Agrippa
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All Right! Fine! I Will Take You! – Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2022-02-14 04:35:15 +0000 UTCWesterners have a saying—or is that a proverb? Maybe a song? Meh, who cares. Anyway, the important thing is that some Westerner, at one point or another, said that one is the loneliest number.
Which is stupid.
Aside from the fact that numbers aren’t able to feel loneliness, what about Zero? Isn’t that, by definition, far lonelier than one? He even ended up committing a very convoluted form of suicide involving his best friend-slash-slash partner, you know?
But, still, there’s a kernel of truth in the saying (or proverb, whatever). It’s, by definition, a loner’s natural state to be by themselves. To be one—and not even among many. And that brings us to the most misunderstood and tragic figure in otaku culture: the Demon Lord.
Because we all know the drill. We can easily picture a scene repeated over and over through the multiverse as the plucky band of heroes reaffirms their bonds right before confronting someone who, at the start of the story, had literal legions beneath them. Had loyal lieutenants, subordinates.
And all of them have been massacred one by one or, in some cases, convinced through violent psychotherapy to switch sides.
That is the truth of the Demon Lord: someone who amassed followers, only for them to be taken away. Someone who never enjoyed true loyalty and warmth, because the most interesting characters beneath them will inevitably betray them.
The Demon Lord is alone, and the supposed heroes are a bunch of assholes who will gleefully rub in their face that they do enjoy comradery, friendship, and even romance (or something spicier, depending on the genre). They are also likely to go off on a speech about how they will prevail through the power of friendship, basically bullying the poor guy and inflicting extra mental damage just because they can.
Bonus points if they declare they will punish them by the Power of the Moon. At that point, the sadism isn’t even disguised.
“Senpai!” someone whose sadism was never disguised yells from behind me.
I turn around on the almost empty sidewalk of the street leading to Shizu’s apartment and see an exhausted Iroha carrying what looks to be half a convenience store’s worth of snacks and drinks.
…
I wonder if this would be an acceptable time to make an exception to our little tradition?
The swift glare that answers my unstated thought quickly disabuses me of that notion. How silly of me to think my occasional kindness was under my control and not something that would be taken for granted once offered.
With a very visible sigh that only makes her scoff rather than shrink in very deserved shame, guilt, and other things I would rather Iroha not felt in the middle of the street, because I’m afraid of her reaction and the likely police charges for public indecency, I approach her and her very loaded bags.
This serves a dual purpose: it reinforces our already established dynamic, signaling to the audience that the basis of our relationship remains untouched despite all the changes we both have gone through over the past few days, and shows the results of my training arc when I don’t topple over after grabbing something that could’ve saved a small village from starving through the winter.
I’m sorry, Villager-san. Apparently, the future is not only far more comfortable than the past, but also relentlessly mocks your senseless sacrifice. It’s almost like the future is a CEO.
“Good morning?” Iroha says with a hesitation that…
Oh. Right.
I haven’t greeted her yet.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
And now she’s flushing and stammering. Uh. Women.
‘Never, ever, say that out loud.’
Gee, Brain-chan, you don’t need to get so touchy. Is this your time of the month?
‘… I give up. Self-Preservation-kun is never coming back.’
“What did you just call me?” Iroha says, her tone tremulous.
“Sweetheart? Would you prefer honey? Sweetie? Dear? Bae? I mean, you keep using ‘Senpai,’ like it should require a firearms license, it’s only fair that—”
Apparently, Iroha doesn’t care about fairness.
Which isn’t much of a surprise, all things considered, but I certainly never expected that to result in her shoving her tongue down my throat just to silence me.
Which… Still a better way than what Komachi will likely do to silence me after today’s over.
Note to self: hide the kitchen knives.
Other note to self: these bags are too heavy for me to do anything other than stand here and take it. Which may denote a certain degree of premeditation on Iroha’s part.
