Chapter Text
Natsume was a ball of contradictions. In the time Nishimura spent watching his friend, this was one of the conclusions he had arrived at.
Exhibit A.
When Natsume first transferred in, he stood at the front of the class and introduced himself with a simple name and greeting. His voice was quiet and polite, his features soft and gentle. Light-colored hair, pale skin, and long eyelashes framing those glassy marble-like eyes. Along with the way his expressions rarely strayed from either a cool and mature smile or a distant and mysterious gaze, he easily caught the attention of many girls in the class. Not to mention, the wall he always seemed to have around him only served to add to his overall mysterious allure, not at all helping in making the new transfer student any less popular.
Nishimura found him boring.
Sure, if he were even a fraction of what Natsume was, then maybe he’d finally have a chance at getting a girlfriend, but Nishimura couldn’t imagine himself ever being friends with the ‘cool guy’ in school. He liked messing around and cracking jokes and being sarcastic with his friends, and at first, the quiet and mature transfer student seemed like the last person to be interested in any of his shenanigans.
But then Nishimura found that cool guy who always seemed so steady in everything he did—from the expressions he wore on his face, to the responses he gave his classmates, to the distance he kept from the people around him—collapsed haphazardly on the forest floor. He saw his cool features contorting nervously as he sat on the genkan of his house. He heard his calm voice speak so brightly, so fondly, about something as simple as his bedroom. And then, he finally learned from Sasada about his childhood that was the farthest thing from steady.
And then they became friends, and Nishimura learned that Natsume was anything but the cool guy. Sure, he still looked cool, he’d give him that—but in actuality, Natsume was just awkward and childish. That cool smile he always had plastered on his lips and the polite speech that came out of it were all because he didn’t know any other way to get along with the people around him. Take down that invisible wall that he always had lurking around him, and Natsume Takashi was practically a child who was still learning how to socialize.
He tried to learn how to fold origami in secret to surprise his foster mother. He kept a silly-looking cat and named it ‘Nyanko-sensei’, of all things. He easily said all these sappy and embarrassing things out loud, because he just never learned social norms like that. He played along when Nishimura messed around, laughed at his jokes, and rolled his eyes at his sarcastic remarks. He was awkward and childish and playful and sweet—and was one of Nishimura’s best friends.
Natsume was everything that Nishimura never thought he would be—a pleasant surprise in his life.
Exhibit B.
Continuing from the realization that Natsume was surprisingly childish, Nishimura and Kitamoto soon learned that their new friend was inexperienced in many other things as well—in particular, bug-catching and fishing, which were “staples of playing in the countryside,” as Nishimura had coined it. So the boys made it their mission to drag their rather lanky friend into the familiar forests and teach him about the wonders of the boonies. Watching his face pale in disgust at the bugs and his eyes sparkle when he caught his first fish made the familiar pastime so much more fun and refreshing than they had ever remembered it to be. Nishimura absently thought that this must be what it meant for something to be more fun when others are with you but immediately shook the cheesy thought off and instead rushed to help Natsume place his catch in the bucket.
“Today’s lesson will be tree-climbing!” Nishimura announced with both hands on his hips and a smug grin on his lips. In front of him, Kitamoto blandly clapped his hands as he droned out a very unenthusiastic cheer, while Natsume blinked curiously.
“Tree-climbing?” He echoed.
“Yeah!”
“I can do that.”
“…What?”
This time, it was Nishimura who was blinking at him. Kitamoto, too, had spun his head around in shock. Perhaps it was rude of them to be as surprised as they were at their friend’s capability to climb trees, but they had spent the last few weekends teaching him how to fish and catch bugs, and it had become very apparent to them that Natsume was not at all familiar with playing in the forest.
So how could he possibly know how to climb trees?
But when they asked him to show them, the boy did swiftly climb up the nearest tree with ease. The way he grabbed onto the branches, braced his foot against the uneven bark, and hoisted himself up until he was safely on top—all of it showed that he was, indeed, very familiar with climbing trees.
“Wow,” was all Nishimura could say as he looked up at Natsume’s embarrassed smile from under the shade of the tree.
