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Kashima hoists herself, nimbly, over the school gates. She drops to the ground with her fist against the dirt, furtively looking off to either side before rising up. Of all days to be late to school today is the absolute worst, and Kashima intends to keep herself from being caught at all costs. Today is no day to get herself detained in an administrative office for a talking-to. Today is Hori-senpai's graduation.
Kashima swings to her feet, dusting herself off with vigor. Even a little bit of dirt on her knees is utterly inexcusable, not when it's imperative that she look handsome and put-together as soon as she makes it to the graduation ceremony. It's not too late. Though the school day may have begun for the first-years, she's certain she can make it to the proceedings before the third years file in to take their seats. She has a plan.
She shoots another look off to each side of her, takes a deep breath, and then takes off at a full-tilt run across the campus.
After being chased by Hori-senpai for two long years of her high school career, Kashima is quite the sprinter. Her legs carry her across the grass and down along the side of the main school building, until she's bent over outside the gymnasium's long external wall, clutching her knees and wheezing in deep, gasping breaths. She realizes only after she's stopped that it's not very subtle at all.
She rights herself, sucking in a deep breath and holding it so that she'll stop giving her position away just by being winded. She lets the breath back out after a seven count, and again her lungs smile on her when that's all she needs to recover. She is an actor, after all – breathing exercises come with the territory, and she does have quite the set of pipes.
Kashima makes one last scouting call, looking off toward the school gates, then around in the opposite direction, before sidling up to the gym's external door. This is her do-or-die moment. She has one chance. She reaches for the handle and – victory!
Someone has forgotten to lock the gym's outside door.
The handle turns underneath Kashima's gently coaxing fingers, and she lets it, twisting it and pulling the door just the shortest breadth open. She gives herself another minute. Smooths down her hair. Straightens the hem of her jacket. She doesn't look at all like she's been running sprints, nope, not her. She sticks herself sideways in through the door and pulls it closed behind her.
Inside the gymnasium, chairs are lined up all across the floor, set in an ordered array before the stage at the front of the room. Several of the chairs in the teachers' section are already occupied, but not all of them. She's not too late. The sections for second year students are unanimously filled but with the ceremony not yet started, a low din of voices rises up from them while her peers make conversation with their seatmates. No one has turned around to look at Kashima, stood inside the external doors at the back of the room. Her plan is working!
Kashima swans down the central aisle like it was made for her to walk it, playing it smooth so no one will realize she's out of place. The section for her class is just a short way up – toward the back of the room isn't great seats, if she's concerned about seeing the stage, but for slipping in it's amazing – and she should make it no problem.
If it weren't for the students starting to look up at her, starting to whisper.
"Kashima-san," one girl hisses in a stage whisper. "I love your uniform!"
"Yes, Kashima-san," another girl calls from the other side of the aisle. "You're looking so dapper, I don't know why everyone doesn't dress up!"
"Our school doesn't wear gakuran, does it?" one boy asks, a little too loudly as he looks down at himself.
"No, stupid," his friend on his left tells him. "You've been wearing that uniform for two years now, you should know. That's just Kashima. She's in the theater club, it's probably just some kind of stunt."
Kashima tilts her back a little straighter, pressing her palm to her chest and preening underneath the praise. So many of her lovely princesses are looking at her, surely no one will notice if she just stops in the aisle for a second, takes a moment to compliment one lovely dove on the way her hair is curled for the ceremony, or to tell another of the maidens watching her how lovely her eyes happen to look in the gymnasium's yellow light.
"Kashima," she hears from behind her, in far more brusque a voice than the tones her peers were using. "Why aren't you in your seat, young lady?"
"Sorry, sorry," Kashima babbles, holding up both hands in a sign for apology. "I needed to... I'll take it right now, don't worry!"
Her science teacher levels her with a long, disbelieving stare, familiar with the sound of her lies after a year of having her in his class, but lets it pass. He settles back in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee, and Kashima heaves a soft sigh of relief. He's letting her off the hook. He doesn't realize she was late. She's in the gymnasium and the graduation ceremony is about to start and she did it. She's right in place for Hori-senpai's graduation!
Kashima darts into her seat, but after all the excitement of her stunning break-in, she can hardly focus on the singing of the national anthem, or of the school song. She mouths the words more than sings them, head lolling forward in boredom. The steady droning of upperclassmen's names only serves to further lull her into unfocused complacency, until her head snaps up at the sound of "Hori Masayuki!"
His "Hai!" sounds out, a respectable shout that she can hear perfectly even from many rows away, just as she sees his back straighten when he stands to give it.
