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Mitsuru is a bad student.
He’s always running in the hallways, blurting out incorrect answers in class, and missing out on homeroom because he keeps forgetting it’s even a thing. He doesn’t do all the assigned homework, he falls asleep in class, and does poorly on exams.
Only those closest to him know that his mistakes are never intended. They know that Mitsuru is doing his best, in his own way, no matter how carefree and thoughtless he may seem.
After all, it’s not like he wants to be a bad student, and he doesn’t actually have a problem with school. Mitsuru likes the idea of learning about new things, like what kind of traditions they have in other countries, or how to recognize animal footprints. Math isn’t that fun, but he likes the feeling of understanding a formula and getting the same answer as his calculator. English is hard, but the idea of communicating with foreign fans motivates him. He likes learning, he really does. It’s fun!
Which is why it sucks that he’s stupid. Seriously, who would have taught that being stupid could be so hard!
He wants to listen to the teacher, and he swears he tries to pay attention, but before he knows it, he’s looking out the window and thinking about what they’ll have for dinner. Probably leftovers. His sister had tried to cook some fancy pasta recipe yesterday and accidentally made way too much, but Mitsuru didn’t mind. Leftovers usually meant less dishes to wash, which gave Mitsuru more time to ignore his homework.
What was his homework again? He’s pretty sure he’s written it down somewhere in his notebooks, but he can’t remember which one. Maybe this one— his English notebook. It’s open on his desk, a handful of words written in uneven roman letters at the top, as proof of his short lived effort. His pen lies abandoned to the side. He had been clicking and unclicking it just to give his hands something to do, until Tori had given him an obviously annoyed look.
Without his pen, he’s left doing nothing again and he can feel the itch in his body, energy gathering in him with no place to go. His toes curl in his shoes, one leg bouncing, fingers absentmindedly tapping the underside of his chair.
He wonders what they’re talking about in the other class, wonders what Hajime and Tomoya are learning about. He can ask them about it later at practice, though he doubts he’ll remember. They’re supposed to go through a difficult part of the new choreography and Mitsuru had promised to help Hajime with it. He definitely has no trouble focusing on dancing, especially when he gets to put his skills to use and be helpful.
Physical activity is the one area he’s completely confident in. It was just a shame that all his talent had gone into that, leaving what seemed like nothing for his mental abilities. Running and dancing is fun, but Mitsuru would have liked to at least be a little bit smart too, yet everyone seems to think he chooses to be dumb.
The new choreography is harder than the older ones, so Mitsuru isn’t surprised Hajime needs some help. Nazuna had put it together to push Ra*bits even further and Mitsuru could feel excitement thrumming through his veins just by picturing the dance in his head again. There’s a quick turn and a jump, a cute pose, followed by some intricate footwork they’ve never done before..
He barely even notices that his feet have started moving beneath the desk, trying to dance while still seated. Tap tap ta-tap—
...Tenma-kun.
He forgets what comes after that but it’s fine, Nazuna said they’ve got lots of time to learn this. The important part isn’t to learn it quickly, but correctly. Mitsuru has always appreciated that mindset.
Tenma!
Tap tap ta-tap— something something— jump! Tap ta-ta-ta-tap— His fingers tap the rhythm against his desk, and before he knows it, he’s humming under his breath too.
It helps, moving like this even though he’s confined to this chair and desk and stuffy classroom. It helps against the itch he feels when he sits still for too long. It’s like there are firecrackers in his blood, under his skin, going bam bam bam! and Mitsuru can’t just sit still when there are explosions going off inside him. He wonders how his classmates do it, wonders if they’re just really good at controlling the explosions or if it’s just him who feels this way. Hajime and Tomoya don’t seem like the kind of people who’ve got firecrackers going off inside of them. Is he the odd one out then?
His blood goes bam bam bam, his feet go tap tap tap, his fingers go thump thump thump, and the song goes—
“Tenma Mitsuru!”
The sound of the teacher yelling his name is accompanied by a loud bang! as he slams a book down on Mitsuru’s desk, nearly making Mitsuru jump out of his seat.
His heart is pounding, mind startled into silence as he stares at the teacher with wide eyes. He can’t find his voice. The song is gone too. He barely even remembers what he had been thinking about.
“Have you been listening to a single word of what I’ve said?” The teacher asks, though his intense glare makes it seem like he doesn’t want an answer, so Mitsuru remains silent.
