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Itsuki stared at the little pink stationary as though it were an alien object.
He, of course, recognized it for what it was: a confession letter. What he didn’t understand was why he kept finding such things in his desk. Ever since he hit puberty, Itsuki had begun to receive a smattering of letters from shy hopefuls, and each new overture was more confusing and frustrating than the last.
Half of the time, the girls who called him out to confess were strangers Itsuki had no memory of seeing, let alone speaking to.
Why him? Why were people targeting him? He would assume it was some kind of joke, except that when he dragged himself to meet the senders, all the girls appeared to be one-hundred percent serious.
They talked about his height, his good looks, his quiet personality, and all the while, Itsuki stood there, trying to parse how any of those things could convince a girl who had never spoken to him before that she had strong enough feelings to confess.
Is that how other people worked? They saw a face and caught feelings from it? Is that how most people worked?
Itsuki grimaced and lowered the paper. He just didn’t get it. And he was tired of trudging up to the rooftop, or down to the bleachers by the sports fields, or over to the maple tree out front of the school just to listen to a stranger stutter out her feelings for five minutes while he thought of the quickest, most polite way to tell her no, thank you.
It was a waste of everyone’s time.
“Hey, Abeno-san!”
Ashiya waved from the door and began the process of pulling his bag off his shoulder and over his head as he approached. He placed his bag down on the top of his desk and glanced back at Itsuki.
“What’s that?”
“Hm? Oh… A letter…”
“A letter, huh? It’s pink.” Ashiya tilted his head and a grin flashed onto his face. “Don’t tell me it’s a confession?”
“Yeah,” Itsuki sighed.
Ashiya stared at him, the playful smile frozen on his face. Itsuki stared back, nonplussed.
“Wait, what? Seriously?”
“Why would I joke about that?”
Ashiya’s eyes widened. “What! I can’t believe it. You got a confession letter?”
Itsuki narrowed his eyes. “Yes. Why are you so surprised?”
“Well, I mean…”
Ashiya paused. His mouth and hands worked silently for a moment, obviously struggling to translate whatever insulting reason had popped into his head into nicer words.
Itsuki glared harder.
Ashiya blew out a breath. “Because you always look like that,” he said, throwing out a hand to indicate Itsuki’s stormy expression. “You don’t even try to look friendly. Even towards your friends!”
Right?! Itsuki wanted to shout back. I don’t look approachable, right? So why? Apparently, he and Ashiya were the only sane people in the school. Or maybe men and women just had very different criteria for what was attractive.
“Apparently nobody cares,” Itsuki grumbled. He scowled at the pink letter. “I get them all the time.”
Ashiya’s mouth popped open. “All the time? W-what…” This was too much for him to handle; he plopped down in his seat and stared at Itsuki with strange wonder. “I guess… You do have that brooding loner thing going on,” he said with a frown. “I’ve heard jokes about girls liking that sort of stuff, but I guess it’s true after all.”
Itsuki cocked an eyebrow. “ ‘Brooding loner?’ ”
“Yeah, you know. You’re always by yourself, staring off into space, looking like you’re thinking deeply about something. It makes you seem,” Ashiya wiggled his fingers in the air, “mysterious.”
What? Do I do that?
“I don’t do that. And I’m not by myself; you’re always around.”
A light laugh pushed past Ashiya’s lips. “Well, maybe lately. But, anyway, I don’t really count. I barely register, like a shadow or a ghost. When it comes to girls, I’m practically a youkai—completely invisible.”
Itsuki frowned. Ashiya’s comparison was ridiculous. He was too loud and annoying to be invisible, and he was nothing like a youkai. Though, sometimes he did leave Itsuki feeling drained.
Ashiya sighed. “Man… I’m jealous. I never get confession letters.”
Itsuki thrust the letter at his face. “You can have this one.”
Ashiya’s eyes bugged out and he jerked back so fast that his elbow made an audible clack as it hit the edge of the window.
“I can’t take your confession letter, Abeno-san! It’s for you, and that’s rude!”
A few heads turned in their direction, but once the persons realized it was just Ashiya freaking out like usual, they lost interest.
Itsuki retracted the letter and pursed his lips. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he sort of hoped it would be that easy to be rid of the burden.
Itsuki plunked down in his seat and eyed the letter as though it were a death threat. He supposed he would have to meet the girl. Even if he didn’t want to, it would be impolite to ignore it.
Itsuki dropped his arms down onto the desk and buried his face in them.
“When does she want to meet?”
Itsuki lifted his head a smidge so there was enough light to read the letter’s contents. He caught a glimpse of Ashiya nursing his elbow before he dropped his face into darkness again.
“After school, by the bleachers.”
Again. I wonder if this one’s also on the softball team.
“Hm. I’m guessing you’re going to reject her?”
“Of course I’m rejecting her. I don’t know who she is.”
