Pre-Chapter Notes:

- Happy New Year! I'm posting this at one in the morning, so don't laugh at the various mistakes I know are in here.

- Lots of KomaEiki references here, actually. Hmm.

'How long has it been? Two days? No, three. Three sick days.' Hatate blinks. 'Maybe I should go today. I don't feel that bad–'

A headache springs up. The brunette scowls, pushing the pain back down as far as it can go. 'Of course. Headaches at four in the morning. Absolutely, totally natural.'

It is, quite frankly, four thirty two in the morning. Hatate has only been awake for a few minutes, contemplating a few things, such as what she should write about in the next article (well, she could do the one about the Grim Reaper by the swimming pool, but she always gets spooked about supernatural things like that), when she figured she hasn't done any of her homework yet, which in turn led to her train of thought speeding to school and her attendance.

Three days. She's only started attending school a month or two ago, but three days seems like a heavy impact upon her record. With a sigh, the brunette props herself up on her bed. She supposes she'll head to school at six. Nothing could possibly go wrong. With the two remaining hours she has left…

Hatate drags herself over to her table. She finishes up the yuki-onna rumors with a nice little sentence at the end, then moves on to the Grim Reaper rumors. (She's been doing a lot of rumors lately – then again, it doesn't matter much, since she much likes playing with things not set in stone rather than concrete facts.) The brunette scribbles down vague notes and, realizing her writing isn't going anywhere, scraps the sheet of paper and decides that the one about the Student Council President going bonkers over a balance scale mysteriously appearing in her room sounds much better.

She almost falls asleep quite a number of times – thankfully, she catches herself before she nods off and finishes the article as well. It's short, but hopefully sweet, and it's not like there's much to the article besides confusion and a bit of speculation. And maybe something to do with the Grim Reaper from the pool? Some of the rumors being traded around the school did mention something about the President and the supposed Grim Reaper were often seen 'together'…

Hatate pauses, then does a double-take on the sticky note Aya left yesterday. Is… Is the reporter serious? Well, these rumors had come with a hefty price (such as 150 yen down the drain), so she supposes they have a grain of truth to them… oh, who is she kidding? She's only distracting herself from thoughts of Aya as much as possible… which, admittedly, is working rather well. Good. Keep it that way. After all, these articles were of a more pressing matter, even though the distribution date is still a little over a month from now. Well, it never hurt anyone to be prepared.

Anyway, a quick glance at the clock tells her it's already five forty, so she packs up, rearranges her bag to accommodate some of her new notes, then makes herself a bento in the kitchen. Hatate can't hear anything from her mother's room, but just in case, she heats some leftover Chinese takeout from last night. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she heads back up the stairs to her room to down some of the pills Aya had bought her. Brown eyes stare at the bottle in her hands.

'She… really… bought this for me…'

She pockets the bottle and makes her way out the door.

As she thought – literally nobody except Nitori Kawashiro, the asthmatic library girl, and a few teachers is in school yet.

Nitori isn't a problem – she barely twitches in her sleep when the door to the classroom slides open and Hatate tiptoes inside. She sets her bag down beside her in her usual seat, then shuffles through the content to finalize some aspects of the latest article, just in case there are errors she might have missed the last time. (Really, she's just looking for something to do that isn't related to Aya. That is, directly related to Aya.)

Once seven thirty rolls around, a few more students start trickling in, soon expanding into groups chatting amiably with one another. Hatate knows Aya doesn't come in until five minutes before the bell, so she just keeps her head down, ignores the stares and whispers she hears around her. (But, oh, God, does it hurt.) She picks up a pencil and her hand starts flying – she's not even really, totally sure what she's writing about, but it only serves as a distraction. It doesn't have to make sense.

The only thing that breaks her out of her writing is a loud crash and further noises of a skirmish just outside the classroom. Several students are crowding around the door, gawking at the scene – Hatate spies quite a few people using their phones to take a video of what's happening. (She supposes it's for that geeky YouTube channel run by some shameless students in the school, but as she hasn't the slightest clue on what they do there, she doesn't bother learning more about it.) Hatate lets a rather uncharacteristic smirk flash on her face for a few moments – it's the few times she can really let her few skills loose. The brunette digs her yellow-checkered phone out of her blouse pocket and lets her fingers dance across the keypad.

