Chapter Text
Ayane knew she was pretty from a young age.
Not cute – like those girls with a natural flush to the cheeks or round, sparkling eyes. Nor beautiful – like the women with spindly model legs and an air of elegance that radiated off a pristine, powder white complexion.
But decently pretty, all on her own.
Family members always pinched her cheeks and gushed about how lovely she’s blossomed over the past seasons. Talent scouts would chase her down the streets of Harajuku whenever she was on vacation, desperately shoving their business card in their face and imploring her to audition or snap a couple headshots. Her female middle school classmates expressed their envy and whined of how early her hips had come in, while the boys would ogle a little too long whenever she rounded the soccer field.
It ran in the women in her family. Her mother was a former pageant queen. Her eldest sister ran through boyfriends faster than the fashion magazines on her bedside drawer, and her middle sister casually received confessions from boys attending different schools practically on a daily. It was peculiar how beauty was the accumulated generational wealth in her family as opposed to property or money. But to them, it was their pitfall.
This was made apparent when she came home from volleyball practice with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling bottom lip. Ayane made her way to the back patio where her mom lounged with a pack of wine coolers beside her and a cigarette lit between her fingers. Ayane got down to her knees then, tears slipping down her cheeks as she begged her mother if she could transfer schools. That she couldn’t bear it anymore – the vacant stares, glares of disapproval, silent disdain – all because she turned down a popular boy in her class.
Her mother simply took a drag, blowing smoke into the distant peach dusk of the setting sun.
A long pause. Then, after a moment of contemplation, her mother replied, “Fine.”
Ayane almost flinched in surprise. That was all it took? How was she so accepting of sending her daughter to a high school three train stops away?
“But I’m not allowing this so freely, Yano,” Her mother warned, her gaze still trained on the horizon. “There’s a lesson you must learn from this.”
“A lesson…?” Ayane hiccuped.
The cigarette butt was burning dangerously close to her mother’s lips, the smoke curling around her sleek black bob. Her words were slow and slurred. Ayane wondered if she had one too many wine coolers.
“All of this is fleeting,” Her mother grabbed her chin, forcing Ayane to peer into her weary eyes. “Money, boys, beauty. You will run out. And they will all eventually leave you.”
(Maybe two wine coolers.)
“Mom–”
“No, listen to me,” Ayane’s mother scowled, frown deepening. “The way those girls on the team shunned you…never forget that feeling. The feeling of abandonment, isolation, and betrayal. Because you must learn to protect yourself from it.”
Ayane swallowed thickly. The sound cut through the inches-apart proximity between her face and her mother’s. The beat of silence allows her a moment to drink in her mother’s deepening crow’s feet, the pinch between her thin eyebrows, and her full lips stained sangria – the same color of lipstick that graced the empty bottles lying beside her.
Her mother was beautiful, if not devoid of color. As if the saturation of her world was progressively sucked from her graceful features as time passed. Ayane was always too fearful to question when it all started:
When her mother left her ambitious job in Tokyo to marry her father and was doomed to become a stay-at-home mother? When her father left her family before Ayane even took her first steps – departing with nothing but a blurry-faced memory and torn up family photos in his wake? When her sisters grew up and left the house for the big city, leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mother’s mouth, because it reminds her of a life she could’ve had but gave up for misguided love?
But, like the obedient daughter holding what’s left of her tattered family unit together, she doesn’t question her mother this time either.
“I understand,” Ayane complied.
Her mother sighed. She put the cigarette out on the wooden surface of their patio deck. It left a black ring and a sprinkle of ashes in its place.
“Do not let others lead you astray,” Her mother warned with startling finality. “All you have in this world is yourself, Ayane.”
She also grew up hearing that she looked older than her actual age.
Not wiser, per say. But it did allow her some advantages: adults taking her more seriously, getting cleared to watch rated R movies at the theater, and if she was lucky enough with whoever was working behind the convenience store register at the time – buying bottles of sake for her mother without being asked to show ID.
The jewelry shop down the street refused to give piercings to minors. Ayane easily bypassed that policy ever since she perfected her make-up routine at 14 years old.
Somewhere along the way, Ayane started making a tradition to add a new piercing whenever something significant happened to her life. She had two so far, each a different shape and color. One after her first relationship, the other for when she graduated middle school.
She’s getting a new one today: a diamond stud just above her earlobe to celebrate her entering Kitahoro High School in a few weeks. To mark a new beginning, a fresh start.
While she sits in the leather seat, she notices a guy quietly watching her in the corner of her eye. The gun clicks, the needle presses through her skin, and it’s done.
When she leaves to walk back home, the guy chases after her, bumbling, “Hey, w-wait!”
He’s a little taller than her. Generic face, average build, and long, brown hair that falls straight past his ears. He rubs his neck, bashful.
“Sorry. I just couldn’t watch you leave without saying anything,” He confesses.
“Oh,” Ayane says. “You were the guy staring at me while I was getting my ears pierced.”
