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Chapter Text

A dim fluorescent light illuminated the stark white lab benches, adorned with scratches and marks from specimen dissection. The sides of the bench were decorated with pencil carvings, childish drivel mainly. A loving wear and tear after years of use and abuse.

Crumpled papers and notebooks decorated the floor, localized around the workspace of one disorganized student. The unmistakable smell of formaldehyde radiated from every inch of the laboratory, blended with the stench of synthetic lavender detergent; all courtesy of Ms. Mitaka.

Not a soul would be willing to stick around in such a drab place as this, much less after hours, on a Sunday night. Yet, Ms. Mitaka had nothing better to do. It’s not as though she didn’t want to go out and enjoy her evening, she just thought her time was better spent working alone in the laboratory. After all, her work was extremely important, nobody else was making any progress on the topic and really, isn’t being educated the most important thing? Though of course if she really wanted to, she could also be out; dolled up like her ridiculous classmates. But the work it took to get that look was a heavy investment. I mean imagine how much money it takes to keep buying new make-up and clothes to keep up with all the latest fashion trends. No, no, she was much better off being in this lab where she could at least say she was undeniably intelligent. Those girls rely on their looks to get their validation, meanwhile she would rely on her logic and intellect to prove that she was valuable. Plus, she was also reasonably attractive, so she had her looks as well as her brains. She was probably better off this way, at least she was contributing something to society. Those girls weren’t doing anything with their lives. So overall, she was the winner.

Ms. Mitaka spiraled in her head, as was per usual. Her pen moved in frantic loops, scribbling and rewriting the same lines of notes, never once glancing up from the page. A familiar centrifuge where logic suspends and separates into noise.

She didn’t notice the cage door was open.

Broken from her trance, she turned to her side, just a glance at the cuckoos in their cages.

She always felt guilty watching a caged bird. Creatures meant to ride thermals and trace the sky reduced to twitching shadows behind mesh and wire. But she had convinced herself this was different. She wasn’t here to tame or display them. She was here to understand. That made it justifiable. Didn’t it?

Better to be perceived inside of a cage, than to never be perceived at all.

Only after she had finished her internal tirade did she realize that her birds were missing.

A chill rushed down her spine. Somehow, in the span of only a few minutes, Asa Mitaka had managed to screw everything up.

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Asa Mitaka was not stupid. She double— no, triple-checked everything. She cleaned her bench obsessively, bleaching it until the fair skin on her hands cracked and peeled. She came in early and stayed after hours, nobody was more willing, nor more capable of the job than her. Yet, none of that seemed to matter. The feeling still nagged at her, that she didn’t belong, that everyone else could see through the cracks in her performance. A songbird out of tune, hogging up the good air. Hatched in a nest not her own, shoving others out, growing on stolen food, unchallenged and unnoticed. Every small mistake was proof that she didn’t deserve to be there.

She paced in circles, gnawing on her thumb until the skin felt red and raw, simmering on the possible outcomes. She couldn’t even remember making the decision, couldn’t explain what came over her. How long had the cage been open? She wasn’t sure if the birds had tampered with the control group’s eggs or if they had already found a way out through the window. Either way, the birds were gone, and the study was ruined. Two weeks of data, obliterated in an instant.

She knew she should tell her professor what happened, but just the thought made her stomach churn. The idea of walking into his office, of watching the recognition settle in his eyes as he silently branded her as yet another failure, was unbearable.

This lab was supposed to be her place of competence. Even if the rest of the world regarded her as an untouchable failure in every regard, she was supposed to find retreat here. So why did she have to open that goddamn cage?

Mitaka was kicking herself for ever feeling bad for those stupid caged birds, her pathetic sentimentality was about to ruin the only thing she cared about.

The data was already compromised. No one had to know. The birds certainly weren’t going to say anything. But what if someone noticed later? What if the breach was discovered, and she hadn’t come forward? That would be worse. Dishonesty would be worse.

She still had time. Maybe she could look for the escaped specimens and lure them back into their cages. It would be difficult to attempt alone, but she was utterly unwilling to ask anyone for help.

Why was it so hard to just walk in and say something simple, clinical: “Professor, I need to report a variable breach.” That was all it had to be. He didn’t need details until he asked.

Or, she could lie. Swap the set. Fake the notes. Cover it up. Replace what was already there, and grow fat on the deception.

Maybe that was the solution.

Or maybe she was the real problem.

Mitaka quickly discarded the thought, feeling disgusted for even considering it as a possibility.

