When I get home that night, I use my toes to rip my shoes off and kick them to the side of the rack before storming in, my feet landing on the floorboard with loud thumps.

I know that my father will make a crude comment about the scattered shoes the next time I walk by him, but I can't bring myself to care about that right now. My body is hot from the day's exercise, and yet I feel like I'm filled to the brim with more energy than I can contain. There's an uncontrollable tremble in my hands, and I'm forced to try especially hard to suppress a massive urge to punch the wall next to me with everything I have, right here, right now.

All I see is red.

My mother is resting in the living room, her legs crossed, a book in one hand and a cup of something brown in the other. When she hears me enter, she lowers the book and shifts her attention to me, but I tear my eyes from her and walk straight past, scrambling up the stairs towards my room.

She's been acknowledging my presence lately — with a tight nod, sometimes even a small smile, and I've been feeling pretty good about it. I guess I like the attention, no matter how little of it she's been giving me. But I don't remember why the fuck I've been trying so hard to make things right with her anymore. For years, she's been too busy to even spare me a glance. She's lived her life like I don't exist. So why the fuck should I even have to bother?

I throw open the door to my room and barge inside, shaking. I hurl my bag to the side, all the medals I managed to win today clinking loudly against each other, and for a moment, I stare ahead, at all the distorted scribbling on my wall. The sight kicks up a mixture of feelings inside me, but I'm too angry to be able to pick them apart. They merge together, frantic and messy, and raw heat flares up in my chest. I lunge for my desk drawer, fingers closing tightly around the black marker inside.

I feel like all I'm inhaling is smoke, and fuck, it burns. There's a thick cloud of gray in my head, a horrible itch in my eyes and a fire in my heart. I slam the drawer shut and trudge towards my wall of ink, dropping unsteadily to my knees before it. Strength, I read bitterly, happiness, before I raise the marker and bring it towards Akito's bold strokes of ink, thinking furiously about cutting lines across those words, over and over, because what's the fucking point if I don't get to be with you?

Teeth gritted, I press the nip of the pen to the wall, then press harder, and even harder until it gives in and my trembling hands are covered in ink, because I can't do it after all. I can't fucking do anything right.

I slump forward and let the marker roll out of my hands, dread slowly crawling into my chest when I think about how I'm going to get in trouble for the ink that's now smeared to my pants. My body is screaming for attention, the aching and fatigue from today's events catching up to me all at once, and I feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

And then I see those words, get well soon, in the same handwriting, his handwriting, crammed into a small space between all the other drawings, and my heartbeat starts to slow, momentarily, before I remember everything he said today about me being a nuisance. It all comes rushing back, like a stream of arrows hitting me in all the places that hurt the most. I just don't have time for you right now, he said. Please go. He wouldn't even look at me.

It feels like a lock has fallen over my breathing, and I scramble for purchase, pulling all my favorite memories out one by one.

Akito looking fucking adorable with a lollipop sticking out of his cheek. Akito looking even cuter with a flower in his hair. Akito standing in my bedroom, gazing at this very wall, a helpless smile rising in his cheeks, and...fuck. Of course it's all him. The longer I sit here, thinking about him, the worse I feel. It just doesn't make any sense. Was I an idiot to think that I made him happy?

I always thought...no, I know that he likes hanging out with me just as much as I like hanging out with him. I've seen it, the way he leans back in his chair with his lunch box in his lap everyday and listens to us talk, his face relaxing into a smile. We've laughed together, more than once. There's no way he could have been faking it this whole time.

So...why?

Why say all those things to me?

The anger comes back, pressing hard against my insides, but I'm too tired to let it out or push it down. So...that's it? We're just...not going to be together anymore? What the fuck. Stupid nerd. Stupid shit-head. Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot—

I rub at the itch in my nose with the back of my hand and stand up, craning my neck to look at the rest of the drawings on my wall — the random animals, the funny faces, the...hearts, all the hearts, and I swallow against the building pressure in my lungs, eyes burning. What a big fucking idiot.

Before I realise it, I'm out the door and tumbling clumsily down the stairs, and I don't stop till I'm in the living room again, standing before my mother. She puts her book down and sits up straight when she hears me come in. Quickly catching sight of my ink stained hands, she frowns, lifting herself off the couch. I can tell she's about to ask me what happened, when her eyes snap to my face and her entire body freezes.

