Warning Signs

Since Ryouta had politely accepted Futaba's friendship offer earlier that day, he could hardly turn her down when she held out a juice box to him between periods — much to the surprise of the entire classroom.

"Hey, I bought this last period. Want one?"

Ryouta, aware of all the eyes sliding their way, accepted it. 

"Thanks a lot, Futaba."

"Nope, all my friends call me Fu-chan. I want you to call me that."

Ryouta popped the lid off the juice box and groaned inwardly. 

'Chan.' 

The nickname most kids retired somewhere before middle school, let alone high school — that sacred little suffix girls traded around as the highest badge of closeness. Being quietly filed onto that list left him hovering somewhere between embarrassed and appalled at the sheer nerve of the girl across from him. Still, playing along would be easier than fighting it. He wasn't going to win against that stubbornness anyway.

"I think I'll stick to Futaba."

"Gimme back that orange juice."

"Fu-chan, what's the next period?"

"It's math, Ryo-Ryo."

"You called me what now? You can have your orange juice back."

"Okay! Okay! Fine…" Futaba relented, though she looked far too pleased with herself to sound sorry about it. 

"I'll call you Ryouta. I'm sorry, but I just can't help calling people by their nicknames." She brightened. "Helps me feel closer to them!"

Ryouta's cheeks warmed a little, and he gave in to the honesty of it. 

"I don't really mind if you call me Ryo, though," he said, matter-of-fact. "That's what Ryu calls me."

Futaba touched her lips, thoughtful. "Oh, so you're Ryo… and he's Ryu…" She murmured it half to herself. "Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense."

"Hey, Futaba. I didn't know you were friends with Ryouta," came a voice from behind them.

She turned to find a tall boy with neat blond hair ambling over, an easy smile on his face. His name was Haruto — another of the relentlessly friendly crowd Ryouta usually kept at arm's length.

"Well, I'm surprised you even remember my name, Haruto. I'm not exactly a— uhm… social butterfly… or something," Ryouta said, a little nervously, trying to pull him into the conversation. He wasn't good at that. He was still too aware of the whole class angled their way, of the small muffled whispers he could just barely catch. 

Or was that only his imagination?

Haruto, for his part, stood perfectly at ease, ignoring the whispers entirely. He leaned lazily against the wall and yawned, the pleasant smile never leaving his face. He was the kind of person who could keep his cool in any situation. That laid-back slouch hid every trace of the energetic, athletic captain of the soccer team. He rarely bothered getting up from his seat in class — but on the field, all the energy he hoarded through the day came pouring out, goal after goal against the other side. Under the sloth was a fiercely competitive animal that only ever surfaced when he played.

Most people liked him, though a few envied his near-prodigal talent for the sport. He wore his strengths lightly and carried almost no ambition; he'd sooner spend the day dozing than chase a goal. But the moment he stepped onto the pitch, his eyes lit with the will to win, and he'd show exactly how good he was. Maybe that was what made him so fascinating to everyone at school.

The light blond hair, the mellow dark-brown eyes, the lean build of a team captain — it all drew plenty of attention from the girls. And for all his laziness, he genuinely loved to train, whatever the jealous ones assumed.

"Ah… he's so lucky to have a face like that." 

"Does he even try? Must be nice, being that talented and getting everything easy." 

"Isn't he just playing life on easy mode?"

But Haruto stayed oblivious to all of it, as if some guardian angel kept the words from ever reaching him.

Taking it on himself to keep things moving, Haruto slid back into the conversation. "Oh… well, yeah. I kind of scouted you for our soccer team at the start of the year, but then we got some other guy, so I never really got to know you properly."

Ryouta smiled, a little relieved, and answered honestly. "Well, that's kind of my fault. I'm always busy with different part-time jobs. I never get the chance to go out and get to know people."

"Ahhh! So that explains the mysterious Ryouta." Haruto grinned. "I don't know about the part-time jobs, but we could hang out during school, right? At recess, maybe? That'd be nice. You seem like a cool guy."

"Inviting yet another stray to one of your outings?" Futaba cut in. She'd been watching the two of them quietly, and something told her Ryouta would settle easier around Haruto than around her.

