Work Text:
If you weren’t already dreading the first day of classes enough – new people, new teachers, the same onslaught of stress, and definitely the same annoying friends – you have more reasons to: the transfer student arrives to class amusingly late, and the desk in front of you is the only seat available.
The gossiping creatures they are, your friends had already filled you in on the works.
The transfer student sitting in front of you is guilty of abusing substances, armed robbery– or, wait, is it armed battery?
You spend the class period disregarding Kawakami’s lecturing. Instead, you mentally scroll through the crimes listed within the past two days while staring at the thick, black hair of the boy in question.
Smuggling, breaking and entering, trespassing… embezzling government funds? That one certainly isn’t right. You’d have to ask your friends.
He folds and twists his uniform blazer as he reads from the textbook your friend shoves vaguely in his direction. You’re sure that he can’t read a single character from that distance, even with his round glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose.
He’s still tugging at the ends of his jacket once the dismissal bell rings.
You pass him and meet your friends outside of the classroom. He looks pitifully lost and confused, but you have no desire to get involved. You just want your second year to be quiet and normal.
You prefer to sit in the back of the class to be left alone – to take your notes and mind your business without anyone taking interest. You stay in the small, safe world of your friend group and go to sleep early on weekends. You don’t dare venture out from that because it’s boringly familiar, and everyone else around you is as boring as the Sunday mail, too.
At the volleyball rally, your friends whisper about Amamiya and Sakamoto’s plot to dig up dirt on Kamoshida. They apparently asked your friend’s Trophy Boyfriend if he’s being ‘abused.’
“Kamoshida-san would never do something like that!” your friend cries. “The principal would never let someone like that into Shujin.”
“He let Amamiya-kun into Shujin,” someone helpfully comments. Your friend nudges her to shut her up.
You feel a little overwhelmed by the turmoil, as if you’re drowning and solid rocks chain your hands and feet together like your hometown’s newest convict. You sink into the conversation when you should swim.
But, more importantly– why does the transfer student have a cat inside his desk?
If you could bring your cats to school– wait, no, that is definitely not allowed. Wasn’t the faculty looking for a stray cat on school grounds yesterday?
Paying attention in class proves difficult when your eyes keep falling on that black and white paw emerging from the desk’s cavernous darkness to bat at Amamiya’s arm.
Maybe it’s his emotional support cat. You would be evil to report him when you don’t know the full story – plus, what if Amamiya finds out you ratted him out and he targets you next?
Your eyes flicker to your friend sitting to Amamiya’s right. Just… hopefully your friends won’t notice. And hopefully, this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.
Your begs fall onto occupied ears because your friend’s desk is empty the very next day. The student body has fallen into low spirits after Shiho Suzui’s suicide attempt, and you think your friend used it to her advantage to miss a day of school.
“(L/N)-san,” Kawakami begins with a tired drag to her voice, “I’m afraid that Amamiya-kun still hasn’t received his textbooks, so would you mind sharing with him today?”
A few eyes turn over blazer shoulders at you. None of which are Amamiya’s.
You nod, fingers walking along your wooden desk.
Amamiya casts a nervous glance at you. You’re sure that if you flash a light in his direction you’ll see the greenish glow of cat eyes in his desk.
You try to smile at him, but you’re sweating a little at receiving so many stares as if you’d said something to deserve them.
He turns his chair to face your desk. You’re sitting across from him like some weird idea of a dinner date in Shujin’s glacierized air conditioning.
You slide the textbook sideways so you both can quietly read and ignore your preconceptions.
Your heart pounds, your fingertips moisten, and you find you can barely focus on the words on the page. If you didn’t know any better, you would ask him about his cat now.
Amamiya glances up at you through his weeds of black bangs, but he looks back at the page as soon as you meet his eyes. His skin is unnervingly pale, and his lips are naturally curved into a pout even as he reads.
You clear your throat as quietly as you can – the room is silent, save for Ushimaru-san’s occasional bouts of information – and attempt to actually read the page.
One of your friends gives you a look from the front row.
Amamiya’s pencil doesn’t write very well after so much use in the past few days; watching him work with the frail nub of lead is painful, so you offer him a mechanical pencil instead.
He blinks gray doe eyes up at you, but you place it atop his paper so he can’t refuse it.
He moves with a type of slowness and uncertainty that reminds you of an elderly man reaching to cling to his rocking chair. Definitely not the precision and sharpness you expect of a high school criminal.
