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‘…and for your information, I think it’s a completely legitimate and highly pertinent question! No need to snap at a man whose only desire is the noble pursuit of knowledge.’
‘Mm, yes, I particularly admire the noble way you’re copying my trigonometry answers, also get off,’ Takeshi snapped, wriggling out from underneath Kentarou’s regrettably pointy elbow and resisting the urge to check his side for bruising. ‘And since the you know who thing has to stay you know how when we’re you know where because of you know why, maybe you shouldn’t you know what about the you know which.’
‘You mean about the Campus Defenders?’ Kentarou translated, after a moment’s intense concentration.
‘I mean about the thing!’ Takeshi insisted. ‘The thing.’
Kentarou rolled over onto his stomach, neatly snagging Takeshi’s trigonometry book as he did so, and set about poking at a nearby dandelion. It was a rare pleasant day so late in the year, cloudy but not too cold: the wet grass was still full of pleasingly crunchy leaves, which were also, Kentarou felt, very nice and green-smelling, although Takeshi had shot down this opinion down with such thoughtful counter-arguments as don’t be an idiot and what does green even smell like and why do you have to get your dumb thoughts all over a perfectly good lawn. This had been just after Kentarou had said, Oh, what a lovely day not to do any work at all! Here, pass me your notebook, and just before he had asked, in all innocence, Do you think that Erii’s song choices for the signal are getting a little too romantic?
‘I’m just saying,’ he continued, yawning, ‘don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that she went from signalling us with, you know, EXO or whoever to like. That song from the end of that movie you cried at five times last week?’
‘Firstly, Erii is perfectly capable of choosing her own music, secondly, the more romantic it is, the harder it’ll be to associate it with such courageous and manly heroes as - as certain persons who are not courageous OR NECESSARILY EVEN MEN, THE CAMPUS DEFENDERS MIGHT BE GIRLS, WHO KNOWS, CERTAINLY NOT US,’ Takeshi remarked with aggressive nonchalance, glancing over his shoulder at a passing knot of first-years. ‘Thirdly, I still don’t think you appreciate how tragic Sakura Nagashi actually is, especially since Kaworu -’
Here, to Kentarou’s eternal relief, he was interrupted by the unmistakeable strains of One More Time, One More Chance resounding from the intercom, which, happily, only served to further establish his point. ‘See, it’s happening again!’ he said, and, too lazy to go charging off into the everlasting fight against evil, flopped over onto his back. ‘Do you think she’s trying to tell us something? I bet she’s trying to tell us something. What do you think it is?’
‘Get up,’ was all Takeshi said, scrambling to his feet and rescuing his trigonometry book as he did so: then, as what was cunningly disguised as a grudging afterthought, extended a hand. This was because, as everyone knew, he had been wildly in love with Kentarou since they were in grade school.
‘You’ve been wildly in love with me since we were in grade school, haven’t you?’ Kentarou checked, lazily.
‘Do you want a hand up or not?’ Takeshi huffed. ‘You have five seconds to comply! Five - four - three - two -’
Kentarou grabbed his hand and bounded to his feet. ‘I knew you loved me!’ he said, and, beaming and bowing low, kissed the very edge of Takeshi’s knuckles before dashing away across the lawn. ‘Last one there has to sleep on the couch tonight!’ he yelled back, very loudly, because he had a reputation to keep up.
Erii, it transpired, had forgotten to decouple the projector from her laptop again, and was midway through compiling a distinctly weepy-looking playlist when CLAMP Campus’ mightiest heroes arrived in their headquarters, only mildly singed and smelling deliciously of red velvet. The title of her musical endeavour, as projected in large and angry characters on the far wall, was something like SAD SONGS ABOUT THAT BEAUTIFUL JERKFACE LOSER SUKIYABA - but before Kentarou could finish reading and uncover at last the truth of Erii’s mysterious emotions, she minimised the window.
‘I hate everything and am going to adopt fifty million cats,’ she announced, scrubbing angrily at her eyes.
‘Well, you’ll have to consult Inuko about the cats first,’ Kentarou cautioned her.
‘I’m not adopting anything with this loser,’ Takeshi sniffed. ‘He’s a sexual deviant who goes around kissing innocent people’s hands, and I won’t stand for it! Erii, arrest him.’
Erii slumped back in her chair and spun listlessly. ‘Mr Tiddles, our future Police Cat, can arrest him for me,’ she told the ceiling in dire tones. ‘Speaking of which, we seriously need to find at least one cat, because I have actually just ordered a police cat uniform online and we’re going to look like a really shoddy secret organisation if we land up with a miniature police hat with ear-holes and no one around to wear it. Ugh! It’s like you two don’t even think about our public image anymore! Am I the only professional left around here?’