A few seconds later, she has access to the person with the best view of the scene outside – her hacking skills might have gotten a little rusty, what with the newspaper club, but they're doubtless still working perfectly. She hunkers down and watches the scene unfold – and she can't lie that her blood doesn't boil at the sight.

The first thing she notices is, of course, Aya's presence. She has a few bruises on her, but it's nothing Hatate hasn't gotten used to. The thing that stands out from her usual appearance is her expression. Distraught.

The screen's shaking so much it's hard to tell what's really going on, but the brunette focuses as best as she can on what she can see. A short blonde girl with a wide-brimmed cream hat and baggy clothing is busy tearing… tearing something apart. It seems to be paper, judging by how fast and how easily she's ripping it, but it could also be another material. It takes her a little while to notice, but there's also a woman with intense blue hair beside the blonde, her arms folded against her sizeable chest and saying something harshly to Aya, an… irritated expression on her face. Is she just a little irritated or plain mad? Probably mad, seeing Aya's look.

Finally, the blonde finishes her job of tearing whatever-it-is apart and dusts her hands, even if it isn't like she had gotten anything on them anyway. The woman says something else, probably like a finishing statement, then takes the blonde's hand in her own and leads her away from the screen. That leaves Aya, who simply looks blank, then moves to–

The screen cuts to black. The brunette narrows her eyes, then hacks out of the person's phone to return to hers. A quick check reveals nothing changed, so she pockets her phone and quickly makes her way out the classroom. The horde of people seems to have started dispersing already, making it much easier to maneuver. Her breath still hitches when she accidentally touches someone, but the constant reminder of Aya is near Aya is near in her mind calms her somewhat.

Though this time, it looks like the reporter is the one to be calmed.

Aya's kneeling down by the torn scraps of material, picking them up and staring at them vacantly, with just the slightest touch of dejection in her eyes. Nitori is crouching down next to her, whispering a few phrases Hatate can't make out. The brunette walks closer, still a little unsteady–

Brown eyes flicker.

It's paper. Torn paper.

Newspaper.

Hatate drops down to her knees wordlessly, scoops the pieces up, and looks over at Aya. She doesn't seem very surprised at the brunette's sudden appearance, but clearly confused on why said brunette is currently handing the pieces of paper towards her. "Hey, Hata… I, um, sorry for the scene. You don't need to…"

The brunette shakes her head slowly, as if speaking (?) to a child. She gestures at the pieces of paper once more, and the reporter catches the question in her eyes.

"That was… yeah, that was a copy of the latest edition. It's, I mean… you know Sanae?"

She tells her about it at lunch.

While Hatate is halfheartedly picking at her bento, Aya says in a hushed voice, "… Sanae Kochiya, the new girl who transferred yesterday… I kind of forgot to tell you about her, but anyway, it's not like she's that popular. But anyway – I handed her a copy of the latest edition and a flyer and asked if she wanted to join our club and everything, and she smiled and went all good girl on me and was like, 'I'll think about it' or whatever."

"And, uh. Today I was… I was just walkin' in the hallway, I just got my stuff from my locker, and then… and then those two folks came running in and started ranting to me about how I should do my job better." She let out a forced laugh, and Hatate winces. "'Parently, they've gotten Sanae to already go and join Reimu in the shrine maiden training schmuck they have somewhere, and from the looks of it, they think I'm a bad influence on their daughter. Niece. Whatever." Aya sighs. "I – they gave a bunch of criticism too, which I guess isn't too bad, but the worst part's that it's your article they're criticizing."

Hatate's heart stops.

"It was the one about Alice, I think. They said it was all too much speculation and that it was revealing too much of her personal life in a public paper. And… And I guess they have a point, but… they also said it was poorly-written, too many grammar mistakes…" Her breath hitches. "I just, I just felt that I wanted to defend you, because I sent the whole paper to the moderators before we officially distributed it, and he said it was perfectly fine, so I just – I just… stood there. I didn't even try to defend you, I couldn't… talk. No matter how much I wanted to. I… I'm sorry. This probably hits a bit too close to home for you." Ruby eyes look over at the brunette, filled with a sort of hopelessness that Hatate had never seen on Aya before. And even though the reporter looks good in anything, the brunette decides that hopelessness is not something that is supposed to be there.

