I cross my legs in my chair and stare at Akito as he flips to the next page of his Japanese lit textbook. The classroom is extra quiet. Our Japanese teacher can be a pain in the ass and nobody ever wants to take a chance with her, so everyone is suddenly all obedient now, and I hate it. This silence. The still atmosphere makes my body feel like I'm back in the halls of my house, even though I'm not, even though there are still so many hours of school left.

I sigh and absently flip a pencil into the air with one hand, attempting to catch it with the other only to fail epically. I wince when it clatters loudly onto my desk, drawing looks from my classmates that make me want to sink into my chair. Akito, however, remains unfazed by the noise, his eyes staying glued to his textbook, and it pisses me off a little.

I grumble under my breath and rock back and forth in my chair, freezing when I see his mouth draw itself into a tight line. I glance down at my textbook, wondering if there's something in there that he's having trouble understanding, but I quickly realise that I've got the wrong section open so I lean closer, trying to catch a glimpse of the number at the bottom of the page that he's on.

That's when he turns on me, eyebrows pinched together. "What?" I whisper, similarly frowning.

He studies me for a moment, then pulls his rough notes out from underneath his textbook, flips to a blank page and starts to write something there. When he's finished, he puts the pencil down and passes the book to me.

You're staring at me. I stare at the words, confused, and look back to him. So what — he's suddenly okay with passing notes in class? He gets real mad when I pull shit like this though, so I never have a choice but to wait till class finishes if I want to talk to him. So annoying. I pick my pencil back up and start to scribble my reply underneath his message. He's the one who started it this time, so technically, he can't get mad at me for passing a note back to him, even if it's in the middle of class.

I drop the pencil and hold the book up so that he can see what I've written.

Do you have to study on sports day?

He squints his eyes to read my handwriting, and the way his face scrunches up makes me chuckle. His lips close in a small pout, and he returns a confused glance.

I put the book back down, write something else, and show it to him again.

I want you to watch me play.

"Baseball?" he mouths.

I nod. I'm going to win.

This makes him lift his eyebrows a little, and it's something I've never seen him do before. I press my mouth into the palm of my hand to hide my smile, and underline my first message again because he didn't answer yet.

Do you have to study on sports day?

He gestures for me to pass the book back to him, and when I do, he starts to write something in it again. I try to get a peek at what it is, but he frowns and hides the notebook with his hand. I impatiently kick at my desk, and the girl sitting in the front shoots me an annoyed glance. "Sorry," I mutter, and hear a muffled laugh to my right. When I return my attention to Akito, he hands the book back to me, and this time he's the one hiding the smile behind his hand. There's that feeling in my chest again, the one that feels so wrong and so right at the same time.

I know you'll look cool out there so I wouldn't miss it :)

Damn, his handwriting is really nice. What's with the smiley though, it's a little creepy.

So he'll come watch me play. Cool.

...he thinks I'm cool?

I'm cool?

I whip my head back towards him, but he's already back to trailing his eyes down his textbook, fingers following the letters on the page, and I'm worried that I might lose my chance so I hurriedly grab for the pencil, but before I'm able to bring it down on the page, the book is snatched from underneath me. I instinctively curse and bang at the table, before raising my head to the tired eyes of my Japanese teacher. Shit.

She studies the book, going through all our little exchanges, and sighs. "You really thought that I wouldn't notice the little back and forth that's been happening here for a while now?"

I feel choked up. She's speaking to me, but I don't answer.

"Stand up when I'm talking to you."

We shoot up to our feet.

My lungs suddenly hurt, and I can feel my heartbeat raging in my throat. I swallow nervously, and glance at Akito. He's got that blank face on, and I have no idea what he's thinking. Fuck. This is so fucking bad. Why didn't I just shut up and wait till the end of class to ask him about coming to the game? Why the fuck did I take such a big risk with him? The heck is wrong with me?

"I know you kids are excited about sports day, but leave those discussions for break time. Study hour does not equal break time," she scolds, prompting us to lower our heads. "And you, Akito," she starts, shifting her attention to him, and my stomach twists itself into knots. Gosh, he's going to hate me so much for this, isn't he? "I really didn't expect this sort of behavior from you. You should use the time that you're being given more wisely." She touches the bridge of her nose, distressed. "Now please leave the classroom and reflect on what I've said."

My fault. This is all my fault. Thumping heart refusing to slow down, I keep my eyes on the floor. I'm scared to look at him. "I'm sorry, Sensei. It won't happen again," I hear him say, and when I finally lift my head, he's already walking towards the door, his textbook tucked under one arm.

