A/N: this update came a little slower than i intended. i got a bit discouraged by my mean brain, but i have since recovered. i find my insecurities are always largely helped when i look back at some of my oldest living writing, where i can appreciate how far i've come and how much difference hard work makes in the quality of art. i will one day look back on these chapters and maybe feel the same way i do about the stuff i wrote at 13. it's a wonderful and comforting thought. nobody ever became better at something by NOT practicing.
i'm so excited to keep writing this, and deeply grateful for each review left here. i know how much courage it takes to leave a review, since i'm still anxious about it myself, so i appreciate each one, and they motivate me quite a lot into updating faster. thank you for reading and for all the kind words.
once more, i will thank crimsoncitrus for her friendship and support in this fic, especially in this chapter since she lent me some assistance when i was stuck.
i'll try and disclaim this every chapter, just in case, but this fic is canon divergent and will not be loyal to the ending we were given. please enjoy!
Chapter Five.
Si dormiam capiar.
"Sleep is the most innocent creature there is
and a sleepless man the most guilty."
-Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena.
The first Monday after Mikan's disastrous date came far too quickly. She'd hoped that time would slow down for her sake, that the weekend would stretch out long so as to allow Kaito time to forget about how she got sick when he kissed her, to allow Igarashi to forget that he'd had to carry her all the way home, to allow herself to forget what a fool she'd made of herself in front of people. But the weekend did not linger like she wanted. That Sunday flickered past her in a blur of venting to Jii-chan, gobbling down Mr. Bear's souffle pancakes, and watching hours of insane game shows on TV.
In the blink of an eye, it was Monday.
As if to cut her a break, though, Igarashi appeared on her doorstep right on time that morning, just like usual. Though Mikan felt awkward seeing him at first, his face was neutral when he asked, "Do you feel better?"
No mention of how he carried her all the way home, or her bad vomit breath from before, or even how she'd messed everything up so impressively on her first ever date.
Her heart swelled in her chest. She shouldn't have worried about Igarashi or his reaction. He was, like always, a sweetheart.
"Yeah, I feel a lot better now." Her sickness had vanished, actually, the second he'd appeared beside her at the end of her date, as he'd come to rescue her. She wasn't about to tell him any of that, though.
"Good," he said, and he clearly meant it, if the smile on his mouth was anything to go by. His eyes matched the smile, though they were also dark and heavy with exhaustion.
"You look tired," Mikan said, concerned. "Have you not been sleeping?"
He blinked at her for a moment-and it was hard not to notice that each close of his eyelids lasted longer than the last, like opening his eyes again took increasingly more effort each time-and then turned down the sidewalk with a weak shrug. "Don't worry so much. It's not a big deal."
He was like this often, Mikan realized. Impossible to argue with. His voice left no room for argument, ended every unpleasant conversation dead in its tracks with polite finality. That being said, the exhaustion in his eyes begged to be acknowledged.
Mikan just trailed after him uselessly, hoping his sleepless state was temporary. He'd just moved here after all. Maybe he was still getting used to this new way of things.
Her attention shifted as soon as they arrived at school.
The classroom was bustling with their classmates' discussions about their weekends and-Mikan just knew-other people's weekends too.
"Hello, Mikan-chan," Saki greeted shyly when she sat down. Mikan greeted her the same and then Saki followed up with a hesitant, "So how was your date?"
Mikan sighed. They'd been in public for their date, after all, and Kaito was within his rights to complain to everyone he knew about how Mikan had jilted him for no good reason. "Yes, it's true," she said, answering the real question Saki had wanted to ask. "I messed it all up, like I always do, just by being myself."
Saki instantly protested, "It's not a mess! Just because it didn't go well doesn't mean anything! There'll be more chances and more boys. Please don't be so hard on yourself!"
Mikan smiled back, not bothering to mention that her own belief in romance was faltering. It probably just wasn't meant for her. It was more suited to normal girls who didn't have dreams of missing someone so much they wanted to scream.
