you just call me and then drop the call, my phone'll still buzz but we don't need to talk, and you can 'tell' me if there's an incident or anything." A bright smile appears on the reporter's face. "A missed call! Or something. Does that work, Hatatan?"

Silence.

Aya blinks. Hatate (Hatatan?) blinks.

And then the reporter realizes her mistake.

"Noooo! No, no, no no no, I meant Hatate! Hatate! I totally meant that! Not Hatatan – where the shit did I even get that? Hatate, I said! I swear, I swear–"

A giggle bubbles through Hatate's throat and escapes from her mouth before she can stop it. To Aya, it's a throaty, dry giggle, but it's also the cutest thing she's ever heard. And perhaps the most precious giggle that has ever been made in the history of giggles. This reporter swears that she will write an article about giggles in the newspaper and about how underrated and unappreciated these adorable giggles are. She's serious. Really, she is.

But to Hatate, the giggle is perhaps the devil's advocate as she instantly flings herself away from her previous position and curls up into a ball by the door once again, trembling. 'What just happened? Did I just giggle? Did I just honest-to-God giggle? I haven't giggled in ten years. I haven't laughed in twelve. Did that really just happen? I want to die…'

"Ha-Hatate!" Aya cries out, a little alarmed by the sudden reaction. "What happe–the giggle! No, no, that wasn't a mistake at all, that giggle was the cutest thing ever! Really! Wait, I know. You're going to help me write an article about under-appreciated giggles and we're going to publish it in the school paper. It's going to sell as fast as wildfire spreads. Hatatan – fuck!"

The brunette lifts her head, the unfamiliar urge to quirk her lips upward coming to her the moment she hears Hatatan once more. It's like a fond nickname for someone… which she's never had, unless piece of shit and worthless waste of oxygen and should-never-have-been-born can be considered 'fond nicknames one gives to oneself'. Hatate hopes not. But then hearing Hatatan coming from Aya's mouth makes her want to smile and laugh and giggle like the seven-year-old she never was.

Apparently, lifting her head was a mistake, because Aya can clearly see her brown eyes flashing in delight, which gives the reporter a horrid idea. "Oh, so you like being called 'Hatatan', huh? It feels good, doesn't it? It's probably because I like your name so much it's all I think about, but I came up with 'Hatatan' because it sounds so cute on you, huh, doesn't it?"

Hatate squirms slightly, burying her face back in her arms in an effort to hide her emotions. She thinks it's a drawback for Aya, because then she can't see the absolute happiness spreading throughout the whole of her chocolate-brown eyes, but the reporter doesn't seem to really care by this point. "Tell you what. I'll call you Hatatan as many times as you like… but in return, why don't you laugh more?"

Hatate freezes. And with that, the light fades away from her face like it's being sucked in by a vacuum cleaner. 'Laugh more? I just said… thought… that I haven't laughed since I was five. This is impossible. I can't… just… is this somehow supposed to be some sort of rehabilitation process? Does she think I have a 'problem'?'

There's a tap-tapping on her head, and the brunette feels a shiver pass through her entire body. However much she doesn't want to, though, she raises her head the slightest bit, just enough for her eyes to be seen for Aya to comprehend. She tries not to think about those ruby eyes boring into her soul, but when Aya speaks, it's not what she expects. "I mean… I can call you Hatatan, right? You have to admit, it's really cute on you. I don't expect you to change for me… I guess I just, um, wanted to see you smile. Just a little."

The reporter rubs the back of her head sheepishly, smiling lightly. "Sorry?"

Hatate shakes her head, more to herself than to Aya, then extends her hand once more, curling all her fingers except for one. Aya takes her pinky in hers, smile growing as she tightens the link, and Hatate feels safer than she's ever been in years.

"So then… let's get you started, yeah?"

Hatate goes home with a stack of papers, about five new pens Aya gave her, and the reporter's number. Not to mention the calligraphy brush keychain still in her pocket, which will be her main priority once she gets back in her room.

As a beginning task, Aya's asked her to write a short article about an incident she's been having trouble writing about, which is about Alice Margatroid, a renowned puppeteer and doll-maker in the school, having been revealed to have been making dolls based off real-life people, most notably those in her class. Hatate finds it cute, if not slightly creepy, though it's probably nothing more than a hobby to this Alice person.