As expected, the foxy, cunning junior is too foxy and cunning.
And sly.
And looked far too good in her kunoichi cosplay.
And I shouldn’t be getting a raging erection in the middle of the street, much less when both my hands are too busy to be shoved down the pockets of my pants to properly assume Standard Adolescent Male Gait number Two.
She’s learned the secret behind my technique and designed an inescapable counter! I’ve finally got proof that she’s actually a kunoichi!
From now on, I shall carefully monitor my ceiling before I try to masturbate.
“There!” she finally exclaims as she drops down from her liplock. “And don’t ever call me any of those stupid things ever again.”
“So… I should call you the non-stupid things?” I answer, my breath not at all disturbed by having had my throat blocked for the past while.
And my cheeks aren’t burning while I keep a stoic, deadpan glare on my face.
Not at all.
Kyaaaa.
Iroha arches an eyebrow, the light, pink dusting across her nose catching my eye before she smirks.
“Obviously,” she says.
And then steps around me and starts walking the last few blocks still keeping us away from Shizu’s apartment, her hips swaying with every step in a way that makes her skirt fly from side to side, twisting around smooth thighs that peek right above black stockings…
Oh dear Heavens, she’s doing that on purpose.
‘… Are you having a stroke? Of course she’s doing that on purpose: kunoichi training includes seduction tactics.’
… Once again, I find your logic unassailable, Brain-chan.
‘Of course you do. Now allow your male instincts to drag you behind that pert ass and follow her to wherever she wants you to follow.’
You know you’re making this sound a lot more pleasant than what is likely to happen, don’t you?
‘… Yeah. Come on, you’ve got a lonely Demon Lord to slay.’
Right. By the power of friendship.
***
Shizu’s Side:
Takeda, to no one’s surprise, doesn’t work out.
Miki’s there to console me after the breakup, but if she realizes why I’m really crying when the night’s over, she doesn’t give any indication.
Then comes Honda. Nice guy. Fit, smart. Handsome.
Or so the other three girls he was stringing along must have thought.
I don’t call Miki that time. Because the last thing I want, need, is to see her pitying face when… when we could’ve…
We could’ve at least tried.
What was the point? Was it to preserve our friendship? To pretend we both were normal?
We weren’t. I never was. Never will.
I’ll always be…
By the time Hisao comes around, there’s a bit of a joke running around our circle of friends. A joke about how much of a joke my romantic life actually is.
So I try to put in the effort, to be a good girlfriend, do the things expected of me.
He drops me because I’m too clingy.
And the joke grows.
It could be worse. They could be saying I am a loose woman, throwing myself at the first guy who says something vaguely kind to me. Almost as if I was desperately trying to find someone who allows me to be in the same room as my best friend without feeling this aching void in the middle of my chest, someone who will let me feel the warmth I used to take for granted, because I didn’t know what it meant, and now it’s too late, because it’s been spoiled, and I—
Kagome is the first to marry.
I spend most of the wedding trying not to call her husband Inuyasha.
Then the alcohol starts flowing, and I fail. At least thrice.
He keeps staring at me with that dumb look on his face that makes me wonder how on Earth this guy doesn’t get the reference, but Kagome’s shitty taste in men is not my problem.
No. Mine is a slightly more pressing issue.
Hideo steals from me after being to my apartment a grand total of three times.
He begs me to take him back, and I get detained at the police station the whole night.
“Tsuka? Are you all right?” Miki’s the one who picks me up. Because I was drunk, and sad, and angry, and I didn’t want Mom or Dad to see me like this… and a weak part of me wanted Miki to. To have her see me at my lowest. To see what her kindness, or her cowardice, has done to me.
She looks worried, anxious.
And hesitates to hug me when the police officer lets me out.
“Yes. I already sobered up,” I tell her, a strained smile on my face. And my eyes don’t stray to her arms rising just a tiny bit before dropping down, that hug of hers dying before it ever reached me.
