ENTITLED: I'd Rather Pretend
FANDOM: Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters. Or the universe. Or romance. If only.
NOTE: DO YOU HATE ME? Because that would be fair. I would understand and sympathize and probably even participate with you. Although it is probably even more likely that everyone has found a new fandom by this point, since it has been like…half a year. Okay.
MY LIFE: In summation: I worked like a slave in the middle of the woods with no internet for four months. I started my third year of university. I moved to England for a year. I started and ended two relationships. I started to write chapter seven first.
MY HOBBIES: procrastination, sleep deprivation, carbohydrate consumption, password misplacement, futile to-do lists
CONSENSUS: Do not trust me.
MY ONE GOOD POINT: I am a stubborn jerk who almost never gives up. This means I am good about finishing things. I like how I just insulted myself when I was supposed to be listing my One Good Point.
LENGTH: 6/9

CHAPTER SIX; The Shadows Are Vague

"I no longer know if I wish to drown myself in love, vodka, or the sea."

A.L.D.

Love.

Of course he loved her. She'd known that all along. Wasn't it obvious? Wasn't it just, sort of, a rule?

Natsume frowned down at her lunch. "You remember when Yamaken confessed to you?" she blurted out. Shizuku, who had disappeared behind her textbook as usual, looked suddenly upwards. A subtle pink had crept into her cheeks, and she took a long while before replying, obviously choosing her words with great caution. Natsume's eyes narrowed. Interesting.

"Of course. Why do you bring it up now?"

Natsume thought for a moment, but could deduce nothing incriminating from Mitty's reply. She heaved a sigh, and began to slide herself over the back of Shizuku's desk, so that her arms jutted out next to Shizuku's sides.

"Nothing. I just wondered, how did you feel? Since you didn't like him back."

There was a long, pained pause. Natsume squinted upwards curiously. She was just about to venture and accusation with Shizuku turned the situation around by going on the offense.

"So, you're saying that Sasayan confessed his feelings, and you don't feel the same."

Natsume's mouth fell open, and horrified, burning color flooded her face. "That's not—! Who says I don't feel the same!"

Shizuku flipped one of her pigtails back over her shoulder. It was a gesture of profound coolness that overall left Natsume feeling extremely confused. "That's obvious. Firstly, if you felt the same, you would have little reason to feel so tortured. Second, you would have asked me how I felt when Haru confessed his feelings, rather than Yamaken-kun."

Natsume seethed over the inconvenient brilliance of her best friend, even as she swelled with pride. But she hastened to clarify the situation. "No, it's not really—it's not a question of like or dislike, I just, I've felt uneasy."

Shizuku frowned at her. "Why? Do you think it's moving too fast? I guess you've only been going out of a month or two."

"No, just—"

"Or is it because you'll likely be separated at the end of the school year?"

A great pang of premature loss hit Natsume. She shook it off. "No, I—"

"You aren't sure there's an ultimate point in the two of you getting together at the end of your high school life?"

"NO!" Natsume erupted, and then pressed herself aggressively flat against the desk, her face burning, until the class had once again dismissed her outburst.

"Your motivations and actions are highly illogical," Shizuku said. The traces of sympathy and interest were now absent from her voice.

"I just have a lot of feelings I don't understand!" Natsume whispered miserably. She looked pleadingly upward in the face of her beloved best friend.

"Get off my desk, I'm trying to study," Shizuku growled.

She hadn't said anything to Sasayan about his confession, but the words came back to her mind every hour of every day, waking or sleeping. I love you, because you're brave.

Natsume wanted to laugh. Brave? She wasn't brave. She was just inclined to shout out the wrong thing at the wrong time because of a general societal anxiety. And he thought that was brave! She wanted to pull her shirt up over her face and hide for the rest of her life.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes!" Natsume shrieked, and then flushed. Sasayan raised his eyebrows. He pushed her stupidly girly frozen coffee-drink into her hands. She shuffled after him, out of the crowd around the coffee station, and to a more discreet booth.

"Are you not sleeping or something? You've been kind of out of it."

"Uh." Natsume stared at him. It took her several seconds to process what he'd said. "No! No. I'm fine."

Sasayan frowned at her. "Are you sick? Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"You're sure? Do your eyelids feel hot when you close them?"

"No."

He leaned forward, abruptly, right hand on his forehead while his left reached for her face. She flinched backwards, and then made herself hold still. Obviously, this interrogation would not stop until he was satisfied.

"I guess you're okay," Sasayan murmured, still frowning at her. Natsume scowled back.

"You're messing up my bangs."

Sasayan fell back into his seat, glancing carelessly towards her fringe. "They're fine."