Saki's words of comfort would no doubt be the kindest she received on the subject (not counting Igarashi's, who clearly didn't care at all). At least she meant well, unlike…
Mikan cast a glance across the room and noticed quite a few glares pointed in her direction.
… unlike everyone else.
"Good morning, Sakura-san," Aiko said, appearing beside her desk with an indignant expression. For class president, she sure seemed to have a lot of spare time on her hands.
"Good morning."
"Did you have a nice weekend?" This was not a question Aiko usually asked Mikan. In fact, Aiko didn't usually talk to her at all, unless it was to gently disparage her for her grades or reputation, always with a passive aggressive smile and a twinkle in her eyes.
"No," Mikan answered honestly, too overwhelmed by how poorly the last week of her life had gone to play these mind games with a girl who was never going to like her anyway.
"I heard," Aiko agreed quietly. "Is it true? Did you really puke on Kaito when he tried to kiss you?"
Mikan blushed furiously in shame. "Not on him-"
"So it's true! You really will go to any lengths for attention! I thought the rumors were exaggerating, but they never are, not when it comes to you. Don't you have any shame at-"
"Come off it," came a harsh growl from Mikan's other side.
She turned to see two things: one was Igarashi, half asleep with his chin resting on his palm, and the other was Kaito, eyes narrowed angrily at Aiko.
"She was sick," he said. "Stop gossiping."
Mikan's heart twisted and she felt the guilt from that night reappear in full, sick and confused as to why she couldn't fall in love with someone so clearly kind and perfect and wonderful. Why did kissing him feel like an unnatural and grotesque crime?
Aiko crossed her arms, but maintained an innocent expression. "I may have misheard, then. I don't think I'm out of line, though, when I tell you, Sakura-san: I think you'd benefit from a little self-respect."
She stalked off and Igarashi's chin slid off his hand, causing him to startle awake with a hushed gasp. He ducked his head down, clearly humiliated, and Mikan had to force herself to look away from him in Kaito's direction. She couldn't help but feel like this conversation needed to happen, even though she was sure she'd earned some well-deserved ire from him.
He was taking his seat in front of sleepy Igarashi, clearly uncomfortable.
She was too, but her discomfort wasn't important.
"Kaito-kun," she called out, her stomach fluttering with dread. He turned back to her, his own face red with shame too. It shouldn't have been. She was the only one who had humiliated herself. "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have… any of it really. I have so much on my mind all the time and I guess I'm just not ready to date."
She had dreams about necklaces and moon-bright nights and falling snow and blood splattered across an open palm, about a fire flickering out of life, about pain and grief so large a single person couldn't carry it on their own. No, she wasn't ready to date. No, she probably wouldn't ever be ready to date.
"Well," Kaito said, his voice flavored with forced humor. "It's not the greatest feeling in the world when the girl you like pukes when you kiss her." He looked sad despite his tone and Mikan felt even guiltier.
"It's not you," she said, once again emulating the movies and TV shows she watched with her Jii-chan all the time, the ones Mr. Bear couldn't stand. "You're smart and kind and funny, really. I just don't think I'm…" She tried to find the right word. "...Normal enough for you." That was the truth.
Boys might have been drawn to her mysteriousness, or felt a draw to solve her, but the fact of the matter was that the same strangeness they seemed to like was exactly why she couldn't date anyone. It was the product of a memory-corrupted mind and twisted emotional reactions to the darndest things, that would end up making her way more of a burden than a dream girl. She wasn't cute; she was a disaster.
"You deserve better."
Kaito smiled kindly. "That's okay, Sakura," he said. "Thanks for taking a chance on me anyway. If you ever change your mind…" His gaze fell away then. They both knew she wouldn't change her mind. "But we're cool, okay? I won't let people gossip about you." He hesitated one more moment before he said, "And I swear I only told my mom about what happened-I really didn't mean for everyone to know-"
Mikan waved him off. She wasn't really all that bothered by the gossiping and whispering. At this point it was par for the course, and at least this time she felt like she had actually done something to deserve her classmates' annoyance. "I'm glad we're okay." She beamed, happy to have received his grace, even though she probably didn't deserve it.