Kashima isn't close with any other third years. She gets parfaits and ice cream and crepes with third year girls all the time, but she hardly bothers to remember any of those princesses' given names. That's not the point – if she were to tie herself down so obviously to particular girls with words and names, why, it would be unthinkable. How would any of her darlings feel special, with her playing favorites like that?
No, Kashima never pays so much attention to names and status. There's just... Hori-senpai, her leader, proud champion of the school's theater. She's his favorite kouhai. She has to be sure to pay attention when he rises during the ceremony, otherwise how will she keep her position of favorite kouhai?
How will she keep her position of favorite kouhai, when Hori-senpai graduates and Kashima doesn't see him in school any more?
Kashima ponders this, a bit solemnly, through the rest of the reading of the names. After that come speeches, so many boring speeches. Oh, and the claiming of the diplomas, but she's in another world for that, too – her attention wanders, caught by the pretty girl two seats to her right, then flitting away to consider whether she'll really have afternoon classes after all of this. Her attention only snaps back when she again hears Hori-senpai's voice.
He's on the stage, holding a long sheet she knows will have words to read from, just as well as she knows that Hori-senpai doesn't need it. He might choose not to step on stage, might choose to take the background role in leadership and set design, but Hori-senpai is an actor just as she is. Kashima is positive he has his speech memorized. She just never knew he was selected as the speaker for his graduating class.
The words themselves are memorable – lots of talk about the things his peers have all accomplished together in their high school days, lots of talk about what they'll achieve on life's grander stage, it's very poetic and Kashima never quite realized Hori had that in him, unless someone else was responsible for its scripting – but what really resonates with Kashima is Hori-senpai's voice. He projects without flaw, each word neatly enunciated, every pause that's given placed for best effect. He's an incredible speaker.
He's an incredible actor, and there's a weird pang seizing Kashima right in the chest, as she finds herself wishing Hori-senpai could have been on the stage more during his three years of high school. Everyone who didn't get to see him perform was missing out.
The speeches continue, the ceremony concludes, and the entire time Kashima is vibrating in her seat. She's near buzzing with the energy sizzling along her veins, pressing her to get up, to move, to do something. Her left hand is still clenched in a fist and has been ever since she made it to the school grounds first thing that morning, seized around the button pressing firm against her palm.
The third years all depart, file out in droves until it's only the second years left in their seats. Kashima knows she's meant to go back to class, to get a little learning in at the end of the day just like the first years who didn't come to the ceremony. She ducks out of the group the first chance she gets, as her class is released back into the halls.
No one even reacts, when she bursts into Hori-senpai's classroom.
The students there all have a head start on her; they have their yearbooks out and are standing together in throngs, chatting and exchanging their yearbooks for signatures and to look at each other's photos. Everyone is more interested in talking to each other than in the girl standing dramatically in the doorway. For once, Kashima is fine with that.
The front of her gakuran jacket gapes open wide around the neck, shows the white collar of her usual school shirt and the red of her tie. It fits a little funny because it wasn't meant for a frame as narrow as hers, even if her shoulders are a bit wider than those of all the lovely daffodils she takes out for desserts any afternoon that she can. She has her palm against the doorframe, pressed there hard like she's striking a pose. Then she lets go, striding across the room to where Hori-senpai is speaking with another upperclassman.
"Take it," she declares, shooting out her left palm in his direction like she's punching the air.
He looks up, so that the dawning of recognition spreads across his face, bright before it's overshadowed by familiar frustration, and Kashima immediately braces for impact. She's half expecting him to punt her across the room but he doesn't, just visibly resigns himself to whatever ridiculousness she's springing on him.
"Take it," Kashima says again, less forceful, more excited, twisting her wrist so her hand shakes in prompting.
"What is it?" Hori asks, lifting his arms to cross them over his chest rather than to hold out his hands for her gift.
"Take it," Kashima repeats one more time. "Go on, go on, hold out your hand."
Hori stares at her fist for a long moment more, warily, like he doesn't trust what will happen if he gives in to its mystery promise. But slowly, suspiciously, he raises his hand to cup under hers in reception of the gift.
Kashima drops the button into his upturned palm, pulling her hand back with a smile.
"What's this?" Hori asks, his voice so flat it almost isn't a question.
"It's my second button," Kashima announces, beaming at him. She folds the collar of her jacket over, so that it's her hand holding it shut, and with her free hand taps the gap in its buttons. "From my uniform."
