Chapter Text
“I made a new friend the other day,” Osamu releases his straw from between his teeth, staring straight ahead and away from Madoka, who sits beside him with her own tall glass of strawberry milkshake. She had let him eat all her toppings, so now her cup looks slightly hilariously naked.
He’s gotten himself a chocolate milkshake, less because he prefers it and more because he thought it matched better with Madoka’s strawberry than all the other options—banana, vanilla and, for some reason, almond. He has one hand resting on the base of his glass, the other arm still in its cast. Somehow, despite being injured, he makes it look manageable.
Madoka’s eyes sparkle with interest, so much so she doesn’t need to stop drinking to show how excited she is about this new information. She leans close to him, eager to hear more about it, and he graciously gives her a three second side look, before returning his gaze to the wall across the diner.
He hardly ever talks about his life, and she never really asks. When they were first getting to know each other, she had tried to ask, but she was always shot down about it or blatantly ignored. Eventually she got the idea that it was a sensitive and private topic, so she stood behind the line he made and never crossed over unless he lets her.
And he’s letting her now. It takes a moment, but finally he folds, opening his mouth again to divulge more information about his new supposed friend, “Well, he’s not really a friend. More like..a new acquaintance. I see him a lot, so we kinda hang out sometimes.”
She can tell he’s trying to be as vague as possible, but whether that’s because he’s embarrassed or he’s attempting to stay confidential is up for interpretation. She nods, thinking that might encourage him to share more, but he seemingly stops there. They don’t really talk, occupying themselves with finishing their milkshakes instead.
Then, when they reach the end of their glasses, he lets out a long sigh. She looks at him, and he returns her gaze boredly. She blinks, he speaks, “I like hanging out with him though.”
“Yeah?” she smiles, still invested as she was previously.
“But what if I start to like hanging out with him more than you?” he frowns, sincerely concerned.
“That’ll be okay with me,” she softens. As much as Osamu seems to disagree, Madoka is not a perfect angel. She’s capable of jealousy too, and a small part of her likes the idea of being someone incredibly special to him. But, he doesn’t have any other friends outside of her, so it would do him good to have more. Even if that means she’ll be put behind.
“It won’t be for me!” he says in exasperation, shaking his fists. “I like you, Madoka-kun! I want you to be my best friend forever!”
“Oh,” she says, warmed. “I like you too, Osamu-kun. But, I think that shouldn’t stop you from making new friends. I’d love to hear more about this person someday.”
He pouts, losing the energy to be frustrated, and coincidentally her phone decides to buzz. She feels the vibration in her school bag, and so she digs to fish it out, checking it briefly to see if it’s important. Naturally, her ever curious friend leans over to snoop, and she adjusts to let him.
“Who’s Akemi Homura?” he asks, seeing that name for the first time.
“Oh, she’s a new student in my class,” Madoka answers, reading over the text the girl had sent. It’s a short thank you for helping her get to the nurse’s office today during gym. “She was just discharged from the hospital and came back to school a couple days ago.”
“You exchanged numbers quick,” he notes.
Madoka shrugs with a smile, “It happened while we were in the nurse’s office. I offered.”
Osamu hums noncommittally, clinks his cup against hers for the fun of it, then gets up from his seat, “Let’s head out.”
Standing over Akemi’s desk, Madoka smiles, holding up her lunchbox. The girl sitting before her looks up, surprised and flushed by Madoka’s sudden approach. She looks around, as though checking if there could be anyone else that Madoka might be looking for, which leads the other to giggle.
“Let’s have lunch together,” Madoka offers, then looks over her shoulder to see her friends Hitomi and Sayaka waiting for her at the door. “We usually eat on the roof though, if that’s okay with you.”
“Oh, um,” Akemi frets, nervous. “Y-Yeah! Okay!”
“I figured,” Madoka says as Akemi digs for her own lunch—store bought, Madoka notes—and stumbles to get up, “that me being around you more often would be easier for you if you ever need the nurse’s office again. ‘Cause I’ll be riiiiight here!”
Akemi’s eyes soften and the two head towards the door where the rest are still waiting, “Oh…”
“But more importantly! I do really want to be your friend!” Madoka beams widely, to which Akemi mirrors with a smile of her own.
Then, they all head up to the rooftop together where they’ll eat.
It goes as well as Madoka expected. Hitomi is warm while Sayaka is teasing, and whenever it gets to the point where Akemi can’t tell if Sayaka is being serious, Madoka swoops in to save the day. It’s the liveliest she’s ever seen Akemi, and Madoka feels somewhat proud of being able to bring that out of her.
Between their meals and banter, Madoka suddenly feels her pocket vibrate and she briefly digs into it to find her phone. She checks to find a message from her dear friend. Ever since exchanging contacts with Osamu, he’s been texting her more frequently by the day. Coincidentally, it never really happens during class time, so she never worries about needing to silence her phone.
He’s sent her a text telling her how bored he is. She replies, “You don’t say?”
“Who’s that?” Akemi asks, noticing that Madoka has exited their conversation to check on her phone.
“Madoka’s booooyfriend,” Sayaka giggles teasingly. She’s been in this situation enough times to know for sure without even having to look. Madoka frowns, immediately rejecting Sayaka’s answer.
Hitomi, knowing when it’s best to tease and when it’s best to be serious, quickly corrects and clarifies, “Madoka’s close friend outside of school.”