You communicate in gestures and expressions, not a single word exchanged, and you’re sure that he doesn’t even know your name. You know his, and you prefer to keep the knowledge one-sided like that.
You still don’t speak at all even as class ends and the lunch bell rings. You’re a little shocked when Ann Takamaki turns in her chair with a twirl of blonde pigtails and begins talking to him.
A friend calls you out of your newfound trance. You realize that you’re frozen, staring at a pair of bright blue eyes and a tiny white muzzle.
Instead of interrupting Amamiya’s conversation to tell him goodbye, or ask to pet his cat, you slide through the aisles with the poise of a dog on Benadryl and meet your friends.
Within a few days, you notice something weird about Amamiya: he plays with his emotional support cat during class.
He uses his fingers as feather toys, letting the little paws slash and swing at his pale hand during particularly boring parts of lectures. You hear small meows every now and then.
You wonder if you’re the only one who notices how tender Amamiya looks like this.
It feels almost intimate, seeing this version of him that he believes no one notices. Witnessing this softness is comparable to getting to know him, yet he doesn’t know who you are, nor does he know that you’re even looking.
In the second week of classes, Amamiya looks like he wants to ask you something. You decide to stall while packing your things so he has time to ask.
Finally, he turns to your desk. His bag sits, zipper open, on his chair.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, “do you know where the library is?”
His voice rumbles much deeper than you expect for such a shy-looking body, but even still you feel your posture straightening at his quiet attention.
You can’t help but notice his height. You haven’t stood beside, or anywhere near, him until now.
“Yeah, of course,” you reply. “I can show you where it is if that’s easier.”
“If you don’t mind.” He reaches for his bag, which is now magically closed. Huh.
You introduce yourself properly, and he gives his name (as if he hasn’t been Shujin’s mini-celebrity for the past week).
He says something quickly to Takamaki, and then you’re on your way.
Amamiya’s hands find his pants pockets. The plaid patterns protrude and curve into squiggles like Silly String around his fists as he walks.
You don’t really know where to look – certainly not at his pockets, or anywhere in that region – though, the owlish stares and murmurs following you through the hallway don’t give you many options.
You look at Amamiya for his reaction. You find that he’s watching for your response, just the same.
“There have been a lot of rumors about you,” is probably not the nicest way to put it, but it comes out of your mouth, anyway.
He nods, staring straight ahead now. “Yeah.”
“I’m… I’m sorry. It’s probably made such a big change really difficult.”
Amamiya takes a deep breath. For the first time since he introduced himself to the class, he looks weary, pulled down at his shoulders like a bad-form cat pose.
“You could say that…” he replies.
Neither of you really know what to say next, so you continue, “Let me know if you need help– um, finding anything else. Shujin is kind of a maze.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs. You lean closer until your arms brush so you can hear him. “At least it’s not as complicated as the trains.”
“Ohh,” you say, abruptly remembering the transit system. “I can’t even imagine how stressful that is. It took me a while to understand the trains, too.”
You don’t realize that you’re at the library until the sign nearly smacks you in the face like a rude awakening. Your hands feel clammy – are you scared?
“Oh… um, this is it,” you stammer, the worst tour guide to exist. “Do you need anything else?”
“Oh,” he echoes. “Thank you. I should be okay, I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”
You shake your head with a smile. “Well, I’m kind of eating alone, so there’s no rush.”
“Really?”
“Yes…” You step aside so someone can enter the library doors. “My friends have been pretty annoying. I’d rather sit alone.”
“You can meet my friends if you want,” Amamiya offers.
You blink, translating the words in your head. “Do you mean Takamaki-chan and Sakamoto-kun? I don’t think they would… like me.”
You can’t see his eyebrows raise through his thick bangs, but you can see the crinkle of his eyelids with the motion. “What? Of course they would. Do you want to meet them?”
Pausing, you stare through the window at your studious peers wandering the library. Some stare back at you, and some lean over to whisper to their friends.
Finally, you shake your head. “No… I appreciate it, but I should get going. I need to ask Chouno-san something.”
“Okay,” Amamiya luckily doesn’t seem offended. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait,” you interrupt. “Do you need any help? In the library?”
He hesitates, twisting his uneven bangs between his fingers.
“If you don’t mind,” he answers, quiet and muffled into his hand as if embarrassed.
You assist Amamiya with picking up his textbooks (finally, he won’t have to share with anyone), and meet with a teacher so you won’t be completely alone during lunch today.
