Chapter Text
[___] Tamura. What a goddamn tool that boy was.
Constantly in the school library, reading books upon books upon books. Always the hi-fi shit, as well- Franz Kafka, Jane Austen, stuff of that nature. Pretentious bastard. God, did he get on your nerves!
Well, in all actuality, you two were quite close. Closer than anyone affiliated with you (your parents, his dad, your friends, you, him) would like.
You had known each other since childhood. Nursery, to be exact. You helped him try to recollect his bearings after learning about his prophecy; he tried his hardest to help you with whatever was fucked up in your noggin.
You sat down next to him.
“Good afternoon, Tamura.”
He looked up at you. He kept his book (The Iliad) down.
“It’s afternoon, already?”
You nodded solemnly.
“Oh, how time trickles through our fingers like grains of sand. We’ll be geriatric, in the blink of an eye.”
He thwacked you over the head with the paperback.
“Look at you, waxing poetic.”
You stuck your tongue out, resting your mildly aching head on your outstretched arms. Sunlight was pouring in through the library windows, dust particles floating around willy-nilly. Everything was so quiet.
“Any plans for the weekend?”
“Many. I’m running away.”
Your eyes widened, and you sat stick-straight.
“youre what”
“Mhm. I, [___] Tamura, am running away to Shikoku, Tokyo. Well, for all intents and purposes, I’m now Kafka Tamura.”
“Fine. Kafka. What in the fresh fuck do you mean you’re running away? My birthday’s day after tomorrow. You’ll be missing my birthday. Asshole.”
“So?”
“So, fuck you! And please don’t leave.”
“Well, if you’re so hellbent on me spending my birthday with you-” he thrust a finger in your direction. “Come with me.”
“what”
“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like you’re getting anywhere, living here in this boring old cookie-cutter place.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? Kafka, are you crazy?! I-I mean, we could get arrested, and if my parents found out… oh, I’d die! Besides, what about food? And money? And shelter? And-!”
He put a finger to your lips, shutting you up quite effectively.
“Quit worrying. Do you trust me?”
He withdrew his hand.
“…a bit too much, I fear.”
“Good. That’s good. I trust you more than I should, as well, you know.”
You couldn’t help but snort and giggle. He blushed.
“You sap! You utter sap!” you cried out, throwing your arms around him.
“I- ach! Are you coming, or not?!”
“Fine. I am. But only if you buy me a birthday cake.”
“…deal. Prepare for the most tumultuous time of your life.”
“And I’m spending it with you.”
***
“So, what’s our game plan?” You raised your eyebrows, stretched out on his father’s sofa. God, did you love that guy’s study. It was rife with all sorts of knick-knacks and comfortable leather furniture, not to mention the gigantic bookshelves with just about every piece of literature- English, Japanese, esoteric, generic. Of course, you were shit scared of the elusive Mr. Tamura, which is why you never dared to set foot in his room when he was in the house. But he typically wasn’t.
“I have ¥400,000 on me. How much do you have?”
“…¥1,000, plus a bunch of sandwiches and a thermos of soup.”
“Ooooooookay, that’ll last us a good while,” he picked at the material of the couch he was sitting on. “I mean, the money I have combined with the food you brought. That’s good. For the time being. So, our game plan goes like this: Once we reach Shikoku, we’ll try to spend as much time as possible in public places like coffee shops and libraries, and we’ll get the cheapest deal on a motel. We look mature enough for our age, so we’ll try to get a job. Then, once we hit eighteen, we’ll go off and live our lives.”
You nodded slowly.
“I have another question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did you change your first name?”
“Oh, to Kafka? Well, identity purposes. Duh.”
“Ah. Makes sense. Should I change my name, too?”
“Probably. Yes. Definitely.”
“To what, though? You’re Kafka, like Franz Kafka, so it would only make sense for me to be, like… Austen.”
“Sure. Like Jane Austen?” he cocked his head.
“Like Jane Austen.”
“Great. So, who are we?”
“Kafka Tamura and Austen [LAST NAME].”
“Damn right. Okay, zip up your bag, we have a train to catch.”
“This is insane,” you grinned, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Absolutely looney.”
“I’m aware. Being insane fits our brand quite well, though, doesn’t it?” He ruffled your hair.
“It does,” you pushed the study door open. “It does.”