“Y-Yeah,” The guy flushes. He clears his throat awkwardly into his fist. “I was wondering…what school do you go to?”
She points to herself. “Kitahoro.”
Like a natural progression that happens whenever Ayane reveals her age to a stranger, the boy’s eyebrows raise, his jaw falls a bit open, and he remarks, “Oh. You look older than your age.”
She shrugs. Prepares to turn on her heel to leave.
“My name is Taki,” The guy – Taki – interjects. “I’m entering the local engineering college this year. I was wondering if…you would like to go out with me? It might be a bit tough meeting up, considering we go to different schools and all…”
He fumbles through the rest of his sudden confession, but Ayane is only half listening. A small part of her is telling her to run from how this older boy finds her attractive and continues coming onto her, despite revealing her age. But the louder, more overwhelming part finds his confession awkward and painfully sincere.
High school starts next month. A new beginning, a fresh start.
“Sure,” She replies cooly.
Might as well have some fun before it begins.
Taki is an average boyfriend, as far as all boyfriends go.
They don’t get to spend time together as frequently now that he’s moving to attend college. But nevertheless, he pays for her meals, buys plushies for her, and gifts her whatever make-up product is currently trending. He calls her “beautiful” and “pretty”, and occasionally “sexy” whenever she opted for a miniskirt or tank top on their dates.
They don’t talk very much. She doesn’t know much about him, other than the fact that he finds her attractive, which dominates half of their conversations. The other half is purely physical. Taki communicates with his lips – kissing her fervently and nipping a line down her neck – or with his hands – squeezing her thighs or groping beneath the fabric of her shirt.
Ayane never lets it get farther than that. She may be a pretty face, but she wasn’t stupid.
One night, Taki was feeling particularly handsy as he shoved her against his bedsheets and climbed over her. The stench of beer lingered on his clothing and his movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. Ayane rolled her eyes as his tongue traced her collarbone and his fingers danced over the curve of her waist. She stared up at the ceiling in the darkness of the room and almost laughed. Her mother would have a field day with this: her youngest daughter falling into bed with a strange man instead of running in the other direction like all the lectures she's been pounding into Ayane’s head since her adolescence.
But then Taki’s hands pop a button to her shorts, and Ayane lightly shoves him off.
“Wha–”
“You’re boring me,” Ayane mutters, picking up her shirt from the carpet. “I have to go.”
She fluffs up her hair a bit, adjusts her clothing, and prepares to head out his door. Taki’s hand thrusts out, gripping onto her wrist.
“Ayane, what the hell?” He sounds baffled.
“Did you forget?” She huffs. “My entrance ceremony is tomorrow. I have to get home soon and prepare.”
His grip tightens on her, refusing to let go.
“Geez, Ayane,” Taki chuckles bitterly. “You gonna keep teasing me like this?”
“What are you talking ab–”
“I’ve been patient with you, you know. I’ve been waiting all this time because it seems like you’re not ready,” He shakes his head.
His fingers are still curled over her pulse. She squirms to remove them, but he only holds on tighter. It’s starting to hurt.
“But you know, a guy can only wait so long,” His lips tug into a smirk. “If you don’t put out, I don’t know how much longer I can tolerate it.”
His eyelids are heavy and dark. Ayane feels something unpleasant bubble inside her gut. She forcefully tears his wrist from his hand, letting it bruise.
“Screw you,” She scowls before storming out of his apartment and slamming the door in his face.
The first friend Ayane makes at Kitahoro is a girl named Chizuru, the girl she (literally) ran into after the entrance ceremony.
She is Ayane’s foil: tall, bare-faced, stick thin but still athletic. Chizu is brash, unrefined, and so god-awfully loud. Boys surround her, but not the kind that beg for her attention. One is the buzzcut on the baseball team who naps at the back of the class and has the memory of a goldfish (Ryu, was it?) and the other is bright and easygoing Kazehaya, who seems distracted half the time by the ghost-like girl who looks straight out of “The Ring” (more on her later).
I’ll never get along with this chick, Ayane thinks when she sits herself in front of Chizu.
And yet… and yet…
Chizu doesn’t just gradually come into Ayane’s life.
She crashes into it. (At full force, with no brakes.)
At first, their friendship starts as a rivalry, and everything seems like a competition between the two of them. A long-standing contest of awkwardly skirting around each other, of who will break first and greet each other with a meek “good morning” whenever they happen to arrive together at the getabako. Friendly handshakes quickly morph into arm wrestling competitions. Long-distance runs during PE turn into sprint races against each other.
It’s how they end up keeling over on a grassy knoll, heaving as they try to catch their breath and recover from their burning hamstrings.
“I can’t do this anymore!” Chizu flops onto the grass, groaning. “I can’t go any further!”
“Me neither,” Ayane sinks to the ground.
“You run too fast!”
“What?! You started it!”
But like time, slow and forgiving, they open up to each other in the midst of the swaying grass and cawing of herons. Some classmates jog past them on the trail, overlooking the two misshapen girls lying flat against the side of the riverbank basking in the sunlight filtering through the clouds.