"I—h-he didn't, it was all me," I try, but my teacher just rolls her eyes and points towards the door. I curse internally, and notice that Akito is standing still at the front of the classroom, tilting his head at me with a silent question. I hopelessly look at the teacher again, but she's already walking back to her desk, so I give up and follow him outside.

When we're out in the corridor, I clench my sweaty hands and brace myself for tight words and an icy glare, but he simply goes to stand with his back to the nearest wall and opens his book without saying a word to me. Is he going to ignore me? I slowly move to stand closer to him, uncertain.

"...Hey," I say carefully.

"Mm?" he asks, without looking up.

"I..." I breathe heavily. "I'm...sorry."

He lifts his head. "Ah...it's alright, it's not a big deal."

"I know I fucked up ba—" Wait a damn minute. "Huh?"

"It's only study hour, so it's not like I'll miss out on any teaching. It's okay, I can still study out here," he points out. "It's unfortunate that she caught us but there's no point in being disheartened about it."

I frown. "Y-Yeah, I guess so." He's...changed. He was not like this before.

"Mm," he says again, turning back to the book.

"Okay."

He's not mad. The lock over my chest comes free.

I cross my arms, press my shoulder to the wall, lean the side of my head against it and closely watch him study. He's silently mouthing all the words in his book, standing completely still as his brain runs through the concepts, eyes fixed to the page, and I'm a little amazed, because I can't get my brain to remember jack shit unless I loudly recite each answer at least five times and pace the room while I do it.

His cheeks look so soft. I suddenly have this weird urge to sink my nose into them.

Something is definitely wrong with me.

"Ren," he whispers.

"Yeah?" I whisper back.

"You're staring at me again. I can't focus when you—"

"You think I'm cool?" I blurt, watching him.

"What?" He turns his face around to look at me, and I suddenly realise that we're standing a lot closer to each other than I first thought we were. My eyes drop down to his lips when he purses them together, and I think about how they have a nice shape. Akito's lips huh. Well, everything about him is sort of really nice anyway.

When the school bell blares, my eyes snap back up to his, and heat immediately floods into my face. Akito is glancing nervously to the side, his cheeks a deep red. I hastily avert my gaze to my feet, thumb pressing hard into the metal of my piercing. Oh god, I should say something. I feel like I should say something. But what? Baseball? Classes? Lips? Fucking hell. What is even happening.

"Uh. Um," he stammers. "I uh...I'm gonna, just...go." He whirls around then, and swiftly begins to walk away from me. A part of me feels like I should stop him, but for some inexplicable reason, I can't really feel my legs. I can't feel my goddamn legs, and my voice won't come out. Stupid, I think. Stupid, fucking useless—

"Did something happen?" Amari asks, staring after Akito. I didn't even notice her come out of the classroom.

"I don't know," I answer dumbly.

She doesn't linger on my response. "You okay?" she asks instead, screwing her face with worry. "You look...flushed. Do you feel—?"

"I'm fine," I mumble, ploughing into the classroom, and Amari hurriedly follows me inside.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"I don't think I believe you."

"Look, fuck off okay? I'm not in the mood."

"Okay, jeez, relax."

I head over to my seat and collapse into my chair. She fucking follows me all the way there too, and the girl in the front wordlessly gets up so that Amari can have her seat. "Did you and Akito have a fight?" she asks, needlessly meddlesome as usual. When I don't respond, she smiles. "Look, don't worry okay? I'm not sure what happened but we'll cheer him up together during lunch!" I'm about to snap at her that nothing happened when she says, "Akito's cutest when he's smiling after all."

Cute.

That's the word.

That's the damn word.

Cute.

I go still as it falls into a loop in my head, quickly getting itself attached to the memories of Akito in my head. I see flashes of his smile, his laugh, the way he sleepily rubs at his face in the mornings, the way his eyes almost seem to sparkle when he's eating his favorite desserts, and it's all cute. When he comes back to class, it's hard for me to look at him because fuck, I feel like I'm going to combust from the embarrassment.

The four of us quickly get into our usual lunch-time arrangement, with me and Akito in our respective desks and Amari and Braids girl occupying the ones in front of each of us.

The word still hasn't left my mind. Cute.

"How's...the f-food?" Akito asks me, ears pink.

"It's really good," I answer awkwardly.

"Good," he mumbles. Amari and braids girl exchange a confused glance.