One morning soon after the library incident, you traverse through a quieter corridor and witness Kamoshida getting a little too close to one of his volleyball pupils.
Her cowering and scurrying away upon his dismissal indicates her blatant discomfort.
You repeat the sequence in your head for the rest of the morning: his tall form towering over her, patting her on the shoulder, her fingers clutching at her blood red jacket.
You only watched it happen without stepping in – but, did anything even happen? Was there anything to interrupt? You think of the rumors that Kamoshida abuses his students, and you’re conflicted.
You’re always a witness, a backup, an understudy sweeping the floors until the main cast is lying in a pool of their own blood. You’re not meant for the lead role, the royalty who takes charge of the throne and lays claim to their blossoming metamorphosis.
You watch, and you let things happen, and then you go home and think about what you could have done. You have watched your moments of greatness flicker, and the person holding the door for you labels you a walking bystander effect.
It doesn’t seem to matter, though, when Kamoshida appears during a school assembly – on his knees, sobbing his sins like the stage is a confessional booth, begging for forgiveness.
You overhear news of a ‘Phansite’ hosting polls and forums related to the Phantom Thieves of Hearts’ next targets. It’s strange to think that a popular vigilante group originated within the walls of your school – quiet, ignored, heavily criticized Shujin.
If you wanted to avoid your classmates before, you really want to avoid them now; many of them remain in denial of Kamoshida’s crimes, even after he’s arrested and one of your friends admits that everything’s true.
You decide that you’d rather be alone than be in bad company, so you begin eating lunch in the courtyard where no one will bother you.
According to your journal entries, this is also the first day of many, many cryptid-esque sightings of Amamiya.
In class, Amamiya’s cat is a relentless distraction. You’ve learned to ignore them both most days.
But, every now and then, the cat pushes a pencil (that stupid mechanical pencil you gave him) onto the floor, or the white tip of its tail swishes against Amamiya’s shirt.
One class period, the transfer student supposedly doesn’t finish his lunch on time because he’s still sneaking bites (pasta in a plastic bag, might you add) each time Ushimaru turns away.
You block the Amamiya Half of your vision with one hand and scribble notes with the other. When you remove the hand, you find him dropping a piece of beef into a gaping mouth of sharp feline teeth. Oh…
And– another warm afternoon, Amamiya is definitely not paying attention to Kawakami because he’s fiddling with something on his desk much too aggressively to be even the most infuriating mobile games.
He’s constructed a wall of notebooks to hide his activities, and all you can see is a crooked piece of metal in his hand when he turns about 30 degrees to the right.
You fear he’s a serial killer in the making, and you’ll be the only one aware of the warning signs. You are probably the worst person to entrust that kind of fate-determinant information to.
And, the most dreadful part of it all: Amamiya still manages to answer the teachers’ questions correctly despite seeming to hardly listen.
Who even knows what differentiates a hermit crab from a red king crab, or about figures from the Edo period? Apparently Ren Amamiya.
He and his friends eat lunch on the rooftop until the student council president officially marks it as ‘off-limits.’ Some days, you see them pass by on the way to the vending machines, but they never notice you.
Today, you sit at one of the few outdoor tables to ponder it all over your food.
Sakamoto and Takamaki’s arguing voices shatter your solitude and bounce back against the low ceiling like a boomerang.
You curl into yourself and hope that they won’t see you, but Amamiya does.
He keeps looking back at you as he tries to focus on Takamaki’s rambling.
You purposefully stare down at your food like the three of them are just fig beetles buzzing about and smacking into the brick walls.
“What’s up?” you hear Sakamoto ask a little too loudly. “…You know them or something?”
You cringe a little.
Footsteps. You watch Amamiya’s plaid pants stop beside one of the empty benches.
“Hey…” he tries, voice low. “Do you usually eat here?”
You finally endure looking up at him. His two blond friends are on either side of him like bodyguards, and his cat-weighted schoolbag is on his shoulder.
You nod and close your journal, a little flustered. “It’s quieter out here.”
“It’s getting kinda warm, though,” Amamiya comments.
He’s right; you all wear your summer uniforms now to fight the late spring heat, but you persevere with hiding in the courtyard. It’s your one break from the school body and its recurring Judgment Day within Shujin stairwells.
“You’re in our class, right?” Takamaki butts in, wide blue eyes curious. “What’s your name?”
You answer her, and she returns, “I’m Ann Takamaki!”