--------

The next morning, Mitaka sat hunched over a half-eaten bowl of instant ramen in the cafeteria. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Of course she had already rubbed her eyes raw, only succeeding in making them bloodshot.

The wear from last night weighed on her, she felt greasy and unclean. Mitaka couldn’t find the courage to tell her professor about the containment breach, and instead she went out into the night searching for her lost birds. Only, she didn’t have any light beyond her flip-phone, so she made her rounds pacing by a nearby streetlight, gazing at the trees and sky, blanketed in a soft dusk, and hoping to find something. Even if she found her birds, what was she going to do? Climb up and catch them with her bare hands? Her plan was ridiculous, and after a solid 15 minutes’ worth of effort, she began the long walk towards her dorm.

After a productive night of incessant whining, she bravely decided to skip her first lecture and find some escape in a bowl of noodles. Around her, the cafeteria was buzzing with life and conversation. Constant noise, the scraping of chairs, and the sound of people chewing with their mouths open. All of it grated on her nerves.

“Drop dead!”

A declaration saved only for her mind, lacking the courage to speak her truth out loud. Mitaka felt this comment made her seem very normal.

Asa stared down at the cloudy broth. It had a synthetic taste that reminded her of printer ink—not that she would know what printer ink tasted like. She had never tasted printer ink, or any ink in general, and that would be a ridiculous assumption to make. Instead, she was just presuming the taste of printer ink based on how she felt it might taste.

She kept idly musing, as if she were talking to someone, and not just twirling thoughts in her head. On the cafeteria table next to her sat her laptop, decorated with old, worn-out stickers of cats, as well as her crumpled lab notebook. Last night’s worrying had left the pages dog-eared and faintly damp from her palms. By now, she had considered rewriting the data hundreds of times, but each time she drew a clean grid for new entries, her hand stalled. The numbers wouldn’t come. They didn’t feel earned.

Suddenly, a shadow passed across the table. Asa didn’t look up, she was lost in thought.

“Hey! It’s… ‘Ass-uh’, right? “

It was Denji, the guy she was stuck partnered with in the lab. He always had a dopey look on his face, and somehow, he could never get her name right.

“Asa.”

Her voice came out hoarse, and more antagonistic than it needed to be.

As far as she was concerned, Denji looked half-assembled at the best of times. Olive skin stretched over sharp cheekbones, framed by a tangle of blond hair that jutted out at odd angles. His eyes shined a bright yellow, but sagged with exhaustion, dark circles smudged beneath them like bruises that never faded. It was jarring to say the least. But his personality was awfully plain, nothing about him struck her as important. She did find that endearing, although she would never admit it.

“I was just about to head to the lab. Prof’s gonna review our notes from yesterday...”

Mitaka seethed. Those were her notes, Denji didn’t help with any of it. He was either stupid, or lazy. Probably both.

Denji seemed to pick up on her frustration, because he immediately started to backtrack.

“I know I’m not the best partner or anything. You pretty much do all the work… um… thanks for that.”

Asa rolled her eyes, ignoring the comment.

“Anyways… I just wanted to ask—”

He paused. His throat tightened, and his palms began to sweat.

“Did you… wanna come with me?”

Mitaka’s mind flooded with imaginary scenarios, flipping through them like flashcards. Was he seriously asking her out? No. That couldn’t be it. Obviously not. And yet… the way he said it, the awkward pause, the sweating—God, he was sweating—why else would he be so nervous?

Sure, the question was vague, but vague in that stupid, annoying, boyish way where they’re too scared to just say what they mean. ‘Did you wanna come with me?’ What was that even supposed to mean? Why would she go anywhere with him? He’s an idiot?? Was this really supposed to be romantic? Casual? Was he really expecting her to melt like butter at the first sign of affection? Well, no chance. She was a woman of class, and there is absolutely no way she would ever be enticed by such a stupid boy.

In that moment, Mitaka got out of her own head for long enough to remember the crisis at hand. The Birds. Oh SHIT.

She had somehow managed to forget that the data her professor wanted to review was completely ruined, as well as the entire study. Should she deny everything? Act cool? Confess? Disappear off the face of the planet?

“No.”

She blurted out, immediately regretting her answer.

“I mean—yes. Maybe.”

Denji gave a puzzled expression. First disappointment, which then morphed into confusion.

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe. I mean—I’ll go with you. I just don’t want to go.”

Denji gave a nod of understanding, despite him not understanding whatsoever.