They both turned back in their seats and Mikan glanced at Igarashi, who was squinting his eyes in the attempt to keep them open.
That day reminded Mikan of how things used to be before Igarashi came.
Too many girls sent her hateful glares, and the anxiously admiring gazes from boys had only intensified despite her unseemly behavior on her date. She clearly hadn't closed any doors with her behavior, much to her chagrin; it would have been a nice silver lining if nothing else. Meanwhile, Igarashi spent the day in a zoned-out daze, stuck between states of consciousness, and reacted very slowly to everything around him.
Mikan was almost entirely on her own again.
But she didn't complain.
The glares, the admiration, the loneliness-whether she deserved them or not, she was used to it all.
Igarashi didn't do any better on Tuesday. He seemed just as tired, maybe even more so, when he trudged beside her on the path to school, his footsteps heavy and his eyelids heavier.
He was still and silent throughout class, and not even his breath moved him. Mikan looked at him from time to time and noticed how tense his muscles were, as if he was clenching his arms and legs in the effort to stay awake.
Lunchtime arrived and Mikan was building an action plan (which mostly just consisted of telling Igarashi to get some sleep) when Saki poked her on the shoulder. "What's up?" she asked the girl, whose face was bright pink and drawn out with nervousness.
"Would you mind terribly if I ate lunch with you today?"
Mikan's heart skipped a beat. Another friend to eat lunch with! She'd fantasized about it idly, of course, of being surrounded by happy friends, joking with each other and knowing each other, but to actually have someone approach her about it…
"Yes!" she blurted out without thinking. Only in the next moment did she remember that she had not been eating lunch alone for a few weeks now. "Is that okay, Igarashi?"
Igarashi exhaled a clunky breath and turned to Saki, scanning a scrutinizing eye over her for a moment before all the tension melted away from his face and he said with complete apathy, "Whatever you want."
Just like Igarashi, Saki did not mind the weather at all. She was all smiles when they sat down, casting her eyes this way and that and rambling about how oh so this is where you've been sitting all this time-I've been in the classroom most of the time because the wind can be bothersome but if I'd known you were out here all along I would've… well, I probably wouldn't have because I don't think I would've been brave enough before-
It was nice and Mikan felt fuzzy inside despite the harsh gray storm-clouds gathering in the sky above them. If it started to rain, they'd have to head inside, but for now, the paleness of the sky was calming.
Mikan must have been lost in habit as soon as they sat down, because without a single thought, she'd handed over the extra bento Mr. Bear always made to Igarashi, who took it thoughtlessly as well. They'd both started eating before either of them noticed the look of surprise on Saki's pink face.
Mikan chewed absently when she looked up to see Saki flushing intensely.
In reply to Mikan's questioning look, Saki stuttered, "Am I intruding?"
"Intruding? Why would you be intruding?"
Saki answered by glancing between Mikan and Igarashi, then their matching bento boxes, then at the very slim distance between them.
Igarashi hadn't looked up once, was still eating his lunch intently, carelessly. He wasn't like Mikan at all. He didn't even notice the attention he got enough to ask himself if he cared. But Mikan paid attention; she knew. She knew that people had been gossiping about them since he'd shown up to class, but then again, most of the insulting whispers were reserved for Mikan. She must have blackmailed him into spending all his time with her; he must have been bamboozled into being her lapdog, following her around waiting for her to give him a break or some fleeting show of affection; she must have tricked him or fooled him or undermined him somehow because why else would a boy stick around Sakura Mikan for so long?
He didn't notice; he didn't care. But even though she was used to it, she still did.
Her face flushed with heavy shame and no small amount of embarrassment. "No, no, no!" She waved her hand in the attempt to come off as casual but she could her the breakage in her own voice anyway. "We don't have that kind of relationship!"
She dreamt about him every other night, and he was quickly becoming her favorite thing to dream about. When all her nocturnal thoughts tended to draw back to blurry scenes and visceral agony, his presence was comforting, even when he was scolding her.
He carried her home once, saved her from getting hit by a car.
He was a very good friend.
Saki nodded once, perhaps not entirely convinced, but she didn't mention it again, merely digging into her own lunch.
