The Dietary Habits of a Delinquent

That night, I didn't organize my sock drawer. I didn't even color-code my to-do list. I just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying that gravelly "You're mine now" over and over until my brain felt like it had been stuck in a loop.

Logic dictated I should have been terrified. Koga Sudō was a natural disaster in a school uniform. But as I stared at the shadows on my wall, my "Executive" brain began to pivot. If Koga was going to stick to me like glue, then I had a responsibility. A project.

Rehabilitation.

If I could channel that intensity into something productive, maybe get him to actually button his jacket or, heaven forbid, pass a quiz, I'd be doing the school a service. I fell asleep dreaming of a reformed Koga Sudō, standing straight, his fists too busy holding a book to cause people harm.

The next morning, the school felt like it was holding its breath.

Koga actually showed up for first period. Two days in a row. It was a statistical anomaly that had the hallway whispers reaching a fever pitch. He sat right in Suzuki's former seat, his presence a heavy, heat-radiating weight next to my shoulder.

I told myself it was for the best. If he was here, he wasn't out brawling. It was a win for order.

However, as the hours ticked by, I noticed a flaw in the "Crimson Fang" lifestyle. By lunch break, Koga hadn't touched a book. He hadn't even opened a notebook. He had spent the entire morning slumped over his desk, a single piece of peppermint gum tucked into his cheek, radiating a predatory energy.

Growl.

The sound was low, but in the quiet of the post-lecture lull, it was unmistakable. Koga's stomach was staging a protest. He didn't move, just buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm.

I looked at my own lunch, a perfectly balanced bento with three types of vegetables. Then I looked at the back of his messy red hair. My fingers twitched. My instincts were screaming. I couldn't stop myself. I simply could not let a student under my "supervision" starve, even if that student could snap me like a pencil.

I stood up, marched to the cafeteria, and fought through the crowd to secure a yakisoba bun.

When I got back, Koga was still facedown. I set the bun on his desk with a firm thud.

"Eat this," I commanded.

Koga stirred, his head lifting slowly. His eyes were bleary, dark lashes blinking as he processed the plastic-wrapped bread in front of him. "Huh? What's this, Prez?"

"It's a yakisoba bun. You've been living on gum all morning, Sudō-kun. Brains require glucose to function, though I suspect yours is currently running on fumes."

Koga looked at the bun, then up at me. And then, it happened.

His lips quirked. The hard, stony line of his face softened, breaking into a genuine, lopsided smile. It was... warm, boyish. It reached his eyes, crinkling the corners.

My heart did a full-on Olympic backflip. A strange, prickly heat spread inside my chest. I suddenly found my own bento very, very interesting.

"Thanks, Prez," he rumbled, tearing into the plastic.

I sat down next to him, picking at my rice. Since the office yesterday, I'd been stuck on a thought I couldn't quite file away. I had always vaguely pictured myself with a kind, cute girl, the sort of distant daydream that never took priority over student council meetings or calculus. I'd only had one confession since starting high school, and while girls sometimes asked about my "type," I'd never really given it a second thought. There was always something more important to do.

How was Koga so sure about it all? What about his image; confessing to a guy like that in front of others?

"Sudō-kun," I started, trying to keep my voice neutral. "I've been wondering. Do you... like guys?"

Koga shrugged, completely unbothered as he chewed. "I like what I like. Doesn't matter if it's a guy or a girl. I just have a type."

I frowned. "That's hardly an answer. Liking a girl and liking a guy aren't the same thing."

Koga, who had seemed only half-interested in the conversation, suddenly stopped chewing. He shifted his weight, giving me his full, undivided attention. It was that same feeling from the office, the sensation of being pinned under a microscope.

I felt a sudden, frantic urge to fidget or look away, which was absurd. I never fidgeted. I'd stared down angry parents and handled the strictest teachers without breaking a sweat, but under that intense gaze, I felt like I wanted to hide. His eyes were far too pretty for such a scary face.