Another thing that he realized at this point—a faint thought that had been lurking but never quite materialized because of how insignificant it seemed—was that in all the time they spent with Natsume in the forest, regardless of how inexperienced he was with the activities they taught him, walking around the forest itself never seemed to bother the boy. He didn’t know how to fish or catch bugs, but he hiked through the uneven terrain and overgrown greenery easily enough, always casually keeping up to pace with them.
So Nishimura had to wonder—how did Natsume come to be so familiar with navigating through the forest and climbing up trees if he was never there to fish or catch bugs? What other reason would a teenage boy have to spend his time running around a forest if not for fun?
Nishimura wanted to know, but for some reason, he felt like Natsume wouldn’t answer even if he had asked.
Exhibit C.
While Nishimura had long debunked the “Natsume is mature” myth that he had conjured up in his head when they first met, he realized later into their friendship that there were still traces of truth in it. After all, wasn’t it a very adult thing to constantly be considerate of those around you and to work for the betterment of ‘the whole’ rather than yourself? Natsume embodied that—but a little too much, Nishimura felt, so he decided that Natsume still wasn’t mature after all.
If there was one thing that Nishimura quickly noticed about Natsume, it was how much the boy held back. It was obvious enough early on in their friendship, but it was the one thing that would come up over and over again, would become more and more prominent, the longer you knew him. Natsume did everything in his power to avoid causing trouble for those around him, so much so that he included in that category even things that didn’t count as trouble, especially not for those who cared about him. Falling sick, getting hurt, needing help—the thought of ‘inconveniencing’ others would always make the boy’s face go pale, so he’d always push himself to his limits and dismiss their worries with a painfully fake yet carefully crafted smile.
But then there were times when he would act so randomly, so haphazardly—in the exact way he would normally be doing his best to avoid.
One time, on their way home, Nishimura was excitedly sharing with them the story of how he managed to win free tickets to Natori Shuuichi’s next film, when Natsume suddenly jumped and interrupted him with a quick and mechanical, “I forgot something at school,” before turning around and leaving him behind mid-story.
There was another time when they had promised to hang out on the weekend to check out the new donut shop in town that Kitamoto’s sister told him about, but Natsume never came. They waited an hour, and another, before calling the Fujiwara house to find out that he had, in fact, left the house already—but he still never made it to their meeting spot that day. The next day, Touko called to let them know that he had come back late at night with a high fever and several cuts and bruises.
Normally, running off in the middle of a conversation or standing a friend up were objectively rude things to do. But this was Natsume—Natsume who always hated causing trouble for others, Natsume who was always so polite and considerate, Natsume who always listened so intently to his dumbest stories, Natsume who always made it clear how much he loved hanging out with them. Natsume who would always, without fail, come to apologize for suddenly running off or standing them up, and would always, always, always look so distraught and guilty and just utterly miserable for having done so.
Nishimura had no idea what could make someone like Natsume, who hated inconveniencing others more than he probably hated parsley, to suddenly do those things or act that way. He felt like he could almost figure something out, from the way Natsume’s face would pale in horror before he’d run off or the way he’d often fall sick after something weird happened, but at the same time, it all felt too distant and vague to grasp and form into something concrete.
All Nishimura could tell, though, was that Natsume would never do anything ‘rude’ on purpose. He was probably the last person anybody would suspect of holding bad intentions, so no matter how guilty or horrified he would look as he apologized every time it happened, Nishimura, too, would just sling his arm over his shoulders and give him the same grin each time. He’d retell his dumb story and hang out with him in the weekend, over and over, until the guilt on his friend’s face was washed out by a genuine smile.
Exhibit D.
When Nishimura went to a festival held in a nearby town, he was expecting festival food, stall games, prizes, fireworks, and just an overall great time with his best buds.
What he wasn’t expecting was ending up glaring daggers at a complete stranger behind one of the kiosks. The boy was returning the glare to him, though with a little hesitation and confusion in the mix. Nishimura couldn’t see what expression Natsume had on his face behind him right now, but all that mattered to him was the pale and miserable expression he had before Nishimura had stepped up to shield him from the other guy. Kitamoto usually made it his job to stop him from getting into trouble, but for once, he was standing firmly by his side with his arms crossed and a similar scowl on his face.