Mikan turned back to her bento, and almost missed the look Igarashi was giving her, something bitter in his eyes that she quickly decided she didn't want to have noticed.
They were friends, she repeated in her head, nervous and ashamed. They were friends.
The rest of lunch went by smoothly. Saki and Mikan talked a bit about class and the weather and a performance being put on by the drama club over the next weekend. The whole time, Igarashi stayed silent beside Mikan, only breaking his quiet by occasionally yawning or breathing too loudly. When they went back to class, Mikan concluded that he was probably bored, but considering that he had consented to Saki joining them, she didn't feel very sorry for him.
Not until forty minutes into Biology class, when she noticed his eyes glazed over and his eyelids heavy once again. He usually took notes all throughout class, but this time he hadn't even bothered to pull out his pencils, so his notebook lay open on his desk, untouched.
When school let out, she stood over his desk with her arms crossed, ready to go into her game plan. Her face was set into a scowl and as soon as he looked up she would lecture him about the importance of a good night's rest. She was slowed down by Saki and Kaito both saying good-bye and then by the not-so-subtle shove Aiko gave her as she passed. It took longer than necessary for Igarashi to look up at her with shadowy eyes, but by the time he did, her plan wouldn't have worked because he smiled at her.
"Let's go, Mikan," he said gently. She couldn't approach him angrily anymore.
"Yeah," she agreed, smiling back.
But she was capable of being angry at herself, she found, as she walked beside him over the cliffs. His pace was much slower than usual, lagging by quite a bit. It took them twice as long to reach this point in their walk than it did most days, and though he wasn't a big talker typically, he was eerily quiet today. He was unwell; she needed to say something.
But what if she overstepped?
"You don't know me like that," he might say. "Mind your own business."
And then he'd stop being her friend and she'd be alone again. He'd probably want to leave her dreams too, and even if he didn't, she'd start to feel guilty that she was holding him hostage there. Then again…
I will never be mad at you.
He was her friend, and friends helped each other no matter what. If he was sick and not getting enough sleep, then she needed to say something. She took a deep breath to begin her lecture (he was always the one to lecture her as soon as she fell asleep, so how funny it was to think she'd be lecturing him now), and then began, "Listen, Igarashi-"
But before she could even really begin, he faltered and then started to plummet to the ground. Mikan was able to catch him in time, her arms wrapping around his very warm body to keep him from falling. They were close. She pretended not to notice.
He looked up, eyes hooded and dark with exhaustion which only served to make the fury there more potent. "I'm fine," he bit out.
"No, you're not, you stupid idiot!" She gestured angrily to all of him. "You fainted!"
"I stumbled," he corrected. He tried to stand up straight, but his knees buckled almost immediately and this time Mikan wasn't enough to hold him upright; they both landed on their knees on the asphalt.
"You need to sleep!"
"No!"
Mikan grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. Unable to resist the impulse, she squeezed his cheeks a bit, making him look marginally less dangerous. "You are going to go home and get cozy and you are going to sleep. That's not a request! I'm demanding it!"
"No," he grumbled, but with less fervor than before.
"And you're going to sleep every night too, do you hear me? You have to sleep to live. If you don't sleep, you die. You get that, right?"
His eyes softened and his ridiculously short eyebrows went back to their neutral state. He huffed out an impatient breath, but she felt victorious anyway.
"Let's go home."
He protested a bit, but Mikan ignored him, getting to her feet and then hoisting him up by roping one of his arms around her shoulder and one of her arms around his waist. Propping both of their bags into the crook of her elbow, she walked purposefully, but he wasn't about to shut up.
"I don't want to inconvenience your grandfather-it's rude of me. Honestly I can get home on my own-I get it now, I'll sleep-"
"I'm taking you to your home," Mikan said patiently. "I want to make sure you get some sleep."
After that, he only periodically cussed under his breath or grumbled with dissatisfaction as he let her drag him down the sidewalk.