Haruto yawned again and scratched his head. "Well, I find it fun to hang out with all kinds of people."

Futaba turned to Ryouta and teased, "You know how many girls would kill to be where you're standing right now? Being invited out by Haruto is a privilege not many citizens of this small school ever get."

Ryouta grinned and played along. "Well then, sire — the pleasure shall be mine to accompany you."

"Alright then! Today at recess, let's go loiter around with Shio."

"Shio?"

"Shiomi Mabuchi. She's been my friend since we were kids. She's in the same year as us, over in D section. I'm surprised you haven't heard of her. She's pretty famous for her art. Anyway, we can all have fun together."

"I mean… I could. I just wouldn't want to get in the way."

Haruto waved it off. "We're usually just lazing around, or hanging out with whoever. Trust me, we won't even notice one more."

Ryouta kept his polite smile up and tried to steady his nerves. He hadn't had this much attention on him in a long time, and he wasn't sure he wanted it. It all felt faintly troublesome. Still, he played along. Futaba beamed at him and shot him a wink, pleased he'd finally found some company. Then the teacher came in, Haruto and Futaba scurried back to their seats, and the next period began.

***

Shiomi Mabuchi had drawn for as long as she could remember. Trees, animals, people, buildings — whatever she laid eyes on, she could pull onto a blank sheet and breathe life into it, and half the time the drawing came out better than the thing itself. She'd started young and trained early, and it showed. She had long since left every other artist her age behind, each picture rendered with an easy, exacting hand. It was no surprise she kept getting chosen to represent the school, or that she kept coming home with prizes.

Like Haruto — maybe even more so — she was gifted, and, like him, lazy and unambitious with it. The two were cut from the same cloth, which was probably half the reason they'd stayed so close since childhood.

Haruto pushed open the art-room door, and a gust swept in through the open windows. The only person in the big empty room paused mid-stroke, one hand rising to catch her long white hair as it streamed sideways in the wind. She waited for it to settle, then went back to her painting. Her sleeves were rolled to the elbows, and she leaned in close to the canvas, her fingers stained a dozen colors as she dipped her brush and drew soft strokes across the paper. She was short and a little chubby, her cheeks naturally flushed — teddy-bear cute, the kind you'd want to hug all day. From where he stood behind her, Ryouta could make out her rounded shoulders and her ankles crossed beneath the stool. The canvas showed at an angle: a boy, sitting on a swing.

"Shio, come on! Let's hang out," Haruto called.

Shiomi turned slowly. Her round green eyes landed on Ryouta and stayed there, moving over his face feature by feature. Her lips pressed thin, her cheeks warmed to a faint red.

"I like your nose."

Then she turned back to her canvas and picked up where she'd left off, leaving Ryouta blinking after her, thrown.

Haruto only sighed, used to her when she got like this, and gave Ryouta a be-patient look before pitching his voice loud enough to carry. "Oh… sorry, Ryouta. Guess Shiomi won't be joining us to finish that mochi I brought today."

Shiomi's paintbrush dropped. She whipped around at the mention of her weakness. "M— m— m— mo— mochi?"

"Oh, but Shio, you're so busy with your painting," Haruto said, dripping sarcasm. "I really wouldn't want to disturb you now, would I? Guess Ryouta and I will just have to finish all that mochi my mom made by ourselves, won't we, Ryouta? Weren't they your favorite, Shio? Ah… what a shame."

Shiomi pouted and laid down her terms. "If it turns out you didn't have any mochi and were just lying, I'll draw you naked in bear panties and spread the drawing all over school."

Ryouta had to bite down on a laugh at the mental image.

Haruto, well used to her threats, just nodded. "Deal. Now c'mon."

***

Shiomi drifted a little ahead, cheeks bulging around a mouthful of mochi, needling Haruto about something that had the two of them grinning. Ryouta trailed a pace behind the pair, hands in his pockets, and found he didn't mind at all that Futaba hadn't come along — she would be with Ryuuji by now, which was where he would sooner picture her anyway.