“What’s your problem?” Nishimura hissed, not bothering to hide his hostility. “Not only do you call out to Natsume yourself when he was just minding his own business, but you start insulting him out of nowhere? Is this fun for you lot?”
Nishimura redirected his glare to the boy’s friends who lurked behind him. He had felt pleasantly surprised for a moment when an unfamiliar face called out to his friend and introduced himself as a distant cousin, but then he just started blabbing on to his friends about how Natsume lived with them before and how weird and freaky and unpleasant he was—all with Natsume standing right in front of them, as if he called out to him just to use him as something for them to laugh at together.
Nishimura hated the things he said about Natsume, the laughs and sneers and pointed fingers, and just everything about what they were doing, really. But more than anything, Nishimura hated the way Natsume paled and wilted at those cruel words, the way his gaze lowered and shoulders hunched, the way he never did anymore around them—but it all came back so easily, and that just reminded Nishimura of how deep the damage done to his friend was. That even if he always looked fine on the surface, there were always wounds to be found and prodded underneath.
So before he knew it, he found himself standing between his friend and the menace, exuding all the hostility he could possibly muster.
“But it’s true—”
“We don’t care if it’s true or not,” Kitamoto bit in, his glare colder and steadier but no less hostile than Nishimura’s. “I think it’s just basic manners to not just walk up to someone and insult them in their face for no reason—unless you have no common sense?”
The boy fell speechless as his face flushed at Kitamoto’s spiteful sarcasm. He sputtered for a few moments before muttering an indignant “let’s go” to his friends and spinning around to leave. He tried to shoot one last glare toward Natsume, as if it would suffice in place of leaving with the last word, but Nishimura blocked Natsume’s view of him and shot him a glare of his own in return.
And just when Nishimura’s shoulders finally loosened and an irritated huff escaped his lips, he heard a small horrified gasp behind him. He turned around to check on Natsume, but his friend had dashed past him and was reaching out toward the group of boys who were leaving.
“STOP!!”
Nishimura spun around again in time to see Natsume pushing his jerk of a cousin down onto the ground, and for a split second, he had to wonder if Natsume had finally given in to some hidden violent tendencies—which he honestly wouldn’t blame him for, given what the guy just did—but the horrified tone of Natsume’s voice and the tall pile of crates that had crashed down right over the spot where his cousin was just moments ago were all Nishimura and Kitamoto needed to understand the situation.
“Natsume!”
They both scrambled forward, swiftly looping around the pile of fallen crates, to where their friend had ceremoniously collapsed onto the ground with his arms splayed forward. His cousin, too, had fallen on his butt after being pushed by Natsume and was looking down at the boy with a stunned daze.
“You idiot! You’re being reckless again!”
“Are you okay?!”
Nishimura and Kitamoto knelt down on either side of the boy and helped him up from the ground. While muttering a quiet “yeah” in response to them, Natsume managed to sit up with his knees folded beneath him, before wincing slightly—so very slightly, to the point that it was barely noticeable, because Natsume was always used to hiding his pain like that. But Nishimura noticed the red swelling around his ankle, which was probably grazed by one of the crates as it fell—and when he looked up with a frown, it was clear from Kitamoto’s similar expression that he had seen it too.
“Why?” was the question that they both wanted to ask but didn’t bother to, because they knew the answer—because they knew what Natsume was like. So when it was asked, it wasn’t them—it was the boy who was sitting on the ground in front of them and staring at Natsume in disbelief.
“Why did you do that…?” He repeated, his shaky voice giving away how his heart was probably racing from having nearly been crushed underneath a pile of wooden crates.
Natsume looked up at him and blinked, before looking away unsurely. “Um… Because I saw the boxes topple over toward you.”
“T-That’s not what I meant! Why would you—I mean—I just—”
As amusing as it was to watch the boy’s face contort into a complex bundle of confusion and shame, Kitamoto interrupted him—sharply, but not as hostile as earlier. “You know, if you’re not hurt or anything, then instead of sitting there like a stuttering duck, could you—any of you—go grab some ice and a first-aid kit for us, maybe?”
All of them flinched but seemed to have none of the fight from earlier left in them, and when the owner of the crates came over after hearing the commotion, they scrambled off with him to fetch what Kitamoto had asked for.