Ashiya’s sigh was a mournful sound. “What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”
“I don’t know. There’s no signature.”
“Then how do you know you don’t know her?”
Itsuki lifted his head and speared Ashiya with a dry look. “I don’t know any girls in this school. Except Zenko.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then, simultaneously, they shook their heads and said, “It’s not Zenko.”
Ashiya nodded and twisted his mouth to the side as he considered. “Well… Good luck. Since this isn’t your first confession, you probably already have a script for letting them down easy, so I won’t offer any advice.”
“Says the guy who’s never received a confession letter.”
Ashiya’s cheeks turned pink. “Shut up. Obviously, everyone who likes me is just very shy! Too shy to write a letter.”
“Lucky you,” Itsuki said with feeling.
He rested his chin in his hand and stared out the window. The weather was creeping into spring so slowly that the trees didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Some had begun to grow buds and change colors, while others were still nothing but skeletal brown branches. The sky was cloudless and sunny as a fine summer morning, but the temperature was a chilly eleven degrees Celsius.
Itsuki wished it were summer. In summer, there was no school and he didn’t have to see people unless he wanted to. No unwanted confessions, no obligations. The days were just a long string of warmth and routine: Work at the Mononokean, go home, go to sleep, and do it all again the next day.
“You dislike it that much?”
Itsuki turned back to Ashiya. His friend’s expression was searching, maybe even a little concerned.
“The confessions? Yeah, I do. I don’t get why all these girls I don’t know keep confessing to me. It’s stupid.”
“I don’t know. That’s a little strong, Abeno-san. They see something they like about you and want to get to know you better.”
“What’s there to like? They don’t even know me.”
“You don’t need to know someone to be attracted to them. They’re physically attracted to you, and that makes them want to get to know you, to see if they still like you when they do know you.”
Itsuki stared blankly. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”
Ashiya shifted so that he was straddling the chair and facing Itsuki head on. “You’ve never seen someone and thought, ‘That person is really pretty’?”
Itsuki thought for a moment. “I have, but that doesn’t make me want to write them a letter about it.”
“Well, that’s okay. I’m not brave enough to do that, so I wouldn’t either. But you’ve never seen someone so pretty you’ve wanted to get to know them better?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Ashiya crossed his arms over the back of his chair and rested his head atop them. His eyes looked darker all of a sudden, more of a sapphire than their typical royal blue hue.
“What?”
Itsuki didn’t like the way Ashiya’s stare made him feel: Like he was not normal; like Ashiya knew something Itsuki didn’t know.
“What if the confession letter was from a boy?” said Ashiya. “Would you feel differently?”
“I don’t care who writes it. I don’t want them.”
“So no matter what, if it’s a stranger writing you a love letter, you’ll hate it?”
“Yes.”
Ashiya hummed in thought. “Why do you think that is? Is it just that you don’t want to be in a relationship right now?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t care. I have other things to think about.” Itsuki huffed and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t want to be in a relationship now. Do you ?”
Ashiya shrugged, but apparently he wasn’t going to let the topic of conversation switch to him. “Do you think you’ll ever want to be in a relationship?”
“I don’t know,” Itsuki growled, voice rising. “What’s with all the questions?”
Ashiya sat up and put his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m just trying to understand.”
Itsuki crossed his arms over his chest and turned his face aside. He wished he had never told Ashiya about the letter. He didn’t like talking about his sexuality, and he especially didn’t like discussing it with Ashiya.
“You know, there are people who don’t experience romantic attraction.”
“Ashiya.”
“It’s called being ‘aromantic,’ or aro, for short. Maybe you’re that.”
“Maybe you should take a hint and shut up.”
Ashiya’s shoulders shot to his ears. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to offend you… I just… Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
Ashiya swung his leg around and faced forward.
The heat went out of Itsuki’s blood. He didn’t mean to snap and make Ashiya shy away. He was just trying to help. Ashiya couldn’t help but try to solve and advise on any and all problems put before him. That was his nature, and Itsuki didn’t resent him for that or desire that he change.
It was just…
Itsuki had already looked into this. He already knew about asexuality and aromanticism and all that. He thought he probably was somewhere on that spectrum.
But he also knew that being asexual was not the norm—or at least, everyone and everything represented in mainstream society seemed to indicate that it wasn’t. “Normal” people apparently saw someone they thought was attractive and wrote them a letter so that they could meet each other and possibly date. If they worked well together, then they got married and bought a house and had children.
Itsuki didn’t want to think about it.
Life was already hard enough being human and the Master of the Mononokean at the same time. If he added being someone’s partner into the mix…
It was too much. There wasn’t enough of him to pour into a third identity. Maybe someday that would change.
Or maybe not.
But for the moment he only wanted to focus on what he wanted to focus on. Which was class, which was starting in five minutes. And after that…
Well, he guessed he’d have to go see a girl by the bleachers.
Itsuki laid back down on his desk and closed his eyes.