Ms. Mitaka just exhaled slowly, and looked down at her bowl, hovering over the soup like she was waiting for permission. She could see a vague outline of her reflection on the gloomy surface; distorted. She didn’t move, just stared.

--------

The slow walk down the hallway felt agonizing, each second dragged like flesh ripped down hawthorn. With each step, tensions were rising. Mitaka could almost taste the salt down her brow, and her body radiated anxious heat.

Returning to the lab felt like retracing her steps at the crime scene, only Ms. Mitaka decided that there would be no crime at all. If she simply pretended hard enough, then surely reality would bend to her whim.

Maybe, the birds would magically reappear in their cages. Maybe, the professor suffered a terrible stroke and had forgotten there was a study at all. Maybe, Denji would be hit by a bus while strolling down the hallway and Mitaka might be afforded a few precious moments to think this through.

No such luck.

The pair walked in a strained silence. Denji attempted small talk, something about a comic book he was reading, the guy was made of chainsaws? Mitaka felt it was stupid and tuned it all out, besides she was focused on much more important things. By now, the two could already see the dull grey slab of judgement, or what most would call the door to the laboratory.

Inside, the lab looked exactly as she had left it, not a single speck out of place. Her professor hadn’t made it inside yet, and the cage door was still slightly ajar. Asa lunged forward ahead of Denji and slammed it shut with her knee, while flicking the lights off.

Despite being plunged into darkness, Denji could not have cared less and just stood in place with his mouth dipped open like a dope. Mitaka raced across the room to grab something to cover the empty cage. Looking through the laboratory drawers and feeling around. Tubes? Beakers? Petri Dishes? Finally, she found a crumpled space blanket used for emergencies and hastily threw it over the cage.

“Hey Ass-uh. I think you may have uh— flicked the lights off?”

Asa tried to swallow her pride and ignore that pronunciation.

“Asa.”

Evidentially, she failed.

“But yeah, I think I uh— turned them off by accident?”

Denji had seen her rush towards the cage and turn off the lights, there was quite literally no possible way any of that could have been accidental.

“Oh yeah. No problem, happens to me all the time.”

This boy really was a dunce. He twirled on his heels and made a beeline for the bench, stationed next to Ms. Mitaka, of course. He haphazardly threw his belongings onto the table, and plopped onto his seat like an unwanted dog on the neighbour’s porch.

Asa, to her credit, placed her notebooks and laptop neatly and organized along the bench. Somehow, she was only willing to be organized when someone else was watching.

“Smells like bird in here.” Denji said, his nose wrinkling and rubbed by his finger.

Asa muttered under her breath, “Wow. What an astute observation,” before sweeping her arm across the desk to rearrange his scattered notes into something that resembled intent.

She flipped through her books trying to look put together, intelligent, and not like someone who just lost three federally tagged birds on campus. The plan was simple; she would buy time. Speak only when spoken to. Give short answers, and smile. Maybe. Probably not.

Denji peered over at her. “Hey, why did you throw that foil on the bird cage?”

Goddamnit.

“Well… um…. The birds… you see—”

“I see the foil, yeah.”

“No no, I mean the birds— they were… sleeping?”

Denji blinked. “Sleeping.”

“Yeah. The birds are probably tired from last night so I thought I’d put a blanket over them so they could sleep.”

“Why wouldn’t they just sleep at night?”

Asa grabbed a fistful of her hair and started pulling at it. “Well… I was staying here late last night so maybe they didn’t get the chance to sleep?”

At this point, Mitaka was just throwing things at the wall. There is no chance anyone would fall for such a terrible excuse.

“Well, I guess I would be tired as well if I hadn’t slept all night. We should just leave them alone.”

Asa looked up. “What?” even she was bewildered that her card hadn’t been declined.

“I’m just saying, it’s not nice to be robbin’ sleep from birds, y’know? They prolly need that.”

A long pause.

“You should apologize.”

A longer pause.

“Y’know… to the birds.”

Asa slowly pushed herself up from her seat and dawdled along to the empty cage covered by a space blanket. She could fragmented slivers of her reflection shimmered back at her from the crinkled aluminum; a beak staring back at her.

“I’m sorry birds.”

--------

Right on cue, Dr. Cedar walked in, carrying his usual thermos and clipboard, obviously distracted. He was wearing that same walnut brown jacket with suede elbow patches rubbed smooth with age. A faint haze of mothballs and burnt coffee seemed to follow wherever he went, as if even his scent were tenured.