“Oh…,” Akemi says, looking down at her now empty lunch. Madoka takes note of this, but chooses not to read into it. Yet, at least.
Later, as she’s walking side by side with Akemi to class, Akemi’s demeanor seemed to have returned back to normal. She goes back to happily chatting with Madoka about whatever, and Madoka isn’t sure if she’s seeing things, but it feels like Akemi got a bit chipper with her. Not that she’s complaining. It just means the girl is growing warmer to her, and why wouldn’t Madoka love that?
Then, right before they step into class, Akemi frets for a minute, hesitating to go inside. Madoka pauses at the door, thankful that the bell hasn’t rung yet so they’re not blocking anyone from entering. Patiently, Madoka tilts her head and waits in anticipation. She can tell there’s something lingering on the girl’s tongue, just begging to burst out.
“You can call me Homura!” she finally explodes in a hushed tone, ears burning brightly.
Oh! Madoka smiles, soft as she extends her hands towards Homura to guide her into the classroom, but also just to offer her some support—the poor girl looks so weak in the knees from all that mustering of courage, “Aw, okay! Thank you for letting me, Homura-chan.”
“Weeeh,” she blooms a deeper shade of red, taking Madoka’s hands.
Madoka laughs, holding on with one hand to make it easier for them to walk back to their desks. She gives it a little swing, and Homura bubbles out a nervous giggle. Yeah, Madoka quite likes Homura as her new friend.
“Cute, don’t you think?” Madoka says as her finisher for her recount on the whole incident. The back of her shoes drag against sand as her swing slows to a stop. She’d go high up again, but Osamu has gone from standing on his swing playfully to sitting beside her, so she figured this is a slow down and sit down part of their conversation.
“I guess,” Osamu rolls his shoulders nonchalantly. “But she can’t be any cuter than you are.”
“It’s not a competition,” Madoka frowns, but takes the compliment anyway with a light chuckle. “But, anyway, enough of my new friend. What about yours?”
Osamu visibly stiffens a little, lips tugging on its side, “A handful. I’ve decided he’s not my friend.”
Madoka snorts out a laugh, “What happened?”
“He’s just so…!” Osamu wriggles his fingers, as though attempting to strangle the ghost of his not-friend with his only working hand. “Annoying!”
“Did he do something?” Madoka asks, sympathetically.
“He’s really bad at listening to instructions,” Osamu says, turning to Madoka with this irritated huff and grit to his teeth. “He just does whatever he wants, and he’s loud like…like a chihuahua, or something! Guh!”
“What happened to enjoying his company?” Madoka laughs softly.
“It’s ‘cause we had a lot of, like, buffer time. So we just…screwed around, y’know?” Osamu kicks the sand lightly. “It was my first time working with him too, so… Didn’t know much about him yet. But I played at the arcade with him and he was fun. Mostly ‘cause he sucked, though.”
Madoka softens, “Ah…”
“But he’s so annoying,” Osamu wails. “And rude… I still prefer you the most, Madoka-kun!”
And with that, he gets up from his swing and throws himself against her. The chains of her swing rattle, and his cast knocks against the back of her shoulder. She reaches up and hugs him back, patting him down soothingly. “Ouh, there there. I’m sure it’ll get better, Osamu-kun.”
He sighs, pulling away, holding her one shoulder with his one hand, “I hope so, for both our sakes! I’d hate to work overtime and see you less all because of him!”
“You should give him a chance. He might not be all that bad,” Madoka pats his hand, looking up at him with a warm and hopeful look. “Did you have anything planned for dinner? I have to call my family to let them know, if so.”
“Ah! There’s this spaghetti place I want to try!” Osamu bounces with a wide grin.
“Gotcha!”
There was a period of time Madoka worried that Osamu had centered his world around her, despite not being well educated on half of his life. He spoke little of other people, mostly regarding them as coworkers or the sorts. Never anything interpersonal. So she’s relieved to hear that his world has expanded a little beyond her.
Even if, as it seems, he does not quite like it.
She smiles with a little more warmth to her lips as he steps back to give her the space to rise from her swings. She collects her things and offers her hand, which he gladly takes. She really is happy for him, truly. She can only hope that he’s happy for himself too.
Something about Homura seems different. She’s still as jittery as she ever was. Quiet, shy, easy to unnerve. But, there’s also a fresh new eagerness to the way she interacts with Madoka. This strange new proactiveness, as though attempting to impress Madoka—or win her over. Despite this, Madoka doesn’t seem to mind.
She thinks it’s cute that Homura tries so hard, when it takes so little for Madoka to be convinced of being her friend. Nowadays, they’re possibly more inseparable than Madoka was with Sayaka. Wherever Madoka goes, Homura is fast to follow.
At first, Sayaka had expressed her irritation, thinking Homura’s behavior as clingy, but eventually warmed up to the new persistent presence. Hitomi, ever graceful and kind, had already been quick to adapt to their new quad-squad. Now they eat lunch together on the roof almost everyday—they’d alternate to staying in class sometimes.
Then, one day, as Homura watched Madoka pack her bag for the day to leave the classroom, Homura nervously stood over the pink-haired girl’s desk, bunching her skirt into her fists, before blurting out a quick, “Do you want to hang out sometime?”