She reaches across Amamiya to nudge Sakamoto.
“Wha–! I, I’m Ryuji Sakamoto,” he mumbles and kicks at the stone floor absentmindedly.
Takamaki adds with the most beautiful smile you think you’ve ever seen, “I’m sorry we haven’t met before. I guess we’re all sort of loners. You’ve met Ren before, though, right?”
“Yeah, I have. Do you guys need something?”
They both look to Amamiya, who stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“Do you want to sit with us today?” He tilts his head unsurely. “I don’t wanna leave you here alone.”
Your palms begin to sweat, and you clutch your uniform sleeves to alleviate it. To say you feel intimidated would be an understatement.
“Um,” you start. “First… can I meet your cat?”
They all freeze and seem to turn green.
“‘Cat’?” Amamiya repeats. His lip pout is more noticeable when he’s confused… Cute.
You nod and sit up straighter. “You think I don’t notice the cat in your desk all of the time?”
Amamiya’s face is red now.
For how stoic he presents himself, you’ve already seen many new emotions from him within the past three minutes.
“I didn’t think you would notice,” he admits quietly.
Sakamoto groans and collapses into a seat across from you at the circular table. “Dude, obviously someone’s gonna see him!”
You won’t mention his arts and crafts during Kawakami’s lessons, nor said cat tasting his nightmarish Monster-and-coffee blend (what else is he feeding that poor cat?).
You can ask another time. Frankly, you don’t know how to bring it up, anyway. You realize just how much unnecessary information you know about Amamiya.
Amamiya’s bag slides off of his shoulder and onto the round table. He and Takamaki take seats, too, and you unwillingly accept these new lunch plans.
The infamous cat emerges from the bag – first dark furry ears, then two striking blue eyes, and finally the small, black body with white points that you’ve only seen snippets of. You’ve never seen a cat that looks like this.
“This is Morgana,” Amamiya introduces him. “Please don’t tell anyone. There’s no one available to watch him during the day, so he comes to school with me.”
The cat observes you with large eyes, unmoving. You don’t want to initiate affection or introductions that may scare him, so you stay still and avoid eye contact.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” you answer mindlessly like Morgana is a hypnotist’s ticking watch. “I just love cats, so I wanted to see him.”
Morgana meows, but his back arches into a poor C-shape with claws digging at the table. You fear you’ve already upset him.
In response, Amamiya drags the bag closer to himself and ushers Morgana back inside. “Sorry, he’s a little grumpy today.”
“It’s okay,” you say with a huge smile. “One of mine is snappy, too.”
“How many cats do you have?” Takamaki gawks, adjusting her ponytails.
“Just three.”
“‘Just’ three?!” Sakamoto squawks. He gestures to himself with a thumb and a big grin. “I’m more of a dog person. I dunno how you deal with all the crap cats get into.”
“Hmm.” Takamaki taps a manicured nail to her lips. “I think… both are so cute! I don’t think I can choose.”
As if wounded, Morgana sulks into the bag with a sad mrow. Amamiya zips the bag halfway and places it in his lap without a fight.
For all of the nasty rumors that you’ve heard about these three… they fall incredibly short of the mean accusations.
They just seem like normal teenagers – let alone, people who are concerned about you eating alone, of all things. Most Shujin students wouldn’t express such a concern.
Morgana is the first, but certainly not the only, secret of theirs you have to conceal.
They begin to accumulate each time you eat lunch with the group. Though, you also learn little harmless things about them, too – Ryuji is a ramen connoisseur, Ann collects orchids, and Ren knows everything about coffee.
The student body hates all four of you now, but Ren the most.
He claims that he can’t even go to the school library without receiving judgmental stares, so you frequently offer to study there with him. You wonder if your peers had always been this cruel and quick to criticize; did you just now begin to notice?
Regardless, you think he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever known.
One afterschool walk to the station, Ryuji slings his arm around Ren’s shoulders and asks, “Since Yusuke’s ditchin’ me, do you wanna go get some ramen? We can stop by the gun– uhh.”
Ryuji’s small eyebrows twist together as he casts you a look.
“The store?” he finishes, high-pitched with uncertainty.
“Sorry, I’m walking (F/N) home,” Ren says abruptly.
You stiffen, unable to feel your sweating legs for just a few seconds. The stations are always strangely humid and suffocating during this time of year.
Ryuji looks at you again. This time, you both exchange wide-eyed looks, along with Ann who has just tuned back into the conversation.