Shit. I fumble with my chopsticks, strangely disoriented. How did things get this weird all of a sudden?

The classroom dissolves into chatter, and Amari is speaking to me, but all I give her in response are distracted grunts because I can't tear my eyes from his cheeks that puff up when he's chewing, or from the little smile that plays on his lips everytime Amari and braids girl break into another silly argument, or his pink ears and his ugly blue sweater, and oh man.

It makes no sense.

How can one person be

So

Fucking

Cute?

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

When I get home that evening, I notice that my mother's heels are already in the shoe rack by the doorway. It's still kinda early for her to be home. I don't notice my father's boots next to them either, and it's rare for them to be back at different times, but whatever.

I take my shoes off, kick them under the rack and go inside. I swiftly walk past the kitchen on the way to my bedroom, but backtrack when I realise I saw someone in there. It's my mother.

She never goes in the kitchen. Nobody in this house does.

I remain out of sight and peer at her as she rummages through the empty shelves, still in her work clothes. She looks tired.

She's not going to find anything in there.

Guilt pricks at me when I think about whether or not she knows that I fired the cook. Both my parents leave the house before breakfast and come home after dinner, so it's entirely possible that she has no idea.

I turn my back on her and start back towards the stairs. Whatever. It's not like it matters. She can always just order something for herself if she's hungry.

I could help her out, but it's not like she'd do it for me.

I pause, because it suddenly hits me.

What if she would?

What if there's more to her than she's letting on?

I think about the cold, unflinching honey-brown eyes I used to hate so much, and all the warm hues I've seen them take on ever since.

What if, on peeling off that icy exterior, I find other layers underneath? What if, under those stone black eyes, she has an angry face, a sleepy face, a pouty face, a teary face, and I don't know, a smiling face too?

I stand there for a full minute, contemplating, before walking back to the kitchen.

I have to do this.

"M-Mom?" I say, trying the word out for what feels like the first time in years. It feels almost foreign to me.

I hear a spoon clatter to the ground as my mother freezes, her back to me. I go inside, drop my school bag on the large kitchen island and start to unzip it. My mother slowly turns around. Her shoulders are still bunched together but the look on her face is inscrutable. I take my lunch box out, open the lid and put it in front of her on the table.

"My...friend made this," I say, clenching and unclenching my fingers behind my back. I don't want her to see how nervous I am. "You can er, have some...if you want."

She warily examines the remainder of the fluffy egg rolls that I'd saved to eat in my room later, and gives me a tight nod. I walk around the isle and bring her a fork she can use, then reluctantly sit down in a chair opposite to her. "Thank you," she whispers, and I quietly watch her as she takes bite after bite.

It feels odd to see her eat, because she's never really seemed all that human to me. She's always been more like a geared robot in my eyes, one that leaves the house at the same time every morning and comes back at the same time every night. One that's capable of not more than a single, unseeing expression. One that has only about five default responses to anything my father says. I see. I understand. Yes. I agree. I'm sorry.

But now that I'm sitting right in front of her, I realise how small she is, how pale. What I could down in a single bite, she eats in two, and suddenly, the fact that I've been so afraid of her my whole life couldn't be more ridiculous.

When she's done, she promptly closes the box and returns it to me. "Your friend is a good cook," she says quietly.

"Yeah," I agree, searching her face for any indication that she's actually happy to be here with me. She's not looking at me anymore, so I can't really tell, and it's frustrating. I wordlessly repack my bag, sling it over my shoulder and move to leave. I don't know if I should wish her a good night or not. Maybe? How would I say it without it being weird though. Ugh, fuck if I know.

"Ren," she says suddenly, and I stop walking to look at her.

She turns around in her chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. I think I see a flash of desperation in her eyes. "How is...how is school?" she asks, voice feeble.

I don't give her an immediate answer. She's never asked me a question like this before, so it catches me off guard.

I think about it for a second.

About Kurumi-senpai's frequent visits, the pain in the ass community shifts, about sports day, and baseball practice, about getting to sit next to Akito in class, and I grin.

"It's pretty great actually."

END OF CHAPTER

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

A/N

I've been on the fence about whether I should say something about the horribly slow updates or not (I think my brain still just hasn't caught up with the fact that I actually have readers :O) so um, I've had a lot going on lately, and I have a lot of studying to do, but I have so much planned for RRT and I'm definitely not going to ever stop writing it. I guess I just wanted to say that.

Thank you for your patience ༼;'༎ຶ ۝ ༎ຶ༽