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An can’t get the coffee shop conversation out of her mind. Not that she was listening, of course, because that would be creepy, but there was Akito and there was Akito’s mom, and a few tables away, there was An, and it was relatively quiet and Shinonome-san had a loud voice, and so what if the exact time the Shinonomes walked in was the moment An decided she needed a break from her earbuds?
And so what if when, after a few minutes of loud conversation, Shinonome-san’s coffee was ready, so she pulled her son by the arm out the door to continue the argument outside, and that was the moment An decided she needed some fresh air, so she relocated to the table by the open window? She wasn’t trying to listen in. It was just happening. Accidentally. Yeah.
And if she was listening in, it wasn’t because she cared for Akito. He was nothing but her rival and that was that. If she was listening, it was because that was what rivals did— sneak around behind each other’s backs and collect each other’s secrets.
The fact that Akito and An were at the same future doctor’s conference was a coincidence, if nothing else that day. An was there because her best friend’s girlfriend was receiving an award, or something, and Mizuki had persuaded her to come in support. She wasn’t sure what Akito was up to. It’s not like they made a habit of talking to each other.
Akito hated An, and An hated him back. They fought for the best performance places, arriving at increasingly absurd hours prior to their time slots to secure the corner of Vivid and Takeshita. They fought over setlists, arguing over who should get to sing which song and, when they both ended up too stubborn and singing it anyway, who sang it better.
Akito always had to show her up. Just a few days ago, as An had started the music for her finale, she’d become vaguely aware of the same melody coming from just down the street. She’d whipped around, furious, and there was Akito, ginger hair flying in the wind around his cocky smile, as he matched her, a cappella, line for line.
An glared. Akito glared back. An turned her mic up. Akito turned his mic up. The crowd loved it. An’s guitar case was brimming with coins by the time it was over, and she could barely pack up and walk home in peace because people kept hounding her, telling her how incredible the show was and how powerful of a duo she and Akito were and how genius of a move it was to finish their shows together.
She couldn’t exactly tell them that wasn’t the case, so she’d only nodded, grinned, thanked them with a loud and cheery voice. Akito’s mocking laugh still rang in her ears. He knew he’d won that round, and An couldn’t deny it to him or to anyone.
So, really, the only reason An had to listen to Akito’s private conversations was to give him shit about them later.
She’d listened while Akito had tried to order a latte. Listened while his mom cut him off with a forced laugh and told the barista that he’d be having a plain iced black tea, no sugar, no cream. She’d listened to the sound of their footsteps as Shinonome-san took Akito by the elbow and led him outside. Listened to the sharp hiss of breath through his teeth as her nails dug into his skin.
Now she peers around the corner, squinting, and the marks are still there: four red crescent shapes in a sort of semicircle on the inside of Akito’s arm, sort of covered by his hair, but she can still see them.
He’d kill her if she got up and said something to him, she knows he would, especially if he figured out that she’d been watching him this entire time, since his mom sat him down between a trash can and an outlet and told him to stay there while she fetched his father to discipline him. Her heels were unbearably loud against the tile floor as she retreated, and An used the clicking as cover to slide up as close to the corner as she could manage, press her ear to the wall, and listen to the quiet sound of Akito’s sobs.
He has his knees pulled tight to his chest, his arms around them, and his head bowed in his arms. An isn’t quite sure why she’s even still watching. It’s morbid curiosity, maybe, or maybe she enjoys watching him cry, because it proves that he’s got shit wrong with him too, and she’s way less pathetic than he is, and it makes her happy to know that she’s still the clear better choice between the two of them— even his mom thinks so, apparently.
It makes her happy. Yeah. It certainly doesn’t pull at her heart, make her wish they were friends so she’d have an excuse to go comfort him. She’s not just waiting around to make sure he’s okay. She’s not wishing she was braver so she could get over herself and cheer him up. Of course not.
Akito lifts his head, bleary-eyed, and An quickly disappears back behind the corner. She presses her ear to the wall again, holding her breath, half expecting him to stand up and beat the shit out of her for eavesdropping.