Left behind with his two friends, Natsume sat on the ground with his knees now up against his chest and a hand gingerly cupped over his swollen ankle. Watching the way he breathed a sigh of relief even while looking at his own injury, Nishimura thought that this was the biggest contradiction of all. Perhaps it was a weird pick, with all the other strange things surrounding Natsume he had to choose from, but it was genuinely what baffled Nishimura the most.
He told him before, during one of their lunch breaks, that if he were in Natsume’s shoes, he would’ve strayed off long ago. And Kitamoto had rebuked him for that, but he meant it. After all, if Nishimura had been given nothing but hate and cruelty and cold-heartedness throughout his childhood in the same way that Natsume had, then he would have nothing but hate and cruelty and cold-heartedness to give in return as well. And yet here was Natsume, giving back kindness and understanding instead.
If he were in Natsume’s shoes, he would’ve strayed off long ago, but Natsume didn’t. He may have stopped and cried, he may have kept to the side and put up a small wall to protect himself, but Natsume never strayed off. He never returned any of the terrible things he received over the years—and yet the moment he was touched by the softest spark of kindness, he gives it back tenfold.
Nishimura could almost sigh in exasperation at how impossibly kind his friend was and silently resigned himself to having a certain very hurt yet amazingly strong boy to protect for the rest of his life.
Fortunately though, he didn’t need to do anymore protecting today. Natsume’s cousin and his friends soon came back with an ice pack and a first-aid kit with the help of the stall owner, who was also kind enough to lend Natsume a chair to sit and rest on for as long as he needed. They also helped the man set the crates back up, and while the stall owner was scratching his head trying to figure out how his carefully stacked pile had managed to fall over, Natsume’s cousin came over and gave a meek and quiet, almost shameful and guilty ‘sorry’, before finally leaving them alone for good.
Regardless, Nishimura didn’t fail to stick his tongue out in the direction they left at, earning a stifled snort from Kitamoto and a placating hand from Natsume. From there, their fun festival night had resumed—except Natsume was now stuck to a chair at the back of a stall. He insisted that he was fine and that they should go enjoy the festival on their own, to which they happily obliged—but not without coming back every few minutes with prizes and snacks and souvenirs to share with their friend. Natsume flushed in embarrassment when the stall owner laughed at the small home base they had somehow established behind his stall, but he seemed to be having fun nonetheless, so it was mission success for Nishimura and Kitamoto.
When he came back with his first batch of snacks and prizes, Nishimura could faintly hear Natsume’s voice from behind the stall before he even rounded the corner. He sounded like he was scolding someone, kindly yet sternly, and while Nishimura couldn’t hear his quiet voice clearly over the bustling festivities, he managed to pick up “getting angry for me” “thank you” and “don’t hurt people”. While trying to make sense of it, he suddenly thought back to the incident with the crates.
When Natsume jumped out, he had yelled “stop” instead of “watch out”—as if he had seen someone intentionally push the crates over and yelled at them, instead of at his cousin.
Nishimura had to wonder how they all managed to miss that person, but by the time he rounded the corner to the back of the stall, Natsume was all alone on his chair and was staring off at the forest in the distance with those glassy marble-like eyes that reminded Nishimura of the day he first saw him, before they became friends.
Those were the eyes that made him look so faint and fleeting, like he existed in another world, like the slightest breeze could blow him there, far, far away from them. It was that mysterious allure that made him the center of attention for a while back then, but they’ve come a long way since, and Nishimura had come to learn the many ways in which Natsume wasn’t quite so perfect and didn’t quite make so much sense.
So he was undeterred as he called out to the boy, excitedly running over to dump his pile of offerings at his feet. When he looked up, Natsume’s glassy eyes had all but disappeared, in its place a warm brown that shone with laughter and fondness. Nishimura had to wonder how the same pair of eyes could look so unbelievably different at times, but he supposed there was no use in trying to figure it out.
His friend, after all, was a ball of contradictions—so full of weirdness and kindness that all swelled together into the boy known as Natsume Takashi. Mature yet childish, selfless yet secretive, and so hurt and hated yet so kind and caring. He was a weird mix that didn’t always make sense—and they wouldn’t have him any other way.