“I never pegged you as the shy type,” Chizu muses. “With all your make-up and such.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ayane scoffs.
“I-I didn’t mean it in a bad way!” Chizu recovers quickly. “Well, you’ve always seemed so cool and mature compared to the rest of us girls. You’re very reserved.” Chizu sits up on the grass, breaking into a grin so wide that her eyes crease. “So, when I see you become so energetic and competitive, I’m glad I get to see this rare side of you. I consider myself lucky!”
Something blossoms in Ayane’s chest.
“Oh,” She mumbles. “That’s…nice. I never really got along well with other girl friends. They all assume that I’m cold or a flirt.”
“Me too. Not the flirty part. But about the girl friends part,” Chizu pouts before shrugging. Her entire face lights up brighter than the sun. “Good thing most of them see me as a boy anyway! You should hang out with me and my friends more. I like spending time with you!”
Chizu is flamboyant, vibrant, and god, her volume needs some work.
She’s everything Ayane is not.
But perhaps that is what Ayane likes most about her.
They befriend Sawako a bit later after that.
Ayane’s first impression of her is akin to everyone else’s – an ominous loner with a penchant for the occult. That is, until she and Chizu are conspiring a devious scare prank during the class’s summer class event, and Sawako eagerly bursts into the empty classroom and accepts the role of the “ghost”.
“Please, let me volunteer for this task,” Sawako implores. “I-I would like to be useful to everyone!”
Ayane tilts her head, watching the girl carefully, and how her earnest do-gooder attitude seems to transform her features. Beneath the initial doom and gloom lies a meek girl with long and sleek black hair, pale skin, and a gentle smile. Ayane recognizes a kindred spirit in the reflection of her shining almond eyes. A girl who longs to be seen. A girl who longs to be understood.
“Sure,” Ayane shrugs. “Do your best.”
A week later, the unpleasant squeak of chalk and lively classroom chatter rings in the inevitable semester seating change. Everyone draws numbers to determine their spot, and it couldn’t be more obvious that the entire class is avoiding Sawako like the plague. The poor girl sits alone beside the window – #3 on the seating map – staring down at her clasped hands on the surface of her desk. Voices are laced with dread as people assigned within her perimeter desperately try to trade seats.
Idiots, Ayane scowls internally. Don’t you know she can hear you?
Kazehaya swoops in like the charming, all-around guy he is and makes a scene by forcefully heaving his desk smack dab next to Sawako. The crowd breaks into murmurs then, condemning Kazehaya for willingly subjecting himself to a lifetime of bad fortune by sitting next to her. In the back of her mind, Ayane recalls her mother’s vacant eyes and the pungency of tobacco.
(“Never forget that feeling. The feeling of abandonment, isolation, and betrayal.” )
“Yano-san! You’re up next!”
Ayane makes her decision before she even unfurls the slip of paper revealing her desk number. She crumples it up and tosses it back into the bin.
“You can have this back,” She grumbles before settling on the table in front of Sawako. Ryu and Chizu wordlessly follow suit.
None of them quite understand the gravity of seating themselves in that little corner of the classroom. Not until years later.
Their first year is punctured with equal parts sweetness and turbulence.
Chizu finds out unceremoniously that her first love is engaged, but like the cheerful and boisterous person she is, she masks her sadness with a tight smile and nonchalant shrug. Ayane knows the feeling of self-preservation all too well, but she decides it best to keep quiet and let Chizu process her emotions with stride.
On a particularly chilly night, their ragtag bunch of friends crowd into Ryu’s family restaurant for a steaming bowl of ramen. Ryu’s father casually mentions something related to Toru’s upcoming wedding and Ayane spots Chizu wince in the corner of her eye.
“Say, Chizu, you gonna get all dolled up for that special day?” He asks, oblivious.
“Heck yeah! I can’t wait to rock a miniskirt!” Chizu exclaims, an octave higher than normal. Her fists ball the hem of her sweatshirt beneath the table. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
“No one wants to see that,” Her childhood friend teases beside her.
“Shut it, Ryu!”
“You’re one to talk, son. Have you rented a suit yet?”
“You’re supposed to wear a suit?”
In between the chaotic quartet of slurps and chatter, Ayane’s hand silently slips beneath the table to intertwine with Chizu’s fingers in comfort.
Chizu squeezes her palm right back.
Sawako: Thank you for bringing the cakes over today, Yano-san! My parents really enjoyed them! They were delicious!
Ayane: No problem. Also, what did we say about calling each other by our first names?
Sawako: (,,>﹏<,,)
Ayane: Enjoying your new phone, I see.
Sawako: Yes! I like emoticons very much. I find it’s easier to express my feelings this way.
Ayane: Oh? Anything else you want to express?
Sawako: …
Sawako: Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while, Ayane-chan, but I never found a good time to do it.
Ayane: ?
Sawako: I think you are very brave for standing up to the girls that spread rumors about me.