“What about your classmates? Have you completely ignored what they’ve been reading aloud?”
Mitsuru’s gaze moves to the others, as if asking for help he knows he won’t get. He catches Sora glancing at him over his shoulder, while Tsukasa shifts in his seat and looks away. Maybe he’s trying to give them some privacy, but it’s kind of useless when the teacher is talking so loud. It’s like he wants everyone to hear this. He wants to show people what happens to students who don’t listen. Even Mitsuru can hear the underlying message.
Pay attention in class or you’ll end up like Tenma-kun.
Mitsuru is used to being hung out like this, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He doesn’t like being the troublemaker, the bad boy, the dumb one.
Seemingly satisfied with the shame he’s inflicted, the teacher picks up his book again and walks back to the front of the room.
“Suou-kun, please show Tenma-kun which passage we’re on.”
Tsukasa has to flip a couple of pages before he finds the right passage, and Mitsuru silently nods his thanks. He keeps his gaze down, not even daring to look at his friend’s expression.
Tsukasa, like their other classmates, is a good boy. A good boy who pays attention and raises his hand to ask good questions and always knows what paragraph they’re reading. Even if their class is known for being noisy, they’re still good boys, good students.
But Mitsuru sticks out like a sore thumb and he doesn’t understand why it has to be like this. He doesn’t understand a lot of things and he hates it.
Being stupid is hard, but no one knows it except him.
..
Getting scolded is nothing new. Mitsuru still hates the long lectures he has to sit through, but luckily for him, the teachers seem to have gotten tired of scolding him for every single thing he does wrong, settling on simply giving him stern looks instead.
(Unless he’s really annoying them, in which case they’ll yell at him in front of the entire class, or tie him down to the chair— though that last one has only happened twice so far, and Mitsuru doesn’t really mind too much because he can just pretend it’s a fun game where he’s supposed to escape.)
His classmates have grown used to it too. The looks they give him are more amused than stern, occasionally pitying, most times just vaguely curious. They look at him like they don’t understand why he’s like this, which is fine because Mitsuru doesn’t really understand them either, nor does he understand himself.
Mitsuru doesn’t mind because he knows everyone’s different, he just wishes the teachers understood that too— but then again, they’re probably just trying to help him by reminding him of all the things he shouldn’t do. He knows Kunugi wants him to pass at least. He had muttered something about not being able to handle an extra year with Mitsuru.
Kunugi stands at the front of the classroom, writing something on the blackboard that everyone else is frantically writing down in their notebooks. Mitsuru’s notebook remains empty again, his pen somewhere at the bottom of his bag.
He looks outside, towards the running tracks, a quiet sigh escaping him as the itch starts building up again. His hands move on their own, mindlessly fiddling with his fingers and picking at the dry skin. His feet begin tapping a random rhythm as quietly as possible, unable to sit still, but still not wanting to disturb everyone else again— plus, he has a feeling Kunugi’s patience with him is running out.
...Running sounds nice. The weather is getting warmer, which means his mom (and Hajime) will worry less about him catching a cold while he’s out running. There’s no track practice today though, and Nazuna had told them to take a couple of days break to avoid overworking their sore muscles, which means Mitsuru should have all evening to do his homework and catch up on all the reading he was supposed to do last week.
Maybe he can get some help from his sister, if she’s not too busy. He could ask Tomoya for help, but he’s already asked so many times and Tomoya had complained about his full schedule the other day. Being in the theater club sounds like hard work. The tea club sounds more relaxed, but Hajime is always busy doing part-time jobs, so Mitsuru doesn’t want to bother him more. And Nazuna was—
“Tenma-kun.”
Kunugi only has to call Mitsuru’s name once this time for him to snap back to reality, though it’s partially because of all the ruckus around distracting him. Ah, class was already over, he could go dash—!
“Tenma-kun, I need to talk to you for a moment.”
Mitsuru blinks in surprise. “Oh, okay.” He hadn’t done anything bad this time, right? He had even managed to remain fairly still in his seat! No pen clicking!
He packs up his stuff and heads to the front of the room while everyone else leaves. Some of them call out their goodbyes to him as they exit and Mitsuru happily waves back at them.
“So,” Kunugi starts, his expression as serious as always. “We need to talk about the results of your last exam.”