He watched Haruto knock a shoulder into Shiomi's, watched her shove back without breaking stride — a rhythm the two of them had clearly worn smooth over years. Whenever he saw two people fitted together that neatly, some old instinct told him to step back and leave the space alone. A third person had a way of sliding into a gap like that and quietly bending it out of shape.

He knew. He wasn't new to any of this. 

He had just stopped trusting himself with it somewhere along the way. It hurt less to stand on the far side of the glass and watch the people he liked be happy through it.

So he let himself fall back, content — right up until Haruto twisted round to wave him level with them, and the thought slipped in before he could stop it.

'Walking here, right between the two of them… maybe it's no different at all.'

"So… Ryouta, you're in Haru's section, right?" Shiomi asked. "I've never really heard about you in school. What do you like to do?"

Ryouta winced, his old obsession with shoujo figurines flashing through his mind. "Uhm… well, I don't really have a lot of hobbies. I read some manga in my free time, maybe?"

"Oh, well, that's better than Haruto at least. As a kid he was a total otaku. He used to collect these little idol-girl figurines."

"Hey!" Haruto protested. "I was so young when I liked those. And I didn't collect them! I just had two or three good ones, like Rika-pyon, and—"

"Rika-pyon from Nine Idol Stars?" Ryouta cut in, his eyes lighting up at finding someone with the same strange childhood taste.

"Yes! Rika-pyon's the best. I loved the songs she used to sing."

"Bro, Rika-pyon's great, but Rima-chan is definitely—"

Shiomi sighed. "Great. Now I've got two lunatics to deal with."

Haruto ignored her completely and kept talking with Ryouta right up until the bell. And when Ryouta got back to his classroom, something felt different — some quiet thing turning over in his chest. 

He listened closer than usual. Every word landed clearly. The concepts clicked into place. Even the crisp scrape of chalk against the dusty board struck him as strangely pleasant. 

His senses felt turned up a notch, and he kept having to swallow the urge to grin at nothing at all. He hadn't expected his life to start filling up with people who were kind to him — not like this, not so quickly. He couldn't tell whether to be wary of it, or to let himself ease into the change. 

'Perhaps being wary might be for the better.'

***

When school let out at last, the students began to drift off. Some headed to their clubs, some off into the city in little groups, others to part-time jobs. Haruto said goodbye and jogged away to soccer practice. Futaba mentioned that she and Ryuuji were going somewhere together, so Ryuuji wouldn't be walking home with him.

And just like that, everyone who'd filled his day was gone. Ryouta sat by himself in the classroom while the last of the others filed out in twos and threes.

He shook his head at himself. 

'Just because they wanted to be your friends doesn't mean they'll drop everything to be around you,' he scolded himself. 

'Them talking to you, being kind... that's already enough. Expect more than that, and you're the one who ends up hurting.'

He gathered up the stack of papers he was meant to drop at the staff room and took his time with the errand, watching the last students trickle out, his eyes on the floor as he went. He didn't feel like company. By the time he was done, the building had nearly emptied.

'Yeah,' he thought. 'This is how things ought to be for me.'

He smiled weakly to himself and opened the door of his classroom to collect his things.

And stopped.

Shiomi was sitting on his desk, looking out the window. The setting sun turned her white hair orange where it stirred in the soft breeze, and the smell of her rose shampoo hung in the air. There was something sad in her face — lonely, almost — and the empty classroom seemed to echo it back at her as she gazed out, listless. Then Ryouta followed her line of sight to the soccer field, where Haruto was still practicing.

"Mabuchi-san?"

She turned, and her face brightened into a soft smile. "Ryouta! Here... your bag."

With confusion and mixed emotions, Ryouta asked, "Were you waiting for me? You could've just gone home without me."

Shiomi hopped down off the desk and brushed off her skirt. "Yeah… Ryouta. I was waiting for you. There's something I want to talk to you about."

Ryouta went still, his mind already racing through a dozen guesses at what it might be. "What…" he asked, hesitant. "What exactly did you want to say?"

Shiomi's face went serious all at once. She looked dead into his eyes and said the last thing he could have ever expected.

"I want you to stay away from Haruto."