Sawako: I want to be confident like you. I look up to you! I admire you a lot!
Ayane: Don’t be stupid. I’m the last person you want as a role model–
She quickly taps on the backspace button, deleting the message before it can send. The bright blue bubble taunts her in the pitch black darkness of her bedroom. She exhales a clipped sigh, waiting for the stinging of her eyes to subside as her thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Ayane: Don’t be stupid. I’m the last person you want as a role model
Ayane: Thanks.
The end of the year draws to a close and the new year rings in.
The town floods to the shrine at midnight, and Ayane ducks her head as she slips through the crowd to avoid running into any classmates before retrieving a rolled up fortune. Chizu has already left with Ryu while Sawako and Kazehaya are off somewhere else being oblivious to each other's feelings, so she tucks herself between a hidden thicket of barren trees, far away from the bonfire surrounded by families and couples.
She exhales deeply, plumes of frost dusting over her trembling mittens as she stares down at the roll of paper.
She unwraps it carefully.
Fortune: Bad Luck
Fuck.
She reads on.
Friendship: You are surrounded by precious friends! Your year will bring new memories.
Romance: Now is the time for a fresh start. Let go of anything holding you back.
Ayane stares at the print for a long time before peering up at the moon, waning in the ink black night. She closes her eyes for a bit, letting the snowflakes nestle into the tufts of her hair and the chill settle into her bones. She calculates the plan in her head. Then, she stomps the fortune into the snow-covered ground and breaks into a run.
The jewelry store is miraculously still open when she arrives at its doorstep, sweaty and out of breath and dusted with melted snow. The shop owner, recognizing her as a regular, ushers her inside with a smile. “You’d be surprised how many people want piercings or jewelry on New Year’s Day,” He explains. “A way to commemorate and ring in the new year, I guess.”
She settles on a silver loop on the helix of her ear. Something spiral. Something infinite.
“So,” The shop owner nods his approval. “What are we celebrating today?”
Ayane doesn’t hesitate. “Friends.”
Next, she races off to Taki’s apartment.
He’s probably asleep. Or out with his college friends. But Ayane doesn’t think she can wait a moment longer.
It takes two knocks before the door swings open, and she’s faced with a surprised looking Taki. She should feel anxious, heartbroken, or guilty at least. But standing there on his front porch, she has never been more sure of anything in her life.
“Ayane? What are you doing here?” Taki sputters. “Come inside, you’ll catch a cold–”
“I’m breaking up with you,” Her words cut colder than the air outside.
He doesn’t take it well.
He responds with a harsh blow across her cheek. The mark burns raw and red like a wound, and it stings more than the fresh piercing she got less than an hour ago. She’s too shocked to move.
Taki balks, as if horrified by himself. He drapes himself over her, sobbing as he clutches onto the back of her coat, pleading, “I-I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking! Please, don’t go!” He blubbers for her forgiveness and settles for bargaining his way back into her heart, but Ayane feels nothing but disgust twisting in her gut. Every single jealous text, angry phone call, or stained memory of his harsh hands on her skin bubbles up her throat like bile.
“You’re pathetic,” She scoffs, shoving him away from her and walking out of his life.
Her cheek is still sore and hot to the touch as she makes her way home, so she decides to drop by the convenience store to grab a bandage and cold compress.
As she exits the doors of the 7-Eleven, there’s a large group of girls around her age milling about by the entrance way, seemingly moping over something.
“Aw, where did he go?” “Did he run off when he saw us?” “What do you think his fortune is?” “I hope it’s good fortune with relationships! He seems like the type to have luck follow him wherever he goes!”
One of the girls turns in her direction, and crap – Ayane is pretty sure they’re in the same home ec class. She slowly backs away, trying to sneak back home around the back of the store, but bumps into a solid chest instead.
Before she can stumble backward, a hand reaches out and catches her arm to steady her.
(It’s big and warm and belongs to a boy. She doesn’t pull away.)
“Oops! Sorry, didn’t see ya there!”
Ayane glances up, processing their tall height and wavy blonde locks, but quickly ducks her head, hiding her bruised cheek behind her layered haircut. She trains her eyes downward at their shoes, just inches apart on the slippery dirt road. She didn’t get a good read on his face.
“Are those girls still there?” His voice is hushed. “They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”
“Er, I guess? They’re by the entrance,” Ayane blinks.
“Darn! Maybe if I take the back alleyway…” The guy ponders out loud.
“Excuse me–” She tries sidestepping him, and his fingers loosen over her wrist.
“Oh!” He exclaims suddenly.
The guy leans down, tilting his head a bit to get a better angle of Ayane’s face. She flinches, turning away from his eyes. He’s for sure noticed the bruise by now , she groans internally. She tries to come up with a slew of hasty excuses in her head as she watches his jaw fall slack: it’s not what you think, I ran into a pole on the way here, my cheeks just get purple in the cold–
“Is that a new piercing?” He gawks, a finger pointing at her helix.