Mitsuru toys with his hands again. His results are never good, so he can’t say he’s surprised Kunugi wants to talk about them, but he doesn’t like it. He tilts his head to the side, saying nothing.
“You failed,” Kunugi says, not bothering to sound disappointed. Mitsuru doesn’t even flinch at the news, already used to this. “As you know, this isn’t the first time you’ve failed an exam. However, I’m afraid we can no longer accept this kind of result. If you continue on like this, you won’t be able to become a proper idol— nor a functional member of society, really. Your athletic abilities may be excellent, but they’re of no use if you can’t even pass your exams.” There’s a brief pause and the atmosphere feels heavier. Mitsuru’s fingers tighten around each other, waiting for the inevitable weight.
“Do you understand what I’m getting at, Tenma-kun? If you fail another exam, you will have to repeat a year.”
That is enough to startle a response out of him. “Repeat an entire year?”
Kunugi nods. “You have to pass the first year’s exams in order to continue on.”
That makes sense, Mitusuru thinks, but it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
With all the fun he’s having here, staying another year at Yumenosaki doesn’t sound so bad, until he remembers that it means having to study even more, sit through more lessons he can’t comprehend, and being left behind by his friends.
His nails dig into his skin.
Kunugi must have noticed Mitsuru’s distress, voice softening when he speaks again. “You still have a chance at continuing to the second year, Tenma-kun. If your grades improve and you pass your next exams, you won’t have to retake this year.”
That makes sense too. Everything Kunugi is saying makes sense, yet Mitsuru can still feel the explosions going off.
Bam bam bam!
Exams failure no friends!
Stupid stupid stupid!
He leaves the classroom without another word. Screw the itchiness, it feels like his entire body is on fire.
He needs to go for a run.
...
A couple of days later, Mitsuru sits down in the bedroom he shares with his brother, and tries to do his homework.
Tries to.
He takes out his books and his pencil case, lays it all out on the desk so it looks neat, like his classmates’ desks at school. The organized look of it all makes him feel like he knows what he’s doing, and for a brief moment, he almost feels like he wants to study.
It’s way too quiet though, so he grabs his phone and his brother’s headphones, and spends nearly five minutes trying to find the right song. He’s not entirely sure what could make a song right, but he still spends time doing it, and at the back of his head he knows it’s because he just wants an excuse not to start studying— but somehow doing all these little preparations makes him feel like he’s still being productive, which is how he justifies it.
Once he’s settled on his playlist of Ra*bits’ songs (it feels like his friends are supporting him through this!), he opens the history book to the right page and grabs a pen, even though he’s not sure what to take notes of. How do people decide on what should and shouldn’t be written down? How do they know what’s important to remember?
The confusion and question eat up at his focus, making him grab his phone again. Maybe he could ask someone for tips— but that would defeat the whole purpose of him doing this alone. But even when he’s decided on not messaging anyone, his phone remains in his hand, fingers tapping random apps, opening and closing them without any specific goal.
Only when the second song has ended does Mitsuru remember to put the phone back down and focus on the book again.
He gets to the start of the second paragraph before he realizes he’s thirsty, so he goes downstairs to grab a glass of water in the kitchen— but as he finishes the glass, he spots the clean dishes that have yet to be put away, so he figures he might as well do it since everyone else seems to be busy.
It satisfies his need to be productive, even though part of his mind is still yelling at him because this isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing, he’s supposed to be upstairs, reading and taking notes and being a good student so he can pass his exams! He’s supposed to do that simple, basic task, and yet he remains in the kitchen, humming as he puts away the plates. He can feel the firecrackers going off again.
His sister comes home then, right as he puts the last mug in the cupboards. Her voice rings throughout the house, rough around the edges but still warm in a way only she manages, and Mitsuru runs to greet her.
The rest of the night passes as usual, with lively chatter over dinner as everyone shares what they had been doing that day, playful bickering as they decide on who should do what chore, and the house eventually grows calmer as the night darkens outside.
Mitsuru doesn’t touch his books for the rest of the night, and only remembers them as he’s about to head to bed.
It’s almost impressive how quickly the sight of his unfinished notes ruins his mood, Kunugi’s words echoing in his head as dread fills him.
Stupid stupid stupid!
He doesn’t sleep well that night.
...
