Chapter Text
One day Kanae will curse the high and mighty faculty members. He'll be sure of it.
Like any normal high school student, Kanae had plans for the afternoon once he was out of class. He has to go stock up on groceries for the week. He has laundry to do (which includes his gym clothes!). He has plenty of homework and review to catch up on for history and social science. He has to scratch Roto behind his ears and coo at him that he's such a good boy and feed him a churu snack. Plenty of things. Important things.
But yes Yashiro-sensei, let's have Kanae do your bidding for nearly two hours of his precious free time. Let's hand Kanae an unreasonably heavy stack of quiz papers — from every class in the grade? Really? — and tell him to go organize them by both class and name. In fact let's all have Kanae run the most mundane, laborious tasks because he would never dare to complain and accepts what is shoved into his hands with an unbothered smile.
Mark his words. Kanae will exact revenge for this treatment.
After finally escaping the wrath of middle-aged men, Kanae is trudging himself across the hallway from the faculty office to the nearest flight of stairs. He's on the third floor, where most of the classrooms desperately need maintenance touch-ups and therefore have been closed off for the past few years. Kanae exhales at himself and his absurdly monotonous pace of life. He does this every week. Thinks about the same things every week. Ends up bummed out at himself for the exact same reasons more than weekly. Just kill him already, honestly.
He almost decides not to turn around and go look when a window shatters into pieces a couple rooms back. The little Kanae voice in his head figures it'll be an even bigger bore if a teacher runs down the hall and interrogates him about the commotion.
Kanae drags the noisy old door open and steps fully inside. He unfortunately does not have the early premonition to warn him against that, because there is a person crouched beneath the shattered window, preoccupied with something in his hands. Whatever is in his hands is clearly more important than the broken window and the glass shards crushed under the soft rubber soles of his indoor shoes. Kanae already thinks it's a bit creepy considering the immediate circumstances — and then the guy flicks his head over his shoulder like an agitated feline.
First of all: Kanae knows who this is. His name is Kuzuha, though he just barely manages to pluck the name out of his head, an attestment to how unremarkable Kuzuha is. They share homeroom but Kuzuha sits several rows behind him, which means Kanae has paid him exactly none attention so far this year.
Second of all: this is not the Kuzuha he knows from class. Kuzuha from Class does not have tousled white hair. Kuzuha from Class does not have crimson red eyes or the complexion of an ancient ceramic doll. Kuzuha from Class does not have pointed ears that twitch at the tiniest sounds in the distance or long claws protruding from his skeletal fingers.
And most importantly: there is blood dripping down Kuzuha's mouth. There is blood coating his fingers and, if Kanae squints, a tiny puddle on the floor, slowly seeping under his shoes. In his hands is the bloody corpse of a pigeon, a likely culprit to the window problem. Kuzuha's mouth hangs slightly open; his tongue wipes blood from his cleanly tapered teeth.
"Sorry," Kanae says slowly. "I just. Erm. Came in because I heard the noise. I didn't mean to—"
When a gentle breeze lifts the curtains Kuzuha is gone. The door aggressively slides shut behind Kanae despite no one touching it. And now rather than squatting over the pile of bloody window fragments, Kuzuha has traveled over to Kanae's standing figure at an unimaginable speed.
Kanae's eyes are wide. Kuzuha and his shadow are a little taller than him, looming over menacingly. They are close enough for Kanae to hear Kuzuha's ragged, sharp breaths. To smell the iron of the poor thing's blood, still clenched in Kuzuha's white-knuckled grip. Kanae is unwillingly presented with a detailed view of where its feathers and flesh were torn apart and where the dark goop is being squeezed out of its limp, mangled body.
The air between their bodies has become so tense that Kanae can't be sure it won't bite his hand off the second he tries to touch the door.
"…interrupt," Kanae finishes.
"I’ll kill you. If you tell anyone."
Kuzuha's tone is surprisingly mild for what he'd actually said. Astonished at the lack of terror in his heart, Kanae gawks at him. There's something peculiar about Kuzuha. He seems less like a murderous beast hungry for a fresher meal and more like a solitary creature whose defense mechanism he'd accidentally tripped.