“Eh?” Madoka blinks, almost not being able to catch what she had said. Fortunately, her brain processes just fast enough to respond without much delay. “Sure! When were you thinking?”
“Um,” Homura looks about, fidgeting with her glasses. “T-Today…?”
Madoka blinks again, “Oh! I’m sorry, Homura-chan. I’m busy hanging with my friend today!”
She droops, disappointed, and shuffles off towards the door, “Oh, okay.”
“Ah!” Madoka stutters forward, grabbing onto Homura’s wrist before she could fully go. “But if you tell me some other days, I’ll make time for you!”
At that, Homura immediately brightens, “R-Really? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you…”
“You wouldn’t,” she reassures with a smile. “I’d love to hang out with you sometime, Homura-chan.”
Homura beams back at her, lighting up brighter than any lamp Madoka has ever owned, and she spins her wrist around so that she’s holding onto Madoka’s hand instead, “Okay! Then I’ll let you know…!”
Madoka giggles back at her in amusement and collects her bag from her desk where she left it. She swings their arms gently and offers, “Would you like to walk to the gate with me, then?”
“Of course!” Homura exclaims, like she had been waiting for her to ask this since forever.
Then, Madoka laughs, amused again, “Okay! Let’s go.”
They keep their hands intertwined as they leave the classroom together, walking down hallways and corridors without once letting go. There’s a sense of comfort that comes from Homura’s clamminess but willingness to keep holding on—as though thinking that she’d rather hold Madoka’s hand than be insecure of herself.
Eventually, they reach the gate together, and Madoka can tell from the way Homura’s hand tightens that she’s unwilling to let go. For a moment, Madoka gets the feeling of familiarity from the situation. She knows from exactly where.
“Madoka-kun!” her dear friend waves from the other side of the open gate as Madoka approaches with Homura in tow. “Ah! Is this your new friend, Akemi?”
It takes a little longer for Homura to connect the dots, but the realization dawns on her face immediately when it clicks, “This is…your friend from your phone!”
“Ouch,” he laughs, knocking his fist against his head. “Is that all Madoka-kun says about me?”
“Pretty much,” Homura bluntly responds, and Madoka can feel the way Homura’s hand squeezes around hers almost possessively—if that’s the right word to use in this circumstance. “I never really got your name.”
“Shame,” Osamu sighs, yet is in no rush of rectifying this supposed issue. “Anyway, I guess we’ll be seeing you around!”
Upon noticing Madoka’s inability to let go of Homura, mostly because Homura seems unwilling to let go of her, Osamu does the honors of separating them himself, with as much grace as you’d expect. As in, he took Madoka’s other hand, gave it a firm yet gentle tug, and smiled so wide and cheerful at Homura she got put off enough to loosen her grip for a fraction of a moment; to which then Osamu took advantage of this and brought Madoka closer to him.
She crosses the other side of the gate once he does this, stumbling slightly, and feels her chest tighten nervously from how tense the situation seems. She senses they might be fighting, but they aren’t doing it in a way open enough for her to step in. She knows for certain if she tries not, both will deny animosity.
“See you tomorrow, Homura-chan,” Madoka waves politely, then adds. “Don’t forget to plan our hangout! I can’t wait!”
What moodiness that came upon Homura just a second ago suddenly washes away, replaced with a cheery, tomato-cheeked smile. She stutters, stumbles, confidence faltering as she rubs the back of her neck with a breathless giggle, “Okay, Madoka-san!”
They part ways at the gate, and Madoka waves goodbye at Homura till she becomes nothing more than a speck in the horizon. Finally, she looks over at Osamu, who hasn’t stopped smiling since Homura started walking. They make eye contact.
“Do you…not like Homura-chan, Osamu-kun?” Madoka asks forwardly, not knowing any other subtle way to put it. Regardless, she knows Osamu wouldn’t take offense to it—even if he felt like it.
He barks out an immediate laugh to her words, guiding her gently towards the direction they’ll be taking, “Why would you think that?”
She walks with her bag bouncing against her knees, “I don’t know. A small feeling? You looked at her strange.”
“Why would I ever not like your friends, Madoka-kun,” he pouts, eye round and dilated as he places his hand on his chest. “I like you so much, how could I not like your friends as well? Aren’t they an extension of you?”
“Well, you don’t have to like my friends just because they’re my friends,” Madoka says slowly. “But, it would be nice if you all got along together.”
“And I do!” Osamu says, hooking Madoka’s hand onto his arm, still in its cast. “I get along with them just fine! When I see your friends, I greet them politely and whatever, whatever.”
Madoka looks at him with a resigned smile, “Okay.” then, as she turns her head forward, “Speaking of friends, how is yours doing?”
Osamu immediately droops in irritation, “Horrible. I hate him.”
“Aw, what now?” Madoka asks curiously, tilting her head sympathetically.
“He’s so infuriating,” Osamu wriggles his free hand stiffly. “He just does whatever he wants! And all of his solutions is just fighting!”
Madoka’s eyes widen, gasping a little, “Fighting?”
Osamu purses his lips, eye gazing away from her, “Yeeeaaaah, like…verbal fights.”
She runs her fingers along his cast for a brief moment, weighing his words in her mind, and wonders if she should believe the clarification he just made. She’d press if she could, because it’s not like she’s never been curious before—drawing her own conclusions absentmindedly before dismissing it out of consideration for his privacy.