Focus in class. That’s all he has to do. Focus on the voice instead of what he wants to have for lunch, focus on the blackboard instead of looking outside, focus on staying calm instead of letting the firecrackers explode. It should be fine! It should be easy. Everyone else is doing it, he can do it too.
His determination (and fear of failing) keeps him focused for the beginning of the class. They’re talking about politics and different forms of governing a country and Mitsuru is taking as many notes as he can, a slight ache in his wrist. It doesn’t look very pretty and he’s sure the kanji is legible to only him, but at least he’s trying. Maybe if he keeps practicing, his notes will eventually look as pretty as Hajime’s, which are always neat and color-coded. Mitsuru doesn’t even understand the color-coding thing, but it looks pretty and makes things seem a little less boring, so he wants to try it too. Maybe he can spend his next allowance on markers? But that would mean less money for bread—
Someone coughs and Mitsuru snaps back to reality. Right. Class. Paying attention. He can’t even remember the last thing he had heard.
He picks at his fingers. Okay. Focus.
His feet tap against the floor again, quieter now, forcing himself to keep his gaze straight ahead.
The teacher continues on, altering between writing on the blackboard and explaining things from the book. Mitsuru listens, letting excess energy go into his feet and fingers. The second he feels his thoughts straying, he pinches his fingers, nails digging into the skin, focus focus focus. Sometimes he manages to write a couple of words down in his notebook before his hands go back to picking. It helps, in a way he can’t really understand, but he doesn’t try to understand it either. He just wants to get through this class without feeling like he just spent two hours spacing out and tapping his feet.
By the time class is over, Mitsuru has, what he considers, a surprising amount of notes written down. It doesn’t look neat, but at least it’s something.
...
The days start blending into each other in a way Mitsuru doesn’t like. His memory has never been great, but he hates that he can’t remember what he did on what day. Track practice, Ra*bits practice, failed self-study sessions— everything turns into one weird murky lake that he struggles to wade through, and the lack of sleep certainly isn’t helping.
But he’s still fine! He’s doing well compared to some of the other students who work themselves into exhaustion and health problems. Now that would be stupid. With just slightly less sleep and some grogginess, Mitsuru figures he’s doing pretty alright. There’s nothing to worry about, not for him or anyone around him.
“Mitsuru, your hand—!”
Yet Tomoya sounds plenty worried when he suddenly calls out to him during a break in their practice.
With Nazuna unable to attend, it was just the three of them rehearsing choreography in an empty classroom they had managed to borrow. It had been going fine, Mitsuru admittedly spacing out a little more than usual, but it was still fine! Or, it had been, until Tomoya had raised his voice so suddenly.
“Eh?” Mitsuru doesn’t even register that he had been picking again until Tomoya’s hands wrap around his own.
Tomoya’s touch is gentle, like he’s holding around a frightened animal. Mitsuru doesn’t understand why until he looks down and sees blood.
It looks more grotesque than it is, really. He must have managed to pick off a larger piece of skin without noticing, and then just kept picking until several of his fingertips were tinted in red too. It’s pretty gross.
“A-Ah, I’ll get a first aid kit!” Mitsuru hears Hajime say, unsurprisingly with a hint of panic in his voice.
“Eh? It’s not that serious yanno!” Mitsuru protests, about wipe the blood off on his jacket when Tomoya stops him, expression somewhere between concern and disgust. He pulls Mitsuru’s hands closer to him, inspecting the damage. It makes Mitsuru squirm in his seat, feet tapping a random rhythm against the floor again. Why were they making this seem like such a big deal?
“Almost all your fingers...” Tomoya mumbles, definitely more concerned now. It feels like he’s analyzing Mitsuru. The rhythm quickens. Tap tap tap tap—
“But I’m not bleeding from the rest.” The rest of his fingers definitely don’t look pretty, now that he’s taking a proper look at them. The skin is pink with irritation and there are tiny scabs here and there from where he had broken skin before too. Never anything too serious though, only enough to make it sting a little if he pokes them. “It’s not worse than a paper cut.”
“Yeah, but paper cuts aren’t self inflicted. This...” Tomoya doesn’t continue his sentence but Mitsuru has a feeling he knows what he’s getting at. He doesn’t comment on it.
“Here!” Hajime hurries into the room again with a first aid kit in his hands. “Can I see your hands, Mitsuru-kun?”