‘Why does a secret organisation need a public ima -?’ Takeshi began, slowly, then yelped as Erii poked him in the elbow with a pez dispenser.
Happily, their charming banter was interrupted by a discreet cough as the familiar yet completely unknown face of the Director flickered onto the far wall. ‘Good afternoon, team!’ he said. ‘I come bearing advance warning of what may well be your toughest challenge yet!’
‘Does it involve getting a teenage boy to stop being a weak-willed failure whose bloodline will founder and die because he’s too much of a coward to initiate basic human interaction?’ Erii enquired.
The Director paused a moment, then pulled out what appeared to a script and flicked through it.‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to answer that,’ he said, apologetically.
‘Eh, whatever, I’ve probably seen tougher,’ she muttered, and, gnawing on a pez, slid further down into her chair. ‘Go on, then, illustrious leader, try your best to give me a sense of purpose in this cruel and directionless world.’
‘With pleasure!’ he beamed, as Takeshi mouthed what’s wrong with her? at Kentarou and received a bewildered beats me in reply. ‘So, to business! We’ve had word that our arch-nemeses, the Imonoyama Shopping District Association, intend to spike the punch at the CLAMP Camps New Year Bash!’ Here the Director paused expertly to allow for Kentarou’s horrified gasp and Takeshi’s world-weary sigh. ‘And by “word” I mean that the @actual_imonoyama account has been tweeting WHATS IN THE PUNCH and ALCOHOL. ALCOHOL IS IN THE PUNCH and BECAUSE WERE GONNA SPIKE IT LOL at the #CLAMPCampusNewYearBash tag all week.’ Here he held up his iPad and scrolled through several similar tweets. ‘We didn’t pick it up until someone thought to e-mail us and bring it to our attention, so unfortunately we’re not very prepared to combat the situation.’
‘Dude, you’re, like, eleven, you’re supposed to not suck at this kind of thing,’ Kentarou pointed out, raising an eyebrow. ‘Who even uses e-mail?’
‘Well, we were actually following @imonoyama_ebooks by mistake, so there was a bit of confusion there,’ the Director admitted, and fiddled with his iPad for a moment before holding it up again. ‘It’s a popular account with the students. Some of what it says is quite clever, actually - as you might know I am a full-Time shopping District - oh, this one’s my favourite, the you can!! eat the DUKlyons one. Terribly witty, really, when you think about it - or is the point that you’re not supposed to think about it too much? This one, for example - NOT SUKIYABASHI NOT SUKIAHABASHI NEITHER NEITHER STRONGLY NOR. What could it all mean? Who’s behind it? Man or machine? Ah, the marvels of the Internet!’
‘I mean, do you practise it? Being this middle-aged?’ Kentarou asked, now sounding genuinely concerned. ‘It’s quite impressive, you know - I admire your efforts!’
‘Please stop,’ Takeshi whispered from behind his fingers. ‘Can we just - a plan! How’s that? Can we just put together a, a nice old-fashioned plan, or something? Please?’
‘Obviously what we need in this situation are giant cat robots that eat people, especially boys and idiots and also idiots who are boys,’ Erii suggested from somewhere under her desk. ‘God, why am I the only one who takes this job seriously anymore?’
‘While that suggestion has its merits, and is certainly within the realm of the possible, I feel that perhaps a measure of discretion would be advised for this particular mission,’ the Director said. ‘We were thinking that our bold heroes might perhaps attend the New Year Bash as ordinary students - undercover, as it were, just so as to be on patrol and maintain awareness without interrupting the festivities. You’d need costumes, of course - it’s a costume party for absolutely no reason at all.’
At this, Kentarou perked up considerably. ‘Ooh! Ooh! I know! Let’s be Holmes and Watson! It’d be a metaphor! For how we fight crime and solve mysteries and are totally inseparable and also for how our series is so well-known and wildly popular that we’re icons of popular culture and never get sadly overlooked at all!’ he finished, since he hadn’t so much as glanced at the fourth wall in at least six paragraphs and didn’t want it to feel lonely.
‘That’s not how metaphors work,’ Takeshi sighed. ‘Oh, and also, we’re not going as Holmes and Watson.’