She rummages through her handbag and pulls out a pack of Band-Aids with—
“Are those… are those PrecureBand-Aids?”
“Shut up. Give me your hands.”
I do on reflex, and she takes them gently before realizing she hadn’t actually pulled the bandages out of the package, so she awkwardly does so with one hand and pulls off the protective paper with her teeth before carefully pulling them across my scrapped knuckles.
At least I remembered not to punch his skull. Breaking my hands would’ve been a shitty way to end the week.
Miki keeps staring at my hands now that she’s holding them between two of hers.
I’m aware of the police station just a few paces behind me. Of the likely gazes thrown my way.
And I’m far more aware of my best friend touching me for far longer than she’s done since we got drunk more than two years ago, so the disapproving police officer doesn’t even rate.
“Miki…” I start to say, without even knowing how the line will end.
“I’m going out with Maeda,” she says, still looking at my hands in hers. Still not looking at my eyes.
I’m quite used to getting punched in the gut, so I don’t react.
“He’s a nice guy,” I finally say.
“He is,” she agrees.
And, two years later, I’m at their wedding, getting teased by Sakura, Hitomi, and Himawari at being single at the event.
I smile and laugh along with them, and I even manage not to punch their noses flat.
Miki looks radiant.
Happy.
And I wish her all the best.
But not where I can see her.
***
Japanese.
They got me to teach Japanese.
I’m wearing a lab coat, you morons! What do you think I actually specialize in?!
Deep breaths, Shizuka, deep breaths. This is just another hurdle to overcome on your way to being a self-sufficient, adult woman who has no prospects of ever becoming a housewife.
… That sounded a bit more motivational and far less depressing before I actually finished the thought.
Right. Head held high. The damn brats smell fear, so just stroll in, flash them a winning grin, and start doing what I’m about to be licensed to do by an educational system that obviously didn’t look too closely before promising me my degree and the power to mold the future minds of this country.
… We are all doomed.
***
“You don’t want to do this, Sayuri,” I tell the damn brat surly sitting on the floor.
“What do you care? You’re just here for a few months, then off you go,” she answers. Which is a weird thing for a teenage girl to say, because this is about her, not me. And her future doesn’t depend on how long I’ll stay in this school, finishing the required student teaching part of my degree.
So… Abandonment issues.
Yeah. It’s not like I have any experience with those, is it?
I sit down beside her, my back against the wall in the kind of posture I haven’t… How long has it been since I was a surly teenager myself?
… Let’s shelve that question for later.
“Look, I won’t tell you you can’t drop out, because you obviously can. I won’t tell you you can’t make a living without graduating, because that’s also not true. But I can tell you you don’t want to make a life-changing decision for something that will pass on its own.”
“I—” she starts to retort. And then realizes she doesn’t know how.
This is the girl who had nearly perfect scores on all her compositions.
“Boys are stupid at this age. Guess what? So are girls. So are you. Because you’re damn smart, you’ve got a way with words that most people need to train for, and yet you’re about to throw it all away just because you don’t want to see his stupid face. And that’s moronic, Sayuri, and I bet you could give me about ten better synonyms for how mind-bogglingly farcical this whole thing is if your head wasn’t stuck on a breakup that will pass—”
“He was my first!” she yells into my face, her cheeks red, moisture in her eyes.
Then she realizes what she’s done, and starts backing away.
Which is when I grab her collar and pull her to me.
“And you wanted him to be your last. Because that’s the fantasy, the story all of us swallow whole about finding the right person and just fading into our own happy endings. Well, guess what, Sayuri? It doesn’t work like that. You’re young, and you’ve got years ahead of you to learn how dumb this whole thing was, and to make mistakes that will make you look on this one fondly. So be glad you didn’t get pregnant, or got an STD, or something even worse, because this? Having your heart broken? That’s the best you can get out of a relationship that just ended.”
She gapes at me, utterly shocked.