She worries if the job he takes on is dangerous, basically. Him never speaking of schooling was already concerning already in itself, but she figured he might be someone that’s homeschooled. A concept she knows westerners practice, but is not completely unheard of here.
“Have you gotten to hang out with him again yet?” Madoka decides to ask, steering away from the elephant in the room. “Like, go to the arcade again?”
Osamu chews on the inside of his cheek in thought, “I don’t want to spend more than a second with him.”
Madoka’s eyes soften, and it’s then when she finds that they’ve walked themselves to an arcade on a street she’s seen her male classmates hang out in frequently. She passes it by sometimes, when she’s out with Hitomi and Sayaka, because there are photo studios and cafes they enjoy just farther down the street. She’s already taken Osamu to them before.
“But, speaking of arcades,” Osamu grins, gesturing to the place. “It made me realize we’ve never hung out in one before! So I thought to try one now with you.”
That would be because Madoka isn’t too fond of them. She enjoys the occasional claw machines, but she’s never quite indulged in the other games. She deems them a little too competitive for her liking, even against the machine itself. But she doesn’t mind being a spectator, though she has a feeling that Osamu wants her to be more than that.
On the other hand, Osamu rarely suggests going to place she isn’t partial to, so she knows in her heart that he desperately wants to go with her. How can she say no to that?
“What games were you thinking?” Madoka asks, smiling for Osamu’s sake.
He smiles back. She has a feeling his intention of it mirror hers.
Between games of combat, shooting, sporty and luck, Madoka finds that, despite her personal feelings on the matter, she quite enjoys playing games with Osamu.
She senses that he’s a lot better than he lets on, but chooses to play a little badly to keep it fun for her; which she appreciates very much. With every blunder he masterfully makes to seem like an accident, he flies with exaggeration to his movements, yelling and yelping as though actually feeling what the game is showing before him.
When they’re not up against each other and instead playing side by side, he lets Madoka take the lead with things, and even gives her the opportunities to make her moves in the game—despite her insistence that she wouldn’t mind if Osamu took control once in a while. He’s better at it, she would tell him. I want you to have fun too, he would reply.
And then there are the games in which Osamu has no choice but take the backseat. With his arm in a cast, it makes arcade games that require more than just one hand a lot difficult to play, or so he says. Madoka feels he can play perfectly fine, even with one hand, and he’s only saying this so she can try some stuff out without him completely with her.
“You should get a gameboy,” Osamu tells her as she’s attempting for the first time on a driving arcade game. “There’s a racecar game on it that I play sometimes. It has stuff like power ups that you can use on your opponents to slow them down.”
“Oh, why would I want that?” she gazes up at him, his working arm hanging around her seat as he hangs low to look at her screen. “I think it’s best to race fair and square, no?”
“That would make it boring,” Osamu replies back.
She hums, driving her racecar at an appropriate speed, “I wouldn’t think so. Doesn’t the fun come with racing along with your friends?”
Osamu hums noncommittally, rolling his shoulders as he does, “Well, I think you should play with me anyway. I’ve got no one else to play with.”
“Really,” she drags, doubting him so.
He looks at her, she doesn’t take her eyes off the virtual road. He knows that she’s implying that he has that new “friend” of his to play with, but he doesn’t want the conversation to be spun back to him, and so he chooses to stay quiet.
At some point, the silence persists long enough for him to spark new topics with her. Such as:
“You should drive faster,” he points at the gas pedal.
“I worry I might crash,” she mutters, but adds a little strength to it anyway.
“It’s okay,” Osamu tells her, leaning closer to watch her drive faster. “If you get better at this, you’ll have the experience to drive an actual car!”
“There’s no way that’s true,” Madoka knits her eyebrows together with a small laugh. “And I don’t know if I’d ever want to own a car.”
“Oh, really?” Osamu deadpans, looking at her. “I can’t imagine you with a motorcycle.”
“I wouldn’t want that either,” she says, navigating the road with much difficulty. She wonders if the steering is actually supposed to be this tough.
“Oh, okay!” he cheerfully goes, then points a finger at the car ahead of her. “Crash into that.”
“No way!”
After she completes, which took a while because she fretted too long on crashing to complete the course fast enough to even make it anywhere near top five, they decide to call it a day. They’ve played enough games to earn a good amount of tickets to exchange for a prize at the counter, so—out of curiosity for what they have in-store—they both make a move towards the prize counter.
The selection goes from measly to eye-poppingly impressive. Madoka didn’t think they’d offer gaming consoles as prizes, for an absurd amount of prizes to boot. Does anyone actually play enough to afford that?
As if to answer her question, Osamu grins at her, digging into the inside of his jacket pocket, and pulls out another string of tickets, “Hey, you think I can afford a gameboy right now?”
Madoka looks at the length of his tickets, then glances back at the neatly folded string of tickets in her hands with the thickness of a history book. She gives him a wry smile, because she knows who that prize will go to if she says yes.
She goes home with a gameboy in her school bag, unsure of how to explain this to her parents.
(In the end, her parents seemed more amazed than upset. She should’ve known, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling a sense of embarrassment anyway.)
“By the way,” she texts Osamu during lunch, her friends chatting among themselves while eating their food. “I’m hanging out with Homura-chan this Friday.”