“Good afternoon, you two. Mind if I take a look at your observational data so far?” He didn’t wait for an answer before reaching for Mitaka’s notebook. She tried not to visibly wince.

“Right then,” he murmured. “Ms. Mitaka, you and Denji were responsible for… the incubation response, correct?” He spoke offhandedly while slipping through the pages, eyes darting across rough tables and graphs.

He briefly skimmed the entries and broke his gaze with the page, looking up. “Well, that all seems to be in order—Ms. Mitaka, as usual, your work is exemplary.” His compliment didn’t land; Asa felt her stomach churn.

Then Cedar’s eyes narrowed, squinting at the noticeably empty columns under the Sunday night entry. His mouth thinned into a fine line.

“These columns are blank,” he said flatly, each syllable striking like a blunt instrument. “You didn’t record timepoints last night?”

Asa’s body locked. “I must’ve...forgotten to transcribe the rough notes,” she droned, the words dragging against her throat like thorns. Flesh ripped down hawthorn.

The professor’s gaze lingered a moment too long, a disappointed look. The kind that made her want to seep into the tile floor and fester like mold on spilled orange juice.

“This is very unlike you, Ms. Mitaka,” he said with sharpness in his tone. “I expect this corrected by tomorrow.” He didn’t linger—just turned back to his clipboard with all of the decisive displeasure of peeling off a bandage.

Denji, either willfully oblivious or catastrophically stupid, leaned back on the bench and stretched.

“Hey, speaking of birds, I think I saw one like those cuckoos on the dorm roof this morning.”

Asa ceased to breath.

Professor Cedar’s pen paused mid-mark, he shot Denji a frustrated glance, “Pardon?”

A high-pitched, strangled laugh escaped Asa’s throat before she could stop it.

“Haha, well, that’s— what a coincidence!” She was smiling through gritted teeth.

Cedar glanced between the two of them, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I’ll be back again later this week. Make sure the cages are cleaned, and the log is updated.” His voice was gruff and slow; awfully observant.

He swung to the door, but then got an unmistakable glance at the space blanket clumsily concealing the birdcage. He paused.

“Why is there aluminum foil over the birdcage?”

Asa felt in that moment that she would probably have been better off born as a protoplasm.

Denji sprung off his chair, brash and brimming with braggadocio, courtesy of Ms. Mitaka.

“Well, you see Teach— the birds need their sleep.”

Chapter Text

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The night had been a slow, dragging torture, her brain stubbornly refusing to shut down no matter how many times she turned over or adjusted the blanket. She had stared at the clock on her flip-phone, until the numbers bled into one another, counting every second. When the first gray light of dawn finally seeped through the blinds, it did not bring relief, only the dull ache of exhaustion sitting heavy in her skull. By the time she forced herself upright, it felt less like waking up and more like giving up on the idea of sleep entirely.

The email came at 8:07 AM.

Subject: URGENT: Academic Integrity Notice — Immediate Attention Required
From: Office of the Dean — Academic Affairs

She skimmed, eyes gliding down the official seal and the string of perfunctory phrases, glazed over.

“It has come to our attention… a serious breach in research protocol… falsification of data is a violation… loss of live study specimens has been noted… failure to come forward will result in the maximum disciplinary action allowable under university policy.”

Her stomach dropped.

“The lead researcher has indicated that the individual(s) responsible for the release of specimens will not face formal consequences if they self-disclose before Friday, 6:00 p.m.”

Her gaze hovered over the screen. She could see her reflection faintly in the glass: sickly pale skin with gloom under her eyes, hair in a limp mess that clung to her jawline. She looked guilty.

She set the phone face-down on the table.

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By 9:00 AM, the email was the only thing anyone wanted to talk about.

The corridors were full of the low hum of gossip. A cacophony of speculation that buzzed loud enough to make her temples ache. Mitaka attempted to walk past, but she was too nosey to not listen to snippets in passing.

“—I heard that someone left the lab unlocked—”

“—My friend told me it was sabotage—”

“—Aren’t they tagged by the government?"

Each flock of gulls she passed seemed to pivot ever so slightly when she walked by, their eyes skimming over her like breadcrumbs on the dock.

Morning’s lecture was an exercise in holding her breath. Mitaka kept her gaze fixed on the lined paper of her notebook. She’d written the same half sentence six times:

“In cases of mimicry, the host is unable to distinguish—”

Before trailing off into a puddle of ink.