She gritted her teeth, then began sucking the whipped cream off her drink. Something occurred to her.

"Did you buy this?"

"Uh, yeah."

Stop, she told herself. "You didn't have to."

Sasayan looked at her for a second, then laughed tensely. "I never felt like I had to." He put on a stupid accent, something rough and vaguely yakuza-ish. "Is it so wrong for me to want my woman to have nice things?"

In spite of herself and all her natural doom bringing, Natsume snorted, and went back to her coffee more upset with herself than ever. What was wrong with her, anyway? What exactly was supposed to have changed? He still acted the same as he always did, still treated her with the same, casual affection. So what was the problem?

She fumbled with her wallet. "Let me pay you back?"

"What? Why?"

"I just, I don't want to feel like I owe you," she mumbled, counting coins. Sasayan looked at her like she was crazy.

"You don't. It's a coffee."

"But—"

"Natsume, relax."

She stared at him, full of a helpless, directionless anger. She wondered, how she must look to him, in these moments. How accustomed she was to this wide-eyed expression, that meant he was trying to understand.

It seemed easier, to just avoid him. Not because she was angry with him. Not because she thought he might raise the issue, again, but because—it was just—it was just easier.

I just need time to think, Natsume rationalized, as she walked to school early, and alone, for the third day in a row. Of course she needed time away from him, so he wouldn't have to suffer through her mood swings and irrationalities. She owed him that much, didn't she? So what if he loved her, he must know all the ways there were for waiting, at this point.

What was she supposed to do?

Natsume didn't even ask herself if she loved him back. That was irrelevant. That was so not the point. Loving and being loved were too very different things and she had only ever understood one of them. Plenty of boys had confessed their feelings, and she had rejected them. She hadn't believed them. Like her? How could they even know her? It had been the same, with Sasayan, for so long. It had taken so much, just for her to believe that he knew she was more than her face, more than her clothes, more than her reputation.

It had taken hours of self-loathing and the repeated showcasing of her every nasty habit, her every insecurity, and her desperate, reluctant admittance of their friendship—above all else, their friendship—before she had even allowed him to get close to her. Anything less, and she wouldn't have even believed him. If she had just kept him at arm's length—if she had just made sure he wouldn't get so close, so horribly close—then there never would have been a problem. She could have laughed at him, hated him, disbelieved and undervalued and hurt him.

But instead, there was only the inexplicable, ever-growing sense of fear.

"Caught you."

Natsume yelped and hurled herself away from the hedge, nearly toppling off the sidewalk as she did so. Sasayan peered around the corner, balancing awkwardly on his bike, wobbling as his feet clung stubbornly to the pedals.

Breathless, Natsume hung poised on the balls of her feet, one hand flat against her hammering heart. She took a deep, hopefully composing breath. "What was that, an ambush?"

"What are you, some wannabe recluse?" Sasayan returned, still refusing to put his feet down. Natsume looked shiftily too the side.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, don't you."

She set off past him at a brisk walk, "You're making me late for school."

"We're half an hour early."

"How long were you hiding in that bush for?" she asked, not looking back at him.

"All night," he replied, sarcastic and closer than she'd thought he'd be. She said nothing, because she could think of nothing to say. After a second, Sasayan asked, "So, are you going to tell me why? Why you don't want to see me or, or anything?"

Or anything. She hadn't even kissed him since he told her his feelings. Natsume's stomach turned over with sharp, painful guilt. What must he think?

"I," she stopped, then made herself start again, "It's not that—"

"You aren't even looking at me," he interrupted. Natsume stopped. Somehow, now that he'd said it, she found it almost impossible. Her lungs filled with, and breathed out shame, as she made herself look into his face. She wanted nothing so much as to apologize, but didn't even know where to begin.

"You haven't done anything," she said quietly. "I just wanted some time to think."

"Think about what?"

"I don't know."

"Natsume."

"Really! Really, I don't know!" she cried, "I'm trying to be honest with you, I just, I don't know how to explain it! I've just, I've been feeling so awful lately and I think it has to do with—I don't know, I really don't, I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"So, what, so I should just vanish until you make up your mind?" Sasayan asked. "I should just faze out of your life? Don't shake your head, I know that's what you'll do. You can't just ignore me, Natsume. You can't just ignore whatever it is that's bothering you, and—look, I want to help you, if you're worried about hurting my feelings or something, don't—"

Natsume dropped her face, and pushed her hands up against her eyes. She breathed unsteadily for a second, ordering herself to calm down. Sasayan had stopped talking. She wanted to smack herself for always crying so much.

