Chapter Text
When you were a child for the first time, you watched a documentary.
In retrospect, it wasn’t particularly good. There wasn’t a thread joining all the scenes together, the camera was shaky and you had to drape over your old TV to hear it. Even compared to other amateur pieces, it fell short. You can’t even remember what it was about.
However, seeing all those little people moving through the screen—watching them work and live and breathe, do cool things and do uncool things, imperfect as it all looked… With shining eyes pressed against the TV monitor, as if trying to reach through it but never quite managing to,
just then,
you fell in love.
The assembly hall in Kunugigaoka, just like everything in the school, is huge, pompous and gray. Filled to the brim with every single student and teacher in the facilities, though, you can’t find it in yourself to mind. The huzz and buzz of so many people together, squashed like sardines in a can, uncurls your tense shoulders, unpuckers your pursed mouth, until you are doing nothing but merely swaying along with the movements of the crowd.
You sit on the first empty chair you see, and the feeling passes. As you pick dirt out of your nails, you can’t help but pay attention to the whispers all around you. For once, they aren’t about class E, but about—
“I wonder why the principal has called for a school assembly?”
“Outside of scheduled ceremonies… It has to be something important!”
—that.
You can understand the feeling of not knowing what Gakuhou is thinking. Not that you don’t know what’s going to be announced here—unfortunately, you know way too well—but the empathy is there, nonetheless. You’re kind of tempted to put them out of their misery and tell them, but...
It’s easier to stay quiet.
You spot Gakushuu’s orange tuft of hair sitting down in the first row, just before the microphone booms open, as if it were waiting. Gakuhou struts to the scenery barely a second later, dragging all eyes after him. You are unashamedly one of them: the guy, for all of his debatable faults, would make a damn good model. He would make a damn good anything, which is kind of the problem with him.
“Good morning, students,” he says, voice and smile infused with tranquil warmth. “I am pleased to announce the implementation of a new system in this school, which will be sure to further blah blah blah blah…” Five minutes later, he gets to the point, “Please welcome the roommate system.”
Nobody dares to mutter, not when the principal is still speaking. Were it someone less authoritarian, the first protest would have already come.
Gakuhou proceeds to explain the system, and you listen with half an ear. It’s what’s expected in this school, after all: a transparent veneer to bully Class E, make everyone yearn to be in Class A, and put more pressure on Gakushuu. It’s almost artistic, how every decision Gakuhou makes can be summed up like that.
Basically, the students will be paired up by marks. Gakushuu, as the highest-achiever, will have a huge, isolating room all to himself, while the rest of students will room with the place above or below you, whichever fits, with the biggest rooms going for the top rankers. You don’t need to check the list to see who your roommate will be: isn’t it natural that the eternal second best will be paired up with the one and only Akabane Karma, who usually ranks around third despite being in class D?
Knowing about this all beforehand, you had already packed before coming here today. All of your worldly belongings—namely, a camera, two photo books, your phone, your laptop, your DS, your textbooks, and some DVD cases—fit inside your school bag.
And so, you are one of the first to leave the hall, and you reach your room—number 300—before your soon-to-be roommate. The door locks from the inside, which is totally not a recipe for disaster, and its walls are, of course, the dullest gray one can imagine. You take a moment to get over your tedium, and begin unpacking.
Akabane arrives when you’re deciding the shelf your photo books should be on. On the right side, which you’ve taken the liberty to choose, there are two, one a little too low and one a little too high, and no matter where you put them, it doesn’t feel right. It’s an important decision, though, so you don’t look up, and you certainly don’t welcome your new roommate.
“Well, well,” he says, strutting into the room with his characteristic grin. You had thought about locking the door behind you, but that would have been rude to a guy you’d never spoken to before—you severely regret that choice now. “Look who it is! Good morning, doggie!”
‘Doggie’ is your nickname at school—the one the lower classes give you. Apparently, you spent too much time talking to Gakushuu and don’t have an opinion of your own. You’d disagree, but, ultimately, they’re kind of right. Most people are jealous of your position as uncontested second best, so you can’t find it in yourself to get offended by a stupid nickname born out of envy.
