First Brush - 3

The school day progresses at a snail’s pace for Sayuri, the sun seemingly stuck in the middle of the sky. Though Hakuin’s curriculum is far more difficult than she expected, the hard-to-follow lessons are not to blame for time’s apparent lethargy. Rather, it’s all the eyes flitting towards her, the whispers, and the judgement behind both.

It’s not like she doesn’t get it, she sure does. Her slapping the school’s archduke is today’s ‘incident’, to be disseminated and analysed by every one present on campus. And it’s not like it’s the first time she’s getting all this quiet attention, either; the same thing happened when she called her homeroom teacher ‘mum’ in third grade. But that doesn’t mean she’s comfortable with any of it.

There’s a weight pressing down her neck, not unlike what she’s felt with past public embarrassments, but not identical either. What she did was weird, as usual, but weird in a way that’s justifiable, a way that should leave people debating whether she was right or wrong. However, everyone seems to have made up their minds already. Whether because they truly believe it, or they’re scared of taking her side, their looks all hold the same quiet condemnation.

But she wouldn’t even care about any of that if Asami wasn’t mad at her.

Whenever Sayuri looks her way during class, Asami frowns and turns away, her drawing taking on an almost ferocious intensity. Break time rolling around, she deploys her usual earbuds defence, leaving Sayuri wondering whether it’d be okay to bother her, or if it’d be best to leave her be. After all, she’s probably dealt with enough for one day.

But while she can stop herself once, twice, and even a third time, come lunch she can’t help it any longer. It might be selfish of her, but she has to know, or at least to try. Heart in her mouth, she gets up. One tap on Asami’s desk stops her from unwrapping her bento box. She reaches up to her earbuds, tapping them once to pause the track.

“Hey Kitora-san. Would you like to eat together?”

A smile crosses Asami’s lips, but only for a split second; she bites it into a pout. “No, sorry.” Swift and blunt. And if that weren’t clear enough, she scrambles to her feet, then brushes past Sayuri on her way out the classroom, paying her no glance.

The afternoon arrives quite quickly after that.

The chimes ring for the last time today, marking the end of the last period. Without delay, students file out into the hallways, spreading out across campus. Most of them are heading home, chauffeurs queuing up at the front gate; some loop back around the main building to the sports fields lining the southern wall; Sayuri’s the only one to stay inside the classroom.

She wipes the blackboard clean, opens the windows wide, then starts working down the rows, flipping every chair upside down and setting it on its desk. It’s not her turn to do cleaning duty, but she doesn’t mind picking up the slack. She’s always found tidying up therapeutic, and the thought that she’s helping someone out only adds to the enjoyment. If not with something big, she can at least make a difference with a lot of little gestures.

As she gets to her seat, she inadvertently gazes to the side, anticipating her next and final move. Her hands grip the backrest, but don’t lift. Asami’s bag is still hanging off the desk hook, and that can only mean one thing.

On cue, Sayuri hears the linoleum squeak behind her, the sound of loafers halting in surprise. Asami is standing in the doorway, hands slightly damp, a dull expression on her face. Her mouth opens on a question that never makes it out. Without a word, she trots inside, and without even acknowledging Sayuri, she packs up all her belongings, then heads out once more.

Sayuri takes a deep breath, clutching her wrist to stop herself from trembling. It doesn’t work. She’s used to making mistakes and getting the cold shoulder as a result, but not like this, not this soon. It usually takes her months to mess up in such spectacular fashion, but her relationship with Asami has fizzled out in a day, if it wasn’t dead on arrival, that is. So, it only reasons that, if she’s done something wrong, she’d want to know. She has to know.

“Wait, Kitora-san,” she mutters. Anxiety has left her voice low and hoarse, honest but inhospitable.

Asami stops, her body still facing the exit. Her shoulders slouch slightly. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for?”

“I – I don’t know, actually.”

Asami chuckles, but Sayuri can tell if she’s amused or derisive. “Then don’t apologise, dummy. You’ve got no reason to.” She takes another step forward, but only one.