*
‘We’re not going as Holmes and Watson,’ he explained, patiently, at half-past eight on the following evening, after the seventh well-meaning brown-jacketed member of something that was apparently called a Scouting Legion had complimented him on his choice of deerstalker. ‘We’re just - we’re simply - it’s a metaphor.’
‘Is it a metaphor for the fact that you’re dating, I mean, DUKLYON, I mean dating?’ the skinny blond in question asked, sounding quite interested. His Japanese was heavily accented; Takeshi had the vague notion that he was an exchange student of some variety, although that didn’t explain the white wig, the oversized red umbrella or, for that matter, the small toy cat. ‘Or, ah, maybe it’s a metaphor for the fact that you’re not DUKLYON, because of how, you know, you’re. Not?’
Takeshi began to sweat. ‘It’s not a metaphor for how we’re not DUKLYON?’ he hazarded. ‘It’s not a metaphor for how we’re not dating DUKLYON either. No, wait, I mean - we’re not not dating DUKLYON, we’re just not DUKLYON dating -’ He stopped as, from across the room, he quite clearly saw Kentarou help himself to a big ladleful of the punchbowl labelled, in last-minute crayon, THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO ALCOHOL IN THIS AT ALL. ‘Why is this my life?’
‘Let me know when you’ve worked it out, my non-DUKLYON friend who is absolutely not a member of DUKLYON,’ the blond told him with a cheerful wink, and clapped him rousingly on the shoulder. ‘And let me know if you see a tall and grumpy guy with a katana! He’s supposed to be my Kuroh! I wouldn’t want him to miss out on the part where he kneels before me and declares his eternal devotion!’
In the grand tradition of CLAMP Campus parties, the New Year Bash was large, ostentatiously decorated, and actually fairly decent. There was no end to the amount of sparkly streamers that festooned the school hall, and any threats to tamper with the drinks had been neatly circumvented by the decision to sell perfectly safe cans of soda and fruit punch at the door, with all proceeds going towards the refurbishment of the kindergarteners’ music department.
This, however, did not seem to have deterred Kentarou from pulling a small cocktail umbrella seemingly out of nowhere and depositing it into a novelty half-coconut mug.
‘Hello, Holmes!’ he sang out over the music as Takeshi grabbed him by the arm and hauled him over to a dark and cobwebby corner inhabited only by a large colony of plastic spiders. ‘Marvellous evening for a spot of mystery-solving, eh? Eh? Eh old whatsit old chappity chap mate whatsit?’
‘See, the sad part is, this isn’t even the alcohol talking, this is just normal behaviour for you,’ Takeshi sighed, and then, as Kentarou flung an arm around his shoulders, was nothing short of offended to feel his heart constrict painfully. ‘Get off, you colossal waste of space.’
‘You know, it’s actually funny that you should mention alcohol,’ Kentarou agreed, rescuing his cocktail umbrella as Takeshi confiscated his cup, ‘seeing as I think someone’s spiked the punch.’
‘Yes, Kentarou, that was the decoy punch that we spiked, remember?’ Takeshi said, sniffing at the cup. It didn’t seem overwhelmingly strong, and Kentarou didn’t look as though he were suffering from anything worse than a gentle buzz. Takeshi poured the punch into a nearby potted plant all the same. ‘Why do I put up with you?’
‘Because you’ve been wildly in love with me since we were in grade school,’ Kentarou explained, gently: gave the cocktail umbrella a little kiss and tucked it neatly behind one of the flaps of Takeshi’s dearstalker. ‘There you go, Holmes! You look beautiful. Tropical orange works so well on you - you’ve got natural summer colouring, you know, you’re wasted in that old blue robotic suit that you totally never wear because you’re totally not a member of DUKLYON or anything.’ He beamed. ‘How was that, huh? Did I get the secrecy thing right this time?’
He was doing the thing, the smiling thing, the awful and potentially illegal smiling thing that tended to make Takeshi want to punch walls and also weep. ‘Go away and don’t come back until you’ve found some water and lots of disgusting party food,’ he said, and gave Kentarou a half-hearted little shove. ‘And be on the look-out! We’re on duty, you know!’
‘Yup!’ Kentarou sang. ‘DUKLYON, CLAMP Campus Defenders! That’s us!’
‘It’s, um, it’s really not, though,’ Takeshi assured the closest passer-by, who turned out to be an intimidatingly tall and very grumpy-looking senior. ‘We’re doing a version of Sherlock Holmes where. Where they were actually DUKLYON in disguise the whole time. Because of. Time-travel!’
