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Gakushu is like a cat. When he sees a light, he’ll follow it.
His light goes by the name Ren Sakakibara. He is 6 when they first met, and Gakushu is stunned by how bright his eyes are. Becuase Ren has a natural kind of charm too him, one that draws Gakushu in.
He trails after Ren for a while, and the taller boy is kind, including him in all the games the other kids play at recess.
Gakushu has always struggled with social interaction. He’s always too distant, or too strange.
But he follows Ren’s lead those first formative years, when he’s still young and vulnerable, not yet hardened by life.
Ren always comforted him when he cried, helped him deal with all the stress. He held Gakushu’s hand when he broke his leg because his father pushed him to overtrain in soccer.
Of course, then he gets older, Gakushu’s tears dry out and he becomes numb.
Gakushu becomes the leader now, he’s picked up on the art of social interaction, his father has taught him how to manipulate.
He doesn’t need Ren anymore.
And yet, on his worst days, Gakushu still relies on Ren to help him get through it all.
Ren’s still his light, even after all these years.
Gakushu is like a cat. When he’s cornered, he’ll lash out, scarring anyone who comes near him.
He lashes out at E class.
His rationality behind tearing them down is complicated, he needs to constantly justify what he’s doing.
(Becuase he knows it’s wrong. He knows he shouldn’t—)
He tells himself he’s doing it for the glory of A class.
Deep down he knows he’s doing it because he’s afraid.
Afraid of what’ll happen if this system his father built collapses. And what that means for him, the Ace on top of it all.
Takebayashi is the first to tell it straight to him.
“Strong? It looked like a group of people who were scared. You and everyone else.”
Gakushu’s breath hitches.
For the first time he realizes that E class just might be right.
Gakushu is like a cat
Every time he falls, he lands on his feet. He can take anything. He’ll take any hit without crying out.
And he’ll get back up on his feet.
When his father throws him across the classroom, Gakushu doesn’t cry.
(He wants to—oh, he so wants to, but he forces the tears down.)
Becuase he’s like a cat. Resilient.
He has to be.
So he looks up at his father and laughs.
Gakushu is like a cat.
Karma tells him so when they’re 16, on their third date.
Gakushu is resting his head against Karma’s shoulder, leaning into Karma’s warmth.
He’s touch starved enough that Karma’s gentle fingers stroking his hair makes him sigh.
“I’m like a cat?” Gakushu repeats, sleepily as he tries to pay attention to the movie playing in front of them.
“Yeah. You’re really soft. And cute.” Karma grins at him, pulling him closer.
Gakushu mock hisses at Karma, and Karma meows back at him.
(Their loud animalistic noises soon get them kicked out of the movie theater. Neither of them seem to care.)
He’s 18 when Karma and him break up.
It was a long time coming. Gakushu’s heading to the US, and Karma’s staying in Japan.
He knew.
And yet, it still hurts.
Gakushu cries into Ren’s shoulder—Ren is still by his side, even after 12 years—and Ren spends the night with him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.
But Gakushu can’t sleep. He just stares at his phone, reading the last text Karma sent him over and over again.
“Cats are resilient. They always land on their feet. And most importantly, cats survive. So survive, Shuu. And maybe we can meet again some day. I love you.”
Gakushu wipes his tears away and stares out at the hollowed moon.
All of a sudden, he doesn’t feel sad before.
Becuase he’s decided he’s coming back to Karma one day. It won’t be for forever.
(People forget that cats can be territorial.)