Mitsuru kind of wants to say no so they can just go back to practice already, but it’s obvious in both Tomoya and Hajime’s expressions that they’re too concerned to let this go. Mitsuru doesn’t really get why.
“It’s not that serious,” he says again, though he offers his hands to Hajime anyway. Might as well get this over with before he can cause any more trouble. “Looks worse than it is.”
“It looks like you’ve tried to scratch up nearly all your cuticles,” Tomoya says.
“Cuticles?” Mitsuru repeats because it’s yet another word he doesn’t understand. Cuticles? Cute? Cubicles? His feet start tapping again. He has way too much energy today— maybe that’s why he feels even stupider than usual. His mind is racing with thoughts that go by so fast he can’t even comprehend them, yet everything else moves at a painfully slow pace— and Mitsuru just exists in that disconnected little space between his mind and reality and it’s so weird.
“The skin around your nails,” Hajime explains as he begins disinfecting the teeny tiny wounds, which Mitsuru definitely thinks is way too much effort for something like this, but Hajime is always meticulous when it comes to helping people so Mitsuru doesn’t comment on that either. He’s been keeping many comments to himself these days and it’s really not helping him feel any calmer. With all that and the firecrackers constantly going off, he won’t be surprised if he just explodes one day.
“Cuticles, huh,” Mitsuru repeats it absentmindedly, trying to get a feel for the word. He hadn’t even known there was a word for that. He’ll probably forget it soon. His feet slow down.
“Why do you do it?” Tomoya suddenly asks, and Mitsuru loses whatever train of thought he had been on. Had he even been thinking about anything?
“Do what?”
“That,” Tomoya gestures to the fingers Hajime has started rapping plasters around. “Is it like biting your nails?”
“Uh.” Mitsuru doesn’t know. He’s never been the type to bite his nails— but he wasn’t the type to pick at his cuticles before either. He doesn’t know when that changed. “I just do it without thinking.”
“You could say that about most things you do,” Tomoya sighs, not in a rude way because Mitsuru knows Tomoya is just being Tomoya and sometimes that means saying some harsh things.
“Tomoya-kun.” Hajime speaks up and gives Tomoya a look Mitsuru can’t recognize. He looks surprisingly strict and something changes in Tomoya’s expression.
“You shouldn’t do it,” Tomoya tries a different tactic, like he’s trying to be strict and comforting at the same time, like a parent scolding a child— fitting, since Mitsuru is like the young troublemaker of their group, a kid still figuring out the difference between right and wrong.
“Why not?” He doesn’t really know why he’s asking. Had their roles been switched, Mitsuru would have been telling Tomoya the same thing.
“Because it’s— it’s bad! You’re bleeding!”
“Barely.”
“Still— you shouldn’t be—“
“There! All done!” Hajime chirps, interrupting before Tomoya and Mitsuru can turn their dumb discussion into an even dumber argument.
Mitsuru looks down at the bandaids now decorating some of this fingers. “Thank you!” he says, because he does appreciate the effort, even though it was kind of unnecessary. “But I don’t think I need this many band-aids?”
“They’ll keep you from picking more,” Hajime explains like he knows something Mitsuru doesn’t, which isn’t that surprising because Hajime knows lots of things.
“Oh,” Mitsuru says at the same time as Tomoya goes, “That’s a good idea.”
Hajime gives him that kind smile Mitsuru has learned to find comfort in, and it’s enough to make him feel better.
..
The following week continues on similarly, except Tomoya and Hajime keep a closer eye on Mitsuru. He’s pretty sure they’re trying to be discreet, with their concerned glances and questions about his well-being, but he can tell they’re still worried because of the little bleeding incident.
Mitsuru wishes they would just forget about it already. Though the concern is appreciated, it’s not necessary, and frankly, it’s starting to annoy him.
(Or maybe it’s the lack of sleep finally getting to him. Or the frustration over his lack of improved grades. Or the constant fear of falling behind. Or—)
He tells them that he’s fine, he tells them to stop worrying, he tells them that he’ll work harder on focusing during practice.
Hajime and Tomoya share a look that Mitsuru has seen plenty of times before. He’s seen his parents look at each other like that, seen his teacher and dad do it, his siblings too— Mitsuru doesn’t know what to call it, something between pity and concern and frustration, the ‘oh poor Mitsuru, he’s so dumb’-look.