Ayane backs an inch away from his vicinity, a hand unconsciously reaching up to shield the silver loop newly positioned on her ear.
“Yeah…”
“I knew it!” He sing-songs. “At first I thought your ear was pink because of the cold, but turns out I was right after all! It’s a fresh piercing! So cool!”
This guy’s even more cheery than Chizu.
Her gaze is still transfixed on the icy asphalt. If she were to look up right now, it'd probably be a cross between a glare and an eyeroll.
“Ah, and here–” The guy finally lets go of her wrist to squat to the ground. She tries not to let the absence of heat bother her. He scoops a handful of snow, packs it between his palms, and thrust it out to her. “Use this for your bruise.”
So he did notice it.
“What?” Ayane deadpans.
“Like this!” And in one swift move, the guy stuffs the snow against his cheeks, covering the expanse of his face and leaving nothing but a mop of blonde hair visible. “The cold from the snow will help it heal faster! And it feels refreshing too!” His giggle sounds as clear as a bell. Ayane is dumbfounded at how he finds the concept of shoving snow against her face and risking hypothermia to be a delightful matter.
Who the hell is this guy?
“There he is!” A shrill cry comes from behind them, followed by a chorus of squeals and the crescendo of enthusiastic stomping.
“Uh-oh, gotta run! Bye-bye!” The blonde races off just as quickly as he came.
When Ayane finally makes it home and sets her plastic bag of items on her desk, the snow seems to beckon to her as it falls harder outside her window pane.
Curious, she cracks a fraction of her window open, letting a small pile accumulate into her cupped palm. She presses the snow against her injured cheek, and almost instantly, her shoulders deflate and her face melts with relief.
That weirdo was right.
Nevertheless, whoever that guy is, she hopes they never cross paths again.
Second year ushers in new classroom assignments, new promises, and new classmates.
One of them is Miura Kento. Ayane dislikes him instantly.
He’s got his golden retriever reputation on lock with his fluffy blonde hair and downturned puppy eyes and impish grin. When he walks down the school hallways, sunbeams seem to shoot out of his face and flowers dance around him like a halo. He’s possibly the only one that rivals Kazehaya in popularity. His fanclub of girls flock to him every passing period, inquiring about if he ate, what he’s currently into, or if there’s anyone he’s interested in – with enough enthusiasm to rival professional news journalists.
Ayane immediately reads through his superficial mask. Like a dog, he sticks his overly friendly nose into others' business without a care for the consequences.
Especially when it comes to Sawako and Kazehaya’s relationship.
Ayane spent her entire first year trying to gently nudge those two idiots in love together. She wasn’t going to have this guy erase all that effort and take the satisfaction from her.
She waits for the perfect window to corner him. She stays behind a bit after the final bell rings, lying that she left her jacket behind in the gym and urging Chizu and Sawako to go ahead and walk home without her. As class representative, Pin had assigned Kento to retrieve some documents and drop them off in their homeroom after classes. Ayane leans against the edge of her desk in their empty classroom, waiting patiently.
The sliding door breaks through the quiet, signaling his return.
“Oh, Ayane-chan! What are you still doing here? The class bell rang half an hour ago,”
“What’s your angle?” She cuts to the chase.
Kento drops off the stack of papers on the pedestal at the front of the room before making his way over to her. He plants himself on the top of a desk directly across, and even though he’s seated with his back slouched, he still meets her at eye level.
He blinks owlishly, feigning ignorance. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re messing with Sawako,” Ayane hopes her glare punctures through his facade. “You should leave her alone.”
“Why? Because she likes Kazehaya?” He asks bluntly. He grins victoriously at the microscopic wrinkle of her nose. Bingo.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, continuing casually, “I’m just curious about what kind of girl she is. After all, she hangs out with you and Chizu, who don’t seem like her usual type of friends. And she’s in love with a boy she practically doesn’t have a chance with. Wouldn’t someone like that interest you?”
“No,” Ayane huffs, steeling her emotions by shoving aside the explosive urge to defend Sawako. “I do the decent thing. Which is minding my own business.”
Kento chuckles brightly, and for a brief moment, Ayane is hit with a wave of déjà vu. Why did that sound so familiar?
“I know you would. You’re just that type of girl, Ayane-chan,” Kento hums.
“What do you mean by that?”
He shrugs. One corner of his lips tugs higher than the other. “I’m saying that Sadako is not the only one I like observing.”
Her pulse malfunctions.
His dark pupils engulf the hazel of his eyes. She shifts uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze. He steps closer and Ayane instinctively tries to back away, but the desk merely screeches still behind her.
“Despite your looks, Ayane-chan, you’re quite reserved. It seems like you don’t open up to people easily,” It’s like he’s staring straight through her. “But when it comes to your friends, you’re very passionate about them. I like seeing you all worked up like this. You’re so intriguing, Ayane-chan.”
What the hell…
The classroom door slams open and Pin comes trampling in.
