Chapter Text
It was funny how life seemed to conspire against Minori.
No, that wasn't quite the right word. At this point, it was much less funny and much more played-out. Surely whoever was using her as their personal entertainer had laughed themselves breathless by now. After high school, you’d think she would catch a break. The universe could find someone else to dangle between its claws and toy with, right? But nope! Along comes some new cosmic annoyance to try and outrun! And these issues didn’t even have the imagination to be something cool or interesting like… like… an alien?! Just something to make it all worth it.
Minori was sure she’d do more of her essays if they glowed in the dark or something. They'd definitely be harder to ignore...
Okay, she was being a touch dramatic, that was clear, but this situation warranted drama – in fact, it was seriously lacking it. Where was the dramatic gasps! The musical cues! Lights, camera, action! Or something.
Near her, a pen tapped, laying out the metre of someone’s thoughts. Shocking how such a tiny noise, in concept, could expand like a ballon - punctuating the stagnant air. From a distant corner of the room, a cough echoed around the off-white walls. Light toyed with the swirling dust motes, lazily sloping down towards the ink-dotted floors. There it settled, or rather, gave up - flopping limply.
Sheesh.
Who had injected the air with treacle? It was deeply, concerningly, lazily unassuming.
The teacher flapped his mouth, saying what Minori assumed were very deep, super interesting words. Words she was currently completely unable to focus on. The shock was dangling from her limbs, like taunt marionette strings. Metaphorical scissors, primed to cut the tension; release the strings and let her gangly body flop forward with relief hovered nearby but didn't snap shut. Although, she could do with some actual scissors right now. The tension was so thick she wanted to see if she could cut it. All of this, the reason her brain had turned traitor and started racing like it was an Olympic athlete with something to prove, because sitting within head-poking distance was Ami Kawashima. Man, the temptation to reach over and tap her noggin was still weirdly strong.
Not the most typical of reactions to seeing an old friend, but she felt she was allowed to indulge in a little rashness at this moment.
Doing such a thing might not have been weird a couple of years ago. They’d sat fairly near each other and head-poking was something Ami had come to anticipate, or rather, tolerate. Even after that one time when she'd missed Ami's head, and ended up flat on the floor, she'd still kept going. Ami's slightly twisted smile kinda made things worth it. That was then, and this was now. And now was being stuck in a hot, (was it getting hotter?) classroom, with a friend who had crawled straight out of her memories; still dripping with faded exchanges and patchy conversations.
She wasn’t sure whether she should be laughing or… well, gnashing her teeth with resentment. After all, what right did this impersonator made of what had gone before, have to take an Ami-sized wrecking ball to the nicely-established foundations of her new life? She’d spent so long picking up and discarding various rubble from the past. Some of it was too fragile to save, but she made the best of it, patching together something manageable. Not perfect but it was... functional. Strong enough to get her through uni anyways. But that was all gone now, everything had fallen back into the confusing rubble of before. So, what now?
It wasn’t like they’d been chatting regularly. Her phone hadn’t so much as lit up with a message from Ami, who appeared to be too good to grace Minori with a courteous 'hey, how are you!'. It had seemed those days of head-poking were over. Or, so she’d assumed, as the years faded Minori’s school photos. Not that she was resentful. Well. She wasn’t anymore... Or, at least, she thought she wasn’t.
Ami, of course, had remained plastically fresh on the vibrant covers of magazines, posing with whatever was in the taste of the season. Minori had never bought one. She’d just stare at the slightly crinkled printed face smiling back up at her. The smile never quite reached her eyes. Probably just the advertisement crowded around the fringes of the cover, jostling and demanding attention from a distracted readership. Looking at it for too long made Minori's eyes ache, she'd pull her glance away and focus on something less... difficult. It was so hard to reconcile that poised model with the Ami that was smirking in the school photo tucked away on her desk, behind her psychology textbooks.
Her hair was slightly ruffled, drawn into feathery needles and her uniform was dirty thanks to a scuffle with Taiga. Not front cover material, far from it. Had Ami shown up to a shoot like that, she'd probably... still have gotten the job. When she wasn't looking at you like a piece of old gum stuck to her undoubtedly expensive shoe, that girl could be pretty convincing. Sometimes, in those unnamable hours of the night, she'd lean over to grab the photo - knocking over something important in the process, much to the grumbled annoyance of Miya.
It was something about the way her mouth twisted. Like she had just come up with the perfect retort to shoot Taiga’s way. Self-satisfaction to such an extent was not an easy emotion to wear, but Ami wielded it like a shield, a banner on a battlefield from one of those historical dramas that Miya would hog the TV with. She underlined her eyes with it, ran it over her mouth like the newest lipstick. It was all so sourly nostalgic. Leaning back in her seat, she ran her fingers over older memories. After that jab, Minori would have to defend Taiga’s honour. Justice was usually dolled out in the form of being roped into embarrassing dance moves until Ami was red enough to match her uniform. Then Ryuji (why did her heart still clench?) would offer placating smiles and Yusaku would laugh. A looping script they all read. Comforting and worn at the pages from use.