Hori turns it over in his palm, fingering it with his free hand so that while Kashima watches, for just a few protracted seconds, his face goes soft and thoughtful. But then he breathes out and it's an exasperated sound, same as normal.
"You're doing this wrong," he tells her, irritated and just a bit despairing. He fists his hand around the button, tight so she can see his knuckles dent. "I don't want it."
Around them, his friends and classmates are starting to pay attention. Kashima can feel the eyes on her, can feel her natural urge to bask in the attention threatening to kick in, like the increased weight of each stare is focusing like a spotlight on a stage. But right now none of that really matters – Hori-senpai is graduating, and Hori-senpai is trying to return her gift.
"But it's for you, Hori-senpai," she wheedles, trying to smile cutely at him. When it's him, she just can't turn on the same thousand-watt grin she uses with her princesses. "To remember me by."
His mouth drops open, open and closed like a fish, before he scrubs one hand across his short hair. She waits, eager like a puppy, eager for Hori-senpai to accept her token and to prove, in a way, that she is the favored kouhai once and for all. She doesn't really remember who she heard about it from, but that's how this works – the second button of a gakuran uniform, for memories. She has so many memories. It was just the uniform she'd had to obtain for the occasion.
"You don't even know what you're talking about."
He still sounds exasperated, but his hand drops, his arm again falling to rest by his side. Kashima beams brighter at him, because relenting is the first step towards forgiveness, with Hori-senpai.
"Keep it close to your heart," she says, placing one hand over her chest where the uniform has again fallen open, "like it was close to mine."
Hori's hand snaps out, the empty one, lands hard against Kashima's arm so that it takes a moment for her to register the sting. But it's nothing compared to when he's mad at her – it's so gentle for Hori that it registers with Kashima as fond. She did well, she did so well, she's just – almost – waiting for him to say it.
"This is all," he says instead, "Right? You're going to go back to your class now, right?"
"You're supposed to say thank you–" she starts.
He shoots her a warning look.
"—for the gift," she continues anyway. "Because I did it for you. Just for you."
"Come on, Hori," one of his classmates says. "Are you really going to turn down a prince?"
"Yeah, are you going to keep her waiting?" another teases. "That's really cold, I didn't realize you were that kind of a guy."
Kashima just stands there, endlessly expectant, waiting for her smack or her thank-you, whichever comes first.
"Don't," is all Hori says to his classmates, before he takes Kashima by the upper arm.
His grip is tight, fingers digging into the meat of her bicep and holding on with bruising firmness. As immediately as he grabs her, he starts to drag her toward the door, and Kashima stumbles in trying to follow him. As soon as they're out it, Hori pushes it shut behind them.
"Were you expecting anything?" he asks. It's abrupt, so that it comes off as more of a demand. "No, of course you weren't, you idiot. You don't know what you're doing at all. Just... Bend down for a second. Do that, alright?"
Dutifully, Kashima bends her knees, and Hori leans forward to just brush his lips against her cheek. They're dry, when they brush her skin, so she almost doesn't register it as a kiss.
"Thanks," he says, gruffly. "Not like I could've forgotten all of your shit if I tried."
The reality sinks in on Kashima, and she throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezes him tight and nearly lifts him from the ground, so that Hori smacks her back several times in demand that she release him.
"Stop, stop, I'll take it back," he says, so that she lets go just as fast.
"It's too late," she says, a bit smugly. "You already said thank you. You kissed me. You can't take it back."
She taps her cheek, twice, absolutely preening. She thinks, a little, that Hori-senpai looks like he wants to die.
"Go back to class, Kashima."
"You took it," she reminds him again. "And you're going to keep it, right? And treasure it? I'll visit you at university, Hori-senpai, so you don't forget me. But of course you couldn't forget me, I'm your favorite kouhai."
He makes an exasperated sound, but through it, Kashima thinks that he's smiling. "You're not my kouhai at all any more."
"I'll always be Hori-senpai's kouhai," Kashima says, like it's simply a matter of fact.
Hori is silent, for a very long moment. But it doesn't feel uncomfortable – just quiet, and waiting, like all the frenetic energy Kashima has been running on since the morning has finally burnt out and it's just her, and Hori, and he's accepted her gift and her feelings and the fact that clearly, she really was his favorite all along.
"Yeah, I guess you will."
She crows softly in delight and darts in to kiss his cheek back before he can regret it, the skin hot under her lips like maybe – maybe – his face is burning, but she can't risk ruining the moment now.
"Thanks Hori-senpai!" she says, jumping a step back. "Goodbye!"
Then she darts off down the hall, before he can find a way to take it back after all.
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