“Can I join?” he immediately replies, faster than she expected him to—though it always seems like he knows when she’s off for lunch.
“No,” she replies firmly, knowing that a roundabout way might lead to him jumping through loopholes for her to say yes. She finds the more persistent someone is, the more she feels the need to bend over. Being firm off the bat prevents that from happening. She’s learnt that a long time ago.
He sends a series of crying emojis and stickers, a weak attempt at trying to make her feel bad. She knows he’s not truly trying to guilt trip her—always being dramatic for the sake of comedy—but she feels bad anyway. Still, she remains grounded in her response.
When Friday comes around, she half expects him to show up unannounced to her school to slot himself between her and Homura. But it never happens, and she sighs a breath of relief, which Homura catches quick.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, concerned.
“Ah, nothing,” Madoka waves her hand dismissively. “Let’s go.”
Homura’s plan for a good day out feels well-researched. As in, it seems like Homura had studied plenty of forums detailing the best places to hang out with friends. It’s telling through the way Madoka recognizes the cafe Homura takes her to, a once popular hit when it first opened. She knows because she had gone with Sayaka and Hitomi that day.
She keeps her lips zipped as Homura pulls her along joyfully, and pretends to have never been here before. Some few things did change while Madoka had been away from this place. The menu has a fresher look to it, and she thinks there are new items. The furniture and decoration, however, feel a little worn now. It’s long lost its fresh shine from when it first opened. Madoka doesn’t mind.
“Isn’t this place so cute?” Homura beams, proud of herself for finding this place.
“Yeah!” Madoka answers eagerly, because it’s true. It is a cute place, old or not.
They order their food, sharing one menu together while sitting opposite of each other. Madoka lets Homura have it first, since she already has an idea of what she might get, but leans in close with her arms folded on the table to show interest in what Homura might be getting. Madoka gets a strawberry crepe, while Homura gets ice cream waffle—vanilla.
As their food arrives, Homura bumbles out a request through machine-gun stutter, “C-C-Can we get a photo together?”
Madoka bubbles out a laugh, thinking her cute for being nervous, “Okay!”
They snap the picture on Homura’s phone, their food in view and their fingers raised in peace signs. Madoka makes a mental note to help Homura decorate her phone sometime, because it only dawns upon her now how plain it looks in comparison to hers and her friends’. She has a feeling Homura would want a keychain or two on it.
Then, another thought occurs to her. She’s never really taken pictures with Osamu before. There are none on her phone, and he doesn’t pull his phone out when they hang out. They’ve also avoided photo booths for as long as she could remember. Which is a shame, because the only things she has that reminds her of him is all the toys and prizes they got from hanging out at places that offered.
“After this,” Homura says, snapping Madoka out of her thoughts, “we can, um, go take a look at the shops later?”
“Sure,” Madoka smiles. “I’d love to.”
She means it so sincerely too.
The next time Madoka sees Osamu, they’re exploring an abandoned building together.
According to him, this place is due for a demolishment soon, and now has never been a better time to start poking around before it’s all gone. Madoka didn’t think such a building could exist anywhere near her district, but she supposes Osamu has always had the knack of finding things with the same ease of lifting a rock to look under it.
What surprises her more is the fact he took her here at all. Much like the arcade, an activity like this isn’t particularly up her alley. While she does find some enjoyment in exploring the worn and torn walls and looking at the inked concrete like it’s no different from an art exhibition, the uneasiness and the almost illegal feeling of being here stacks up against the pros of this hangout.
She swallows her complaints once more for Osamu’s sake, because, again, he hardly ever suggests activities that exclusively caters to him.
They’ve mostly explored the surface levels already, and Osamu suggests heading down to the lower floors to take a look. From the entrance, it already looks a bit daunting, but the look on Osamu’s face, so filled with excitement, made it difficult for Madoka to voice her protest against it.
Besides, he has a flashlight. So he claims.
“Do you come to these places a lot?” she asks him, holding his hand tightly as he hopped and skipped along down the stairs. It is fortunately a short journey down.
“Kinda,” he shrugs with a cheeky smile.
His arm is about there to healing, so his cast his thinner and easier to work with. He uses this same hand to hold his itty bitty flashlight, which does quite little to fully illuminate the busted down rooms. It’s why she’s clinging onto him so close, she worries she might step the wrong way without knowing.
She wants to put faith in his friend, but honestly it’s hard to blindly trust someone who only has one working eye.
“Do you like coming to places like these?” she asks, squinting at him.
He pops his lips, “Sorta.”
She frowns.
“Are you not having fun?” he asks, pausing suddenly, and flicks his flashlight towards her. He’s careful not to aim at her face, but she narrows her eyes anyway because it’s still bright.
“When I’m with you, I’m always having fun,” she reassures. He softens at her, easing up. “But, I won’t lie to you, this isn’t something I’m very used to doing…”
He bites the inside of his cheek, and she reaches to pinch gently because she knows he’ll get an ulcer if he does that, “I thought so… Let’s just get outta here.”
“But the artworks were all very nice,” she reassures again. “And it’s interesting that the stairs and ladders are all firmly in tact.”
He laughs at her attempt to make him feel better as they turn back, “Okay, okay. Don’t worry, Madoka-kun. I’m not hurt.”
“And I’m just being honest!” she insists.