She reaches out. Touches Aya's arm. She's not too hurt about the accusations, actually – she takes them to heart, tries to accept the valid criticism, and promises she'll really check over her grammar next time, but the most pressing matter here is Aya. Some article she wrote when she had just started out isn't more important than Aya.

(Not a lot of stuff is more important than Aya by this point, actually. It's almost worrying, but Hatate supposes; what can you do.)

The reporter barely blinks at the action, but she does numbly take the brunette's hand in her own, entwining their fingers together almost absentmindedly, gaze staring into nothing. It's awkward enough that several pairs of eyes are staring at them (beating down her back, whispering promises of torture, sending searing strings of pain right through her chest, but Aya is here), but their entangled fingers can be clearly seen from almost every angle. Hatate flushes bright red, but doesn't pull away. If it's what Aya wants…

"… 'M sorry, Hatatan," Aya murmurs, just loud enough for only the two of them to hear (thank goodness). "Back then, when your mom was going ballistic on me, you stepped in to help, and… and spoke… something you never ever do in front of anyone, and then I couldn't even open my mouth to defend you against those two." The reporter trembles – it's a low, almost unnoticeable shudder that passes through both girls. "They're not in the fault, it's… it's more of me. I'm sorry. Hatate."

Hatate hesitates, before tightening her grip on Aya's hand and inching just the slightest bit closer. Aya glances over at the blushing brunette, giggles softly, and pulls them closer together to the point that they're pretty much sharing the same body heat. The reporter nestles her head in the crook of Hatate's neck (burning bright red, too), mutters something about not sleeping all night, and promptly starts snoring.

The bell rings about ten minutes later. Hatate (reluctantly) wakes the reporter up, and leads Aya's groggy self up the stairs to their classroom.

Blue pigtails bounce. "Aww! Look at them, they're so cute!"

"Well, they're getting closer, yes." Momiji blinks. "Maybe they really can pull it off?"

Nitori smiles, but it falters a moment later. "Hatate doesn't talk, does she?" There's no 'much' after 'talk'. It stands to say that Hatate doesn't talk at all. "That… isn't good for a relationship."

"What makes you think they're looking for a relationship?" Momiji asks.

"They're all… cuddly and stuff," the blue-haired girl says, shrugging helplessly. "And Aya's been cutting classes and buying her super-expensive things."

"That's medicine. Medicine is always expensive."

"Eientei medicine?"

"… Nitori, I think we have a problem."

"Class dismissed, everyone. Make sure to read pages one hundred and…"

Most of the class is already out the door before the teacher can finish. He sighs, and starts packing his things up as well. Hatate pauses to write a reminder on the margin of her notebook before she stuffs it back in her bag, her mind not entirely there. She blinks. Is she spacing out? She doesn't even remember what she's thinking of, but…

A sheet of paper flutters out of her notebook. Confused, the brunette picks it up and skims over the contents quickly – it's the paper she wrote on this morning. She blinks, then tries properly reading what she had written.

when i open my mouth

a string of words

at least, that's what i wish for

when she opens her mouth

her voice envelopes me and blankets me

my unworthy self

when i look at her

there is a word on my tongue

but it is so very, very heavy

when she looks at me

i wish there is a word on her tongue

but that would be so, so selfish

when we touch

i am only reminded

of my nothing in her everything.

It takes her a while, but she eventually crumples up the paper and throws it deep in the trash can – where it (and its writer) belongs.

The next day is a Saturday, September 20. Hatate wakes up at seven in the morning and knows something is rather off.

Sitting up on her bed, she scans her bedroom for anything that might be out of place or something that makes her uncomfortable, but she's fairly sure the possible threat isn't anywhere in the house. Outside. But that can wait. She thinks.