‘Yeah, I don’t actually care,’ the tall guy said, hefting a prop katana from his belt. ‘Anyway, have you seen an annoying blond with a red umbrella? He’s supposed to be my Shiroh, whatever the crap that is, and I need to know how to avoid him.’
‘Oh, oh, the devastatingly handsome exchange student? I just saw him heading that way!’ Kentarou offered, hiccoughing and pointing in precisely the wrong direction. ‘If you head towards the really romantic gardens with all the sparkly lights you’ll probably be able to find him, I mean avoid him, I mean - oh, Kurogane-sempai, has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?’ As Kurogane glowered at him and strode away, katana slung over his shoulder, he slung a conspiratorial arm around Takeshi’s shoulder and whispered, ‘I love them so much. They should have a June wedding.’
His lips were very close to Takeshi’s cheek. Takeshi despaired of surviving the night. Wriggling out from Kentarou’s hug, which was fast approaching squidlike levels of tenacity, he a put a steadying hand to Kentarou’s waist and positioned him firmly at arm’s length. ‘You are a danger to civilisation,’ he informed him, and gave him a stern push. ‘Now, go and find something to eat! And no more punch for you!’
Kentarou kissed his ear sloppily. ‘Anything you say, darling,’ he said, and spun away across the dance floor, effortlessly avoiding three dancers before tripping neatly into a knot of balloons. Takeshi reminded himself very sternly that he was an honour student, a pillar of the high school division, and a hard-working professional crime-fighter, then went to stand guard over a bowl of punch.
Still, he reflected, as he looked out at the dance hall full of happy students in ridiculous costumes and garish party hats. Only the high school seniors and juniors would be permitted to stay up for the countdown, with the rest leaving before ten o’ clock, but there was a great deal of sparkling grape juice for everyone, lots and lots of food, and vaguely enjoyable music, together with the promise of fireworks later in the evening. Takeshi surveyed his peaceful jurisdiction with all the pride of a hardened veteran of the law. The perpetual daily misery of dealing with Kentarou, he decided, was a burden he was happy to bear for the sake of preserving order. There should be documentaries made about the many noble sacrifices he had made in the name of law enforcement. He fought every day against the imbeciles of the world for the sake of justice, freedom, truth, and -
‘Do you know you’re saying all of this out loud?’ a small voice enquired, worriedly, and Takeshi gave an unholy yelp and looked around in a panic.
‘Ah! Director! I, ah, I didn’t see you there! Good evening, sir!’
‘Good evening, Shukaido-sempai,’ the Director replied, gravely, and took a solemn bite of his mochi ice cream. ‘As you can see, I am cleverly disguised as innocent eleven-year-old and grade school student body chairperson, Imonoyama Nokoru, who knows nothing about the CLAMP Campus Defenders at all.’ To his right, his companion, a staunch if admittedly somewhat hobbit-sized fifth-grader, nodded gravely, which gesture would have been very impressive had it not been accompanied by a red plastic nose and reindeer ears. ‘This is my associate, Takamura Suoh. As you can see, he’s the life of the party.’
‘I’m a reindeer,’ the boy agreed. ‘Neigh.’
‘I don’t think reindeer say -’ Takeshi began, then stopped himself before his life could spiral irrevocably out of control. ‘Never mind. Anything, ah, anything completely ordinary we shouldn’t discuss because we don’t know each other at all, random eleven-year-old whom I have just met?’
‘Nothing at all, random sixteen-year-old whom I have never seen in my life before,’ Nokoru said, beaming at him. Then, clearing his throat, he added, in a jaunty stage whisper, ‘Say, friend, have you read the chapter of that manga where the evil organisation would seem to have been bluffing the whole time, and now the heroes have no idea what to expect, so they ought to be extra vigilant? Because that has absolutely nothing to do with this party at all and I don’t know why I’m even talking to you.’ Here, in compliance with protocol, he added a wink. ‘Now, since the other sixteen-year-old whom I have never in my life before but know is your best friend is fast approaching, I shall leave you to your annual festivities! Suoh, away!’
‘Neigh,’ Takamura said, solemnly, and galloped away, dragging the Director behind him.
‘He’s not my best friend!’ Takeshi yelled after them. Naturally, it was at precisely that moment that the music, previously some particularly ear-splitting species of dubstep, changed to the slowest and most romantic pop ballad ever played at the romantic climax of any piece of fanfiction known to humankind, because, as several academic papers recently published by students of the CLAMP Campus Graduate School had proven quite conclusively, the universe was, in fact, out to get Takeshi.