This way they were walking meant it took maybe three times as long as it should've to make it to the apartment building where Igarashi lived. She knew her way there without any instruction. She'd spent so much of the last few years arriving to this building to see Shi-chan. It was strange to see it again, now, without any intention of knocking on that door to visit her friend. It had been weeks since she'd come here.
Igarashi walked her home every day, saw her off, watched her close the door behind her, before going to the place he called home on his own. Ever since that first morning, Mikan hadn't gone to see this building even once. Was that wrong of her? Did he think she didn't care about visiting him?
Well. I'm here now.
"Which one's yours?" she asked him.
"Twelve," he answered. "On the second floor."
Shi-chan's apartment was number ten, at the very end. Mikan wondered if it was still barren like it had been that morning when she'd peered in through the window. She'd have to keep wondering, she decided, because she wasn't going to look through the window again.
"You don't have to hold me up," Igarashi said, pushing himself away from her. "I can stand on my own." There was something petulant and childish about the way he said it, like he was embarrassed. She let him peel himself off, though her arms stayed close to him until he could prove he was capable of standing on his own without passing out. With a spiteful exhale, he started going up the stone steps, his hand moving heavily up the iron railing. Mikan followed with their bags, staying vigilant in case he tripped.
He did not.
He rummaged around his pockets in front of door Number Twelve for a moment, looking for his keys, and Mikan bit her lip to keep herself from yammering excitedly about the fact that she was finally going to see what his home looked like.
Shi-chan's place had been pretty sparse, but there had been an attempt at personalization: some boy-band posters on the walls, purple water glasses in the kitchen, an ivy-patterned duvet cover on the bed, and a large rug in the living room that was striped green and blue.
Igarashi opened the door and Mikan was shocked by how much more spartan Igarashi's apartment was than even Shi-chan's. There was furniture, sure: a beige sofa, a mahogany table against the wall with three chairs, a lamp in the corner, but there were no posters or pictures, not a single dish in the sink, not so much as a crumb or speck of dirt anywhere to prove that someone did in fact live here.
Igarashi walked rigidly upright, probably to prove that he could, moving past the tiny kitchen and living room to duck down a small hallway. Mikan knew the layout of these apartments, since Shi-chan's had looked the same. Down that hall were three doors: a coat closet, a bathroom, and a modest bedroom.
Mikan didn't follow him right away. She placed both of their bags onto one of the mahogany chairs before wandering into the kitchen. She searched through the cupboards, finding pristine, newly purchased glasses, which she ignored to focus instead on a default-looking mug, which she pulled off its shelf. She ran a mugful of water in the faucet and then poured it into a brand new kettle. She continued her search, finding the next cupboard over piled high with instant ramen cups and several boxes of sugary cereal.
With a sigh, she flicked the kettle off. There was no tea in this house. Instead, she poured tap water into one of those pristine glasses and turned in the same direction Igarashi had disappeared down.
She waited in the doorway of his bedroom, unwilling to intrude, since the light was on in the bathroom. She could hear the faucet running.
While she had a moment to herself, she pulled out her phone to send a message to her grandpa.
hi jii-chan. i might be late, since i'm taking care of igarashi because he hasn't been sleeping much lately. please don't wait up for me! tell mr bear i'm sorry and i'll eat his peach cheesecake tomorrow :)
Only a minute later, he replied: Take care of Igarashi-san! Mr. Bear is disappointed and he will have to punish you when you get home, but I think he is also worried for Igarashi-san. Have fun!
Mikan smiled at the easy acceptance and put her phone away just as Igarashi emerged from the bathroom. His red eyes remained carefully blank as he looked at her.
"You're still here," he said, but he didn't sound surprised.
"You're my favorite friend and I came here to take care of you." She held out the glass. "You don't have any tea in your kitchen."
"I don't really drink tea."
He had told her that he didn't like cooking much, but the stockpile of cereal and ramen had been truly shocking. In comparison, Shi-chan always had pasta and vegetables and even tea, though she hadn't been a big cook either. It was probably wrong to compare Igarashi to Shi-chan, though, even though they both lived here. After all, Mikan hadn't had many friends who were boys before. Maybe this was just how boys were. Spartan, living off of packaged food, with an empty fridge and all new dishware.