“Kento! Where the hell did you leave the papers–” He squawks, stopping abruptly when he processes the scene in front of him. “The heck? You two kids trying to make memories in an empty class or somethin’?”
“N-No way!” Ayane snaps, hurriedly grabbing her bag and making a swift exit. “And stop meddling!” She calls back, though she isn’t entirely sure if she was directing it toward Pin or Kento.
The echo of Kento’s laughter follows her all the way home.
Somehow, Kento’s constant interference ends up working in Sawako and Kazehaya’s favor.
Ayane perches against the rooftop railing following the school festival, watching her two friends confess their feelings to one another amidst the backdrop of a starry sky and steady ocean waves. It’s clumsy and achingly endearing, the way the two of them fall into each other’s orbit like perfectly aligned planets. Ayane feels something squeeze tightly in her chest but she can’t bring herself to look away.
Chizu always joked about Ayane being a masochist. But standing here alone, witnessing how palpable the love between Sawako and Kazehaya is even a distance away, she thinks she might be the opposite. She’s happy for them, truly. But she also hates the ugly way that envy knots in her stomach at the sight of their infectious joy.
It hurts, she sighs. It really fucking hurts.
“Not joining the after party?” A pleasant voice calls out to her.
Kento.
His smile widens as he nears her.
“Aren’t you supposed to be with your girlfriends?” Ayane scoffs.
“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating with our class?” Kento banters playfully before peering down at what caught her attention. “What are you watch – oh! Look at those two lovebirds! I’m happy for them.”
“...Yeah,” Ayane rests her chin on her folded elbows, opting to distract herself by observing the swaying palm trees instead. “They’re cute.”
Kento settles against the railing as well, leaning forward to tilt his head and get a better view of her.
“You look upset,” He frowns.
“I always look like this,” She retorts.
“No way! You usually look pissed off when I’m around. Like there’s daggers shooting out of your eyes!”
It makes her crack. Not a full laugh – more like a half exhale, half chuckle – but it’s the first time she’s smiled that night.
They fall into companionable silence, content with the distant lullaby of seagulls and salty ocean breeze. The night passes by agonizingly slow. Kazehaya and Sawako are long gone, and she’s sure some of their classmates have already headed home, but Ayane stays fixed in place like a mountain, firm and immovable. Kento stubbornly stays by her side, steady and flowing like the wind, gradually eroding her walls over time.
“You know… I’m actually quite jealous of them,” She whispers. Salt lingers on her tongue.
“Same here,” Kento’s voice is soft and wistful. “I suppose it’s a good thing those two got together. I’m relieved this all happened before I fell for Sadako.”
Ayane almost chokes at his sudden confession. “You–you what?”
He laughs, bashfully scratching the back of his head. The blonde curls at the nape of his neck bounce right back. “I mean, she’s cute and all. But looking back, I don’t think my feelings for her were as real as Kazehaya’s. I thought they weren’t compatible together. So I suppose I liked the idea of her being with someone else – someone like me – more than the idea of actually dating her. I just assumed I could make her happier.”
Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. The ego on this guy.
“You’re such a meddler,” She tsks.
“Ouch! So cold, Ayane-chan!” He clutches at his chest, feigning a wound. Then, he apologizes ever so softly, and it almost gives her whiplash. “I really am sorry for messing with your friends.”
She’s a little stunned at his words, so she takes a moment before steeling herself to glance over at his face. What she sees makes her lungs collapse. He’s staring right back at her. With lips tugged into a resolute line and eyes so earnest that it thaws something she didn’t even realize was numb inside of her.
“Then why do you do it?” Ayane asks, carefully selecting her words so they sound more curious than condescending. “Why are you so concerned with other peoples’ business and interfere when things don’t work out the way you intend them to?”
Thankfully, it doesn’t look like Kento takes offense to her question. If anything, it makes him contemplative. He picks a loose thread off his button-up, twirling it between his fingers, taking a minute to consider if he should tell her the truth or not before eventually relenting.
“My parents separated when I was in middle school,” He sighs. “All they did was fight since I was a kid. They barely tolerated each other in the marriage. I sensed the separation was coming in the events leading up to it, but I still did everything in my power to try to keep them together. I tried to lay low and be a model son – aced all my tests, finished the chores, obeyed their directions – hoping I could distract them from finding any more problems they had with each other.”
Ayane believed that Kento was made up entirely of curves and soft corners. So when his jaw tenses and his fists curl over the metal railing, it’s the first time Ayane has ever seen him with edges and sharp angles.
“It didn’t work. As hard as I tried to keep my parents together, they still got divorced in the end,” He mutters. “I suppose it was for the best. But ever since then, I can’t help wanting to please others or go out of my way to make people happy because…” His eyelashes flutter heavily, casting shadows over his high cheekbones. “Because I want to prove that I’m capable of fixing things that are broken.”
Everything he speaks about feels like unfamiliar territory to her. Kento faces things head-on, brazenly and without restraint, just to mend others’ problems. Even the way he drinks in her features, from the slight pinch between her eyebrows down to her full lips, is all-consuming.