And right as I start to panic about losing my job (and degree!) for harassing a stupid student into not dropping out, she collapses forward and cries into my chest.
Hesitatingly, as carefully as maybe I should’ve approached this whole thing from the start, I place my arms around the wreck of a girl and pat her back.
“Things get better, Sayuri. But only if you don’t make them worse yourself,” I whisper.
And I feel the stab in my chest at my own words mocking me.
***
My third school.
This is my third school.
And they still hire me to teach Japanese.
Maybe if I start wearing a hakama, they’ll switch to having me teach English? There must be a pattern in here I am not getting.
Speaking of hakamas…
Haruno’s latest homework sits on my desk, taunting me with a take on the first page of the newspaper that all but screams a parent having actually done it for her, because no mere sixteen-year-old uses this kind of language and has this kind of insight. Hell, I can see a few of the compositions that have been obviouslydone by parents hoping to give a slight boost to their children, and they don’t compare.
Except… I have listened to Haruno. I’ve seen the way she speaks, and I’ve got a couple of her exams in here.
The style is hers. So is the vocabulary.
And the insight… No. That isn’t hers.
Because she’s used to hiding it, and here she slipped.
I sigh as I rub my temples.
This is going to be a headache, isn’t it?
***
Helping Haruno may be one of the unambiguously best things I’ve ever done.
The girl still has a sharp tongue that she doesn’t care to hide anymore, but it’s honestly refreshing to go out for a drink with her now that she’s no longer my student and I can speak more freely with her.
And every time she lets out a snide comment that would be perfectly innocent if one didn’t know her enough, every time she doesn’t bother hiding a wit and outlook that I had to help her dig out from behind a porcelain mask that never fit, there’s this… this burst of joy…
Damn it, I’m mushy.
I’m blaming it on the beer.
So I toss the last bottle of it in the first trash can we pass by. Mostly because it was already empty, though. The damage has been done.
And I’m ranting, because I feel comfortable with her, but also because I’ve had the brilliant idea of walking at night through Chiba Port Park, and even after all these years, my mind is desperately looking for a distraction, a way not to think about a drunken kiss with Miki that ended up with my best friend married and me being a mess.
A distraction. That’s all I want.
And I find it.
Because Haruno’s kissing me.
And her lips are tender, her tongue gentle, her scent far more subtle than it should be after having spent the night at the same smoke-filled bar I’ve gone to, and her body is as soft as I guiltily imagined after that one conversation on the rooftop, because it was wrong, so wrong of me to think about her like that back then, but now…
Now she’s an adult.
Like me.
And there’s nothing stopping me, nothing to tell me I can’t let myself drown in the most loving kiss I’ve felt in years, nothing that stops me from enjoying something…
Genuine.
I place my hands on her shoulders, and, as gently as I possibly can without changing my mind, I push her away.
The words come out of my mouth. I tell her about wanting a family, about wanting something I cannot have with another woman.
This is what I don’t tell her:
“She was my best friend, and, even if I didn’t understand it at the time, my first love. And we could’ve remained friends if we didn’t step across that line. I could still have Miki. I could still wake up in the middle of the night knowing someone would pick up the phone if I needed her to. I could still have that kind of love, even if it wasn’t the other kind.
“And I am a wreck, Haruno. I am a mess, someone who can’t be trusted with your heart, not with the way you are, the way you’re still recovering from a childhood that makes me want to punch your mother’s face till my knuckles split open.
“And I… I want you. I want this. I want you to want me.
“But I don’t want you to resent me.
“I don’t want you to look back on this day years from now and think about the teacher who took advantage of you, the one who molded you to her ideals and then dragged you down to her level. I want you to be happy. To live the life you could have without me around.
“And maybe I’m being a coward. Maybe I could fight for this, but I don’t even know if I want to, because I love you, but I don’t know how, because I didn’t even think this was possible, so I…
“I don’t know if I love you the way you say you love me, and it isn’t worth it to destroy you just for a maybe.