Having to feel for the little intricate beats of their old conversations sent a shiver through her. She hadn’t dusted off all those old memories with such vigor in ages. They used to be things she indulged herself in, a teaspoon of memories for the growing pains. Something to reminisce on when it was late enough for rational thought to be laughed fondly about and waved aside. Now it seemed rational thought had deserted her completely.
So, they’d grown apart. Whatever. It happens! It happens to tons of people! Although, those leagues of people seemed to have no advice for what to do when someone you hadn’t seen since high school sashays into your psychology class on a tepid Monday morning. Life had gotten in the way, of course, but she was beginning to wish it had stayed in the way.
They hadn’t spoken since… no, no no! Minori shook her head, hoping to dislodge the mental cobwebs that were sticking the pages of her coherent thoughts together into a sludgy mess. If she started blushing in class with Ami Freaking Kawashima sat within mocking range, then her only option would be to drop out of university and run away to somewhere with no more Ami’s following her everywhere with their smiling faces and great lifestyle tips you simply must try. That was the only natural reaction, of course. Yep.
Rational thought had definitely packed its bags and stepped out the door.
Somehow unaware of the very loud thoughts in Minori’s head, (seriously, how wasn’t anyone hearing this?), Ami was absorbed in decorating her pen with bite marks, her brow furrowed in the perfect portrait of innocent diligence. Distantly, she wondered if it would burst and cover Ami in super professional navy-ink. Something had to happen, right? Ami Kawashima could not just waltz into her psychology class like the slightly scuffed floors were her next runway. Not without some sort of universal acknowledgment that this had already pushed beyond the weirdness scale. Her appearance here was right under a meteor crashing into the school in likeliness. Which may have been preferable.
Trying very, very hard not to stare, Minori dragged her gaze back towards her professor. His mouth was moving, and noises that could be words were blanketing the quiet scraping of pens on paper. As no one else was looking confused, Minori had to assume she was the only one hearing some sort of remixed version of speech. Okay, fine. Just focus on getting through this. Maybe if you don’t look at her, she won’t be there!
Childish logic seemed suited to a situation that seemed draped in a nightmare she’d had at approximately age 3.
Five minutes ticked by. Ten. The clock face mocked her, moving like its parts had been twisted specifically to run slower. Every twitch from Ami was clung to by Minori’s slightly feverish senses. While she wasn’t totally sure why she was noting all of this, her mind had convinced her it was significant. So of course, she’d ignored her own promise to disregard Ami and spent most of the sluggish lesson time trying to stare right into the model’s mind through the back of her skull. She considered herself to be fairly perceptive, so her complete inability to discern what was going on behind that flowing (and noticeably shorter!?) blue hair was frustrating.
A rush of movement dispelled the concentrated silence. The end of class had snuck up on her. An ambush, with a flurry of movement from her fellow students. And Ami. Minori found herself standing up. A hand touched her shoulder.
‘Wuh?!’
‘Hey, you okay?’
Minori huffed out shakily, just Amamiya.
‘Yep! Why wouldn’t I-‘ Of course, just at that moment, Ami walked past, eyes purposefully fixed on the door. Oh, so she was going to behave like that, huh?
‘Gimme one second, okay Miya?’ Any response offered was stomped into the ground as Minori rushed after the flash of blue hair that was being slowly swallowed by the swarming limbs of the crowd.
‘Sorry! ‘Scuse me!’
Finding Ami was easy. A crowd had quickly bunched together, hushed admiration flooding the echoing halls. Does she ever get tired of being the center of attention? Getting to her was significantly more difficult, and Minori was slightly ashamed to admit that she’d employed a few… underhand tactics. Anyone who had been pushed or shoved would have to catch her first!
Finally, panting slightly, definitely at the polar opposite to the prim dress and hairstyle Ami was donning, Minori pushed to the front of the crowd. That admiration dampened and grew silent. Trying very hard to look friendly, and not completely freaked out – Minori rubbed her arm and straightened up.
‘Oh. It’s you.’
Ami’s voice hadn’t changed one bit. Still dripping with enough condescension to reduce Minori’s smiling defenses to mush. It should have been comforting to know that she was still the same smirking Ami Kawashima, but instead, it felt uncanny, unexpected. Like finding a tree growing in your shower.
‘Uh, yep! Nice to see ya again Amin!’ She squeaked, trying to recall the familiar rhythms of the sparse conversations they had.
All of a sudden, Minori was not a psychology student, with the memories of a gently aching past, pushed way behind her. No. Now she was just Minori Kushieda, vulnerable and pinned by Ami’s glare. It was so unfair. Why couldn’t she just leave Minori to her comfortable deceptions? No use for it now but to face up to the truth. Those old memories, a fleeting touch, a familiar smirk, the rare giggle, had been pursuing her for a while - standing before Ami now, they’d finally caught up to her.