“I was hoping you could help me figure it out, actually.”

“Now wouldn’t that be silly?”

“Yeah, I guess. But that’s just who I am.” Sayuri grits her teeth. It’s something so dumb and awkward, she’d have trouble typing it in a text, let alone saying it out loud. But it’s either make a fool out of herself now, or spend the next month obsessing over today. The choice is easy enough. “I just wanted to know what I did to upset you, that’s all.”

There is a long second of silence, the shouts rising off the football pitch threatening to break it, before Asami finally shatters it with a sigh. Ears flat, she peeks at Sayuri. “I’m not upset with you, Hayakawa.”

“You’re not?”

“How could I be? You stood up for me when everyone else was just content to watch. I’d be the biggest jerk in the world if I weren’t grateful.”

“…But?”

“But don’t get it twisted. Though I appreciate the intention, it doesn’t change the fact that it was an incredibly stupid thing to do.”

Of course it was stupid, Sayuri’s never doubted that. There were a hundred things she could’ve done before getting physical, reasonable and diplomatic steps which she skipped over in favour of raw, unfiltered emotion. But that’s just her point of view. And judging by Asami’s flat tone, she doesn’t seem to share it.

“I just did what felt right in the moment.”

“It’s not about what, but why,” Asami says. A shadow crosses over her face, the sun drawing a blanket of clouds over its head. She lets out a huff of air, something between a scoff and a tearless sob. “I’ve met so many people like that Takuya guy. Boys who think I’m lonely and desperate, and I’ll fall head over heels for them if only they give me the smallest crumb of attention. They don’t actually like me for who I am; they just feel like I’m an easy target that no one would ever think about protecting.

“That’s why when you slapped him, nobody saw it as defending a girl from an obnoxious jerk. They saw you, a girl like them, showing compassion to a circus freak like me. It’s no wonder they’re all whispering about you now – they think you genuinely care about weirdos. And only a weirdo would do that.

“But, there is a way to salvage your reputation, you know? If you make them think that you were only trying to put Takuya in his place, it’ll make you brave and confident. The mousy girl who challenged the noble prince.” Asami purses her lips. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll keep ignoring you tomorrow. People will think there’s something up with us. They’ll ask questions. When they do, you’ll make a point out of – eh?”

She whips around to find Sayuri looming over her, eyes narrow with frustration, mouth twisted in a sulking frown. Without warning, she lifts her hand to Asami’s forehead, then flicks it hard enough to send an undeniable message: she can’t stand listening to her anymore.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Telling me what to do.”

“I was trying to –”

“First of all, you’re not a circus freak, and don’t you ever let me hear you call yourself that again. Second of all, I know why I smacked him, and it was because he was harassing you. And third, and most important of all, I don’t care what everyone else thinks.”

Asami’s brow shoots wide. “B-but, you spent every break moping around because of –”

“Because I thought you hated me! And… you’re nice. And funny and incredibly impervious to dumbasses, and I thought I’d never see you again after last night, but then you were there, sitting right next me, and you were even cooler in person and – I’m rambling now, aren’t I? Sorry, I just – I just hoped we could be friends that’s all.”

If for all her speech Sayuri has stared at her shoes, too shy to look elsewhere, once she lets the truth out, she finally gets enough courage to meet Asami’s gaze. Her cheeks are redder than ripe cherries; Sayuri can almost feel the heat wafting off her face.

It takes her ten stuttered attempts at forming a sentence before she can finally let one out. “Y-you can’t possibly be serious about all of that.”

“Why would I lie?”

“Why would you tell the truth?”

“… Who’s being the dummy now, huh?”

With that, Asami’s finally had enough. Growling, she puts a couple strides distance between Sayuri and herself. “You’re the bigger dummy!” She dashes away right after, leaving Sayuri with a big, goofy smile on her face. Up until now, she was dreading tomorrow; now, it couldn’t come soon enough.