“So I won’t be genuine. Because I know you. I know that if I said all of this, you’d take it as a challenge and just keep digging, and I’m afraid of what you may find at the end, so…
“So I’ll lie to you. I’ll disappoint you. I’ll get you to give up on me.
“It shouldn’t be hard to do.”
***
I bury myself in my job.
I still go out with some friends from time to time, still even get Haruno to drink the occasional beer just to check on her (but never too many beers, and never where we’re alone), still keep myself busy at the boxing gym.
Still go on disastrous dates.
But I mostly get involved in my students’ lives, try to maybe vicariously make up for my failure with Haruno.
I like to think I make a difference. That all of my mistakes at least let me see them in others, that I can help. That I can be good for them.
Some think I am. I get grateful letters that always warm my heart, even if the pride is mixed with that hint of shame. Shame at what I went through to learn what I needed to teach them, and shame and not being better at it, at the girl I failed who’s still my friend, even if a bit more distant now that she’s disillusioned with me.
And then I read the list of students that will begin this year, and I see another Yukinoshita.
“Great,” I announce to my empty room, from my gray sofa chosen for its capacity to hide ash stains, “just what I needed: more trauma to deal with.”
***
Yukino Yukinoshita is precisely what I expected of her after getting to know her through Haruno.
Because her older sister may be a lot of things, but unobservant isn’t one of them.
She’s also not one to mince words.
Still, the girl is not yet my problem. And, knowing her, she wouldn’t appreciate me approaching her before I have an actual excuse to do so.
And so I watch. I watch as she isolates herself. I watch her classmates not do anything malicious, but also not do anything else.
And I prepare for when she jumps to my year, because if there’s a thing that I owe Haruno, one that could maybe come close to making up for what I did to her, it would be healing her sister.
… Nice to know your expectations are still grounded and realistic, Shizuka.
***
He’s insufferable.
Worse, he’s deliberately insufferable.
He knowsperfectly well what he’s doing whenever he tries to pass off one of his incendiary spiels as science homework, the frustrating, malcontent, Unabomber in training son of a bitch—
Right. Calm down. Deep breaths. That last one was uncalled for.
He isn’t called Yukinoshita, after all.
… Wait just a second—
***
All according to keikaku.
No, seriously, I’m about to buy a bag of chips and eat every single one of them dramatically just to celebrate.
I mean, getting the two traumatized, maladjusted, misanthropic teens in the same room and forcing them to work together just to see the sparks fly? Right, some may call me irresponsible for that one.
But having the disturbingly normal and social girl join them in the start of an obvious love triangle?
Come on! This is gold! This is perfect beyond not only my expectations, but my hopes and dreams—which are plentiful enough, thank you very much.
Now, if forcing them to engage with their peers, relate to other students’ everyday problems, and keep a grounded, Yui-shaped perspective near them at all times doesn’t manage to get those two idiots to at least learn how to fake being functional human beings, I don’t know what will.
***
I’m getting too involved.
He’s… He’s just so…
Frustrating. Yeah, that word fits him too well in far too many ways.
Because he’s smart, and witty, and observant, and he sees a world very few people see, and he reminds me too much of Haruno even if they also are completely different, and…
And he’s hurt, and I keep seeing it, keep seeing that vulnerability he isn’t showing anyone else, and that’s far too dangerous, because I know I have a thing for trying to heal others, but he’s…
He could grab me and drag me down, and I would never even notice, because I’d be too busy trying to heal him.
Because there are wounds that I want to mend, and there are others that I need to—
I wish I could talk to Haruno about this.
She would understand. How could she not, when I basically did the same for her at his age? But also… she would understand.
And I don’t want her to. I don’t want her to remember those days, draw parallels and connections, and finally understand what I tried to hide from her that night at Chiba Port Park.