“So you’re ditching me, too?” Ryuji cries, sliding his arm away.
“When did this start?” Ann squawks.
“Today,” Ren says with a grin.
They all look to you for your response – even Morgana, who pushes his ears up from Ren’s bag to listen better. A train approaches in a small whiff of an industrial breeze and you gesture to it limply.
“This is my train,” you say.
Accepting the half-request, Ren waves goodbye to them both and then follows after you.
“Bye, I guess?” Ryuji calls.
You give him a confused smile and wave just when you and Ren step onto the train.
Although you often ride the subway with the three of them, and even more often you ride alone, you’ve rarely been with only Ren.
You can’t really meet his eyes as you stand with chests pressing and surrounded by uncomfortably warm bodies. You watch your grip on the handrail. Occasionally, you notice him watching you, but you pretend to not notice.
The train crawls on until it reaches your stop. You hold Ren’s bare wrist so you won’t lose him in the crowd.
“You live around here?” Ren asks.
“Mm-hmm. It’s a little bit of a walk.”
He trails behind at first before he catches up with you.
He pushes his hands into his pockets and you notice his uniform shirt is amusingly wrinkled. Like the day you first showed him where the library is, you have to lean against him to hear him clearer.
“There’s a boba place around here,” he comments. “Ann invited me there once.”
“Oh, yeah, I go there all the time!” you answer. “It’s close to my house. Do you want to go?”
You look at him, and his face blanks.
Seeing his expression is difficult with his curly bangs in the way. You have the urge to wash and comb his hair properly, just to see how different he would look.
“Sure,” he finally replies.
“I can pay for yours if you want,” you offer without thinking.
Wait, you shouldn’t have said that. You’ll be lucky if you even have 2000 yen in your wallet right now.
Even more surprisingly, he shakes his head and insists, “No, I’ll pay for ours.”
You clam up, a little shocked at his rare assertiveness – between stating he would walk you home without requesting first, and now this? What has happened to the quietly passive Ren Amamiya you see each day at school?
Well, you’re not complaining. In fact, quite the opposite.
You hold your warm face in one hand, and Ren suppresses a smile the entire walk like he’s proud of himself.
He holds your drinks as you unlock the front door to your home.
It’s as quiet as you expect, besides one of your cats meeting you at the door.
“I’ll give you a house tour,” you say, peeling off your loafers. Ren mimics you.
“Is anyone home?” he asks you. It’s a lot easier to hear his voice now without Shibuya’s rampant noise pollution.
You shake your head and float over to the living room. “No, my mom’s probably at work.”
Your cat’s paws patter behind you, followed by Ren’s slightly heavier steps.
Your house is small and simplistic, besides the piles of unused or forgotten items lingering in each room. Old roller skates, stacks of mail, jewelry halfway through repair, paintings meant to be hung, recycling to take out.
You and your mom have problems with stockpiling – call it a problem of holding onto things not good for you – but you suppose you achieve the maximalist aesthetic pretty well.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” you say. “My mom’s been pretty busy lately.”
“I don’t mind.”
He looks uncomfortable, or maybe a little unsure of where he fits in here.
So you suggest, “You can sit down. I have to feed the cats.”
You wonder if Ren will allow Morgana to meet your pets, but he unzips his bag as he sits down and the cat does not bother to emerge yet. Mona seems a little untrusting, anyway.
The silence is heaven in your ears after such a long day.
Though, you have to admit you’re a little nervous; you don’t really know what to talk about with Ren.
Your other two cats come prancing into the kitchen, driven by their internal clocks and your return from school.
“I might do some homework,” you warn your lounging friend. “If you need help with anything.”
He perches his head against the couch to look at you. His neck is crooked and his black hair splatters against the cushion like spilled tar.
“Maybe,” he says, low voice in a murmur. “Do just you and your mom live here?”
“You’re interrogating me,” you comment, but then grin. “I’m kidding, it’s okay. Yeah, it’s just us. She’s a veterinarian so she’s always at work, I never really see her.”
“Ah, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says with a gentle stare. Your heart thumps.
“It’s whatever. I’m used to it,” you reply, portioning the cat food.
Out of all the things to discuss today, your family issues definitely aren't on the list. You feel embarrassed for letting the conversation roam here.
Panicked, you add, “I take care of the house, the cats, and stuff… It gives me something to do.”
“I understand why you have a lot of cats now. You can have free at-home checkups.”
