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If he has to hear one more word about Naruko Io and his eleven-digit bank account, Ichi is going to drill a hole in his head and perform a self-lobotomy. In other news, the term is basically over and Naruko is still rich, popular and winning at life.
Ichi sort of hates his life.
The second trimester doesn’t start well. There’s an empty seat beside him, which means one less chance to ‘accidentally’ drop something and start up a conversation. He vaguely recalls the transfer student who had entered right at the end of term. What had happened to him?
Whatever it was, it can’t be worse than Ichi’s customary solitude, the nervous glances that turn to him as a stream of self-indictment bypasses the handy brain-to-mouth filter most people seem to have built-in to them.
Well, it’s not like it matters to him. He’s built up enough resilience during the first trimester to shake off the odd looks now. This term, he’s going to concentrate on his studies and then he’s going to beat Naruko Io. Nothing less will do – though if the opportunity presents itself, Ichi will smoothly accomplish the social task of making a friend, like all good well-adjusted students can.
He drops his head onto the desk. “It’s going to be a long term.”
Shortly after, Komi Shou returns to school, and instantly becomes more popular than Shou has ever been in his sixteen years of life on this earth.
“I stopped watching after they killed off Kana-chan,” Komi confesses, legs swinging as they dangle off his desk. The boys surrounding him lean in closer and gesticulate wildly at their chests, a move that naturally attracts several other depraved companions to the small crowd.
“If this was a co-ed school, they’d have just lost all chance of ever getting a date,” Ichi mutters sullenly. They’re noisy, the lot of them, and Komi shouldn’t even be here, considering they have Maths next and Ichi doesn’t think they’re together for that class. Then again, it is Komi’s first day back at school, so Ichi doesn’t really know for sure.
He must have said it louder than he had anticipated, as two or three boys on the outskirts of the group whip around to stare at him. One of them chuckles, leaning in to whisper something to the other, and they both giggle like schoolgirls.
Not that Ichi has spoken to a schoolgirl since he entered Binan in middle school. His knowledge of the opposite sex is limited to fresh-faced teachers tapping blackboards on the cover of his textbooks and the stylized images he flicks through guiltily under his covers at night.
In front of him, Zuruwaki groans and slumps over his desk. “I forgot my chopsticks!”
Ichi’s eyes gleam behind his glasses. A chance! He’s been packing an extra lunch ever since his ill-fated quarrel with Number One Naruko and the encounter with that first year, Hakone Yumoto. For all that talk, Ichi hasn’t had the chance to spend much time with Yumoto; they’re in different year levels, after all, and Hakone is always busy with the family business.
As he’s digging around in his bag, mind filled with witty, not-at-all creepy openers like good thing I remembered them for you, something hits him on the head. Ichi thanks the stars that while years of straining at textbooks have had an irreversible effect on his eyes, the stress still hasn’t shown signs of manifesting itself in the form of grey hair, or worse, teenage-onset alopecia.
“Sorry!” Komi looks genuinely apologetic. “I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ichi mumbles, passing the chopsticks over.
The moment’s already gone. Zuruwaki doesn’t even seem to notice Ichi, choosing to salute Komi instead. “Do you have the whole store in that bag of yours?”
Komi bares his teeth when he laughs, his entire body shaking in amusement. “The perks of living over a convenience store.”
“Convenient, isn’t it,” Ichi murmurs. It’s a lame joke, one he’s sure would get him laughed at for days if anyone else heard him, but he’s always loved puns, the imagery of idioms. He smiles himself silly over the twist of imagination inherent in taking a figurative structure literally.
The conversation flows on around him, its participants having already forgotten Ichi and his minor role in today’s repartee, but Komi’s gaze lingers, ever so slightly, before the lunchtime hero turns back to his adoring fans.
The concept of ‘making friends’ has its roots in the altruistic behaviour of social animals, if evolution is to be believed. Intimacy is only a mid-range element in the hierarchy of needs – Ichi will quote Maslow to support his assertion. Like meerkats, human beings form connections to advance in their careers and social standing, thus ensuring that their temporary genetic code survives long enough to seed itself in at least half a body or so.