She undergoes her daily morning routine and slips on a purple blouse and jean shorts before creeping outside. She doesn't even know exactly why she feels so nervous, or apprehensive – but she can feel that something is here, or something is outside here, the place that has been her home for seventeen years. She's not so willing to give it up so easily – even if most of those years have been traumatizing beyond repair. Deadpan brown eyes show exactly how much she bothers with most of her activities.

A look out the window shows nothing. Hatate opens the door a crack and peers out – nothing unusual. Perhaps it's just extra quiet today? Maybe her mother is actually sleeping? Or her fever is getting worse. That's a likely explanation.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. The brunette jolts, nearly hitting her knee on a table, then quickly runs back up into her room before checking the yellow-checkered device.

1 New Message

… Who could even be…

Sender: Aya Shameimaru

… Oh.

Good morning, Hata! Are you awake? Sanae talked to me on FB and said she's super sorry about the stuff her relatives said. Thought you'd want to know. Also, I might swing by your house later if that's okay. Alert me if your mom is on guard duty again!

PS: You better be taking the medicine I bought you.

Hatate reads the message twice, then sighs. Sanae Kochiya's relatives' words don't hurt as much as the brunette expects, which is probably a good sign. But then, when she seriously thinks about it, it's not her those women were insulting. It's Aya. They had been insulting Aya under the pretense that she had been Hatate. And the thought – the thought that she could have been mistaken for anyone, least of all Aya – makes her sick to the stomach.

She's just a fly. A bug. A pest. Something to be squashed. Or something to be toyed with, to torture until she eventually dies – not someone to be mistaken for another person that's so much more than anything she could be. The brunette shivers, sinks to sit down against her door – and, oh, how her chest aches.

After some time, she realizes Aya said she might come over, and Hatate isn't going to let her be greeted by a rampaging mother (if she can be called that) again. The brunette staggers to her feet and heads down to the kitchen to fix something up for both Mrs. Himekaidou and Aya. A headache comes up somewhere in between frying the steak, but she fights it off by downing another pair of pills. She sighs. Her lifestyle is starting to feel almost wrong, though she can't quite pinpoint the reason why.

A plate of spaghetti is set away for her mother, wrapped carefully in plastic on the table; the steak is laid out delicately with some parsley (actually, that reminds her of the girl always being labeled as 'bridge princess', the one with the frightening green eyes) and a serving of rice. It's rather Western, but since she has no idea what Aya eats (if Aya even eats meat), she just hopes Western flows well with the reporter. With that, she retreats back into her room, bringing out her phone.

It's been a while since she's been really alone with her best friend. She flips her yellow-checkered phone open and starts scrolling through people's news feeds.

Every few minutes, she glances out the window. The unsettling feeling in her grows.

Sender: Aya Shameimaru

I'm at your front door, Hatatan~ welcome me like a good friend, will ya?

Hatate blinks. She takes a look at the spot where her phone clock is located. It reads eleven thirty in the morning. Oh, good. Almost missed lunch.

With unsteady steps, she makes her way over to the front door. A quick glance out the window shows Aya standing by the gate, swaying back and forth patiently. If Hatate opens the door, she's sure she'd hear a tune being hummed by the reporter. 'She's too precious for me…'

Nonetheless, she cracks the door open and hesitantly widens it inch by inch. Aya, bless her soul, takes notice and smiles widely. "Hata! Good morning… or, afternoon, I think. Hope I'm not being too much of a bother?"

'You're never a bother,' the brunette thinks, though she supposes some of her interviewees might be put off. Then again, her cute looks can certainly make up for it. Then she looks up, just an inch or two, and stares almost adoringly at Aya's ruby eyes. Her arm is extending to the reporter before she knows it, palm open as if asking for Aya's hand.

Crimson eyes blink. Then she smiles, and places her hand gently on Hatate's. "Shall we go?"

Hatate 'escorts' the reporter up to her room after she grabs the steak, to which Aya is pleasantly surprised at – she's rather partial to steak, judging by the way she devours the food like it's nothing. Hatate doesn't bother with herself and simply nibbles on a sandwich that's lived in the corner of the fridge for who-knows-how-long. Ah, well.