But whatever his reasons, today was not the day to interrogate him about it.
He took the water and drank, but his eyes never left hers. His attention was always like that, all-consuming and terrible, like she was made of transparent tulle or something, like he was just as fascinated with her as everyone else but also like he didn't need to solve that mystery boys were so obsessed with because he already knew everything about her already.
So why was he still here?
When he finished his water, she took back the glass, breaking their staring, and pointed intently at his bedroom. "Get in bed," she commanded.
He had the gall to look miffed at that, his eyebrows furrowing a bit in displeasure, like he'd really hoped she'd forget about that just because he splashed some water on his face and was capable of standing. "Fine."
"I'm going to make you dinner," she announced, going back to the kitchen. That should give him time to change his clothes and give him some privacy. She considered the next events: she'd make him something to eat, make sure he ate, and then tuck him in and leave.
But what if he just got up again as soon as she left?
Why did boys have to be so irritating and stubborn?
She shook her head and once again started looking through his cabinets. Just a few days ago she'd fantasized about being in this kitchen and making Igarashi a proper dinner, but that clearly wasn't on the table for today. She couldn't just go grocery shopping-that would mean leaving him for upwards of an hour even, and maybe he'd lock her out in the meantime. But there were no vegetables or meat or eggs or milk or even bread in this place. Just the ramen and the cereal.
How did he even eat cereal without milk?
She hoped he was at least staying hydrated.
She turned the kettle back on, resignedly, and started to prepare a ramen cup. They were all beef flavor and Mikan was starting to get depressed in this kitchen. Every day, Mr. Bear prepared marvelous home-cooked meals for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even dessert. For this latest Christmas, she'd gotten him a cookbook full of fancy French cuisine by a real French person and he'd prepared every dish within only two months. She was planning on buying him a Moroccan cookbook she'd spotted once in the bookshop downtown for next Christmas.
In comparison, the way Igarashi lived was… inhuman.
It took her five minutes to prepare the ramen, which she served in a normal bowl at the very least, so he could eat like a human being and not a rat in a dumpster. It was no surprise he went out to dinner so often. She would too if her kitchen always looked like that.
She shook her head again, feeling like a disgruntled mother (or wife, but she shut that thought down immediately) as she went to his bedroom door again. She knocked, and when he answered with an irritated groan, she entered.
This room was not much better than the rest of his home. A bed, a lamp, a chest of drawers. He didn't even have a bedside table; he was precariously balancing some items on an upright suitcase. Mikan scrunched up her face.
"Igarashi, I hate your place."
He glared at her from his perch on the edge of his bed, on top of some very standard looking bedclothes. He had changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, at the very least. "Well, it's not like anyone's making you stay here."
"Did you just buy the first things you saw when you moved in?" Not a single poster, not a single rug, not a single detail to hint at some hidden depths. "Aren't you bored?"
"I don't spend a lot of time here," he said.
Mikan didn't know where to put the bowl. The suitcase-bedside-table was out of the question. She settled for handing it to him directly. "I wouldn't either, if I lived somewhere like this."
He only responded by narrowing his eyes before taking his first bite. "Didn't you want some?"
"I usually have real dinners at home."
Igarashi's eyebrows twitched upwards in amusement. "Suit yourself."
Mikan sat down beside him, certain she didn't need an invitation. She hoped he didn't notice that their arms were pressed together like this. "Why don't you sleep more?"
"I'm doing stuff," he answered between slurps. "Important stuff."
"Is it really so important that you'd die over it?" She leaned in closer, certain the answer had to be "no," but he turned to her, so their noses were almost touching. His gaze was piercing and sharp.
"Yes," he answered. After a moment, he turned back to his ramen, and Mikan took in a heavy breath to recuperate.
"No, it isn't," Mikan said, absolutely certain. "Sleep is very important. It's as important as food and water. You have been falling asleep in class, and tripping over yourself, and even fainting, and I don't get what you could be doing instead of sleeping that's so important you'd die for it. I can't think of anything that important."