Mitsuru stands up so suddenly Hajime jumps in his seat and Mitsuru feels bad about that too. “I’m gonna go,” is all he says before he turns on his heels and leaves. He realizes belatedly— as Tomoya and Hajime call his name after him— that he should probably explain that he’s not angry or annoyed at them, he’s just tired of pitying gazes and poorly disguised lectures. He just needs to go out and run, and then he’ll be fine. Then he’ll be back to happy Mitsuru, happy stupid Mitsuru who can’t pay attention in class and picks on his fingers till they bleed for reasons he doesn’t understand himself.
He wishes they could forget as fast as he does. Just forget that Mitsuru is sad sometimes and focus on him when he’s okay and happy instead. He really doesn’t like worrying them, but they’re his friends and they’re too nice, so they remember everything, including the moments when he’s a little less than happy.
Unsurprisingly, Mitsuru ends up on the rooftop. It’s where he takes most of his naps, where he likes to spend some time alone whenever he needs to. He has a vague feeling that being alone might not be the best right now, lest he overthink himself into that part of his mind he doesn’t like so much, but he can feel his body buzzing with emotions he doesn’t want anyone else to see.
He just wants to sit here, on this patch of grass, alone as he watches the sun slowly paint the sky in calming hues of orange and pink. He leans back, hands spread out on the grass behind him, some of the band-aids still wrapped around his fingers.
He wonders what it’s like to be like the others, to sit in class and not struggle to focus on paying attention. It’s kind of unfair, he thinks, that he doesn’t even get the chance to not understand the material, because he can’t even grasp what the material is in the first place.
Maybe he isn’t dumb. Maybe he’s just lost.
If he ends up having to retake a year... Maybe it’d be best to just not take it at all. Obviously, he can’t just quit high school altogether, but perhaps this isn’t the place for him— which would be a shame because he so dearly wishes this is the place he belongs. He belongs with his friends, his classmates, his senpais, Ra*bits. He loves them all so, so much, it feels like his heart will burst with all the love and admiration and gratitude he feels for all these people.
He wants to sing and dance with them, to learn and improve alongside his peers, so he can become a superstar idol who makes people smile, so he can cheer up those who are going through hard times.
And yet...
He wants to belong here, he really does, but he has enough self awareness to know that he causes a lot of trouble for those around him. And if all he does is bother people, and he has to retake a year and get left behind— then wouldn’t it be better if he wasn’t here?
Sometimes, he thinks about those professional looking men who had been at the track tournament, those men who had told him he had the skills to become an olympic athlete if he started training for it now. It’s not like becoming a famous athlete has ever been a huge dream for Mitsuru, but feeling like he’s actually good at something is a feeling he misses.
If he stopped being an idol... would he miss it just as much?
Wouldn’t it be better that way?— moving onto something he can be good at, somewhere his energy would be a benefit rather than a burden, and finally not bothering Hajime and Tomoya and Nazuna?
Would it make them happy?
Would it make him happy?
Losing two members at once might make things difficult, but with Ra*bits gaining more popularity, surely it wouldn’t be impossible to find new first years next year who would be interested in joining? That way, they’d be able to keep their cute image too.
As much as Mitsuru wants to deny it, he knows he’s gotten taller. He still hasn’t dared to measure his height, but he can tell by how the sleeves and pants of their costumes are getting shorter and tighter. It’s only a matter of time before someone notices and tells him he’s too big to be a cute, little rabbit. Maybe he was never meant to be one— or an idol for that matter. The thought makes his heart ache.
“Mitsuru-chin? Hey, Mits— Eh!? You’re—“
Nazuna’s voice is easy to recognize, startling Mitsuru out of his thoughts. He looks distressed as he approaches Mitsuru, hands raised awkwardly like he’s approaching a frightened animal. Mitsuru doesn’t understand why until he registers the faint wetness on his cheeks.
These days, this kind of reaction seems to be a common occurrence.
“H-Here, I have some tissues,” Nazuna offers and Mitsuru gratefully accepts the pack without a word. He feels like he’s in a daze, kind of disconnected from himself, from wherever he is.
It’s like playing a video game, controlling the main character but not actually being him.
“Mitsuru-chin?” Nazuna tries again, sitting down next to Mitsuru and making sure to keep some space between them. Mitsuru appreciates it. All of Ra*bits have figured out by now that Mitsuru has a strange relationship with physical affection, rarely hugging unless someone needed comfort. But now that he’s the one who needs comfort, maybe...