The papers she brings home are all previous editions of Bunbunmaru, which will hopefully serve as something of a guide for her until she can write for herself. The brunette's read one edition, the latest one, and skimmed through a few, but is definitely going to read them top to bottom, scrutinize every word until she's memorized each and every article. She's this determined. She can't – won't – fail Aya now.

But when she opens the door to her house, her mood drops like a stone.

On most days, her mother is on the couch, staring at the unplugged television blankly. If Hatate is lucky, she's in her room with the radio blaring and the television in there blaring even louder. If Hatate is especially lucky, the house is completely and utterly silent. But if Hatate is very, very unlucky, her mother will be up and about, being the person she hasn't been until three years ago.

Today is one of those very unlucky days.

The moment Hatate steps on the threshold of their house, the lanky brunette is stamping on the wooden floor, crashing to a halt inches away from Hatate. "What do you think you are doing, young lady?"

"It's only five forty," Hatate says, voice stiff. If she shows weakness in front of her mother, then nothing will ever be okay in her life again. "My curfew is six. I've done nothing wrong."

"Don't you speak to me that way. No, what I meant is why you are holding those ridiculous papers like your life depends on them!" Her mother spits, saliva flying everywhere. Hatate shifts uncomfortably, if only to hold the papers in an angle in an effort to avoid them getting wet.

"These are for school."

"I can see – what in the name of the Lord is this 'Bunbunmaru Newspaper'?"

"I'm checking them for grammar editing. I get extra credit if I do so."

Brown eyes narrow, suspicion evident. Hatate tenses her shoulders, prepared for anything her mother might send her way. Yell at me for lying. Yell at me for even implying I joined the Newspaper Club. Yell at me for talking to you without looking you in the eye. Anything. I know what's coming. This has happened time and time again. I can deal with it.

Her finger tingles. Aya's touch.

Hatate's mother snorts, then brushes Hatate out of her way, moving quickly down the stairs and across the street. "I'm heading to the bar and the usual place. Make sure dinner's ready by ten."

Then she's gone. Hatate's legs wobble, ready to collapse under the pressure, before she takes a deep breath and sprints into her room, kicking off her boots as soon as the door closes behind her. Leaning against the wall, she gives a long, relieved sigh, trying not to imagine what would have happened if her mother had realized there wouldn't be any use in checking grammar for a newspaper dated two months ago.

After locking the door and setting an alarm on her clock for nine fifteen, Hatate makes herself comfortable in a veritable pile of blankets, nestling in as she surrounds herself with just about everything she would need – a clipboard, the newspapers, the blank papers, pens and pencils and other writing materials. She then proceeds to read every single paper she had gotten.

It takes a while, but finally, Hatate sets the last crumpled paper down, head spinning and eyes stinging from how long she had used them. The clock reads nine o' seven, and Hatate stands up, brushing some papers off of her lap. Her limbs tingle with numbness, causing the brunette to wince slightly, but she continues through the door and finds herself at the kitchen nonetheless.

All the while as she absentmindedly cooks dinner, Hatate thinks. She thinks about Alice Margatroid. She thinks about the article. She thinks that she should research more about the puppeteer on her phone for a clearer result. She thinks of the calligraphy pen keychain. She thinks about Aya. And when she starts thinking about Aya, she doesn't stop.

She places a plate of food on the one-person dining table and brings a much smaller one to her room. Hatate brings out a table lamp she hasn't used in years and brushes the dust off of it, setting it down on her study table, along with the rest of the newspapers and the clipboard that holds some blank sheets. She turns off the lights in an effort to make it look like she's asleep, but turns on the lamp then, and sets to work.

Hatate doesn't sleep until three in the morning, face-first on the paper she had been furiously writing on, flip-phone flickering on and off as the battery dwindles down to two percent. A two-page article about Alice Margatroid and her doll-making hobby is finished.

She dreams of ruby eyes and the tingles her skin gets every time the reporter's hand makes contact with her skin.

Next chapter: Hatate "talks" to other people, and her sleepless nights manifest into something not so good.

Slacker, 11/27/14