"Well, you wouldn't, would you." He said it in such a bitter way, and even though Mikan knew he was just being defensive, it still bothered her.
"Because you don't talk about yourself!" she snapped. "It's just me talking all the time and you don't say anything! It would be nice if you could tell me something about yourself without me having to beg for it!"
"Here's something," he said, setting the bowl of ramen against his knees. "I don't like talking."
"You don't like anything," Mikan muttered bitterly. She slumped forward, disappointed in his defensiveness and even more disappointed in her own. This was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to be cozy, she was supposed to be his friend, he was supposed to get rest. They weren't supposed to argue. This had gotten away from her.
"... You."
Mikan froze, unsure if she heard right, or if he meant what she thought he meant, or if he was just being cryptic on purpose, or if he was somehow insulting her. But he didn't continue. He just let that word hang there and went back to his ramen, like it didn't matter if that one little word could send Mikan into a spiral.
But she wasn't going to spiral. "Igarashi," she whispered, pressing her shoulder against his and feeling his entire body tense up at the touch. "I want you to sleep. I want you to be healthy and happy and alive. If you don't sleep, you can't be those things. I don't know what important thing it is that you're doing, but sleep is important too. I-I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just that I care about you so much, and-"
-and you make me feel safe and cared for and important and the way you care so singularly about me makes me feel like maybe I'm not so much of a freak, or even if I am, that I still matter anyway, and meeting you made me realize I didn't know what friends were supposed to be like and when I'm with you all my problems melt away and if anything happened to you I would be devastated because you don't deserve to suffer, not at all-
"-and I want you to sleep."
Igarashi's bowl sat against his knees again, probably getting cold. All the anger seemed to have deflated from both of them, and his face softened, though he didn't turn to look at her. Instead, she could feel the subtle repositioning of his shoulder closer to hers, so subtle anyone else might not have felt it. "Okay."
"Okay?"
His voice was tight as he said, "For you."
Mikan smiled, seized by relief. With one exhale, she found herself leaning more fully into Igarashi's side, resting her head against his shoulder. "Thank you."
"You make this so hard," he muttered under his breath, and even though Mikan didn't fully get what he meant, she didn't ask anything else, just sat there beside him until he sighed and leaned his head onto hers.
They sat like that for a long moment until Mikan pulled away, standing up and pointing at him with newly awakened vigor. "Now go to sleep!"
Igarashi smiled, that unusual and special smile that made her heart lurch. "Fiiiiine."
She took his bowl away and washed it and when she got back, he was in his bed, though he didn't seem pleased when she turned up in the doorway. "What, are you gonna watch me sleep or something?"
"Yes."
He averted his gaze. "I won't be able to sleep, then."
"Why not?"
"It's not right," he said simply. "You're not supposed to be watching over me."
"Then take better care of yourself," Mikan retorted, ignoring the little flip of her heart at the insinuation that he wanted to watch over her. "Then I won't have to."
He rolled his eyes, but still leaned back in his bed, keeping up that intense and terrible staring as he did so. She sat at the edge of his bed and stared back, smiling sweetly. The minutes crept by in silence as his eyelids became heavier and heavier. The sky outside turned dark as she watched over him, until his eyes closed and didn't open again, his breaths coming out deeper and deeper. For a while she watched his chest rise and fall, and for some reason that felt impossible and miraculous, that this boy was breathing and living in front of her, that his heart beat and his veins pumped his blood, that his organs worked, that his muscles worked, that his nerves worked, that his bones were whole.
Not for the first time, Mikan found tears welling in her eyes for no reason at all, sniffing and crying silently as she watched Igarashi sleep and live, like maybe the fact that he was alive could be called into question, like maybe he was dead. But he wasn't. He was alive, in front of her, alive.
What did he dream of? Did he dream of her, too, sometimes? Did he find safety in the thought of her too? Did his nightmares melt away when he saw her face too?
She wiped her cheeks of tears. If she'd been more selfish she might have run her hand through his soft hair or kissed him on the cheek, but he might wake up at her touch and Mikan would never do anything to disturb him. Instead, she slowly rose to her feet and whispered a nearly inaudible farewell and wish for him to have sweet dreams and moved to turn out of the room.