Science, as a subject, is ruthless in its quest for knowledge. It can twist the kindest thoughts into acts of villainy, can reduce life itself to a collection of small, vibrating molecules. Some stand alone, distanced from their companions by either their own will or the collective cluster. Some, however, are bright, vibrant; they fit with others like water running through a stream. Komi Shou is one such example. Despite it being his first day back at school after some debilitating illness which had kept him home for around two weeks, he appears to have the entire student body eating out of his hand (and family business – sales of egg sandwiches at the convenience store are going to jump several hundred percent after the divine samples Komi handed out this lunchtime).
When Ichi thinks back to the day his life was meant to have turned around, he can’t actually remember it with very much clarity. It seems strange that a memory so nebulous could evoke such a strong reaction from him, but it seems stranger still that despite its influence, he hasn’t managed to make any headway in life.
Early September, the start of the second trimester. As usual, it’s something else that pushes him into action.
“Komi, would you mind staying back after class? I have something to talk to you about.”
It’s a warm day. Ichi packs up slowly as usual, waiting for the rest of the class to leave so he doesn’t have to feel their eyes on him as he walks out the door. He makes this his excuse for overhearing their conversation, and for sticking his mouth where it doesn’t belong, as usual.
“I just wanted to know how you found the class today,” the teacher begins. “I know you’ve been away for some time, so I was worried that you might be having some trouble understanding the material.”
Komi opens his mouth. His eyes dart around nervously, and Ichi gasps when they land on him, growing round as if surprised he’s still there. There’s a long pause. “It was a little difficult to concentrate,” Komi admits finally. “It would be good if I had someone to bring me up to speed.”
“I think he’s going at a decent speed,” Ichi mumbles. “It’s only been a day and the class loves him. Besides, nobody likes a guy who’s too fast.”
The teacher looks scandalised. “Itsumo!”
Oops. He wonders if it’s too late to pretend he’d said something else. “What?”
Evidently, the teacher has more pressing matters to think about, because he turns back to Komi, ignoring Ichi, and tells him, “I think that’s a good idea. There are some very good students in this class; perhaps you could ask Naruko whether he’d like to tutor you, at least until you’re feeling more confident about the course material.”
“I can do it.” Ichi’s mouth moves of its own accord. There’s not a chance he’s going to let Naruko Io one-up him again. Moreover, there have to be some benefits to tutoring the school’s new sweetheart. Even if they never become friends, Ichi is determined to get some good sandwiches out of this.
“Itsumo Ichiban, right? Always number one.” For once, the words don’t sound mocking, only curious.
“Ironically,” Ichi mutters, “I don’t think I’ve ever been first at anything.”
Komi Shou slaps a hand down on his shoulder. “In that case,” he says, “here’s a first for you!”
And with those simple words, Ichi finds himself invited to Komi’s place that weekend. It’s the first home he’s been invited to in years, and the first time someone’s treated him in a way that could almost be construed as friendly.
“Sorry for the mess,” Komi squeaks, clapping his hands together and squeezing his eyes shut in a move that shouldn’t look as endearing as it does. “It’s a pretty old house.”
Ichi removes his shoes and makes his way up the stairs. It would be a lovely house, if it weren’t for the splintered boards marking what had once been Komi’s room. “It is pretty,” he says, seizing onto the opportunity, “and you’re renovating, right? That means it won’t be old anymore, soon.”
Perhaps Komi doesn’t hear him, or perhaps Ichi has crossed some invisible line by trying to continue the conversation past the socially acceptable minimum. He stuffs his hands in this pockets and closes his eyes so he can swallow the disappointment he has no right to feel. It’s not as if they’re friends, after all.
“What do you want to know?” he asks Komi curtly, when the pencils are out. He regrets this already; giving up his study time for this just means Naruko has the chance to widen the gap between them even more.
Komi considers the question for a moment. “Don’t you want to get a drink first? Or something to eat?”
If he’s procrastinating, it works; there’s no way Ichi’s going to pass up one of Komi’s lunches. Besides, if he can manage to strike up a conversation over the meal, that might make them one step closer to becoming friends.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” he offers, hoping Komi will see through the polite façade, but Ichi can’t communicate his intentions well at the best of times. “I’m sillier than a goblin in a tutu,” he whispers to himself when Komi returns from the kitchen, spitting out the syllables resentfully. “What was I expecting?”