When they’re back on the surface, it becomes clearer to her he’s carrying that mellow look to his face again. The one he always wears when he isn’t very happy with himself, sometimes stemming from the way he regrets treating her. She’s often taken aback by how instantaneous his guilt comes, when she hasn’t done much to make it so. She knows it’s mostly all in his head.
“What’s wrong?” she shakes his wrist gently.
“I knew you wouldn’t like this,” he admits, and before she can tell him otherwise, he continues. “Like I know this isn’t something you enjoy doing, but despite that, I wanted to bring you here anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad you took me here,” she tells him, rubbing her thumb slow around his wrist bone. “I like knowing your interests too.”
“There are better places I can take you that we both enjoy,” he replies, looking at her. “I know there is. I just…wanted to see… Or, wanted to feel like…”
She leans to listen, nods slow.
“I want you to be the most special person to me I know,” he tells her straight, locking eyes with her.
Madoka softens, unsure of how to respond. Because with the way he phrases this, it kind of implies that she isn’t, or she’ll soon be not. She’s always known that she’d be okay with this, but it’s never dawned upon her that Osamu might think otherwise.
“I don’t have to be the most special person to you,” Madoka says to him, collecting his hand into both her own warmly. “It doesn’t mean we can’t still be really good friends. Best, even.”
“But I like you the most,” Osamu responds, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.
“And I like you a lot too,” Madoka replies, and holds his hand closer to her heart. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“Okay…”
It’s hard not to feel a little giddy when people express such a sentiment to you. Everyone wants to be special in another person’s life, it’s not necessarily a selfish thing to desire when being special to someone means you’re devoting a lot of yourself to them. At least, in Madoka’s case.
She rolls around on her bed and kicks her feet at the thought of how much Osamu relies on her. He may be frightened of him no longer viewing her as someone who’s the most important to him, but to say that out loud also makes it a point to say that he thinks her special enough to have this concern to begin with. And, gosh, does she feel special too.
But enough of that. Osamu has an insecurity that needs reassuring. There’s not much she can do on her part when most of the problem comes from his own head and heart. Perhaps she could be more open to his unique interests, but she’s not a good enough actor to fool someone as smart as Osamu.
On top of that, it doesn’t seem like he worries he might not be the most special person to Madoka. Whether that’s because he has confidence that he is, or it doesn’t truly bother him, she doesn’t really know. But that’s not important.
There are only a few solutions to this, and one of them just went down the drain because of her aforementioned incapability of lying effectively to reassure him. Though, she feels he might not her to lie anyway. The next best thing she can truly do is to convince him that her being the most special may not be all that important.
It’s not the end of the world if he decides there is someone he’d rather prioritize more than her. She herself feels no pain about this. Honestly, she’d be more than happy if Osamu found someone like that in his life. After all, he matters a lot to her in that way.
But how could she possibly convince him of this?
“Stop hanging out with him?” Sayaka suggests. “I mean, if he realizes he can be apart from you for time to time, then he’ll stop feeling like he needs to be with you all the time. Does that make sense?”
“I do not think that is the point,” Hitomi gently tells her. “If anything, that might flare up his insecurity. He’ll be further convinced that he’d be losing her.”
It’s not often that she comes to her friends for advice. Most times she’d ask her own mother. But considering Madoka has yet to share that she’s friends with Osamu to her parents, she decided to put it off once more till the time is right.
They’re gathered at the roof of the school again, sitting in a circle having lunch. It was only when they were partway through their meals did Madoka start speaking about her dilemna. She avoids oversharing, redacting the existence of Osamu’s new friend, and leaves it at his insecurity of her being replaced in his mind.
“Why does it matter so much to him anyway?” Sayaka lifts her hands to the back of her head. “I mean, if you’re really that special to him, he wouldn’t be so worried about feeling like you aren’t. Isn’t it a choice to decide who matters most to you?”
“Wouldn’t you think that these things run on emotion too?” Hitomi objects. “He must be feeling like his feelings are fading…”
Sayaka huffs, letting that sink in.
Meanwhile, Homura has been quietly eating her lunch the entire time, avoiding sharing her input. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Madoka, and wanting to have her feel included, she smiles at the girl and goes, “What do you think, Homura-chan?”
She coughs at the sudden attention brought upon her, ears flushing red as she glances at the rest of them, “Um… Well…”
“I’ve got it!” Sayaka says, interrupting Homura before she could even speak. “Why don’t you just remind him what made you so special to him? What are some things you guys used to do but don’t really do anymore?”
Madoka frowns, thinking back hard. She can’t seem to pin down any differences to their friendship. If anything, the recent changes were made by him, and he admitted to doing it because of his insecurity. Before that, things were going quite swell. In fact, it feels as though this insecurity only started ever since…
She blinks, connecting the dots.
Osamu’s new friend.
Oh. How silly of her. He had said this so long ago from the very start.
“What is it?” Sayaka asks, noticing the look on Madoka’s face. “Did I get it?”
“Sort of,” Madoka smiles politely. “I think I’ve got it, girls. Thanks for hearing me out.”
As the bell threatens to ring soon and they all gather their things to get to class in time for the bell, Sayaka and Hitomi take to the front, walking at a slightly faster pace as they go on about their earlier debate on whether placing someone special in your heart is a choice or a feeling.