Mitsuru doesn’t cry that often. He can definitely be emotional, but for the most part, he leaves the crying to Hajime, and sometimes to Tomoya. But right now, with all these thoughts in his head, these emotions he doesn’t want, struggles he doesn’t understand— it’s too much. Too much for this stupid stupid brain of his.
Stupid, dumb, troublesome Mitsuru, crying over things he can’t understand, burdening his friends, annoying his classmates. Is that all he’s good for now?
The Mitsuru who had so confidently called himself the superstar of Ra*bits— where had he gone?
“Niichan—” His voice cracks on that single word and suddenly the tears in his eyes are multiplying and the lump in his throat is painful and he doesn’t know how but Nazuna understands and pulls him into a sorely needed hug.
It’s stupid because this is all his own fault but he feels so lonely— lonely in these struggles, lonely because he might have to leave the people he loves, so he cries about it until there’s a dark, wet spot on Nazuna’s jacket, and even then the tears just keep coming.
Nazuna remains mostly silent, save for a couple of comforting words here and there whenever Mitsuru lets out a particularly loud sob.
He doesn’t know how long he clings to Nazuna like the lost child he is, but eventually he regains some composure and manages to steady his breathing.
Nazuna speaks up as Mitsuru pulls back again, voice low and gentle. “I ran into Hajime-chin and Tomo-chin earlier... They were really worried, but they thought they had offended you somehow, so they weren’t sure if you wanted to see them.”
“...Sorry,” Mitsuru mumbles, even though he should be apologizing to Hajime and Tomoya instead of Nazuna. He just feels like he should be apologizing in general— for everything. For bothering everyone, for worrying them, for making the shoulder of Nazuna’s jacket wet.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Nazuna holds onto one of Mitsuru’s hands with both of his, warm and comforting as always. His fingers brush over Mitsuru’s knuckles, over the back of his palm, and then up to the fingers where some bandaids still remain. “Mitsuru-chin fidgets a lot, huh.”
Mitsuru’s gaze moves from their tangled hands and up at Nazuna, who gives a small smile. “Hajime-chin told me about what happened during practice.” There’s a pause. “He really is worried about you, Mitsuru-chin. Tomo-chin and I are too. It seems like you’ve had a lot on your mind lately... And I know you’re not the type to talk about personal problems, but we’re always here to listen to you when you do want to talk. Whatever it is that you’re going through, you don’t have to do it all alone. We’ve told you that before, haven’t we?”
With all the trouble Mitsuru had caused before that Bad Boys photoshoot, it’s no wonder that Nazuna is being so gentle now, every word carefully chosen to avoid scaring Mitsuru away.
Another round of tears prickle Mitsuru’s eyes and he tries his best to blink them away. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he also doesn’t want his problems to bother others. The rest of Ra*bits don’t deserve to be burdened with the trouble Mitsuru has created for himself— that’s what he had been telling himself this whole time. And yet, here he is, worrying everyone and crying in front of Nazuna. Was he bound to be a mess no matter what choice he made? Was he really that incapable of doing anything right?
His heart aches with each thought, each hateful question he directs at himself— but there are no answers, and it makes the hopelessness feel even worse. It’s so uncomfortable and strange and foreign, and it kind of feels like he’s going to be sick if he doesn’t find some kind of outlet for all of this.
And so he makes the selfish choice of telling Nazuna what’s been on his mind. He tells him about his awful exam results and about how he might have to retake the year because he’s too stupid to even focus on the most trivial of tasks. Tears start falling again at some point but Nazuna keeps his hands wrapped around Mitsuru’s, occasionally moving to wipe away some of the tears. For once, the touches feel grounding rather than being suffocating.
Maybe that’s what he needs right now. Something to hold him down before he drifts too far away. Ra*bits was exactly that but— but—! Isn’t it selfish of him to rely so much on them?
He’s always been a selfish person, through and through.
“Mitsuru-chin...” Nazuna’s voice is as gentle as earlier, eyebrows furrowed with worry, reminding Mitsuru of why he doesn’t like telling people about his problems in the first place. He looks away, ashamed. Guilty. Selfish!
“So this is what’s been bothering you, huh... And you kept it all to yourself.”
Mitsuru nods but doesn’t dare look at Nazuna again, keeping his gaze on a patch of grass.