Komi squints at him over the edge of a large textbook. “Did you say something?”
Upon sliding away the textbook to reveal a rather scandalous manga, Ichi presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose. He sighs. “I’m going to be saying a lot of somethings if this keeps up.”
What had been the point of inviting Ichi here if he wasn’t even going to try and concentrate? For the rest of the afternoon, Ichi flounders through procrastination techniques stronger than diamond, through episodes of an anime he last watched when he was five. Needless to say, no study is accomplished.
When Komi pulls up the second season of Umbrella Magica, Ichi decides he’s had enough. He stumbles through his excuses, slipping in references to elephants and rooms that even Naruko wouldn’t be able to follow if he was here. Inwardly, he laughs at his sly wit.
For some reason, Komi laughs too, though for some other reason, he sounds disappointed. “We never got to put your skills to the test,” he says wistfully, holding up a game controller. Then he winks and flicks his gaze over to the abandoned quizzes lying on the table, and Ichi gasps out a surprised laugh before he can stop himself.
Interesting, he thinks. If it’s a coincidence, if Komi merely has an odd facial tic that revealed itself at the opportune moment, if all of this is nothing more than a giant prank by some oddly-coloured space aliens – well, Ichi’s going to enjoy it while it lasts.
It’s surprisingly easy to slot himself in beside Komi at lunchtimes. While the other boys occasionally glance at him in confusion, Komi always welcomes him with enthusiasm – perhaps too much, at times. More than once, Ichi has found bruises on his hips after being manhandled backwards into the nearest desk. Komi is thunder and wind, a hurricane storming through Ichi’s desolate life, and it’s so refreshing that Ichi can’t help but think maybe this is friendship.
There’s a surprise pop quiz in English that week. Ichi finishes ten minutes early and glances triumphantly at Naruko, certain that there’s an upset in the works. He hears a stifled chuckle from his left and turns around to see Komi watching him with bright, amused eyes. Blushing, Ichi glares until Komi puts his head back down and clenches his fingers around the pen, trying not to think about soft mauve hair and a mouth that curls up around the sorts of puns Ichi has always loved. This time, he thinks. This time, for sure.
He loses half a point for putting the u before the e in manoeuvre. Naturally, Naruko gets full marks.
“Don’t mind, don’t mind.” Komi’s attention is clearly fixated on the beaming idol swinging her hips on screen.
“How did you find the test?” asks Ichi in an attempt to direct the conversation away from his obvious inferiority to Naruko Io. He reaches for the test paper. “You were away for a fair while, after all.”
“I-it was alright,” stutters Komi, snatching it away. Ichi blinks, then remembers that Komi probably doesn’t want him snooping on private matters like test results. He reminds himself that even if they spend much of the weekend together, even if Ichi crawls into Komi’s lunchtime circle like a beggar seeking alms, that doesn’t mean they’re friends. Ichi is just a temporary tutor; Komi probably can’t wait to be rid of him. Even so, Ichi can’t help letting his guard down. Whatever this may be in reality, it feels like friendship, what with Komi patting his shoulders and dragging him by the wrist to the kitchen so they can bake cakes together. It feels like friendship, at least until Ichi oversteps his boundaries and catches Komi off-guard, leaves him unsure how to deal with this strange, importune individual.
Komi has never said it outright, but he’ll occasionally drop lines like “Ichiban, you’re a funny guy,” lips turned up in a smile Ichi doesn’t know how to interpret. In this context, he presumes it must be mocking. If he thinks it’s weird, he should just say so, Ichi thinks despairingly. At least that way Ichi would be able to figure out exactly what it was about him that so creeped people out.
Maybe if he was more like Komi, his life would be easier. A little more confident and a little more open, and maybe people would flock to him at lunch as well. Deep down, Ichi knows he’s kidding himself. He’s more a sheep than a shepherd, content with keeping his head down and allowing himself to be herded away to a normal, socially acceptable future.
You should make friends too, Hakone Yumoto had told him, but Ichi is no closer now to that goal than he had been two months ago.
I’ll be your friend, Hakone had told him, but Ichi had thought friendship would amount to more than a cheerful greeting and a quick chat at the occasional incidental meeting. Acquaintanceship he might be able to understand, yet he had thought friendship was a stronger bond, an intimacy so sweet it made your teeth hurt. An ease similar to what he feels when he’s with Komi, only mutual.