Madoka hangs back to match Homura’s speed, a habit she’s developed to keep Homura company. The girl tires easily, so Madoka can understand why she’d walk a little slower. But, as Sayaka and Hitomi disappear around the corner, Madoka realizes walking at this pace had been a tactical choice on Homura’s part.
“Are you not feeling well?” Madoka asks, slowing to a stop to check on her friend. She didn’t look too pale.
“I’m…okay,” Homura mutters, bringing her hands up to wring them together in front of her chest. “It’s just…I was thinking. About the thing from earlier.”
“About my friend?”
“Yeah,” she answers, looking away. “The way you talk about him… It’s just…”
Madoka holds, waiting.
“He matters a lot to you,” Homura states, looking back at Madoka. “A lot. You said it wouldn’t matter to you if he doesn’t hold you close, but that’s…that’s awful! You deserve someone that holds you close, yet…yet you think of him so dearly anyway.”
“Homura-chan…,” Madoka holds a hand out towards her. It goes untaken.
“It isn’t fair,” Homura says in a very small voice, head hanging.
Madoka leans over, trying to look up at her downturned face.
“I wish you’d think of me the same way you do of your friend,” Homura mutters quietly. “I want to be special to you too.”
“Homura-chan,” Madoka says again, and this time she takes the girl into her arms and brings her close. “You’re a dear friend to me too, Homura-chan. School has never been so fun before ever since you joined.”
“But—”
“I don’t want my friends fighting for my attention like this,” Madoka says, hugging her closer. “You all matter to me.”
For a moment, Madoka thinks Homura’s arms would remain stagnant by her side, but eventually she reaches up to return Madoka’s hug warmly, rubbing her face into the crook of Madoka’s neck as she nods against it. She makes a hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything more.
“Would you like to hang out again sometime?” Madoka asks.
“I’d love that.” Homura answers.
There’s been a few times Madoka has caught Osamu with a book instead of his phone. Sometimes they’re in English, sometimes their covers are blank, but most times she surmises that they’re all difficult levels of literature. She’s often worried before if Osamu has a proper education, but it’s things like these that usually puts her at ease.
In any case, they’re at the library together in one of the secluded corners, sharing a book together. Madoka has read manga before with Sayaka, and quite enjoys them, and rarely does she open an actual novel to casually read.
She expected the book Osamu picked out to be somewhat difficult to follow, but she finds herself absorbed into the narrative, and she doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting in that beanbag together, his arm around her as he holds the book for both of them. His cast no longer needs a sling, so it’s easier to hold the book for the both of them.
Her head rests against his collarbone, eyes trailing the lines. Somehow, he always knows when to flip the page without her telling him, and she doubts that’s because they read at the same pace. It feels oddly comforting, like being read a bedtime story, and there have been a few instances where she’s almost been lulled to sleep.
Being this close to him is a common occurrence, and she’s grown used to the way he can sometimes smell like the river or a different kind of musty smell. Other times, he smells like a hospital. Never much of an in between.
“Do you think I’ll get to meet your new friend someday?” she suddenly asks, and his finger pauses against the page mid-turn. She can fill him shift under her.
“Probably…not,” Osamu mumbles, then flips the page over. He knows she’s stopped reading, but she can tell he’s playing with the paper to ease his nerves.
“Mm, okay,” Madoka replies, and her eyes fall back on the words.
“Do…you want to?” Osamu asks.
“Only if you want me to,” Madoka answers. “But we don’t have to meet if you don’t want us to. I was just asking, really.”
“Okay.”
They go back to reading, and Osamu flips the page again.
“I don’t like the way he makes me feel,” Osamu says and Madoka stops her reading. “He has this way of understanding me or getting me without me having to say anything. This weird unspoken trust. I don’t even feel that way towards you.”
“Shouldn’t you be happy that someone like that is in your life?” Madoka turns her head up, confused.
“I don’t like him, though,” Osamu stresses. “He’s hard to…hard to predict I guess. I mean, I can still predict how he moves and stuff. Maybe the right word is to say…hard to manage? Hard to…control?”
Madoka blinks at him, “And I am?”
“Control isn’t really the word I’m looking for, but being friends with you feels natural and easy,” Osamu tells her. “I like being friends with you because hanging out with you like this makes me feel nice, and makes you feel nice. And making you feel nice makes me feel nice too. Also, you’re uber cutes.”
Madoka smiles at the compliment, but moves past it to get to the point, “But that isn’t the case for your new friend?”
“He’s not easy to like,” Osamu rests his cheek to her forehead, making it harder to look at him. “And I don’t want things to be the same with him as it is with you. You’re different, but somehow he still feels a lot…closer to my heart. I hate that. I hate that, even if I tried, you don’t make me feel the same way as he does.”
“Osamu-kun, just because you have undeniable trust for each other, doesn’t mean he’s closer to your heart,” Madoka turns over, sitting up and looming over him. “He just makes you feel different than I do, but that doesn’t mean he’s doing it better. And, I wouldn’t want to do better than him either. In my eyes, doesn’t that just mean we’re both equally as important to you, just in different ways?”
Osamu’s mouth hangs a little, about to argue, or object, but as he stares up at her longer, he realizes slowly that she’s right. It brings a funny sense of triumph in her heart.
“I like you tons too, Osamu-kun. We’re always having fun and you always make me smile when I’m with you, and it makes me happy that I make you smile too,” Madoka continues. “No matter what happens, nothing will change that fact. Even if, as it turns out, you’d rather be with your new friend more.”