Nothing happens. Hesitantly, An peeks back around the wall, and has to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out. Akito is somehow curled tighter into himself, now, his head between his legs, and his hands— he’s got them balled into fists, and he’s hitting himself in the head, and he doesn’t even wince or yell or make any sound, and An watches in wide-eyed curiosity, or maybe terror, as Akito scratches raw red lines down his arms.
An wishes he’d start to cry again. It was a little awkward, maybe, to just sit there while he wept, but Akito doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t scream, and he doesn’t even breathe loud enough to be heard, and the silence is so much worse.
An takes a deep breath, tearing her sight away from the scene, and tries to make sense of the thoughts swirling through her brain. It’s dizzying, the cacophony, and the room seems to tilt as black spots dance through her vision, and she plants a hand on the floor next to her for stability while she inhales all the way down to her toes. She doesn’t know what she can do. Everything’s either too weird or impossible or would make everything worse.
She doesn’t know what she can do. But what does she want to do? She thinks about her dad, and his favourite way to problem-solve— Think of what you want to do and make it work from there .
She wants to crawl around the corner and comfort him. Obviously that won’t work. It’s Akito, and she hates him, and he hates her back…
Hatred, sometimes, can include hugging someone and telling them they’re talented, probably. Hatred can mean telling someone how admirable they are, and how good of a job they always do, and admitting that maybe they are a good musician, and maybe singing with them was more fun than An has had in ages, and maybe she always looks forward to seeing them setting up their tech on the street corner because she knows they’ll say hello and fling friendly banter back and forth and— friendly implies friend , doesn’t it?
An doesn’t know why she’s not more shocked at this new development. They’re friends. Of course they’re friends. Friends can hate each other, too. Akito’s a total dick. She hates him. But right now, she sort of loves him, too.
She peers back around the corner. Akito is quiet, sitting against the wall with his legs splayed out in front of him and his head lolling to the side against his shoulder, and his shoulders spasm in time with the tears trickling down his cheeks. An swallows as hard as she can, and stands up, and puts her phone to her ear.
With as much confidence as she can muster, she takes a few steps around the corner, channelling her inner actress from that one theatre class her dad made her take once, and does a little backwards hop at the sight of Akito.
“Woah!” she exclaims into her phone, trying as hard as she can to sell it. “I’ll call you back, uh… buddy .”
There’s no time for her to wish she could’ve come up with a better thing to call whoever was on the end of her nonexistent phone call. She’ll roll with it.
Akito coughs, not even bothering to cover his mouth, and it looks like that one movement drains him of so much energy that An thinks she could probably pick him up like a toddler and he wouldn’t weigh a thing. He’s like a doll. Barely alive. An’s heart pounds, in anger at his mother, in anger at herself, in anger at the world, wishing she’d intervened earlier, knowing it would’ve been impossible, wondering what the fuck she thinks she’s doing intervening now and why in God’s name she thought it was a good idea. The answer comes quickly. She loves him.
She kneels in front of Akito, forcing herself to keep a judgmental sneer on her face despite her heart beating out of her chest with the need to wrap him in a hug and adopt him and make sure he’s okay after everything that’s clearly happened today. Sternly, her inner mom reminds her what she’s dealing with, who she is, what she and Akito are to each other. This is your rival. This is the dumbass you save your very best insults for .
Loving Akito is not an option. Not for An. So she goes for the next best thing.
“Rough day?” she asks, tucking his sticky hair behind his ear. “Finally feeling the side effects of your gingerness?”
He glares at her, and if looks could kill, oh man , she’d be dead a million times over. But his gaze softens after a second, and he shoves at the floor to sit up straighter, and he scrubs at his cheek with his palm trying to pretend there were never tears, and he flips her off with his other hand.
An lets herself smile, cautiously leaning closer to Akito and wrapping an arm loosely around his shoulders and feeling him ease into her sort-of half-assed side hug. He grumbles about it under his breath, but he lets her squeeze him a little tighter.
“Fuck off, Shiraishi,” he mutters, with very little feeling behind it, and An’s pretty sure she’s never heard a more beautiful sound.