“Not a lot! Only three,” you defend yourself. “It… takes a lot of cat-proofing the house.”
Ren gives you a side eye and then he melts down into the couch.
Morgana slips out of his school bag after a long wait, but he doesn’t venture further than Ren’s legs. You’d have to keep an eye on the cats in case they don’t get along.
You set down the food bowls for your cats and wash your hands.
You venture toward the couch and ruffle Ren’s hair so he’ll stir. You try not to loiter on how fluffy it is.
“Are you going to sleep?” you ask, leaning over him.
“No,” he answers. His thick hair surrounds his face and neck like a feathery pillow. “Can we do something besides homework? My brain feels foggy.”
“Mmm…” you hum, thinking.
“What do you do for fun at home?” Ren interviews from beneath you.
You sit on the carpet in front of the couch so your back won’t hurt from looming over him. This allows you to be on eye level with him, anyway.
“I don’t know… Boring stuff. I read, and play video games, and I do puzzles with my mom when she’s free.”
“Have you played Animal Crossing?”
You smile. “Not since I was a kid.”
“You should download it on your phone.” He guides a begrudging Morgana to sit on his chest. “I can send you my friend code.”
You’re a little taken aback that Ren’s first choice of gaming is Animal Crossing. You were thinking something a little fast-paced, or action-y.
You suppose it’s fitting, though, since you’ve learned that Ren is much more of a softie than the rumors portray him as.
Leaning against his arm on the couch, you download the app as he requests. You create your character and then offer him your phone to type his friend code.
Fully sunken into the cushions, he reaches for your phone and your hands brush. Immediately, you flinch away.
“Ow,” you say. “You shocked me.”
Puzzled, Ren examines his hand like it’s a weapon. “Really? I didn’t feel anything.”
Flustered, you stumble, “Oh… Um, maybe I just imagined it.”
His voice lacks all energy and enthusiasm as he taps away at your phone screen and says, “I’m just so electric.”
“I guess so,” you reply, smiling against his sleeve.
“There you go,” he announces in a murmur. He returns your phone. “Now we’re friends.”
“Friends in real life?”
He smiles. His neck is definitely compressed with the unhealthy angle he currently lays at, and Morgana has dozed off. “I thought we were past that by now.”
“Wait,” you interject, “why did you walk me home? You could have spent time with Ryuji.”
Ren peers up at you for a few seconds through tired, half-lidded eyes. “I just wanted to spend time with you.”
You stare at him for so long that you can’t think of anything reasonable to say in return. The only response that comes out is a combination of noises, but Ren grins even harder.
“I’m going to actually do homework before you make my brain short circuit,” you state. You drag your little character around your phone screen.
“Suit yourself. I need your help with social studies, by the way.”
“What’s up?”
“The paper.”
“You haven’t started?!”
He smiles at his screen. He partially ignores you.
“It’s due on–” You give up. “Okay, I’ll try to help you. Sometimes, you’re as disorganized as you look.”
Ren’s dark eyes shift to yours. Your heart flips in each of your fingers.
“Did you make assumptions about me before we met?” he asks.
“Maybe,” you answer. “It was kinda hard not to, with the things I saw.”
He rolls onto his side to face you. You shift on the carpet to get comfortable again while still maintaining eye contact.
“Like what?” he presses.
“Literally everything– Talking to the cat in your desk, napping during class, texting Ann when she’s right in front of you–”
“Wait, you read my text messages?”
“No, but you guys make it pretty obvious,” you say.
Ren stares up at the popcorn ceiling. “Wow. So you had your own little observational stalker project going on before we even talked.”
“How is that stalking? You sit right in front of me, where else am I going to look when you do all of that weird stuff?”
“At your work,” he states.
You grin against your arm and try to plug your laughter. How different things were just last month.
Now, you sit in front of this delinquent boy and watch him smile because you’re smiling and his eyes are lingering on your mouth just a few seconds too long. You can feel your intestines untangling, all of the hairs on your arms straightening from spirals and leaning toward him like plants toward the sun.
“Um,” you say. “Wanna get started on that paper now?”
Ren groans and curls up in front of you. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Only fifteen?”
“Thirty.”
“Okay. Animal Crossing until then, I guess.”
He nods and yawns. You eye him questioningly – he’s definitely falling asleep within the next thirty minutes – but say nothing. Just the two of you, silently tapping your phone screens and delivering apples and dragonflies and carp. So much for a normal year.