When the professor dismissed them, she lingered at her desk, waiting for the room to empty. She pretended to organize her bag, really she was just buying time to avoid walking though another gauntlet of stares.

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Back in the lab, the air felt different. It was Denji who spoke first.

“You see the email?”

He was leaning back in his chair, legs splayed, while eating a sandwich with one hand. Crumbs dotted the bench like flecks of sawdust.

“Yeah,” Asa grumbled, gently dropping her bag by her seat, before pulling out her stool and sitting on it, careful to not let a single sound escape.

“You think they mean us?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Why would they mean us?”

“I dunno. ‘Cause our birds are the ones missing?” He said it with the same nonchalance he might use to point out a stain on his shirt.

Asa gritted her teeth and felt her hands clamp up.

“We don’t know that! They could be talking about any group! There are probably tons of irresponsible people here who would lose their birds!”

Denji gave a slight smirk; amused by her performance.

“Oh yeah, sure. It’s a coh-inky-dink, right?” He drawled, leaning back like he’d just won the conversation.

“What?” She blinked.

“You know. A coh-inky-dink. When things just work out.” He gestured vaguely, as if the meaning was self evident.

“Coincidence.” Her tone sharp to the touch.

“Yeah, same thing.”

Mitaka paused, deciding whether it was worth the mental strain to even attempt to continue speaking with such an idiot.

She turned away, flippantly opening her notebook and pretending to read. Her handwriting from last night looked even worse under the harsh fluorescent light, uneven and jittery, the ink smudged in places where her hand lingered.

If she stared hard enough at those numbers, maybe they could rearrange themselves into something useful.

--------

It wasn’t difficult, she knew all the things she was supposed to write. It would be easy enough to simply construct them, all she had to do was repeat the same patterns and showcase a statistically significant trend. Egg Mass— shell density— call response times; it wasn’t really lying. It was… continuity. Preservation of data. Prioritizing the momentum of the study.

Her pen held stiff, unwilling to make any sudden movements.

"Option 1: If you don't hand in the Sunday night data, they will know something happened under your watch. It would be easy for them to connect the disappearance of the birds to your missing entries. They’ll write you off as incompetent, careless, or both.

Option 2: If you hand in fake entries, that’s falsification of evidence. Academic misconduct. Grounds for expulsion."

Like choosing between drowning or suffocating, which slow death would you prefer?

Mitaka tapped the end of her pen on her parietal in rapid succession. She could feel the eyes on her— judging.

“You’re doing that thing again.” Denji chimed in, uninvited.

“What thing?” Mitaka shot Denji a spiteful look, obviously unprepared for another conversation.

“Staring contest with your book.” He pointed to her notes.

She slammed the pen down on the table. “I’m working. Leave me alone.”

Denji put up his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, alright. I didn’t think you’d get so mad about it. I just think this is nothing to worry about.”

Easy for him to say. This useless boy has never been responsible for anything in his life; it wasn’t his name on the log, it wasn't his burden to carry. 

Mitaka kept grumbling to herself and twirled her stool, facing her back towards him.

Soon after, the door swung open, and Professor Cedar walked in, scanning the room with his clipboard in hand.

“By now, I’m sure you all have heard about the released specimens. Whoever was at fault, I want to reiterate that there will be no punitive action taken against you.”

What a joke. “No punitive action?” Even if they didn’t expel her, she’d be marked down as the girl you could never trust. The one student who managed to destroy months of work with one careless mistake.

Cedar’s gaze drifted along the benches, stopping on her for a fraction too long.

“With the specimens no longer available. Many of the data points you have been dutifully recording will no longer be available. Accordingly, the faculty of science has made the decision to acknowledge the loss of specimens, preserve the months of valid data, and re-frame the project timeline accordingly.”

“As a result, everyone in this lab section must submit their quantitative observational logs by the end of the day,” he announced, voice clipped. “If you are missing data points, you will note exactly why. No exceptions.”

Everything inside her rushed. Everything on the page stayed still. Asa Mitaka bore into the columns until the numbers swam. The columns stayed blank. Her eyes did not. Denji watched her blink hard and decided the book had won.

--------

The first fake was the hardest.

She started with the brood composition. She wanted to determine the difference in parasitic chicks raised alone, compared to being raised with a host.

To that end, it entailed some simple morphological assessments. Beak length, Tarsus length, Wing chord length.

Nobody would notice a 0.1 mm deviation in length from the prior entry. That kind of variation can easily be accounted for.