Akabane has no reason to be jealous, but he’s famous for picking fights with people he doesn’t like, so. You stay quiet. Complete silence.
“No answer?” You keep your gaze trained on your books, and there are no signs of movement, but somehow, he gives the impression of a lion circling its prey. Unfortunately, you have recently gotten used to this feeling, so you don’t react. “Oh, well! I hope this will be a peaceful coexistence, doggie-chan.”
You nod, and give up on the photo books, putting them on the bedside table. It’s not even six, but you don’t feel like doing anything today, so you change into your pajamas and go to sleep. Akabane has left the room while you were in the bathroom—and left his schoolbag puking its contents all over the floor, while he was at it—so it doesn’t take you five minutes to doze off.
In retrospect, keeping your morning routine in a new environment is a mistake. Waking up alone and seemingly intact lowered your guard, and you innocently go on about your day without glancing at a single mirror. Since being born again, you can count on one hand at the number of times you’ve really inspected your reflection.
Anyways, the first thing you do, as usual, is go see Gakushuu. Only this time, instead of finding him standing before his door with his perfectly pressed uniform, you meet him just as he’s closing his room—number 308, in the other end of the building, because Gakuhou doesn’t leave loose ends—wearing a shirt almost but not quite neat. Hah, no matter how much he denied it, you knew it was his maid who pressed his stupid uniforms.
“You’re finally here,” he says, glancing impatiently at his wrist. He’s really out of it, if he’s forgotten his watch. Despite it being objectively embarrassing, though, he doesn’t deign to blush as he looks up. “We have to reconsider our approach. Clearly, if he ’s caught us, you - our idea must be rewor—you room with Akabane, don’t you?”
What has that guy made to your face. “Is it that obvious?”
Gakushuu smirks and points to his right cheek. Wordlessly, you stomp into his private bathroom and, carefully not focusing on the rest of your appearance, you inspect your cheek. Squiggly lines shakily form an eight, and, emerging from the intersection, a blur which was probably meant to be a round column rises until it brushes your eyelid. Three lines, each one drawn with more care than the one before it, adorn the tip of the column, and also tastefully frame your eye.
To summarize, it’s a cumming dick.
“I’ve walked through the entire building like this, and nobody said anything,” you inform Gakushuu’s toothbrush.
It doesn’t answer, but Gakushuu does. With a sigh, audible two rooms away. You don’t know if that’s better or worse than a laugh.
It takes you five minutes to wipe the drawing off your face. In that time, you swear revenge and swear off it eight times each. Life would be much more difficult if you opened warfare against your roommate, but you shouldn’t let this stand either. It would be satisfying to humiliate him in front of the entire school, but you know from experience the idea is more fulfilling than the reality.
Et cetera.
When you come out of his room, Gakushuu has schooled his expression into perfect neutrality. As they should. Technically being your boss doesn’t excuse disrespect.
“So,” you say, when it becomes clear he doesn’t intend to start the conversation again. “What’s your plan, then? I could stalk him—excuse me, him —on his socials, if you pay me extra. It could take time to find something, though.”
Gakushuu glares at you. “Have you already forgotten the deal? I can wait however much you need, as long as you do your part.”
You swallow back your annoyance. It’s just the daddy issues, it’s just the daddy issues, it’s just the daddy issues… He’s spent the night alone and he’s humiliated and it’s just the daddy issues .
You nod. “I want double the pay.”
Gakushuu doesn’t bother haggling.
When you step through the entrance to your room, Akabane’s fixed gaze on you reminds you about his little prank. You’ve already forgotten how to be angry about it, though, so you just pass him by and sit on your desk. Studying with another person in the room feels weird, but you have to get used to it; no way you’re going to the library on your own.
Besides, after a few minutes, his eyes slide off your back, and they never return. If you agree to ignore each other, as you have been doing through this year you’ve been schoolmates, things shouldn’t be too hard. It’ll be just like at home.
That is, if you agree first…
The first week isn’t so bad.
It’s worse.