Without so much as a second thought, Kanae assures: "I won't."
Kuzuha's grip does not yield. He does not react to Kanae's response in any particular manner. Perhaps he's thinking. Kanae cannot look away from the one drop of blood that gradually wells up and drags down from the edge of Kuzuha's sanguine lips to his chin, then down the path of his slender neck.
Careful not to prod at the wrong buttons, Kanae digs for something in his pocket. He offers his folded, unused handkerchief on the palm of his hand.
"Here," Kanae says, kindly showing it to the guy with blood all over the lower half of his face, his hands, his uniform and his shoes, "Before anyone sees."
Kuzuha has yet to budge. But his grip does go lax and the bird finally stops oozing out its everything onto the floor. Kanae watches as Kuzuha's glowing eyes veer between the handkerchief and Kanae's face, several times in a row. A moment passes and Kuzuha's gaze narrows considerably. If his mouth wasn't varnished in and out with miscellaneous dead bird sludge, Kanae is sure that he would be scowling with his whole face right now.
"Are you an idiot?"
It's just something about Kuzuha.
It's just — Kuzuha is the most boring person Kanae can imagine from class. He could go on and on about what makes Kuzuha such a minimally notable character. I mean, his appearance. The straight-cut black hair. The average height and rangy build. He looks like he'd be on the list of a million Satou-san's currently in Virtual Japan's citizen registry. Trying to pick him out from a sea of their peers would be a challenge akin to finding a needle in a haystack.
The tip of Kanae's pen idly roams the page of his biology textbook. What even is there to Kuzuha aside from that? Well, let's see: he clearly doesn't care about his studies — not if he spends half the school year either napping on a blank open notebook or being absent. In the rare instance Kanae spots him commuting by foot, Kuzuha walks with the elegant gait of an old matted dog. Kanae gets the feeling that his slouch progressively worsens each time he's given another lecture that Kanae doubts is listening to at all.
Something about Kuzuha mystifies him. Kanae recalls what he'd seen and felt and smelled yesterday in the musty classroom. The uncharacteristic ease that kept him relatively level-headed under Kuzuha's scrutinizing glare. Kanae isn't fearless by any means. He has plenty of fears — heights, lizards, flying — but none are reserved for Kuzuha.
It's a morbid fascination in Kuzuha and how he assumes such an ordinary form despite his true untamed nature that has Kanae stuck by the heels. He could turn away now if he wants, but the temptation yanks him back to address his swelling curiosity. It feels like an itchy scab had manifested itself somewhere hard-to-reach on his body. Lucky for that scab, Kanae's the type to scratch until he's satisfied enough.
The lecture is put on pause as Kanae realizes what he'd been doodling the past ten minutes.
Vin-san leans his tall body over Kanae's desk. Kanae smells the faintness of cigarette smoke on the man. "Hm," he says. "I'm not sure how pomeranians are related to the lecture, Kanae-kun. I like it though."
Kanae stiffens. "Sorry. I was just…thinking about a cute pomeranian I saw yesterday."
"Sure. They're pretty adorable," Vin-san comments impassively. "This stuff'll be on a quiz, by the way."
He struts back over to the blackboard, bellowing the latter half of important biogeochemical cycles. Still too distracted to absorb the lecture, Kanae adds a comically dead bird at the pomeranian's feet. It overwhelms himself with the somewhat shameless desire to ruffle up its fluffy white fur.
Kanae spontaneously decides after school hours that he really, really wants his handkerchief back.
"Excuse my intrusion."
The Technology Clubroom is as magnificent as Kanae has heard in rumor. The shelves and cabinets and stacks of old books cramping the already tight space of a spare storage room; the one table littered in empty snack wrappers and juice boxes sold at the cafeteria; the electrical wires entangling each other and creating definite trip hazards all over the floor at ankle height. The only three present club members, certainly having not expected visitors, stare at Kanae like he's growing an extra head.
Kanae clears his throat. "Mayuzumi-kun."