Once the first entry was down, the rest came easy.

Feeding intervals: eight minutes, seven minutes, six minutes. Vocalization frequency: 0.772 calls per second for tagged males.

She populated the columns with the grace of a floral arrangement for a funeral. Convincingly imperfect. With each entry, she was getting increasingly bold.

Mitaka felt that this was for the good of the project. An incomplete dataset would render the entire trial useless. At least with this, the analysis of the real data could continue.

After all, great datasets have outliers. The manipulation of information is one of the core tenets of science; there is nothing wrong with that. Mitaka kept pleading her case to the jury in her head.

Soon, she was dismissed from lab, and Denji decided to follow her through the doorway and down the open well staircase, spiraling downwards.

Mitaka stopped and slouched over the railing, looking at the view from halfway down.

“Why did you follow me.” She couldn’t have been less pleasant if she tried.

“Well,” Denji took a bite out of a crushed granola bar he had stuffed in his pocket, “you looked like you wanted someone to talk to.”

Mitaka’s eye twitched.

“I want someone to talk to? And that someone is you!? I wouldn’t talk with you about anything even if we were the last two people on earth!”

She was trying to get under his skin, vying for the most intentionally hurtful words she could muster.

“Well… we are talking right now.”

It didn’t work.

Mitaka gripped the railing tighter, her posture sagging against it.

“You’re insufferable,” she hissed. “You can’t read a room, you can’t take a hint, and you keep acting like we’re friends when I’ve made it very clear I want nothing to do with you.”

Denji nodded along like she has just detailed the weather. “Yeah, I figured that a while ago.”

“So why the hell are you still here!?” Her raised voice reverberated down the stairwell.

He bit off the last crumb of granola, and brushed his hands on his pants.

“Because if I leave you alone, you’ll just stand here and beat yourself up. And then you’ll cry. I don’t wanna see you cry.”

Her head jerked, eyes narrowing. “I did not cry.” She suddenly turned away, “Besides... you don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not. But I know you sit in class all stiff and quiet, like you’d just explode the second someone talks to you.” He continued. “I know you’re wound up tighter than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Her nails dug into the railing. “Shut up. I’m warning you. If you keep talking to me like you understand anything, I’m going to make you regret it.”

Denji looked unbothered and kept going, “I know you talk under your breath, I know you have the clammiest palms in the world, and most of all, I know that you’re scared of what people think.”

“SHUT UP!” Asa couldn’t contain her voice at this point, and she could feel her words reverberate through the railing.

She snapped toward him; face blotched with frustration. “Why are you so damn persistent?! Is this funny to you? Some kind of joke?!”

“No joke,” he said softly. “I just don’t want you eating yourself alive over this. If that makes me annoying, I’ll take that.”

Mitaka stared like she wanted to strangle him, she wanted to say something cutting and final, but her throat caught instead. She looked down the stairwell, jaw trembling just slightly and whimpered, “You’re pathetic.”

Denji couldn't help but smile.

--------

It was a long walk back to her dorm. The hours had all bled together, and the sky was overcast.

As she walked, there it was. It clung to the guttering above the science building, its throat pulsing, its head jerking in sharp mechanical ticks. The cuckoo was waiting.

Asa felt her breath hitch. In an instant it was recognition, as if it had perched along there just for her.

And then it called. A short, clipped sound. Hardly a song, but a signal.

Asa couldn’t help but follow. Her shoes slapped against the pavement, the soles scraping against bone.

The bird leisurely shifted from ledge to ledge, always just out of reach, but never out of sight. Around the bike racks. Past the dumpster that stank of sour milk. Through the creaking trees that groaned in the wind. She trailed, eyes raw, every nerve straining towards the bundle of feathers.

Her backpack split open in the chase, papers fanning across the ground, but she couldn’t stop. Hours bled away, and night folded over her. The streetlamps across campus fizzed to life, painting the courtyard a sickly jaundiced glow. Still, she continued the hunt like a bird of prey.

Come midnight and her legs began to shake. By three she was laughing under her breath. By dawn she was staring up into the gray light, pupils blown wide and lips trembling.

The cuckoo was roosting high in the branches now; feathers wrapped in shadow. And it sang.

The sound wasn’t right. Sharp and deliberate. Each note curled into shape, contorting into words her mind supplied without consent.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

A laugh tore out of her throat like a cough. She pressed her hands against her ears, but the birdsong slipped between the cracks, needling its way into her skull.

Failure. Fraud. Wrong nest. Wrong girl.