"Okay," she said, "Okay, fine. Come over after school, we'll talk. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed, after a strained pause. She nodded, and kept her head down as she shuffled to school. They went on together in an uneasy silence, and she spent the whole time wishing he would ride ahead, even as she knew that if he did, her heart would break.

The school day dragged on, but strangely, so that each passing second brought a fresh, more intense anxiety. When the final bell rang Natusme stayed at her desk for several seconds, staring down at the wood grain. She imagined the shame of having Sasayan come over and drag her off, like a petulant child. Her jaw set. She stood, and collected her things into her bag.

When she found him, she said, "I'm going ahead, just come over when you're done with baseball?" and left before she had time to really hear his reply. She went home and watched vacant television in her room, shredding bits of paper she had pulled from the television guide.

Once, just before Sasayan came over, she screamed as loudly as could because no one was home but her, and she thought if she didn't her heart would explode.

"So what's up?" Sasayan asked, when he came into her room. Natsume stood to face him. She squared her shoulders.

"I've thought about it. I still don't know what's wrong. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can be fair to you right now. I don't think, I don't think anyone would want to be around the person I am right now. I need you to give me some more time."

His face got very still, and for just a second, she was almost afraid of him.

"Don't," he said, simply.

Her hands made fists at her sides, and she looked at him almost wildly, "What do you want me to say to you?"

"I just, I don't get it!" he snapped. "I always thought you'd just tell me if something was wrong—I need you to tell me, because, because I want to make you happy but sometimes it's not easy to know how to do that. So tell me. Tell me what's wrong, and what you want me to do about it."

"Nothing's wrong!" Natsume yelped. She felt as though she were choking, her throat closing up over words she did not know or understand. The thing she had been trying to identify and understand for days, the very heart of all her problems, the thing she could never pinpoint but was always aware of.

Sasayan made a frustrated noise, and pulled his hands back through his short, dark hair, setting it into an even messier style than normal. "Natsume, you—you need to understand that I don't always know what's going on with you and when you just, when you just cut me out like you're punishing me, but you say I haven't done anything—what am I supposed to do?! How am I supposed to feel? I—just, I'm so mad at you! Why can't you understand?"

"No, you need to understand!" she yelled, "You need to understand that when you say—when you say—when you say that you love me, I just, it isn't fair! How can you expect so much of me? How can you trust me not to mess you up and break your heart? Why would you give me so much power?" Her throat felt choked up and wet. Wrong, all wrong. Even she knew, when a boy said they loved a girl, she was supposed to say it back. That was how things worked. Why was it, everyone seemed to know, instinctively, how to handle one another? What was the secret, when someone gave you their glittering, glass-made hearts, to keep from dropping them? It was like the terror she felt, every time an older cousin or an auntie had passed her a baby. The knowledge of how fragile and how valuable the thing she held would choke her with a fear that was almost animal.

And yet, other girls never seemed to have the same problem. They knew how to tickle and kiss and coo, and their faces always lit up with an alert happiness that served to make them endlessly prettier, and Natsume had always watched and always wondered if she could ever learn to look so beautiful.

A wet, choking feeling came into her throat, and she ducked her head to look at her shoes. She needed new ones, she thought. The toes of her sneakers were getting scuffed up and crummy. Just like her.

A fat lump of dread was growing in her chest. There was no way out of it. He was always going to be the boy who couldn't give up, and she was always going to be the girl who couldn't make it work. Sooner or later, her hands would slip, and then his heart would be a million glass splinters, all cut up and ready to bleed. And as time went on, her hands would only be raised higher, and higher, so that when he fell, it could only be more brutal.

That was it. There was no changing who she was. The ball of dread was growing bigger, forcing tears and heat up into her face. She felt dizzy, the more she thought of it. Dizzy, when she thought of what she had to do. The only thing for it was to hurt him as little as possible, to make herself as awful as she could, so that he would never blame himself for their falling apart, so he would never believe that there was something he might have done differently. He had to know, as she had always known, that she was a rotten, heartless girl who couldn't do anything good.

"Natsume?" Sasayan said, and put a hand on her shoulder. His voice was terribly gentle. Her insides squeezed up miserably, and she kept her face turned down, hiding behind her hair as she blinked furiously to cover up the tears. He must not see. She must be cold. He was still talking, "I'm sorry if I freaked you out. I'm not going to ask you to forget about it, because I know you can't, and I don't want you to, but—"

"No. I will forget about it. We'll both forget about it." Natsume looked up. Her voice had sounded odd, flatter than she had thought herself capable. She made herself look him in the eye, but couldn't quite keep from glazing over. "It doesn't matter."