An unintentionally loud sniffle escapes me, and I rub at my nose again. "I..." I start, then breathe in once before trying again. "I won lots of medals today," I choke out, staring into my mother's frantically concerned eyes. "I got first place for...for a lot of events. Baseball. The hundred metre dash. The four hundred metre dash. And lots more...I won first place. Well, except...except for the relay, but that wasn't my fault. S-So, what I'm trying to say is...I'm good at running. And I'm also...I'm also good at math. I have...good scores. And I'm..." My voice cracks abruptly as my eyes fill with tears.

My mother steps closer, hand rising part way into the air, towards me, before it stops and hangs there, reluctant, as she continues to watch me with sad eyes.

I attempt to suck in my tears before I continue, heart swelling as I recall everything Amari said to me the day I opened up to her about my insecurities. "I-I'm smart. And I'm strong. And I'm kind." I think about how the five of us would often sit together in a tight circle, laughing and letting silly bits of conversation chip away at the time, and my eyes start to water again now, because I'm only just starting to understand how much it all mattered. "And I'm fun to be with. And you know what? If all of you are too busy to spend time with me, then...then." I inhale sharply. "That's your fucking loss."

My mother's eyes gloss over, and she finally lets her trembling hand rest against my cheek. "Mom," I whimper, and she nods rapidly to tell me that she's listening. Memories from when I was little surge to the front of my mind, uncomfortably vivid. I can never completely forget it, the feeling of loneliness that fell on my chest like a brick each time I was pushed into the cold, foreign hands of some nanny or tutor or nurse I didn't really know, all because my parents didn't have the time to raise me themselves.

"Why were you always giving me away to all those people?" I whisper, struggling to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Mom lets her hand drop from my face, averting her eyes in shame. "I'm sorry, Ren. I don't know what to tell you."

"The truth," I mumble. "Did you really not have any time for me? Or..." My breathing stutters. "Do you hate me? Is that—"

"No," she cuts me off, horrified. "Goodness, no, of course not." She touches my face again, the movement tentative, like I'm a stray animal she's afraid to scare away. "Ren, you...you amaze me sometimes," she says slowly, swiping at my wet cheeks with her thumb. "Your existence, it amazes me. Sometimes I look at you, and I almost can't believe it. To think that I actually have a son, and he's...he's grown up to be such a good boy. I'm thankful for it everyday. For you." There's the unmistakable glint of sincerity in her eyes. "I adore you. I always have."

I pull away, frowning, because I don't believe her.

Mom lowers her head. "I didn't think I would be very good at it," she admits, voice splintering. "At being a mother. I was afraid, Ren, that I would end up hurting you and that you'd hate me for it someday. I'm not good at much else except for my job, you see. So...So I couldn't...I just couldn't trust myself...with you." All at once, I feel the blood leave my face. "I agreed to hire help from outside because for a while, I really believed that all those people would do a better job at raising you than I ever could, they were professionals, after all. But now...I understand, Ren, I understand how wrong I was, and I'm sorry."

For years, I'd lock myself up in my room every time my father went into one of his moods, crawling under my bed and desperately pressing my hands to my ears to drown out the screaming.

His temper always terrified me, sent my heart straight into my stomach, and yet Mom always took it head on, like a rock. I've seen the way he blames her for how I turned out, the way he takes all her ideas and suggestions into the palm of his hand and crushes them to her face. And yet she always remains standing before him, her eyes frozen and her back straight, and that's why she's never really seemed...human to me.

But now, it dawns on me that maybe...maybe the reason she always silently took on his berating words is because deep down, she actually believed them to be true.

"I've always loved watching you, and by the time I realised what I was missing out on, it was already too late. We weren't close at all, and I didn't know how to suddenly start being a mother to you, Ren. It was terrifying a-and heartbreaking, and I didn't know how to act around you anymore, so I just...I just..."

"Mom?" I say quietly, and she lifts her gaze fondly up to mine, tears springing to her eyes at the word. "You're kind of dumb, y'know."

"I...I know. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I whisper.

She wipes at her face and lets out an embarrassed sort of laugh, then smiles at me, the corners of her mouth quaking.

"He's wrong about you, okay?" I murmur. "He was wrong about me too. I'm not useless like he keeps saying I am, and...and neither are you. When he gets mad, he just runs his mouth and says whatever the fuck he wants. You shouldn't let it get to you."