Her shoulders quaked and trembled, she tilted her head up and cackled at it. A sound more akin to weeping than mirth, tasting iron in the back of her throat. The bird merely twitched, eye glinting. Watching. Always judging.

As the sound ceased from her throat, all she was left with was the rasp of her breathing.

--------

She stumbled into the dormitory, tracing the steps towards her room. Her skin itched with grease and filth. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. More than anything, she needed a cold shower and a warm bed.

Turning the corner, she collided with him.

Denji. At the worst possible moment.

He stood there oblivious, lopsided grin and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry for bumping you like that.”

He took a long look at her and paused.

“Asa? You— uh, look like shit.”

He managed to get her name right.

Her jaw clenched. “…I’m fine”

Denji gave a worried expression. “You don’t look fine. You look like you just lost a fight with a trash compactor. Have you been up all night?”

Asa Mitaka no longer had the energy to protest. “It’s fine… I’m good…. It’s all okay….” Her voice was cracked and dry.

Her knees buckled. The hallway tilted sideways. Just before she collapsed, an arm hooked around, steadying her with surprising force.

“Whoa—hey, I got you.”

Denji shifted, bracing her weight. He looked down at her, earnest for once, his voice low but firm. “You’re not fine. Which room’s yours?”

Asa raised a weak hand, gesturing down the hall.

Without hesitation, Denji bent down and scooped her up over his shoulder. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She wanted to protest, to claw her way free out of sheer pride. But her body sagged over his, too heavy, too exhausted.

Denji adjusted his grip and started walking. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there.”

Asa clenched her teeth, eyes half-lidded, trying so hard to summon her scorn, but the fight had already drained out of her.

And for once, she let someone else carry the weight.

--------
She woke to the bright light of midday, the ceiling swam in a blinding yellow hue, the sunlight reflecting off her pale skin.

Mitaka blinked, throat cracked, head pounding. For a moment, she couldn’t place where she was.

Then the stale air hit her, the familiar textbooks, dust, and faint lavender scented detergent from her sheets. She had made it back to her room.

She shifted under the duvet, a dull ache radiating throughout her body. She was still in yesterday’s clothes. Her skin crawled with filth, and her mouth tasted sour and metallic. Last night was the most exercise Ms. Mitaka had in months.

Asa glanced at the digital clock by her bedside.

“1:34 PM.”

She had missed her morning and afternoon classes, but that was the least of her concerns. Mitaka let out a pained groan and flipped to the other side.

Suddenly, a sound by the edge of the room.

Asa jolted upright—and froze.

Denji.

He was slumped awkwardly in her desk chair, head tilted back, mouth open just enough to snore faintly. His jacket had been bunched up to form a makeshift pillow, and an empty mug balanced precariously on the desk beside his hand.

She couldn’t believe it.

Of all the humiliations; passing out, being carried here, letting him of all people see her like that— this could not be any worse. Why was he here? Why was he watching over her like some idiot guard dog? Was he watching her sleep?

Her fingers curled in the sheets.

She told herself she was disgusted. She told herself she was furious. She told herself that the warmth pulsing through her body was just leftover fever from last night.

Asa swung her legs over the side of the bed, glaring daggers at the boy in her room. The bed creaked. He blinked into the light, eyes dreary and blurred.

“Oh,” he mumbled, rubbing away at his face. “You’re awake. I thought you’d never wake up.” Then he smiled, stupid and soft.

“You didn’t have to stay.” She remained unwilling to find the right words to say.

“Yeah… well—” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Couldn’t leave you like that. You looked— uh… really bad.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “I mean, not bad bad. Just… y’know— regular bad?”

Asa Mitaka wanted to scream. She wanted to tell him to get out of her life. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, forever. Instead, the words that came out were:

“…Thanks.”

The admission cut into her throat. It cost her something. But it gave something back, in return.

Denji blinked, shocked to even hear her say it. Then he let out a grin, boyish and wide, held like she’d just handed him treasure.

Asa pulled back sharply, wrapping herself in the safety of her covers. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Totally,” he said, still beaming. “Doesn’t mean a thing.”

But the moment hung heavy, basked in the golden glow, and for a fleeting instant, it felt like it did.

--------

The tile floor was cold under her bare feet as Asa shuffled out the bedroom, blanket still draped around her like a robe. The small kitchen smelled vaguely of instant ramen and green onions, the best an undergraduate could hope for.