‘This would happen,’ he said, despairingly, and, with sinking heart, turned to see Kentarou bounding across the hall to him, now moderately more sober.
‘Found food!’ he said, excitedly, and waved a stick of yakitori in Takeshi’s face. It wasn’t even remotely romantic. Takeshi wanted to punch walls, or possibly his favourite fluffy pillow and then have a good cry. This wasn’t the sort of thing that was supposed to happen to a defender of justice. ‘They’ve got a whole bunch of festival foods outside, it’s great. You know, I’m starting to think that our spiking the punch was kind of a stupid idea, anyway. Why did we do it again?’
‘Because the Director told us to,’ Takeshi snapped, suddenly nothing short of outraged that his hands were shaking, and that his chest was aching, and that yes, he was wildly in love with a yakitori-toting idiot who couldn’t even appreciate the cultural significance or artistic merit of Neon Genesis Evangelion. ‘He said it would ‘distract the enemy’ or ‘anticipate the Shopping District’s heinous plan’ or ‘move the plot forward to the shippy part’ or something, but I wasn’t paying attention because you were too busy doodling in your stupid sketchbook and I was too busy trying to kick you under the table! Again! As usual! This is all your fault!’
Kentarou gave a small and very affectionate sigh. ‘You’re my favourite,’ he told him, and, leaning in, kissed Takeshi happily on the mouth. He tasted distinctly of tare sauce: it was the gentle and unimportant sort of kiss you gave someone after you’d been married for thirty years, after saying could you grab me a napkin, please, dear? ‘Even when you’re loud,’ he added, as Takeshi stood still as a stone, feeling twice as stupid, ‘even when you’re loud, especially when you’re loud.’
The music continued to be gratingly, uncharitably romantic. Takeshi drew in a very long breath. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ he said, finally, in a quiet, level voice he hadn’t really been too sure until just then he actually possessed. ‘Do things like that, or say - say that. It’s not funny. Or fun. For me.’
‘What isn’t?’ Kentarou asked, blinking. Then his eyes widened, and he said, ‘Oh,’ very loudly and with no small degree of panic. He hadn’t even noticed, Takeshi realised: he had kissed him and hadn’t even noticed that he was doing anything out of the ordinary, anything stranger or more intimate than catching at his elbow or slinging an arm around his neck, he hadn’t even thought it should be something special - ‘Oh, ah, so, hey! That just happened! Was it, um, was it too much? I’ll just, um, I’ll just, you know, not do that again, the kissing thing, I mean, sorry about that, really, but don’t worry! You know it doesn’t mean anything! Warrior bonds and all, you know, fun between friends!’
‘No, it’s not, because we’re not friends!’ Takeshi shouted. Heads turned, and a few people began to whisper, which wasn’t at all the sort of thing that a secret organisation ought to aspire to. Flushing furiously, he grabbed the stupid deerstalker off his head and flung it aside. ‘We’re not friends! I don’t like you, I don’t like being around you, and the only reason I’m absolutely not a member of DUKLYON is that I absolutely do not care about keeping the peace! Understand? So stop it!’
Kentarou’s face had gone salt-white, his eyes were very wide. For moment he looked so utterly devastated, and so very young, that Takeshi couldn’t stand to see him, and had to look down, breathing hard. ‘I,’ Kentarou began, swallowing -
Naturally, it was at this moment that the Imonoyama Shopping District Association chose to attack.
*
‘Aha! You’ve fallen right into our trap!’ cried the Evil Leader, as various minions kicked their way into the hall and did various minionish things, like popping as many balloons as possible and writing BUTTS LMAO on a tablecloth before snapping a few selfies. Panic reluctantly ensued. ‘Now that you’ve expended all your resources guarding the punch like the gullible social media addicts you are, we can unleash our true plot!’ He paused, looked around quizzically, was clearly puzzled by the lack of armoured robots charging to meet him. He gave a few nervous twirls of his cloak. ‘Ah. I said, you’ve fallen right into our trap!’
Having ducked behind a convenient sofa that had no right to be anywhere near a dance hall, Takeshi sat breathing very heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in a noble effort not to cry. Several overworked graduate students were going to have a whole exciting whack of new evidence for their Shuukaido Takeshi vs the Universe: A Study in the Quantum Fluctuations of Extreme Karmic Prejudice dissertations come the morrow.
‘Hey, there,’ Kentarou said, quietly: reached to take Takeshi’s arm, stopped, withdrew his hand. ‘Hey, Takeshi. Come on. We have to - we have to keep the peace, OK? No matter what, that’s our job!’