“Never—”
“Osamu-kun,” Madoka stresses. “Really.”
Osamu swallows, eye round and wide, “Madoka.”
She smiles at him, “Yes?”
“I really love you.” and there’s a glossy look to his eye and almost feels unreadable, because Madoka has never been quite good at making sense of what he’s feeling deep down. But his voice sounds so sincere, and his eye reaches for her, and without thinking too deeply, Madoka dips and collects him into her arms.
“I love you too,” she replies.
The photo strips fall into the collection area of the photobooth and Madoka does her and Homura the favor of picking it up. She holds onto one and gives the other to Homura with a warm smile. They’ve thoroughly decorated their photos with all kinds of cute stickers, the theme of the strips itself a simple and classic white.
In the first photo, they’ve done double peace signs. The second, Madoka has brought Homura into a half hug. The third, they both make claw gesture with their hands. In the last, Madoka holds out one half of a heart with her hand, Homura completes the other half.
“So cuuute,” Madoka coos, tucking the strip into her bag. “Do you want to try that churros place now?”
“Oh, yes!” Homura nods eagerly, after staring at her copy of the photos for a bit too long. “Let’s.”
“I also want to go back to that earlier store again,” Madoka says as they step out of the photo studio. “I might actually get that jacket after all.”
“I already said you look super cute in it,” Homura tells her. “Do you just wanna go back now so we can get it before anyone else does?”
“Ahh,” Madoka dwells on it for a moment. “I guess we could!”
So they make a complete turn, heading back the opposite way where the store is at. Madoka’s closet isn’t exactly the most diverse thing in the world. A common thing she wears is pink and white, sometimes the occasional yellow. But the jacket she saw, denim with cute patches and rhinestones, looked like it could go well with most of the clothes she already owns while still being different from what she normally wears.
The store is mostly cramped, with more clothing racks than there is walking space. Still, it gives Homura the excuse to hold Madoka’s hand, so the girl isn’t complaining. As they make their way towards the jacket section, they find someone already occupying the area to browse.
A redhead boy, with hair collected to one side of his shoulder. Patiently, Madoka waits for him to finish browsing, but then it dawns upon her that he’s looking at the exact same jacket that Madoka had been planning to buy.
“Ah,” Homura perks, coming to the same realization quickly, and slips out of Madoka’s hand.
“Homura-chan, wait—” Madoka reaches, but it’s too late, Homura has already made her move.
She approaches the redhead, to which Madoka internally comments how beautiful he looks, and taps him on the shoulder. He turns towards her, confused with a touch of annoyed, and Homura promptly goes, “Are you planning on getting that?”
“Um, well,” he says, giving it another look over. “I was thinking about it. Why? D’ya want it too?”
“My friend does,” Homura points at Madoka, who immediately flushes the darkest shade of red. “She saw it earlier and didn’t want to buy it because she thought to save her money for better things. But she changed her mind.”
“Oh. Okay,” he says flatly.
An awkward pause, and Madoka feels like curling up in a corner and disappearing along with the dust bunnies. She looks at Homura with a pleading look, hoping she may just get a clue and step back, but Homura seems to be too focused on getting her that jacket to notice.
Out of nowhere, a voice booms from the door, and they all jolt, “Chuuuya! Are you done shopping yet? I’m pretty sure whatever you picked out is ugly anyway, so forget about it!”
“Piece of- I’ll have you know I was about to make a purchase!” the redhead yells back, his mood dampening significantly.
But something about this voice sounds familiar, and so Madoka turns with her brows scrunched because there’s no way such a coincidence could ever occur. And yet…
“Ah. Madoka-kun?” Osamu blinks, his ears suddenly burning. Looks like his arm is completely healed now.
“Osamu-kun?” Madoka blinks back.
“Osamu-kun?” the boy, who Madoka assumes is Chuuya, coughs out in amusement.
“Um,” Homura frets, suddenly losing the confidence from earlier. “So, can we have the jacket then…?”
“No!” Chuuya snaps at her, and she jumps back in surprise. “I mean- Ugh, I’m sorry. I want it too, sorry.”
“Actually,” Osamu slides over, plucking the jacket off of him. “I think this one looks better on pink than red.”
“What.” Chuuya deadpans, watching as Osamu drops the jacket onto Madoka’s head. “What’s happening? Why did you just—”
Then, Osamu grabs Chuuya by the shoulders and beams wide at the ladies, “Sorry for his behavior, girls. He can be a bit feisty.”
“Who are you calling—!” the other starts but Osamu interrupts him.
“I’ll call ya later, Madoka-kun! Promise this was a total accident!” Osamu would’ve winked at her if he had more than one eye, she knows of this, and all she can really do is awkwardly smile back at him, holding the jacket he just dumped on her.
And then they’re out the door, Chuuya barking in confusion about why Osamu is suddenly acting this way, and all Homura and Madoka can do is watch as they disappear off down the street through the decorated display window.
“Um,” Homura rubs her hands together. “At least you can get the jacket now!”
“Yeah.” Madoka smiles fondly, at the moment and at her. “Thanks for the help.”
“Oh, I didn’t do much…,” Homura flushes but Madoka takes her hand into her own.
“Oh, you did enough, for me,” Madoka hums.