So, I’ll have to deal with Hachiman Hikigaya on my own like I did with Haruno Yukinoshita at the time.
How hard could it be?
***
He cries as I hug him.
He cries as I try to give him the missing piece of the world he never knew he yearned for.
He drenches my vest, and I smile gently down at him, even as every tear stabs through my chest.
All in the name of something genuine.
Sometimes I hate that word.
***
A prom, of all things.
They’ve managed to stage their final showdown around such a ridiculous concept, such an American thing to do, that I’m not even surprised. Hachiman and Yukino wouldn’t quietly leave this school if at all possible.
Hell, I am legitimately relieved none of them have staged a terrorist attack like in that Great Teacher Onizuka episode.
…
I’m a muchbetter teacher.
Also, he did karate. I could conceivably beat him.
You know, in a ring, with a referee.
No kicks allowed.
…
Well, at the very least, I lost my virginity before he did. Hah, take that, fictional teacher against whom I’m suddenly comparing myself for absolutely no sane reason.
Aside from my potentially terrorist students, I mean. Those are a very sane concern. By which I definitely don’t mean that either of them are sane, obviously.
I wonder how contagious they are. Iroha seemed like a halfway normal girl until they got their hooks on her…
***
I was being stupid. Silly.
Just another dark joke about dying alone and unwanted. I do plenty of those. Some are even funny.
So, me crying out ‘Take me! Take me! Take me!’ should have just merited a frustrated groan, an exasperated glance, some dry humor.
Not…
Not…
Hachiman climbs over the coffee table after having loudly banged his shin on it, and he maneuvers my body so I end up on his lap, and everything is a blur of moans, and yearning, and maybes, and would it be so bad if…
Because he wants me. And I’ve always wanted to be wanted.
But… It’s more than that. It’s having this infuriating man (boy!), this… this wounded, prideful, smart, funny, witty, observant…
It means so much more, to be wanted by someone you want to want you.
So much more when you know he’s not… not like others. When you know what he values the most, that he would never lay his lips on me if he didn’t mean it.
So much more when he growls my name, when he shortens it to ‘Shizu,’ when he says ‘mine’ in a voice that sends shivers down my spine, when his hands travel through my body, claiming it, showing me how much he desires me, how he would make his claims true as he marked me as irreversibly his…
So I beg him. I beg him in interrupted pleas, in moans and sighs that barely carry syllables, let alone words, and I finally manage to beg him to stop.
He does.
Hurt. But not confused. Just resigned.
Something inside me melts.
I tell him about the nurse’s office, about privacy, and light returns to his eyes before he leaves, his erection embarrassingly (and pleasingly) obvious.
And then he leaves me alone, and I’ve got every intention of following him, chasing him down, and giving him what I implicitly promised.
But the minutes pass, the haze fades, and, with every step that takes me nearer to the nurse’s office, a bit of my sanity comes back.
And I remember Haruno hurt beneath the lights of Chiba Port Park, imagine Hachiman looking at me like that…
And, like a coward, I turn and leave.
And then I get drunk and cry my heart out.
And Haruno finds me.
Who else would?
***
I just sucked a student’s cock inside the school.
And was caught by another student.
…
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
***
He’s infuriating, preposterous, ridiculous.
And has just melt my heart.
Because… He’s Hachiman. The laziest student I’ve ever met, and even worse: the kind of smart, lazy man who is just methodical enough to be able to get away with being lazy.
As a teacher, I should be crying out in sheer frustration.
As a woman, I feel like a hummingbird just decided to nest in my chest.
Because… The laziest man I’ve ever met just decided to start exercising for my sake.
And it’s…
Not Ken. Not Hiro, Not Takeda. Not any of the others, who definitely were far worse than mere youthful mistakes, ever wanted to… Improve.
For my sake.
For me.