Takeshi looked up at him. His eyes were very dark. Slowly, he nodded. ‘That’s our job,’ he agreed, and stood up. ‘Right. DUKYLON transformation sequence, initiated!’
While all this merry emotional melodrama had been going on, the Imonoyama Shopping District had proceeded to attempt to take a few students hostage. Among these were, in accordance with the Law of Fictional Background Character Averages, the small fifth-grade reindeer, who was looking very bored as he casually karate-chopped five goons at once with one hand while adjusting his antlers with the other, and the devastatingly handsome exchange student, who, leaning casually on his red umbrella, had made friends with his would-be kidnapper and was currently engaged in excited discussion about the merits of the Days of Red manga. It was into this scene of terror and devastation that DUKLYON, the shining knights of justice and order, came charging, sword and laser blaster at the ready, visors lowered.
‘You won’t get away with this!’ Kentarou shouted. ‘How dare you try to deprive the hard-working students of the CLAMP Campus of their well-deserved end-of-year party? Clearly you are an enemy of fun!’
‘This is all your fault, DUKLYON!’ the Evil Leader cackled. ‘You were so busy guarding the punch that you completely missed our grand entrance! It just goes to show that you can never trust anything you read on the internet!’
‘Give it up!’ Takeshi cried, somewhat half-heartedly, then pulled himself together and made a valiant effort at banter. ‘Your needless moralising and concern trolling aren’t wanted here! We’re discerning media consumers who can think for ourselves and know how to check sources! Take your exaggerated moral panic back to the 90s where it belongs!’
The Evil Leader only smirked. ‘You say that now,’ he said, ‘but soon you will know how devastating the internet can truly be! Go, Evil Beast Shiba Inu!’
There came a blinding flash of light, and the ground rumbled ominously. An alien portal opened up in the centre of the dance floor, distorting the very fabric of time and space. Tables rattled! Glasses chattered! A swirling chasm of inky darkness grew and grew, straining the eyes, before dissipating at last with a sickly glow. In its place there sat a small and weary dog.
‘Such doge,’ it said, bleakly, in tones of one who has seen the abyss. ‘Very meme. Wow.’
‘Oh, for real?’ Kentarou complained, waving his laser pistol around in disgust as a collective groan rose form the (literally) captive audience. ‘Is the entire Imonoyama Shopping District association a bunch of middle-aged dads who derive all their understanding of popular culture from Facebook? Is that what this is? Seriously, what can that thing even do?’
The Evil Leader cackled. ‘It can do,’ he said, rubbing his hands together, ‘this.’
‘So attack,’ the dog droned. ‘Such damage. Amaze.’ It scratched its ear with a lazy hind leg, then opened its mouth in a yawn: and, just as Takeshi halfway began to think it might sort of be at least a little bit funny, shot a beam of blinding white halfway across the room that left behind a smoking path of devastation.
‘Wait, what?’ Takeshi yelped, raising his sword. ‘You’re not supposed to summon Evil Beasts that actually do anything? How is this fair?’
‘Too bad!’ the Evil Leader crowed. ‘Evil Beast Shiba Inu! Destroy them!’
There followed a deeply embarrassing sequence during which the CLAMP Campus Defenders were chased relentlessly around a school hall by a small and linguistically mystifying canine. In the interests of preserving the dignity of the most ancient and noble secret organisation ever to grace the halls of that fine establishment, as well as in the interests of turning a good profit, this footage has been redacted, although the General Director would like to make it known that copies of the CCTV footage may be purchased for the viewing pleasure of the public from Ijyuin Akira, fourth grade, CLAMP Campus Junior School Division, for ¥1200 apiece.
‘I can’t take it anymore!’ Takeshi panted about ten minutes in, dodging yet another volley of lasers. ‘It’s not even funny! It’s just a stupid dog! Make it stop!’
‘I don’t know, it’s kind of cute!’ Kentarou yelled back then had to pirouette gracefully to avoid being sizzled to a pulp. ‘No, wait, forget I said that, it’s not cute anymore! How do we stop it? How do we stop them?’
‘You can’t!’ the Evil Leader sang, halfway through a well-earned can of coffee the handsome exchange student had thoughtfully procured for him from a nearby vending machine. ‘Go, Evil Beast! Fire the killing blow!’
‘Much drama,’ the doge said, snuffling its nose disinterestedly. ‘So romance. OTP.’