He just looked at her for a second, his expression stunned, and then, hurt. She hated herself. A deep, burning, weeping hatred. But it was for the best, it was the best thing for him, she had to keep him safe.

"It matters to me," he said, his tone clipped with defensive sarcasm.

"I know," she said, and then steeled herself for just half a second—a wavering, half second pause, where she thought of taking it all back, of accepting his easy forgiveness and letting him kiss her again, because that was what she wanted, she wanted him to put his arms around her and to push her face against his shoulder with her eyes closed and to breath in deep—so that he was the only thing she could feel or hear or smell, and he would become the only thing that mattered. What she really wanted.

What she could never have.

"I've been thinking this for a while. But I guess what you said—I just don't feel right about it. I don't feel like I can keep doing this with you, anymore, because the truth is—the truth is that I will never feel that way about you. I can never feel as strongly about you as you do about me. But I do care about you. That's how I know, this isn't right."

She couldn't look at him. Her eyes were open and her face pointed towards his but she'd made her vision gloss over and the world had gone sort of fuzzy, which was just as well, just as well she couldn't see the sharp curves of his features, cut herself against the lines of his mouth. To look at him would be to destroy herself, as though she hadn't already.

The silence went on, and on, and on…

"You can't know that for sure," Sasayan said at last. "You can't know my feelings. Not completely. I was serious when I decided I would wait for you. I'd never expect you to feel something just because I did—"

"Weren't you listening to me?!" Natsume barked. There was a new quiver in her voice, which she swallowed hastily, horrified. "I'm telling you, it's over!"

Sasayan grabbed her shoulders suddenly, startling her—he never touched her without permission, and certainly not so roughly. He almost shouted at her, "Would you calm down and listen to yourself for a second?!"

"Get off of me!" Natsume screamed, as a fresh wave of hysteria blew through her chest. She knocked his hands down. "Don't ever touch me!"

Too late, she realized her cheeks were wet. Too late, she realized the stunned, horrified look on his face, the guilty curve of his shoulders. He thought he'd hurt her. She was torn between a wild desire to laugh, and to smother him with reassurances. As if he could ever. Hadn't he realized that she was the one who went around hurting him?

"Natsume," Sasayan said, his eyes wide, "Natsume, I'm sorry, I—I didn't mean to shout—"

"Please just go," she said, and sniffled. Sasayan winced. His hands opened and closed at his sides before, finally, he took a step towards the door. And another. And another. And then he was leaving, just walking out without looking back, shoulders pulled up towards his ears. He closed the door behind him and she stood, trembling, in the middle of her bedroom while she listened to him walk through her house, until finally, he left. As she heard her front door close her knees folded, and landed hard on the carpet. She stared, empty faced and dry eyed, towards the black white wall around her bedroom door, her fingers pulling vaguely at the carpet fibers around her trembling legs. As she noticed the tremors, she regarded them with a sort of dazed curiosity. Not just her legs, then, but her whole body shook. That was sort of funny. She giggled, and then pressed her hands against her mouth, as tears built in her eyes, brought on by her laughter. She bent forwards, and kept going until her forehead touched down gently on the carpet.

She hadn't even been able to look at him. Some villain. Some joke. She wondered if Sasayan felt as awful as she did, if he was a shaking, giggling, sobbing heap on the ground. But she knew he wasn't. She knew, he would bike home, stone-faced, and eat dinner with his mother, and go quietly to lie in bed a few hours early, and would stare at the ever-darkening wall, and he would say nothing or do nothing at all, and keep his pain close to him, treat at something precious. Just another part of her.

Natsume gasped, and made a soft shrieking noise, as the thought burned into her. Her brave, dry-eyed boy, who wasn't hers anymore, not hers at all. But then, he had never been, really. She could never have really known all of him, owned all of him, anymore than he could have done to her. All this time, and even more so now, she was, after all, alone. So completely and resolutely alone, and what's more, so was he.

More than anything else, this was the thought that hurt her. The sudden knowledge that, for all his friends and admirers and easy likability, perhaps Sasayan had always been as lonely as she was. Perhaps, all this time, she had never understood the person so close to her, who had surely known the thing that linked them almost instantly. That the boy who had said he had loved her, was now gone. Loved her, for all that he could not own or know her. Loved her, for all that she was careless and destructive and incapable of loving properly. Loved her, with all the hopeless, merit-less admiration a man might bestow upon a star.

For after all, was not the distance between people roughly equal?

"I'm sorry," Natsume whispered, as she went on laughing and crying, laughing and crying, crying and crying and crying. "I'm sorry."

NOTE: Super awesome how I made you all wait half a year for the most depressing chapter ever. Now you know why it was so hard to write.