"Way better than the stuff in the cafeteria," Aya manages to exclaim in between swallows. She flashes a grin, and even the small pieces of meat stuck to her teeth are endearing to the brunette. "Also, Hata, you look so depressed with your sandwich… want some?" The reporter offers Hatate a spoonful of meat and rice, to which the brunette flushes red. "Don't worry, I promise I won't choke you with the spoon or anything… well, not on purpose, anyway."

Quivering, Hatate inches closer, hands suddenly not knowing where to go. She decides on placing them on her lap respectfully, once her half-eaten sandwich is on the plate next to her, as Aya had opted to sit on the floor while Hatate sits a bit uncomfortably on the edge of her bed. Aya giggles slightly and extends her arm to spoon-feed the brunette Western food. "Gotta eat your own cooking, and all! Oh, wait, is this your cooking?" Aya peers down at the food as if it holds the answers. "It does have a kinda Hatatan-feeling to it."

The brunette chews slowly, turning away and trying not to look as embarrassed as she feels. Spoon-feeding? Couples do that sometimes, don't they? Embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing…

After that, Aya insists on bringing her plate down to the sink instead of having Hatate do it, so the brunette trails after the reporter rather reluctantly while she goes on about some of the recent happenings on the school group on Facebook. Apparently, there had been a dispute about whether or not the Student Council President is really in a relationship or not, and with who. Before the President herself had come in the conversation, many members speculated it to be the rumored Grim Reaper, which only made Aya break into a fit of giggles and Hatate to crack a small smile.

And it's not until Aya pauses in her story-telling that Hatate hears the sirens. Police sirens. Getting louder and louder and, oh, God, there's knocking on the door.

Aya goes silent. Hatate hunkers down, waits if her mother will come down. She doesn't. A gruff voice; "Hilda Himekaidou? Open the door or we will enter with force."

Oh, God, what did her mother do? Did the police find out about the drug-dealing? Is she a suspect in a case that Hatate hopes to Hell and Heaven that she isn't involved in? And, God, why does it have to happen now?

"I, uh, think you should answer that," Aya whispers. There's no real need for whispering, since they're separated by quite a few walls, but it never hurts to be safe.

Hatate swallows. She nods, numbly. She purposely lingers in front of the door when they get there, to see if her mother will come down, but she doesn't. A frail hand grasps the doorknob – just barely. Twists it. Pulls it.

A tall man with an intimidating exterior stands in front of the duo. He looks down at Hatate, looks down at the shaking brunette, and raises an eyebrow. "Girl, who are… are you Hatate Himekaidou?"

Her shivers intensify. God, she can't do this. It hurts. Not even Aya's presence helps, and that's the worst thing. What's happening?

Then, a voice, much like the singing of the angelic choir; "Yes, she is."

"And you?"

"I'm, uh, Aya Shameimaru… sir. I'm visiting her. As a friend from school."

The man nods, then looks down at Hatate. "Bring your mother down, will you? We have some things to talk about with her."

Knees knocking. Legs wobbling. Breath hitching. Something isn't right.

"We'll… do that, then, sir. But to be safe, can you… not come with us? My, uh, my friend here – she's not good with people."

"That's an understatement." But even as the voice gets softer and Hatate can feel herself being gently led away by Aya, her shaking only gets worse. This isn't right. This isn't right.

"Hatate," Aya whispers, so soft, so delicate, "You need to tell me where your mom is. Please. So we can end this already, okay? Can you do it for me?"

The brunette steadies herself as best as she can, trying not to think about what could happen with her mother and the police officers. She only realizes she's practically crushing Aya's hand in her grip when she starts walking, and immediately lets go. Brown eyes flicker upwards hesitantly to face a warm, reassuring smile – and a rough, calloused hand is clutching hers.

Hatate bites her bottom lip and makes her way to her mother's room. She can't be sure if the woman is in the house at the moment, but…

She opens the door.

A stench flows out.

Oh, God.

Next part: Hilda Himekaidou has a talk with the police. 'Talk' being totally subjective.

Slacker, 1/1/15