She paused when she noticed one single item taped to his bedroom wall. Not a poster, not a painting, not anything large and decorative, but a small 6 by 8 photograph taped onto the wall by the light switch, a photograph she hadn't noticed before: Igarashi surrounded by what must have been old friends, all with their arms around him. The picture couldn't have been taken that long ago, since Igarashi looked largely unchanged, but seeing him in a different uniform, with people he must love, made her chest ache. His lips were upturned at the sides, but his smile was half-hearted and shaky, not like the ones he always gave her. This one felt almost sad.
The worst part of the picture, though, was not Igarashi at all. It was the other boys in the picture. Two similar-looking boys with sandy, messy hair and matching grins, clinging to Igarashi's sides like spoiled children. A boy with a neatly shorn head posed at the side with a shy smirk, like he was embarrassed to be seen smiling, angled in his attempt to fit into frame. A blond boy on Igarashi's other side, pressed close by the tightness of the photograph, smiling serenely, looking princely and wholesome. Then another blond boy on the other side of him, donning glasses and a kind smile of his own, hugging his friends tenderly. They were all pushed up against each other to fit into the frame, and Mikan could imagine that after the image had been taken they'd fallen over each other and crashed to the floor in a cacophony of giggles and laughter and teasing, and that's what unsettled her about the picture:
She somehow just knew what their laughter sounded like.
Mikan left quietly. Whatever horrible, messed up thoughts she had about what was clearly a private and meaningful possession of Igarashi's was not his problem, and even though she'd been tempted to leave him a note asking about the picture, she knew she couldn't. Mikan was the village freak, the girl who acted out for attention, who cried for no good reason, who reacted melodramatically to mundane things. The boys in the picture felt familiar, sure, but so did lots of things, and that didn't mean anything. It was all in her head.
She walked alone in the dark, damp night, the salt-rich breeze getting stronger and stronger the further she went, as she attempted to force out all thoughts about that innocent photograph she had nothing to do with.
Instead, she thought fiercely of Igarashi, her favorite friend, her savior and protector and companion, who put off sleep so he could… whatever, study or something instead. He was, after all, always taking diligent notes in class, and each of his tests came back with perfect marks. Could it be that he was spending all day and night locked into his education, poring over textbooks and homework? That explained the dullness of his apartment, the lack of any real food in his cupboards.
She decided she would help him, since he'd done so much to help her. If taking care of himself was hard, then she'd do it for him. She could do that, cook for him and make sure he was safe and healthy. She wanted to help him.
A few houses away from her home, which was the only house alight on the whole street (Jii-chan and Mr. Bear were probably watching a drama at this hour), she felt a chill at the back of her neck and a sudden nausea in her gut. The air was too cold, too salty, and she was afraid to a revolting level.
Someone was watching her.
She didn't know how she knew that, but she was absolutely sure someone's eyes were glued to her as her pace sped up and she nearly ran the rest of the way home. When she closed the front door behind her with a desperate slam, her throat was dry and her breaths were wild.
"Welcome home, Mikan!" Jii-chan said from the sofa as Mr. Bear sat on the other cushion, a bowl of popcorn separating them-and, yup, they were watching the latest episode of their favorite drama, just like she thought. "How is Igarashi-kun?"
"Sleeping," Mikan said, beyond relieved that she was home and safe. She was probably being dramatic again. Why would anyone be watching her? It was all in her head, like always. She was safe, her family was safe, Igarashi was safe. She'd never felt so terrified just walking home before-that picture must have just stressed her out. That's all. "He's sleeping."
Shiki: You missed a report.
Shiki: Kazumi was concerned that maybe something happened, but I'm not as worried, because I know you.
Shiki: You're sleeping, aren't you?
Shiki: It is a lot.
Shiki: You're young.
Shiki: It's a lot for one kid.
Shiki: You keep forgetting that, that you're just a kid.
Shiki: Oh, well.
Shiki: When you wake up, send the report.
Shiki: In the meantime, sleep well.