When he’s with Komi, it’s almost as if he could be himself. Though it’s probably just a conformation to social niceties, Komi laughs at Ichi’s jokes, tilting his head when Ichi murmurs something nobody else in the group cares to catch. When Ichi hangs back at the corners of the circle, unsure of where to cut in, Komi angles his body so a space opens up at his side. Komi offers Ichi bites of his sandwiches at lunchtimes and brushes the crumbs off his cheek, and Ichi doesn’t really know what to think anymore, because he’s only just realising the way his eyes track Komi’s smile in the classrooms, the warmth that fills his chest when Komi pulls him close and whispers conspiratorially into his ear.
Yet Komi leans in closer to Zuruwaki and lends manga to Takashin. He cracks jokes with the teachers and when Masato had asked him who his best friend was, he’d just made a funny face and mumbled something about comparing onsen manjuu to onsen eggs.
“Do you still keep in touch with your friends from your old school?” Zuruwaki had asked, and Komi had shrugged, a little regretful.
“I still message them at times, but it’s difficult when we’re so far apart, you know? It’s hard for them to get to Binan, and there are some things you can only say to each other in person.”
It had made Ichi nervous. If friendship is such a fragile concept, what has he been he trying so hard for? There’s a longing for it that sings out from his bones, yet when he thinks with all the logic of a sixteen-year-old schoolboy, he can’t imagine how friendship could be worth the inevitable shattering of his heart.
Can you be friends with someone who doesn’t think much of you at all? he wonders, and the ache in his chest tells him that no matter how Komi feels, it’s already too late for Ichi.
“Are you alright?”
Ichi jerks up, startled. He flaps his hand at Komi’s concerned look. “Just thinking.”
“Ten yen for your thoughts?” Komi bumps his shoulder, laughing when he wobbles and tugs on the kotatsu to steady himself.
“I’m worth more than that,” Ichi declares loftily, shooting Komi a shy glance, and Komi smiles back.
“Priceless,” he finishes; Ichi doesn’t at all know what to make of the sincerity in that smile.
You’re overthinking it, the self-help book tells him when he looks up ARE WE FRIENDS in the library database. Act as if you’re friends, and it will become obvious if you aren’t.
Well, Yamatomi Kazumoto probably has more friends than Ichi does if she’s writing a self-help book, so Ichi isn’t going to argue with her.
They have another pop quiz in English a few weeks later, but a few summative tests for the science subjects prior to that. Ichi spends an increasing number of hours at Komi’s house, and Komi’s results rise in proportion to that. It is a satisfactory business relationship for both parties as well as the school, which prides itself on producing proper, well-educated young men, and so it continues smoothly enough that Ichi barely notices when Komi becomes Shou, when weekend starts meaning the convenience store.
“The two of you have gotten pretty inseparable,” Zuruwaki comments over a tuna mayo sandwich one lunch. “Say, that last test was a killer, wasn’t it?”
Shrugging, Ichi helps himself to one of the bread rolls Shou's brought to share today. “You usually do well, don’t you?”
“Eh, got lucky.” Another one of the bread rolls disappears into Zuruwaki’s mouth. “Shou, you’ve been getting tuition though, right? What did you think?”
“It was pretty normal,” Shou says. He leans over and rests his chin on Ichi’s shoulder. “Do you guys want to come over today?”
“I can, but I can’t stay late.” Zuruwaki glances at Ichi. “I suppose you have to study or something?”
Ichi’s heart is racing a million miles per hour. “No, I can go!”
His fingers are trembling when he texts his mother to inform her that he’ll be home late that day. I’ll be at my friend’s house, he types out proudly. It’s the first time he’ll be at Shou's house on a weekday, and it’s not even to for study purposes.
The rest of the school day seems to pass in a blur; Ichi shakes his legs in class, unable to sit still, and in physical education, which has always been his worst subject, he takes a wild swing at the baseball and manages to hit a home run. He’s floating on cloud nine, and not even the reprimanding pieces of chalk the teachers throw at him can bring him back down to the mundane lessons they’re trying to teach.