"You sayin' you don't like guys?" Koga asked.

I looked down at my bento immediately, focus-firing on a cherry tomato. "I've... just never thought about guys that way."

That was the conversation I should have had at the very start. I should have told him I didn't like guys. Except... if that was true, why hadn't I just said "no" immediately?

"That wasn't a 'no,'" Koga observed. I looked back up, and he continued, "Means you never dated before."

"That's perfectly normal!" I said, my voice rising in self-defence. "Plenty of boys our age haven't gone on their first dates yet. We're young."

Koga snorted. I felt the sting of being mocked. Koga took another bite, and said, "Doesn't matter. People make things complicated for no reason. You like someone, you say so, then you ask 'em out."

The sting was soothed. I smiled a little despite myself. "Or you just declare it in the student council office for everyone to hear? Your way of asking people out is a disaster, Sudō-kun."

Koga paused, leaning back as he studied me with an amused glint in his eyes. "And you'd know that from your long experience dating, Prez?"

I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I found my footing again. I could handle banter; banter was safe. I gave him a dry, pointed look. "Even I can tell that you don't intimidate people into dating you."

"It worked, didn't it?" Koga said, his voice dropping to a low, confident rumble.

"I haven't agreed to date you, so no, it didn't work," I countered, crossing my arms.

Koga didn't look offended or discouraged. He just leaned in a fraction closer, that startlingly soft grin returning to his face. "Hasn't worked yet," he corrected.

My stomach twisted. A guy's smile shouldn't have made me feel things. To distract myself, I pointed at his half-eaten bun.

"Just eat your food, Sudō-kun."

**

The rest of the day passed in a blur of committee meetings and budget approvals. I didn't think about the conversation. I definitely didn't think about his smile. Tried at least.

At the end of the day, Koga was waiting for me by the school gates with a sleek, menacing black motorcycle.

"Oi, Prez! Hop on. I'm taking you home."

His muscles flexed as he gripped the handlebars, and nodded in invitation. "Absolutely not. I have a reputation, and 'delinquent passenger' is not a category I'm adding to it. I'm walking."

"President! President Aizawa!"

I turned to see Kohei Tanaka running toward us.

"Thank you for helping with my lost library card! You're the best, Mama-san!"

He bowed, beamed, and ran off. It was Kohei's usual antics. But this time… I froze.

I'd heard the nickname a hundred times. I corrected it at times, but mostly filed it under an ongoing situation that wasn't a priority, and moved on. But now, with Koga standing right there –the terrifying leader of a gang, a guy with a fear-invoking title– hearing "Mama-san" felt like being doused in cold water. It felt humiliating.

I could feel Koga's eyes on me. He was going to laugh. He was going to find it hilarious that the guy he "claimed" was known as the school's mother.

"It's," I stammered, staring at my shoes. "It's just… they call me that because I handle things. It's not… it's a bit ridiculous, I know."

Silence.

I glanced up.

Koga wasn't laughing. He didn't even smirk. He let out a thoughtful rumble in his chest as he kicked the engine to life.

"Everyone in my group has a nickname, Prez," he said, the engine's roar puncturing the afternoon air. "The more ridiculous, the better. Means you're the one people can't do without."

He said it simply. Like it was just a fact about how the world worked.

I didn't have an immediate response to that, which was unusual. A warmth spread in my chest. It was gratitude, I told myself firmly. Normal gratitude for a kind remark. I felt it all the time.

I just couldn't remember the last time I had felt it.

"I'll get you on this thing eventually." The dangerous half-grin appeared. "See you tomorrow, Prez."

With a flick of his wrist, he sped off, the taillight disappearing into the twilight.

I stood there for a long time, the silence of the evening settling around me. He was an ass. He was a delinquent. But he hadn't laughed at me.

My rehabilitation plan was not going to be simple. But it was viable. Definitely viable.

I started walking, already mentally checking my fridge.

I'd have to make two lunches tomorrow. Yakisoba buns weren't a balanced meal.