Denji trailed behind, lagging while stretching out a groan. His hair seemed poised to jump off his scalp in every which direction.

“You’ve got quite the bedhead.” Asa chimed in playfully.

She felt a tinge of regret having him sleep on her rickety desk chair. Although, it’s not like she asked him to stay and watch over her. What was he thinking doing that anyways? Is he stupid?

“My hair is always like this.” Denji felt the need to pontificate.

Right. He was just an idiot.

Asa turned her attention to the cupboards, searching for coffee grounds in a bright yellow container.

“Man… so we’re both skipping class, huh?” Denji declared with a triumphant yawn.

Asa shot him a look over her shoulder. “I’m skipping class because I didn’t sleep. You’re skipping class because you’re irresponsible”

Denji grinned. “Same thing.”

She ignored him and set a kettle on the stove. The clink of metal on metal felt too loud in the silence, as if it echoed from farther away than the little kitchen should allow.

Her movements were stiff, but the rhythm of making something helped settle the static buzzing at the edges of her thoughts.

Her hands twitched as she measured the grounds and set them in the press, she forced herself to keep steady for the sake of her counter.

Denji had found his way to another chair by the kitchen and leaned to his side, watching her. “You always make coffee like that? I thought you always had to boil water and dump it over the grounds.”

“Like a pour-over?” she muttered.

“Yeah,” Denji glanced at the floor. “I had a friend who made it like that.”

Asa clung to the words; “had.”

“Well— this is a French Press, I think it’s easier this way.” She didn’t want to dwell on it.

A faint sound cut through the room: a chirp, from somewhere beyond the window. Asa felt her shoulders go stiff. The blinds rattled faintly in a soft breeze, though the room was still.

She poured the water into the press, fighting herself to not look through the glass.

Denji could feel the tension in the room, cut abruptly by the growl of her stomach. “You want something to eat? I’m hungry as well.”

Mitaka could feel her face burn hot with embarrassment. “Fine. Just clean up after yourself.”

Denji popped open the fridge and stared in shock at the barren wasteland inside. How on earth could this girl live like this?

His eyes scanned from top to bottom, finally finding a half-used loaf of sliced bread.

“I can make some toast… I guess? Do you have any jam?” He was dumbfounded.

“Only Apricot, the others taste too synthetic for me,” Asa explained casually as if jam synthetics was high brow conversation. “It’s on the top shelf; you can’t miss it.”

Denji missed it.

A few minutes went by as Asa poured two cups, and Denji plopped some slices into the toaster. Asa favoured a milky, weak coffee but she thought drinking it black was more sophisticated. Denji preferred a bag of sugar, and a carton of cream in his.

A casual and comfortable silence, interrupted by Denji, almost hesitantly. “Hey… so, about lab work. We should go over our notes together. Y’know, to make sure I—we’re not totally screwing it up.”

She took a long drag on her mug, disgustingly bitter. The steam rose as thin white ribbons that made her eyes water, breaking their shared contact. “We don’t need to.”

“C’mon,” he pressed, “just the two of us. We can go somewhere quiet. Like a study date.”

Mitaka thought aloud for a moment. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

…

She spun violently toward him. “This is not a date.”

“Right, right,” Denji said quickly, grinning again. “Not a date. Just studying.”

He took a sip of his coffee. Unbearably sweet. “So… you in?”

A second chirp came from the window, closer than before. She gritted her teeth; her pride wanted so badly to refuse.

“…Fine,” she said at last. “—If only to make sure you don’t ruin our grade.”

Asa looked away, tightening the blanket around her shoulders. Her chest felt torn between two tides. The soft glow of sunlight creeping through the blinds, and the gnawing itch at the back of her skull whispering that the birds were still watching.

Denji leaned back in his chair, radiating with the sweet aroma of coffee, courtesy of Ms. Mitaka.

“Cool. Well— we’ve already missed class for today, and I’m already at your place.” He offered a mischievous smile. “So how about right now?”

Her head snapped up. “Right now?!” Asa was immediately thrust back into the moment.

Denji shrugged.

“I— uh… well—” She flailed for words, scrambling through her thoughts.

Then, the abrupt realization, she reeked of sweat from the night spent chasing birds. And this was practically a date.

“I need to take a shower!” Asa scowled, cheeks hot. She jolted off to the bathroom, leaving the blanket in her wake.

Denji blinked, then laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes?” She was already out of earshot.

He glanced at the counter, grabbing an adequately burned slice of toast. “Guess I’ll man the toaster.”