So I get carried away, because that’s a thing I still do after all these years, and get him to my home so I can teach him how to properly exercise, and maybe I push him a bit too far, but then Haruno calls me, and he takes advantage of the moment, and I end up…
Haruno just saw me get the best orgasm I’ve had in years.
…
Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!
And I saw her! I know what she was doing while Hachiman finger-fucked me! And she showed the both of us without even a hint of shame, and after everything that went on between the two of us, how can she possibly—
That’s… Not important.
No. What’s important is that I… made a mistake. Got carried away. Like I usually do.
But I can fixit.
***
I can’t fix this.
Accepting being Iroha’s sexual mentor was supposed to be a way to get her and Hachiman off my back. To get them to realize how much better off they would be without me as a tag-along. I should’ve just taught her the very (theoretical) basics and had them practice on each other.
But no plan survives contact with the Hachiman.
Seriously, how did things end up with Iroha sucking his cock straight out of my cleavage, her lips sending warm thrills through my breasts right before his cock exploded in—
…
I am not going to masturbate to the memory of the whole scene.
Again.
I’m not going to masturbate to the memory of the scene again.
…
I’m far too weak for this whole thing.
***
A date.
We are going on a date.
And Iroha called, and I was so stupidly happy and enthusiastic for no real reason, for something that’s no more than a mirage, something that will end soon enough, and…
And the poor girl came over and gave me the mother of all makeovers.
We… may have gone slightly overboard.
And a part of me wonders if this is what normal girls are supposed to do together, because there were other friends I had back there, but they are the kind of friends that have that label because it feels impolite to call them acquaintances. And the one friend I—
Iroha’s looking really proud at the result of her efforts.
I smile at her, at the way she looks at me, and agree that she’s outdone herself, that I look far better than I thought I would.
She says it’s only natural with how beautiful I am.
I blush, and pretend it’s because I feel shy.
Then I have a date with Hachiman which is an utter disaster, because it’s me, and what else could it be, but then we end up walking through a park, actually talking and I…
He will end up with Iroha. I’ve seen the way they look at each other, no matter the way he looks at me.
But just for a while, just until this ends…
I want to pretend.
And so I promise him… I’ll take his first time.
And this I also promise, even if I don’t tell him: I’ll always treasure the memory.
***
So, he keeps his promises.
Because he said he would deal with Yukino and Yui, and he did.
And then Haruno… acted like Haruno.
And I shouldn’t have felt that flash of rage when I saw her kiss him, but I did, and so I accepted her stupid challenge, and—
“You were my first kiss,” she told me.
And I never knew that.
And the hurt, the depth of it I saw in her eyes when she said it…
I did that.
I wounded her.
I hurt Haruno. My Haruno.
So I get in my car and drive. Drive fast, and recklessly, because that’s the thing that calms me best when I can no longer call someone who was supposed to always be there and I need to work through things.
But Hachiman and Iroha don’t like that plan, so they stick around, and I can feel my nerves fraying, because they should be together, not with me, not wasting their time, their youth, their valuable years, with a wreck who—
I get to the breakwater and walk out of the car, hoping the chill of the sea air will calm my pounding head.
They follow, and they complicate things even more, because Iroha and Hachiman are now boyfriend and girlfriend, and I’ve got a girlfriend for the first time since I told Dad that I may actually want one of those, and then…
And then Hachiman says he knew about my plan, my stupid plan to get them together so I could step aside.
And that he’s seen right through me. Because that’s what he does.
And what Haruno does.
And we need to meet Haruno this Saturday.
***
The rest of the week goes by without any major events.
Except for me taking my student’s virginity while my other student records us on camera, because, apparently, that’s a thing that she does.
And I…
I’ve got a boyfriend. And a girlfriend.
And I feel loved.
Not wanted. Not desired.
Loved.
And I realize a part of me had given up on that.
So I spend a night between two bodies that keep embracing me and one another, surrounded by something I no longer hoped for, something that makes me so happy I just want to cry while they hold me.
