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“You’re going to wish we never met,” Kiyo says out of the blue one afternoon, tipping their head back to look up at the ceiling. The tension running through their body says that they’re hoping to find an answer up there, but there’s nothing. Himiko would know. She’s done the same thing more times than she can count, yearning for something to tell her what to do.
“What do you mean?” she mumbles indistinctly, still playing with their hair. She’s always kept hers fairly short, so she’s not that great at anything too fancy, mostly just simple braids, but Kiyo lets her do it anyway. Their hair is silky and gorgeous, black from a distance but reflecting bits of countless greens and blues when the light shines on it just right. Sometimes they even keep it the way she styles it when it’s time to go to meals, shrugging off any negative comments they get.
“You wouldn’t understand right now. I cannot reveal all the details, not yet. But I am...” They pause. Himiko can’t see their expression from where she sits behind them, but she imagines they’re probably frowning. “It’s not good for you to get involved with me, especially here. It’s just as she said. I’m damaged.”
“Who said that?” she asks, mind growing increasingly foggy with confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps I’ve already said too much.” Kiyo lets out a sigh, turning to face her. Her hands drop from their hair, braid not quite finished. Facing each other on her bed like this, they’re not far apart at all. Their legs almost bump against each other. Himiko could lean forward and rest her head against their chest, if she wanted to.
“Don’t get all cryptic like that. You can’t just say I’m going to regret meeting you and then act like nothing happened. I’m going to wonder forever and that’ll be way too tiring.” Her face reddens slightly at that admission, the fact that she cares about this delicate new something, but it isn’t really that much of a secret when she thinks about it. They’ve been hanging out every day since they met. Even when they don’t really interact, they just keep each other company. Keep each other safe.
Kiyo looks down, avoiding her eyes. They have pretty eyes. She usually doesn’t like making eye contact with people, finds it far too intimate, but she doesn’t mind it with them. She doesn’t want to force it though. So she looks down too, staring at the comforter and wondering if the killing game is really going to start.
“I’m here to observe the beauty of humanity,” they say eventually, voice rougher than usual. “I seek not to judge nor interfere, however our peers choose to deal with this situation. That being said, if they decide to start killing, things may change. Anyone could tell you that I seem to be the type who’d commit murder, yes?”
“I don’t understand. Why does it matter if people think you’re the type? You’re not going to hurt anyone.” Deep inside, her instincts tell her that it’s dangerous to trust anyone in this school, no matter who they are, but she wants to believe in Kiyo. She feels safe with them. She doesn’t want that to be wrong. Himiko bunches up a section of the comforter in her hand, squeezing it tightly. Kiyo’s eyes follow the movement. After a moment or two, they reach out, gently unfolding her hand and holding it in their own. Thanks to the bandages they wear, there isn’t any direct skin contact, but it makes her heart speed up all the same. Their hands are as lanky as the rest of them, long and bony.
“I might. And if that happens, you might be hurt too. Emotionally, if not physically. It only seems fair to allow you the opportunity to distance yourself now, before it’s too late. You need not have regrets for my sake.”
“No.” She shakes her head, wanting them to stop saying all these scary things. “I’m not gonna distance myself. You’re my only friend here.”
They laugh at that. She doesn’t understand why. It stings a little, but she tries not to let herself feel too angry. Clearly there’s more going on than she knows, and Kiyo hasn’t shown any signs of being inclined to make fun of her before. So she waits for them to say something, watching the determined set of their shoulders.
“Friends are exactly the problem,” they say under their breath, shaking their head. Then, more clearly, they add, “I can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to. As long as you understand things won’t always be like this.”
She squeezes their hand. They squeeze back. That has to be enough for now, she supposes. She wants more answers, some kind of explanation, but Kiyo doesn’t seem to be in a forthcoming mood, and she’s a little worried that perhaps she’s just being stupid and not understanding.
“Maybe they won’t, but I want to get out of here together. You want that too, right?”
“Yes,” they say, gently pulling her closer. “I’ll try my best for you.”
Weeks later, she isn’t sure if they were lying.