Finally, the bell rings for the end of class and the three of them descend the stone steps together. They make some sort of idle chatter, but Ichi doesn’t process any of it. His mouth runs on automatic, spitting out lines he’ll probably regret later, yet for some reason both Zuruwaki and Shou are doubled over with laughter, clutching at the light poles for support.
“You’re a funny guy, Ichiban!” Zuruwaki cackles. For one terrifying moment, Ichi wonders whether he’s being laughed at after all. Then Zuruwaki sends him a conspiratorial grin. “I like it!”
This is probably going to be the best day of Ichi’s life.
This is most definitely the worst day of Ichi’s life.
He scowls at the screen, where Shou and Zuruwaki are still having it out as Kirby and Palutena, respectively. Who’d have thought that video games could be so difficult? He’s played Super Smash before – usually he can make do with button mashing and a decent dose of luck.
Shou and Zuruwaki seem to be spending a lot of time jumping around in the air. “It’s all about the timing,” Shou informs him. “You have to know your opponent and counter appropriately.”
On screen, Kirby flips back and flattens Palutena against the glass.
“Can we play something else?” whines Ichi. He’s had enough of this game. And Mario Kart. And FIFA. Komi pats his arm. “We can play Cooking Mama after one last round, okay?”
Three rounds later, they finally switch to Cooking Mama, and Ichi realises that everyone has a place in this world; you just have to find your niche. He effortlessly finishes peeling his potatoes and swings around to stare at Shou and Zuruwaki, who are still trying not to smash their eggs into the table.
“In my defence, I don’t spend much time on this game,” Shou pants, shaking his controller at the television.
“It’s my first time,” boasts Ichi. He delicately puts the finishing touches on his dish and sits back to watch the other two struggle more with the oven. “It’s all about the timing,” he tells them. “You just have to be ready to press the button.”
“You’re insufferable,” grits out Zuruwaki. By now, Ichi is fairly sure that it’s a joke. He snickers, hesitantly, and when Zuruwaki guffaws in response, he’s certain.
“Well, I have to be home for dinner, so I’ll see you two tomorrow.”
After Zuruwaki leaves, they stand for a moment in awkward silence, unsure of how to act now that it’s just the two of them. Then Shou shrugs and bumps his shoulder against Ichi’s. “Want to help make dinner?”
Ichi wants to make sweet, sweet friendship to Shou for as long as humanly possible, but he wonders if that might sound a little too intense. “Sure.”
They eat dinner while watching Tailor Moon, slurping up cup noodles that scald their throats on the way down. After, Komi takes out his laptop and starts looking up details of the new Len nendoroid that’s been announced, while Ichi pouts and tries to get his friend’s attention back on him.
“Hello? Are you listening?”
Komi mumbles something vaguely in the affirmative.
“Did you know that one of the teachers has been possessed by a pink wombat?”
Komi nods, eyes fixated on the screen.
“I’m going to run into the street wearing that Tailor Moon cosplay with the really short skirt.”
“You do that,” agrees Komi emphatically. “Ah, look at the detailing on his lapels!”
Ichi throws his hands up and decides to be productive. Books, books never refuse to let you read them because they're too busy marveling over the quality of the spine on that hardcover. He takes out his English textbook and begins to read. Maybe some of this will even sink passively through Shou’s obsessive otaku head.
“I am excited for the holiday,” says Ichi, enunciating each word in perfectly-accented English.
“It’s the holidays,” Shou corrects absently. “If you’re talking about the winter break, that is.”
Well, that was unexpected. Something cold settles in his stomach, splinters of memory knitting together in his mind. He takes a deep breath, weighing out the next sentence carefully. “During – while the winter break, I go to visit family.”
“You had it right the first time,” laughs Shou, face pressed up against his laptop screen. “Ah, his hair is so perfect!”
Ichi’s blood turns to ice. He dives under the bed, where he knows Shou keeps his tests, has seen him file them away before. He drags the box out while Shou stares at him in bewilderment, tosses aside reams of paper until he finds what he’s looking for. When he brings it up to the light, his stomach sinks; he gapes speechless at the test, unable to comprehend what he’s seeing. Forget average, forget good, even – Shou’s paper is covered in red circles and comments that say things like excellent work! You’ve done well.
