Chapter Text
"Yuuri-chan, did you do the homework?"
I woke up, startled, tilting my head up to see Aokawa Mei.
Opening my eyes, I realized what a mistake I made. Mei was friendly, too friendly that she made you feel bad whenever she didn't get what she wanted.
I sigh and push my notebook towards her.
"Take it," I say, resting my head on my arms once more, "just don't tell anyone."
Mei grinned like a kid who'd gotten candy from their mother rather than a 17 year old in a boarding school.
I never understood how some girls could be so optimistic about their situation. It irritates me a lot. Mei was a friend, though, so I can't really say anything bad about her.
Unlike a certain...
someone.
I shake my head. No, I’m not going to dwell on her—a fake bitch who drips honey from her mouth.
I sigh and close my eyes.
When did I get so arrogant?
I mean, it’s not like it’s my fault I can see through anyone’s act. I notice the slight twitch at the corner of someone’s mouth, the way their eyes dart when they lie, the half-forced tone that’s just a fraction off.
Every fleeting expression, every subtle hesitation, every carefully hidden tension—I catch it all.
It's exhausting.
I try to ignore it, to pretend I don’t notice the signs, the whispered lies, the contradictions in their stories.
But it never helps.
Mom always told me I was good at connecting with people. She said I had an intuition for reading hearts and minds.
If only she could see me now.
One word for my own soul? Drained.
I can’t even hate myself anymore. That well’s been dried, and I’ve fallen into it too many times to still call it self-loathing.
And no—empty isn’t the word. It’s too shallow, too easy. What I feel when I stare at nothing isn’t emptiness; it’s something quieter, heavier, something that hums beneath the ribs and refuses to name itself.
So I call it nothing.
I only feel simple things now.
Harmless things. Forgettable things.
Because I have no right to be overwhelmed by the weight of what I already understand too well—
the cracks in voices, the half-smiles, the practiced warmth that people wrap around their lies.
I see too much, and it leaves me with less and less to feel.
During break, I stayed inside the room.
I didn’t have the energy to go outside. I never really do.
Fate and I don’t get along.
All I wanted was to rest—but cruelly, almost mockingly, the universe had other plans.
It's almost poetic, in the worst way.
Because right in front of my desk sits the one person I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
“Are you busy, Hoshina-san?”
I wish I were. I’d give anything to be doing something—anything—that doesn’t involve Tachibana Erin.
She smiles.
Of course she does.
On a day like this, when the classroom’s too warm and the air conditioner hums uselessly in the corner,
when sunlight bleeds through the curtains and makes the dust in the air visible,
when ninety-percent of the class is outside, giggling and passing whispers,
she still smiles, like it costs her nothing.
I never understood why she was so unbearable to me.
Maybe it wasn’t hatred—just something similar.
She never cracked, never slipped. Always composed, always careful.
Even when the room hummed with quiet gossip, she seemed untouchable, like none of it ever reached her.
Maybe that’s what got to me.
That I couldn’t tell if it was envy or curiosity every time I looked at her.
Maybe that’s what makes her unbearable.
“Hoshina-san? You’re spacing out again.”
Oh right, she's in front of me.
I visibly cringe. I don’t even try to hide my disgust.
Her voice is too sweet, too practiced, like she’s performing.
She tilts her head, amused, as if my reaction is something endearing.
“Sorry,” I mutter, though I’m not. “Just tired.”
She laughs softly, that kind of polite laugh that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to borrow my notes-"
"No."
"...seeing that you never seem to pay attention in- what?"
"I don't need them, Tachibana."
“Oh. Uhm,” Erin looks down, fingers tightening around the edge of her notebook. For a second, the act slips—just a flicker, quick enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
But not me.
I hate that I notice.
Then she smiles again, perfectly composed, like that tiny break never happened. “Right. Of course.”
The silence that follows stretches thin. Someone laughs from outside the room, the sound echoing down the hallway.
I almost want to apologize. Almost.
Then I remember who I’m talking to.
Erin stands there, unsure if she should leave, and I can’t bring myself to tell her to.
That look on her face earlier—yeah, I didn’t need to go that far.
But it's fine. She'll live. Everyone else likes her anyway.
If I didn't, what difference would it make?
It’s okay. Really.
It’s okay to hurt someone once in a while. Especially when they never even show it.
She doesn’t, of course. Not a flicker. Just that same calm smile, like nothing I say can reach her.
So maybe it’s not cruel. Maybe it’s just fair. A reminder that Erin’s human too, not some untouchable doll everyone worships.
I tell myself that. Quietly. Over and over.
I'm such an asshole.
It's long after class. My roommate, Nishimoto Kana, had gone to study with Mei again.
They'd invited me to come, of course, even if they already knew my answer.
The one I'd given countless times,
"I'm tired."
I’m sitting on the edge of my bed. Uniform still on, fingers messing with the hem of my skirt.
The textbooks on my desk are lined up too neatly—I did that earlier, not because I planned to study, but because doing something felt better than doing nothing.
I haven’t moved since.
The clock keeps ticking.
The sun keeps lowering.
The room keeps changing colors.
It would've been pretty if I had actually cared.
I glance at Kana’s side of the room. Her desk’s organized, pencil case open, blanket folded just right.
Of course it is. Everything about her looks like it’s in place.
Mine doesn’t.
Mine looks lived in by someone who forgot their worth.
I think about turning on music.
I didn't.
Think about sketching.
I didn't.
Instead, I think about her. Tachibana Erin.
That perfect tone of voice everyone melts for.
I wonder if she’s doing homework right now—probably surrounded by people, smiling like it’s effortless.
I hate that she consumes my mind. I hate when I think about her and her stupid, stupid facade.
And that way she looks at people when she talks, with her green eyes.
Eyes focused, chin slightly tilted like she’s trying to look gentle and confident at the same time.
She’s practiced it. She has to have practiced it. Nobody’s naturally that composed.
Did you know her eyes are too green—unnaturally so? That sharp green, the kind that looks expensive and fake yet still stares into your-
What, no. Ew.
I press my thumb into my palm until it hurts. Just enough to remind myself I can still feel.
Not angry.
Not sad either.
Just… here.
And somehow, that’s worse. How easy it is to just exist and yet feel like you're disappearing.
The sun’s gone when I finally look up.
The window just throws my reflection back at me.
I don’t like what I see.
I look like someone who can’t do anything right.
Someone whose mother used to be proud of—
a girl who had potential once.
Maybe she got tired of all that.
Maybe she looked too far into people and forgot how to look at herself.
Maybe she was scared of being outshined,
so she kept saying she didn’t care
until she actually didn’t.
...Whatever.
I blink the thought away, like dust in my eye.