On the other hand, Ayane wouldn’t dare take a risk without first analyzing every possible route that could go wrong.
She spent her entire life repressing any juvenile emotion she felt and hiding it behind a hardened resolve. It’s nice , seeing someone who allows their thoughts to play over their face like light on water. A part of her thinks Kento is brave for revealing such vulnerability. The other part thinks he’s foolish for doing so.
“Always trying to be the hero, huh?” She smirks.
“Of course! I’m the perfect role for a charming male lead, don’tcha think?” He flashes his stupid, signature hand signal and cheekily sticks his tongue out. “Anyway, that’s my sob story.”
Kento plays it off with a tight smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. He stretches his arms over his head, sighing contentedly and humming a tune merrily to himself.
“What about you Ayane?” He turns to her now, his eyes wide and radiant as they refract the stardust of the night sky. “Why are you always so guarded?”
It feels like a blow right in the jugular.
Jeez, this guy really doesn’t have a filter.
“You’re bold for asking me so directly,” She comments.
He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing. “Sorry, sorry! You’ve just spoken so little. I’m beginning to miss the sound of your voice.”
She swallows thickly. It’s getting to the point where she can’t look at him directly for longer than a few seconds without wanting to crawl away and hide. For the first time, a boy is finally seeing her for who she is. The heat of his gaze makes her feel more transparent than ever. She might combust on the spot.
She considers biting back with another one of her sarcastic remarks, but his honesty has loosened her a bit.
“I…I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet,” She admits.
“Oh–”
“But,” She chews on her bottom lip. “I will one day. Maybe.”
His eyes are still shining.
“Okay,” Kento whispers. “I’ll wait for you until then. Whenever you’re ready.”
Just like the tide coming in and out, something changes between the two of them that night. Slowly but surely.
She should’ve known when they collided into each other in the middle of the hallway.
When Mogi asked her out, publicly in front of all her friends, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. After all, she’s always had a weak spot for bold confessions.
The Okinawa trip was coming up, and with all her classmates eagerly thrusting themselves into romantic pairings, she was glad she wouldn’t be an outsider to all the fun. For a moment, she lets herself be hopeful. She doesn’t run from the possibility of falling in love with him, even if it takes time.
This one was going to be different.
(She’s so entranced by Mogi’s sincerity that she fails to notice the way Kento’s face falls behind her.)
She should’ve known the first time they kissed.
Talk was banal. Mogi simply nodded along to whatever she said, punctuating each statement with a painfully simple “that’s cool” or “sounds fun” when she recounted what she did during her day at the resort. Mogi didn’t even bother to disclose his own activities before he started to press her a little too hard against the palm tree and leaned in. His teeth knocked into hers and his tongue was already poking against her lips. He doesn’t give her enough opportunities to come up for air. It feels suffocating.
He doesn’t offer to walk her home.
She should’ve known when Sawako asked her when she started having feelings for Mogi, and she had to resist the urge to blurt out, “I don’t.”
So she makes it known by providing an equally public declaration to Mogi in front of him and all his friends, this time announcing that they should call it quits.
As she sits on the curb of some neighborhood alley, she considers for a moment where it all went wrong. Not just with Mogi, but with every single boy she dated.
Then it hits her that she’s only ever been on the receiving end.
She has never once been the romantic heroine of her own story, flying past the halls of her school in search of her crush as an exhilarating soundtrack swells in the background, ready to lay out her feelings on the line before time runs out. She will never be like Chizu or Sawako, standing in front of the one they love with glistening tears and trembling hands and stumbling words, pouring their heart until it bleeds onto the floor. She’s never had her pulse race or cheeks flush. She’s never been breathless.
Her throat squeezes, an indication that she was going to start crying any minute now.
On the last day of her school trip in Okinawa, surrounded by the sticky summer heat and fleeting fragrance of hibiscus, she comes to two conclusions:
She is not built for love.
And that her mother was right all along.
(“All you have in this world is yourself, Ayane.” )
“Ayane-chan!” His voice pulls her out of the dark like a lighthouse. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”
Kento wordlessly scoots himself beside her, hands twitching at his side to reach up and tuck some of the auburn bangs away from her face.
“I’m fine,” She lies between her teeth. She tries to convince herself by chuckling bitterly but it only comes out in a strained croak. “I’m not upset. Really. I’m…I’m fine.”
But the tears come out anyway. They spill relentlessly, pelting like raindrops onto the concrete.
Kento pulls her into his arms. He’s warm and solid, grounding like gravity.
He smells like salt air, fresh cotton, and something vaguely boyish.
She asks why he isn’t saying anything, begging him to speak so they’re not just surrounded by the sound of her hushed sobs soaking into his shirt, but he doesn’t. He simply tightens his hold around Ayane, letting her rest her head on his shoulder and delicately running his fingers through her hair.
How strange, she thinks. The way being in Kento’s arms seems to fill her lungs with air instead of taking her breath away.
She’s definitely not avoiding him.