It all happened quite slowly, as is such moments’ wont. The doge opened its mouth, emitting a wide white beam of some unidentified but pyrotechnically impressive light. So good so far. What no one anticipated was that the beam was in genuine danger of striking one of the intrepid heroes. The intrepid hero in question, namely Takeshi, turned too late. He raised an arm across his face, flinching, but could do no more than await a fiery death. His last wish was to hope, fervently, that the afterlife would not involve comic sans.
Then Kentarou jumped in front of him and was flung halfway across the hall, where he collapsed in a smoking huddle and fell still.
Takeshi said, ‘What.’
‘Oh,’ the Evil Leader said, sounding a bit nonplussed as a roar of shock and disappointment went up from the crowd. ‘Oh, wait - oh, gosh, is he alright? That’s, um - that’s not supposed to happen, so sorry -’
Ears ringing, heart pounding unbearably, Takeshi was already racing to Kentarou’s side. With difficulty, he wrenched off the red helmet and flung it aside, all thoughts of secrecy forgotten, and hauled Kentarou up into his arms. He was very still and horribly pale, his hair somewhat singed, his lips bloody: but even as Takeshi stared, terrified, he jerked awake and gave a small cough. His eyes rolled, blinked, focused. He smiled.
He said, ‘Hey there, sweetcheeks.’
Takeshi actually felt his heart leap in relief, and was tremendously annoyed by it. ‘What the hell where you thinking?’ he hissed in a violent undertone. ‘Why would you even - after I - why?’
For a moment, Kentarou looked almost sad, which was a ridiculous thing to think, given that it was a well-known scientific fact that Kentarou was incapable of normal emotional response. ‘Told you,’ he said, weakly, and knocked a knuckle affectionately against Takeshi’s visor. ‘You’re my favourite.’
‘Oh, for the love of common sense!’ snapped a voice from nearby. ‘Would you two cut it out and get back on your feet, or am I going to have to save the day again? Honestly! Why does anyone ever let teenage boys do anything at all?’
‘Oh, hey, hi there, boss,’ Kentarou said, twisting around in Takeshi’s arms, then falling still with a wince. ‘Nice, uh, nice - what is that, a badminton racket?’
Erii stood illuminated in the doorway, pink uniform glittering majestically, laser-powered badminton racket lodged firmly in her fist. ‘I vent my disgust at the general incompetence of the world by hitting things extremely hard!’ she yelled. ‘And right now I am seeing a lot of general incompetence and as such am very, very disgusted!’ She levelled her badminton racket at the Evil Leader, who did a magnificent spit-take all over his nearest minion. ‘Imonoyama Shopping District Association! Do you really want to tangle with me?’
‘She walks in beauty, like the night,’ the Evil Leader murmured, looking distinctly flushed.
‘What was that?’ Erii snapped. ‘At least bother to speak clearly if you’re going to be a crummy second-rate villain who uses crummy second-rate memes! I’m not going to ask again! Get out of here and leave us alone right now! Or do you want to be introduced to the business end of my badminton racket?’
Their answer to this, it transpired, was a unanimous no.
*
As it happened, due to the remarkable nature of their robotic suits, the bold members of DUKLYON had not sustained any particularly lasting damage beyond a mild concussion and sprained wrist (definitely not Kentarou) and wounded pride (definitely not Takeshi). This was easily remedied by a brief sojourn on the benches outside in the cool night air, accompanied by a first-aid kit and absolutely no one else. The garden was, as Kentarou had noted earlier, veritably plagued by twinkle lights, and had moreover been filled with imported roses, just to add the sort of romantic atmosphere that was the furthest thing from what Takeshi wanted. He knotted off the bandage in silence and returned the roll to the kit, closed it up neatly, settled it on the bench, waited.
‘Another successful mission,’ Kentarou said, cheerfully, and held up his wrist to inspect Takeshi’s handiwork. ‘Nice job! Thanks, buddy!’ He gave Takeshi a winning smile. ‘What say we head back inside, hmm? Lots of fun still to be had!’
Takeshi stared at his knees. They were quite badly scraped, and his knuckles hadn’t fared much better. He felt very wobbly, and did not want to go back to any kind of party at all. Mostly, he just wanted to go home. He thought about explaining this, but what actually came out of his mouth was, ‘If I’m your favourite, you could at least have told me.’
Kentarou blinked. ‘But I did tell you,’ he said.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I told you every day,’ Kentarou insisted, beginning to sound quite distressed. ‘I thought you - I told you fifteen minutes ago, but I also told you that time I made you lunch yesterday, and that time I saved you from the Shopping District’s evil space hedgehog with the marshmallow gun last week, and that time I copied your English homework the week before, and that time I -’
‘Wait, how was I supposed to know that that was you telling me?’ Takeshi shouted, turning on him. ‘You should have told me you were telling me! And anyway, I’m terrible at English!’