Nazuna gives Mitsuru’s hands a gentle squeeze, comforting and safe, and just for this moment, it’s enough to make him believe that everything might somehow work out after all.
If only Mitsuru could find a way to keep this feeling with him forever, like a charm he could find comfort in whenever the explosions were too much, maybe then everything would be alright.
But Nazuna can’t be with him all the time, and it’s not right of Mitsuru to constantly rely on him. Same goes for Tomoya and Hajime, who are always there to help him and steer him in the right direction, no matter how many times he strays too far from the path.
“I’m always bothering everyone,” Mitsuru says quietly, “I should just quit Ra*bits.”
Nazuna blinks in surprise, clearly struggling to follow Mitsuru’s line of thought. “You... Mitsuru-chin, you don’t have to quit Ra*bits. Sure, you get into trouble now and then, but you don’t bother us.”
Mitsuru shakes his head, fingers twitching. “I do! I’m a bad boy— you said it yourself, yanno!”
Nazuna sighs. “If I knew you would keep bringing it up, I never would have called you that.”
“But you would still think it.”
“...Mitsuru-chin.” Nazuna’s hands tighten around Mitsuru’s, keeping him from picking at the band-aids. “I didn’t mean it as an insult, but... I’m really sorry that I hurt you. I shouldn’t have called you bad. Maybe... cheeky instead?”
Somehow, that’s enough to draw a quiet giggle out of Mitsuru. Cheeky. That did sound nicer, but it still didn’t deny his spot as the unit's troublemaker— which was fine. It is his role, after all. “You’re not gonna call me superstar?” he asks, finally looking at Nazuna, who lets out a brief laugh.
“See, there’s my cheeky Mitsuru-chin!” He ruffles Mitsuru’s hair, drawing more laughter out of him, the heaviness on his chest slowly lifting. It’s still there, suffocating in a way that makes him feel helpless, but perhaps... he isn’t as alone as he had thought.
“Ra*bits wouldn’t be Ra*bits without you, Mitsuru-chin,” Nazuna continues, a fond smile on his face. “And trust me, you’re not the only one of us who’s a little troublesome now and then. I know I’ve created issues for us before too—”
“Yeah, you have.”
“Hey, you didn’t have to agree so quickly!?” Nazuna gives him what’s supposed to be a stern look, but he’s smiling too much for it to be effective, and Mitsuru can feel himself smiling as well. “My point is— you don’t have to quit Ra*bits. I know things are tough right now, but we’ll help you get through it. So rely on us a little bit, alright? That’s what we Ra*bits does best— we help each other, and grow stronger together. ”
And Nazuna says it all so comfortingly, so convincingly, Mitsuru can’t help but put all his trust in his hands. If Nazuna— who has gone through so much— says things will be alright, then Mitsuru will believe that.
“Alright!” Nazuna stands up, offering a hand to Mitsuru. “Dust yourself off and let’s go find Tomo-chin and Hajime-chin. We’ve got some studying to do.”
..
Mitsuru’s anxieties don’t disappear overnight, but things get a little easier once he gets help and support from those around him. Hajime, Tomoya and Nazuna are all so willing to help him, he feels stupid for having kept his troubles to himself for so long. They might not be able to fix all his problems, but they certainly make him feel better than he has in weeks.
Learning to rely on his friends is a difficult lesson to learn— perhaps even more difficult than math and science! But with the rest of Ra*bits helping him out, he’s sure he’ll learn it someday.
Getting through class is still hard, but he manages to stop picking on his fingers, instead playing with a fidget cube Tomoya had gotten for him. It makes it a little easier to focus and follow along in class.
(When the teacher asks him to read the next passage in the book out loud, Mitsuru has less trouble picking up where the previous person had left off. He catches Tsukasa looking at him once he’s finished, so he shoots him a big smile and a thumbs up, which Tsukasa returns.)
Day by day, things continue on. Mitsuru has days where he falls asleep in class, as well as days where he manages to fill an entire page with notes. It’s a colorful mess thanks to the pens he had borrowed from Hajime, but it makes it easier for him to stay determined.
Day by day, things will get a little easier. He’ll share his burdens and walk with his friends, he’ll hold their hands; not only to keep himself from running on ahead, but also to keep them from stumbling. Nazuna had been right— this is what Ra*bits does best.
Mitsuru passes the exam.