Last week while everyone gathered around Sawako’s desk to collect the photos from their school trip, Kento had leaned in from behind her, shuffling the pile before commenting “Ayane-chan looks cute in this one.” The sliver of his neck peeking from behind his uniform collar, the scent of his lavender shampoo, and the centimeter difference between them made her head spin, so she hurried out of the classroom and chalked it up to a stomachache.
This morning when Kento opened the door to their classroom, she backed up and tried bolting the other way, bumbling an excuse about how she heard Pin calling her name from below the staircase. (As if in a miraculously timed comedy sketch, Pin rounds the corner to their classroom, muttering blankly, “Huh? No, I didn’t.”)
And whenever Kento turned to look at her from two rows ahead in the middle of a math lesson, cheekily whispering “A-ya-ne!” with the corners of his eyes creased and a cheeky smile plastered on his face, it becomes second nature to turn her head the other direction. It’s because my make-up looks bad today, she tries to convince herself. She focuses on Sawako’s blooming herb garden or the sparrows perched beyond their classroom window, anything to distract from the way her heartbeat seems to stutter.
When he waves to her from across the train tracks after school, she’s grateful for the distance between them. He’s gone by the time the train passes. Her eyes linger on the caboose, wondering where he’s headed to, and if he’s the type of guy to chase after a train carrying someone he loves. (Definitely.)
“Hi, Ayane-chan!” Kento chimes from behind her. She nearly jumps out of her skin.
“What the hell?” She exclaims. “I thought you already left with that train! Stay away.”
“You wound me! But at least I know you’re the same old Ayane,” He’s watching her with those all-knowing hazels again. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”
He says it more like a fact than a question.
She squirms under his gaze. The defenses come back up. She shuffles a few steps back and tightens the scarf around her face.
“Well, duh. I was embarrassed,” She mumbles under her breath.
In an act of armistice, Kento buys her a coffee from the vending machine. Her cheeks burn hotter than the can between her fingers.
“I…I’m not one of your Kento girls,” Her grip tightens over her drink. The tin crinkles beneath her fingertips.
He tilts his head a bit, confused. “My what now?”
“You don’t have to be so nice to me,” The words come flooding out like a broken dam, cold but lacking conviction. “Like I said, I’m fine. It was just a stupid fling. I’m not even taking the break-up with Mogi that hard–”
“Ayane,” Kento interrupts, shaking his head a bit. “I didn’t buy you a drink because I pity you. Or because I’m trying to win you over on my side, or because I have any other ulterior motive planned.” His eyebrows lower as if he were unraveling something fragile in his hands. “I did it because it’s cold out and I want to look after you.”
She was definitely turning red now.
“Well, maybe I am trying to win you over a little…”
“Knew it,”
“Hey! I’m just trying to be a gentleman!”
She kicks a pebble on the ground, watching it roll off the platform. “A gentleman isn’t into girls like me.”
Kento is quiet for a rare moment.
“I wish you didn’t have such a low opinion of yourself, Ayane-chan,” His tone is gentle. “You’re smart. You’re capable. You’re always worrying about others.”
The words deflect off her like a mirror.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” Ayane argues back, shoulders rounding in on herself and tightening her hold on her school bag. “I only put myself first.”
“Since it takes time for you to build trust in others and open up,” He reasons. “But when you finally do let people in, they become very precious to you, don’t they?”
Each word he says is a harder pill to swallow. She feels exposed, but under the softness of his gaze, it doesn’t feel unsafe.
She doesn’t feel self-conscious. She doesn’t feel judged.
(She feels visible.)
“How…How do you know all of this?”
Kento finally steps forward, tightening their proximity, and she lets him. He reaches out to loosen the scarf around her neck a bit, chuckling at the sight of her slack jaw and cheeks dusted pink.
“Because I want to be one of those precious people in your life, Ayane,” He whispers.
Her ride pulls up not a moment too soon.
The train on platform 2 will be departing soon. Please watch your step!
Like always, as soon as something good comes to her, Ayane runs in the other direction. This time is no different as she bolts from him and retreats behind the train doors, afraid of ruining whatever they had any further.
But this time, she looks back.
Kento is still smiling even as the train pulls away and the platform disappears from sight.
“I like you, Ayane-chan!”
No, you don’t.
“I can’t take that you keep walking away from me!”
It’s all I’ve ever known.
“I like every part of you. The awkward you…The kind you…”
Then you’re a fool.
“I like you!”
You’ll regret it.
“If you’ve never loved anyone, then try loving me,”
I don’t deserve you.
“You don’t need to start liking me now,”
Then when? In our next life?
“Let me care for you,”
Despite the unforgiving snow and his teeth chattering 100 kilometers per hour, he insists on having her wear his jacket. He tugs her closer and oxygen returns to her lungs. His knuckles are bloodied, the same color as the crushed rose petals beneath her feet. Her tears fall to the rhythm of his thundering heartbeat.
Idiot.
Infuriating, lovable idiot.
“Okay.”