And I finally fall asleep, and wake up to Hachiman having cooked breakfast for us, which is not a first, but it’s been so, so long, and he does that ridiculous, utterly himthing where he doesn’t realize he’s regaling Iroha and I with a male naked apron, and I feel so close to the young girl when she wakes me up with incredulous—
The breakfast is good.
He may even be a good househusband for someone. Someday.
***
Iroha is a nag.
“Sorry! Sorry, I wanted you to be there, but when he asked me out, I just… I prepared, just in case, because I know him, and how things get out of control when he’s involved, because he likes his plans, but they all are basically controlled chaos, and—”
“Iroha,” I interrupt her, mostly so she doesn’t asphyxiate, “I don’t care. Really, I understand. You had every right to have a night to yourself.”
“But I wanted youthere,” she almost whines.
And I…
The rest of the conversation is a blur.
I basically agree to everything she tells me, reassure her, and try not to dwell on the… the somethingmaking my breathing shallow.
Then she sends me the video of the whole thing. Because of course she does.
And I should feel the same rage I felt on that rooftop when Haruno kissed him, but…
I see such love, such tenderness, and then the camera shifts, and she’s looking straight at it, talking to me, apologizing for not having included me…
And the thing in my chest bursts.
I cry.
Alone, in my apartment, I cry.
I lose track of time. Of the things that go through my mind. The kisses, the gazes.
I lose myself to memories of things that weren’t half as tender as a girl apologizing for not showing me the moment my boyfriend penetrated her for the first time. And there was such happiness in her eyes, such love, such longing, such affection…
Something that I’ve missed in all but a very few, select lovers.
Two of whom never went beyond a kiss.
***
I expected to toss and turn through the night, to not sleep at all while waiting for the day where Haruno would come here.
I was wrong.
I haven’t slept like this… in years.
No worries about my wayward students masking the other worries about the mess my life is.
No suppressed feelings and intrusive thoughts.
No reading escapist fiction until my eyes droop, hoping sheer exhaustion would keep my mind from the things I don’t want it to dwell on.
Just… sleep.
I am not even tired.
It’s like… like this clarity, this absence of feeling that is a feeling in and of itself, is keeping all those other memories and thoughts from swarming me. It’s like a dam of serenity.
And so I take my phone.
I don’t call Hachiman, because the boy likes to worry, and I won’t deprive him of it until he gets here.
I don’t call Iroha, because she’s likely too busy thinking about how to bug our boyfriend.
I don’t call Haruno, because she demanded her space, and it’s the very least I can give her.
But I…
I open Instagram, a thing I never use but my friends forced me to get into.
And I go to a name I usually try very hard not to think about.
She’s beautiful. Still… no, even more so.
She opened a gym, and it’s obvious she’s her own best client, because her now tanned skin is taut over toned muscles, her silhouette the best advertisement she could pay for.
And she’s pregnant.
There’s an echo of the familiar hurt, a pang.
And then it fades, and I smile at my best friend being happy.
And so I dial a number I still know by heart even after I erased it all those years ago.
“Tsuka?” she picks up almost immediately, her voice inquiring, with a hint of worry.
“Hey, Miki, I… I hope this isn’t a bad time? I wanted to… I’m in a bit of a mess, and I wanted to talk with you about it?” I almost lose my nerve mid-line. But I push, and it gets easier.
There’s a pause.
And then…
“Anytime, Tsuka,” she answers. And I can hear her smile on it.
Comments
Agrippa
Thank you very much. It is a great relief that the past few weeks have given at least some worthwhile payoff.
aj0413
Was worth the wait; hits straight to the heart. You've somehow turned a harem, smut fanfiction into something incredibly wholesome and full of the feels.
Agrippa
Sorry about the delay, this was a monster to write for a variety of reasons, the sheer length not even being the main one. (Also, I lost count of the number of times I repressed a sob through the whole thing.)