"Ren," she says slowly, a reluctant smile on her face. "I don't...I don't think it's appropriate for you to use swear words around your mother."

I blush, stiffening a little. "O-Oh, um. Sorry. I guess," I mutter, and a tear clogged laugh leaves her mouth.

Mom throws reluctant looks at the couch then, before nervously clasping her hands together and saying, "Would you...perhaps like to sit down?"

"Sure," I say, shifting on my feet as she moves a cushion aside to make room for me. After she's done, I sit down beside her with one leg tucked up on the couch, somewhat nervous as I fiddle with the cuff of my pants. "So, um..." I start, when my knee bumps the stiff cover of the book that Mom had been reading. When my eyes land on it, Mom scrambles unsubtly to shove it under a pillow, before sitting up straight and clearing her throat.

"Alright," she says, attempting to sound laid-back. "Tell me more about...about your school."

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Is that a book about parenting?"

Mom sighs, embarrassed. "You caught me."

I chuckle. "I'm not a kid anymore, y'know."

"I know. But I figured that I should start with the basics."

"Good call," I mumble, a warmth settling into my heart. "So...you wanna hear about school?"

She nods, eagerly leaning forward with her hands in her lap. "I hope you're not having any problems there. And I would like to hear all about your friends too, if you don't mind." She lowers her eyes, guilt shaping her expression. "I wasn't the most welcoming the last time they visited. It was upsetting, Ren, to find out about you being sick from them when I'm supposed to be your mother, so I might have acted out. I'd really like to apologise. And...they really do seem to care about you. It helped me feel at ease every morning when you'd leave the house after that."

"Yeah," I say hoarsely, a lump forming in my throat when I think about the time Akito came running over here to take care of me, patient and sweet as he blew at his homemade soup before bringing it to my lips. "They're great. They...they think we look exactly alike," I add, voicing what Amari once said to me. Mom's eyes light up, and just like that, he's out of my head again.

"It's true, isn't it?" she replies pleasantly. "You do share more features with me than your father."

"We could just leave, y'know," I say in a low voice, before I can think better of it. "We don't need him, or the factory."

Mom smiles softly at me. "I suppose so," she hums, and I'm not sure if she's genuinely considering my suggestion, if she even realises how serious I am about it, but I decide to leave that discussion for another time because it just seems like the right thing to do.

After that, we talk. I first tell her all about how I was invited onto the baseball team, recounting every single one of my best moves right up until the match today. Then I tell her about Amari and braids girl, and how obsessed they are with each other, and it brings a wide smile to her face. She even gets me to talk about Akito a little, by asking about the friend who made the delicious egg rolls.

When it's her turn to speak, she tells me about her job, about all the people that she gets to work with, and once she's finished, I get to ask her about where I was born, and why she decided on Ren for my name, and lots of other questions that only she would know the answers to, and I don't know...it's kind of really nice.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

After class ends the next day, I take my lunch box out of my bag and carry it to Amari's desk. "Just us?" I ask once I'm standing before her. She shrugs, looking away with her arms crossed, and I glance over at braids girl, eyebrows drawing together. She's sitting by herself in her seat a couple rows to our side, the set of her shoulders tight. When her eyes meet mine, I shoot her a questioning look, to which she quickly responds by pursing her lips together and pointedly turning away.

I roll my eyes and get comfortable in the seat before Amari's, sitting in the chair the wrong way and placing my lunch box on her desk.

"So...you made this?" she asks, eyeing the clumps of rice inside. "Wow, and it looks edible too. I'm impressed, Ren."

"Care to try?" I ask, passing my chopsticks to her.

She nods, stuffing some of it into her mouth. "Mmm, not bad!" she manages, her mouth still full.

I scowl. "You don't have to lie, y'know. I can take some criticism."

"Well, okay," she says, putting the chopsticks down with purpose. "You didn't burn anything this time, so that's good! But it still tastes kind of bland. Did you not use any seasoning?"

"Seasoning?" I ask blankly, and she laughs. "Huh," I mumble thoughtfully. "I'll have to ask Mom about that after I go home today." When I look at Amari again, she's quietly smiling at me, an
unmistakable glimmer in her eyes, and I blush, immediately embarrassed. "Shut up. I told you not to make a big deal about it."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! I can't help it, I'm just so happy for you!" she exclaims. I'm about to snap at her to tone it down when without warning, her face starts to dim, all the elation from a second ago fading away to leave puckered eyebrows and twitching lips. I follow her gaze to see braids girl stand up and leave the room, and unlike usual, her long hair is in a single, thick, unmoving braid down her back. The sight quickly dampens my mood. Fucking hell.