‘I know! But I still copy yours because it’s my favourite terrible English!’ Kentarou shouted back.
‘Well, you shouldn’t do that, because it’s very irresponsible and I don’t want you to fail, and you still didn’t tell me you were telling me, or else I would have told you that I was telling you!’
‘I don’t know what you’re telling me you didn’t tell me that you were telling me because I didn’t tell you that I was telling you!’
‘I just told you, I’m telling you to tell me when you’re telling me that I’m your favourite so that I can tell you that I was telling you that I’ve been wildly in love with you since we were in grade school!’
‘Well, I knew that,’ Kentarou began, scoffing, but was interrupted by a rather pressing rebuttal courtesy of Takeshi’s lips on his own. The twinkle lights twinkled. The roses rosed. It was all very romantic. ‘Oh,’ he said, when Takeshi pulled away after several seconds. ‘No, but - no, what?’
‘You didn’t know that,’ Takeshi said, feeling rather out of breath: leaned his forehead against Kentarou’s, clung almost pathetically to his wrists for one moment. Then he sat back. ‘But now you do, so now do you. Do you see about the thing. About why it hurts, when you. When you don’t take it seriously. Or when you get hurt for me, and I can’t - I can’t help you. So stop. Just stop. Please.’
Kentarou blinked at him like a forlorn and deeply bemused owl. ‘It hurts?’
‘A lot, actually. All the time. So. Don’t do it anymore.’ Takeshi stood up and bowed, stiffly. ‘Thank you for saving my life. Goodnight.’
He strode off with as much dignity as he could muster. The fact that he had to dart back a moment later to retrieve the first-aid kit did nothing to diminish the deep gravitas which with he returned to the party, he assured himself.
*
There followed a few days’ worth of winter holiday, during which the weather and Takeshi’s spirits both worsened. He attempted to text Erii a few times, hesitantly considering the merits of a mysterious and arcane practice known only as asking for advice from a friend, but, on meeting no response beyond the occasional threatening sledgehammer emoji and garbled capslock, gave it up as a bad job.
From Kentarou he heard nothing at all.
It was on a very rainy and very early morning that Takeshi found himself sitting alone in the classroom once more, staring out of the window through the mist and wishing that he had thought to wear wellington boots as his socks squelched inside his uwabaki. The strip-lighting had only just flickered on overhead, and the misty world outside was still rather dishearteningly blue and wan. He squinted discontentedly at his reflection in the glass. Magical girls didn’t have to deal with this sort of thing. Magical girls got good hair and cute theme songs and popular anime adaptations, not wet socks and unrequited love.
There came a noise of footsteps as someone else barged into the classroom, and a clatter as they bulldozed their way unrepentantly through a perfectly innocent field of desks. Takeshi closed his eyes and braced himself to be civil.
‘Good morning, love of my life!’
Takeshi tried. He really, truly did. His resolve lasted all of three seconds. He had a right to have his feelings respected, he told himself, firmly, and pushed himself up and out of his chair, clearing his throat. ‘Look,’ he said, firmly, trying very hard to steady his heartbeat, ‘it’s hard enough to deal with this as it is, so all I’m asking is that you -’
Kentarou dropped his schoolbags, put one hand behind Takeshi’s head, another around his waist, and kissed him thoroughly. Takeshi said, ‘Mmmpf!’ and then, ‘Hmmbleh?’ and then, ‘Bmp,’ in descending order of outrage. The whole business turned out to be very enjoyable, in a prosaic sort of way: Kentarou tasted comfortingly of spearmint toothpaste, and his arms were so very soft and warm that they almost made up for the wet socks.
‘Deal with what?’ Kentarou enquired, when they were finished, and leaned his forehead comfortably against Takeshi’s: and then, ‘Oh. Are you alright? Why are you crying? Did you not want to do the whole kissing thing after all? Because I thought you - but if you - wait, now I’m just confused -’
‘You are the literal worst,’ Takeshi said, scrubbing frantically at his cheeks. ‘The indisputable and criminal and categorical worst.’
‘Yes, I know, you have mentioned that,’ Kentarou agreed. ‘But, also, I’ve been wildly in love with you since grade school. That’s got to count for something, don’t you think?’
At some point, Ring Ma Bell started to play over the intercom, but they ignored it.