You and Gakushuu are cooped up inside the building, which was expected, of course, but no less soul-crushing. To get out of Kunugigaoka, you had to fill out a form and get the principal to sign it—obviously, the form was only available to classes A to D. Moreover, in yours and Gakushuu’s case, the form always mysteriously disappeared in transit, no matter how many times you sent it in, so you’re effectively stuck here too. Such is the privilege of the top two, huh?
For now, you’re keeping your head down, so that means long hours stuck in your room—in your disgusting, untidy room. Even if you keep your side spotless, Akabane’s filth is so enormous that it spills over from his half of the room to yours. If it weren’t your problem, you would dedicate half a thought to commend him: even when he’s not here, his presence is so loud that you can’t stop being annoyed at him. Truly a master at his art.
You eye a used sock in undisguised disgust as you head for your desk.
“Could you keep your side of the room neat, please?” you ask. You are one refusal away from begging on your knees.
Akabane pointedly turns the page in his manga, not deigning to look up. You’ve lied—you’re not remotely close to beginning—so you turn up your nose and open your textbook.
From that point on, the room becomes, if that’s possible, even untidier. You don’t retaliate, but you do think about it.
“Could you not make so much noise while I’m studying?” you ask politely, out of reflex, and grimace when you realize what you’ve done. To whom you’ve done it.
Wordlessly, Akabane dials up the volume on his speakers. Your room is soundproof—another benefit of good marks—so nobody will come and complain. This is a ‘you’ problem. Nobody is going to help you.
Sighing, you return to your books. You’ve studied in worse situations, anyways.
If there’s one thing you can hand Akabane, it’s that he has a minimum of respect.
When you say minimum, of course, you mean modicum. Microscopic. An iota. But hey, at least the bar isn’t touching the floor, just barely brushing it. Thanks to this millimetric show of human decency, you feel comfortable enough to leave your room without locking your stuff in the box in your wardrobe. Well, half of your stuff: the real important things, like your identification documents or your camera, are stored in there, but your textbooks, your photo albums, and your clothes—i.e. things that would inconvenience you if they were to go missing—you leave them defenseless.
And nothing ever happens to them.
Only sometimes, you open your wardrobe, and there’s shit in there. Not literal shit, thank the gods, but annoying stuff all the same.
“Why are there wrappers in my wardrobe?” you ask as you pick them up, scrunching your nose. They’re cookie wrappers, to boot, which means crumbs have gotten all over your three sets of pants.
Akabane blinks, as if surprised. Yeah, right—you’ve caught his eyes tracking you as you approached the closet. “Oh, sorry ,” he says, smirking. “I thought that was a trash bin. Won’t happen again.”
You nod, and two days later, there’s a square meter of foil in your sock drawer.
You could live with those things, though. In your first life, you were the eldest of three siblings, so you know how annoying teenagers who are bored can be, down to your bones. Some of the pranks Akabane pulls are a little funny, even, when you’ve taken a few hours to cool down—changing your water bottles for transparent tabasco sauce was a genius move, and one that needed a lot of money or chemistry knowledge to achieve.
And you might have retaliated, just a tiny bit—nothing compared to the war declarations Akabane is hurling at you. Spilled water on his sheets, dick drawings over every paper he has, exchanging his shampoo with pink dye… (That last one was hilarious. His blush contrasted horrendously with his new hair color.) Certainly none of those things merit what he’s doing to you, but you don’t hold it against him if they do. Some people simply have thin skin.
Still, if there’s something—just one thing—you hold sacred, it’s your sleep hours. Only you should make the decision of being awake at three a.m., as you are the one that will deal with the consequences. And now that you’re lying down and have put your clients on hold, on top of not being in exam season, it’d be great if you could take advantage of this situation to catch up on sleep.
But no. Sir Akabane blatantly skips curfew every other day, probably breaking half a dozen rules along the way. You are enough of a good sport not to snitch on him, and his reward for you? Coming back stomping every time—and not even angry stomping. Not vindictive stomping, either.
Just careless stomping!
These are going to be two long years, you think as you turn to face the wall, covering your ears with your pillow. You don’t bother to say anything as Akabane strides towards the bathroom; surely he can feel your irritation. The worst part is, Gakuhou totally knew this would happen .