I turn back to Amari and see her slump in her chair. "I'm sorry," she mumbles meekly.

I sigh, picking at my rice. It's so weird to see these two in a fight that it's unsettling.

I throw another glance at Amari, frowning. She's sitting with her hands in her lap, staring tiredly into the distance, her lunch on the table wholly uneaten. It seems ridiculous to me all of a sudden, the fact that we're both sitting here, equally heartbroken, when her feelings for braids girl are so obviously reciprocated.

Amari rejected her, but she won't tell me why. Every time I bring it up, she claims that she's not ready to talk about it with me yet, and I want to be a good friend to her or whatever, so I've tried not to excessively pry.

It's evident that I don't fucking understand what she's thinking, and right about now, given what happened with Akito not long ago, I find that I'm able to sympathise with Irina without much effort. "It sucks, you know," I say quietly. "When the one you like pushes you away."

She blinks, then immediately sits up, bringing her hands down on the table. "Are you...are you talking about Akito!?" she asks, the enthusiasm returning to her voice annoyingly fast.

I groan. "That's not—"

"Oh my god," she gasps to herself, overjoyed. "You finally admitted it! That you like him! Oh Ren, you big dummy. When were you going to tell me?"

I scoff. "Never. I knew you'd react like this."

"You should tell him how you feel!" she bursts out.

"What?" I ask, confused. "But...I thought we were mad at him."

"Well, we are, but...I don't know," she says, her eyes calculative. "This might change things."

"I find that hard to believe," I grumble.

"Come on. Don't you think you should at least try?"

"No," I say flatly. "You know what he said. I'm nothing but a pain in the ass to him."

"I'm sure he didn't mean it, Ren," she says, eyes soft.

"But he did say it," I mutter. "Look, I'm done with him. Just leave it be." The searing pain and loneliness that crashed into my chest when Akito told me to my face that he didn't have any time for me felt dangerously close to what I experienced when Kurumi-senpai and I first stopped talking a year ago.

I've put the suffocating silences and the endless heartache behind me already. There's no fucking way I'm going to let myself fall into that pit of gray again, where life had no color and the sun gave off no warmth. I'm really done with him. I'm not going to let myself stupidly hang on to these feelings after he's made it so clear that he no longer wants to have anything to do with me.

"You can't," she whispers, sinking into her chair. "You can't be done with him." She looks hurt, and I remember with a start that it's not just me. He left her too.

Well, whatever. I'm just going to have to make up for his absence by myself.

"Can we talk about you and braids girl now?" I ask, changing the subject.

She sighs without meeting my eyes. "I don't know, Ren."

"Remind me why you're not together yet. You're obviously obsessed with her."

She shrugs weakly, gazing solemnly out the window. "We're not right for each other," she whispers.

I snort, and she shoots me an acrid glare. "You're kidding, right?" I demand, and when she doesn't respond, I huff loudly. "Dammit, you're being stupid."

She crosses her arms and quietly averts her eyes from me again. Ah jeez. "You know, everytime you both turn away after you talk, you have these completely obnoxious smiles on your faces, and you think you're being sneaky but it's so fucking obvious to everyone around you that you guys are crazy about each other." Amari shoots me a sideways glance, teeth worrying at her bottom lip, and I chuckle. "She tells me I talk too much but she'd happily listen to you prattle on forever. She makes all these dumb jokes that no one gets but you, but she doesn't even care as long as she gets to make you laugh."

She flushes a little, a small smile making it's way into her lips now, and it's kinda funny, the way she appears to be fighting it. I shake my head. "If you two starry-eyed idiots are not right for each other, then I don't know who is."

"You really think so?" she asks hopefully.

I grin. "Hell yeah I do."

She falls deep into thought at that, chewing at her nails as her eyes dart around the space with uncertainty. When I laugh at how worked up she's getting, she whacks me on the arm, grumbling, and the sun finally shines through again.

I may have been wrong in thinking that Akito wanted to be with me, but this time at least, I know for sure that we're always going to have each other's backs.

END OF CHAPTER