“Y-you’re such a liar,” Ichi blurts out, hands shaking. He feels hot and cold all over; too weak to stand yet strong enough to tear open the earth itself. “Your grades are almost as good as mine even though you missed the first two weeks of school, and you didn’t – don’t tell me you ever had a problem understanding the lessons!”
Shou shifts nervously on his feet.
“I don’t understand you at all,” Ichi continues, clenching his fists. “Did you think it would be funny to pull me away from my studies for no reason? Did you get a good laugh out of having me come here week after week, wasting hours of my time for – for this?”
“You really think it was a waste of time?”
Silence. The words he wants to say get lost on the way to his mouth when he sees Shou’s face, open and vulnerable, as if he’s the one who’s been taken for a ride on the Fake-a-friend Express. He remembers, suddenly, the rumours he had dismissed, about Shou not really being sick all that time he was away, about the mysterious cosplay group had dragged Shou to school and had it out with him in the courtyard. The descriptions are vague, coming from witnesses who had been tucked around corners out of sight, but they’re unnervingly consistent, and Ichi finds himself questioning some of the rumours he’s heard about other things, about a monster made of screws and wrenches that had seemingly appeared where Ichi remembers fighting with Naruko all the way back in July.
Some mysteries are better left unsolved.
“I thought we were friends,” he says, the words tearing through his chest as if through paper. “You…you have a lot of friends, but to me, you’re my best friend. I don’t – I don’t understand – ”
“We are friends!” yells Shou. He immediately blushes all the way to his ears. “I shouldn’t have to say it; it’s embarrassing!”
“Then why did you lie to me?” Ichi yells back.
“Maybe I wanted to lie with you!” screams Shou. He gasps. “I mean, not like that!”
Later, when he has the time, Ichi might think about that line in more detail. For now, he’s too preoccupied with being completely and utterly confused by the enigma that is Komi Shou. “Then like what?” he gasps, his chest too tight for air and his throat too hot for words. He had intended the words to be loud and demanding, he thinks, but everything he thought he had is slipping through his hands like water, and even his voice has deserted him.
Shou runs his hand through his hair, pressing his forehead against his palm. The words fall out of him in cumbersome pieces, laced with…frustration, possibly, though Ichi hardly knows what Shou has to be frustrated about. “I just…saw you there in the classroom, and I remembered your joke at lunch, and I guess…I knew you were smart, so when the teacher called me out I took advantage of it. I thought you seemed interesting.”
“If by interesting you mean weird and gross – ” Ichi begins, but Shou grips his shoulders and leans in until their foreheads are touching. He sounds very tired when he speaks, and Ichi’s cheeks are hotter than fire.
“You grin to yourself when you make a joke. You’re – you’re cute when you’re exasperated.” Shou's eyes are squeezed tightly shut. “You – this is so embarrassing – you look really cool when you’re focussed on your work. I guess…I guess I just wanted to get to know you more.”
Something, somewhere, uncoils within him. “That’s it?”
A short nod. “That’s it.”
Suddenly, he can’t stop laughing. Shou’s eyes fly open and he stares at Ichi like he’s turned into a giant nail on a tank, or something equally ridiculous, but Ichi is powerless to do anything but flail his arms and huff out strangled laughs until Komi has no choice but to join in too. They end up clutching each other for support, hands tangled in each other’s shirts, trembling with inexplicable amusement.
“Your grades, they’re almost, they’re practically as good as mine,” giggles Ichi, and Shou falls into him, pushing him over mock angrily, so that they’re curled up on the floor smiling at one another. Ichi gestures lazily in the general direction of the test papers. “All this time we spent going over the basics could have been used to get both our grades up.”
Shou shrugs. “Sorry.”
Ichi tallies things up in his mind. There’s still plenty of time until the end-of-year exams, which are of course the results which carry the most weight. “Let’s do things properly this time,” he says. “With our combined power, we could even take down Naruko Io.”
“Winners,” promises Shou, raising his hand for a fist bump. Ichi thinks back to how he was at the beginning of the school year – insecure, friendless and a little off his nut, to be honest. He still isn’t completely sure where he stands with Zuruwaki and his thought processes are probably a standard deviation or so from the norm, but really, only one of those three categories matters to this calculation, and when he tallies things up again, Ichi figures that yeah, he’d agree with Shou’s statement.
“Winners,” he echoes. He can already taste victory.