The only one who isn't clutching a game console — Mayuzumi, seated in front of a jet black laptop — replies, a bit taken aback, "Kanae-san."
Kanae musters up a friendly grin. It's just as the story goes — the Technology Club is just a group of guys who play video games and snack on carbohydrates, which even includes its seemingly serious club president Mayuzumi. That story extends as far as the teacher in charge being equally guilty of their extracurricular activities (or lack thereof). Come to think of it, Kanae does sometimes hear his peers swear that Kagami-sensei carries around an emergency Yu-Gi-Oh deck in his briefcase because… just in case?
There are two others at the rickety table. Kanae recognizes them. Lauren and Axia. A pair of first years whose names a lot of people around school know. They're the type of guys who are obsessed with goading each other just because they find whatever the other would spit out when bursting a vessel criminally hilarious. The rest of the funny remarks ricochet off each other from that point on. They are pretty entertaining, in truth. Kanae just doesn’t think he goes well with his more rough-and-tough boyish peers.
"Kanae-san, you can come sit, you know," Mayuzumi says.
"That's alright. I'm just here to ask something."
"Okay," Mayuzumi says.
Kanae swallows. He is still clutching the door. Lauren and Axia have already decided to ignore him and focus on their next Smash Bros match, making sure to insult each other at least seven times. Mayuzumi's fingers tap on his laptop.
"Kanae-san," he says patiently, "go ahead."
"Oh," slips out of Kanae's mouth. He licks his lips. Did he put chapstick on today? He suddenly can't remember. "I was going to ask. About Kuzuha. He's in this club, right?"
If he's surprised to hear the name, Mayuzumi is excellent at hiding it. "He is. What about him?"
"I was wondering if you would happen to know where I can, maybe, find him."
"If he's not here then he's probably not on school grounds," Mayuzumi deduces. He turns to the first years. "Do either of you know where he'd be?"
Lauren, chewing loudly, shrugs. Axia offers, "Didn't he mention craving strawberry milk recently? Maybe he went to go buy some. He's definitely getting that stuff stocked up at his place."
"Hey, didn't Glico raise their prices recently? My mom sent me an article about it. 's not like I read it though."
"Yeah, but Kuzuha-senpai's totally rich. I think his parents own a house in every continent or something."
Mayuzumi plainly looks at Kanae. "As you can tell, none of us have a clue where he is. Sorry."
Kanae waves his hand around. "It's okay. I guess I can ask around until I find him," he acquiesces.
"By the way, Kussan still hasn't returned my copy of Pokemon Sapphire. It's been over a week," Lauren complains. He and Axia are elbow-wrestling for the last bits of Hokkaido butter jagariko sticks.
Mayuzumi lifts an eyebrow. "Is that so." Kanae quietly admires how Mayuzumi is capable of holding a conversation while typing up a storm on his laptop. He's probably working on something complicated, too. Code or whatever it is he does. "If you're going to be looking for him anyway, Kanae-san, would you mind reminding him about that?"
Kanae frowns. "But I'm not his friend. I don't actually talk to him."
"Then you can become his friend and remind him about Lauren's copy of Pokemon Sapphire," Mayuzumi says curtly as if to end all future conversation. When Kanae fails to respond at all, Mayuzumi's head tilts. "Isn't that why you're asking about Kuzuha-san?"
Mayuzumi stares at him in a way that makes it uncomfortably obvious he's picking up far more than what Kanae intended to put down on the table. Or maybe Mayuzumi just forgot to wear his contacts today. But sure — maybe Mayuzumi is right about that. And maybe he knows he's right.
"I gave him my handkerchief the other day," Kanae tells him. "I'd like it back soon. It's very important to me."
"I see." Mayuzumi, the saint he is, thankfully abstains from commenting on Kanae's less than convincing smile. "I hope you get the chance to talk to him." A pause. "And get your handkerchief back."
Kanae laughs hollowly. "I sure hope so as well."
He still hears Lauren and Axia jeering each other after shutting the door behind himself. Despite the unsuccessful mission, Kanae isn't too bothered.
Huh. So he likes strawberry milk.