sometimes i feel like screaming

After the most tonally confused (near) panic attack of my life, I decided that, again, enough was enough. Enough of my body sabotaging my mind. No more. They'd have to learn how to work together again.  

This wasn't just about me anymore: I'd heard Youji beg for his life on the phone earlier. His terrible friends got more and more aggressive by the day, and I was the only one who could stop this.  

Once I finally got to college, I begged the professor for my life as well. Such was the way of life. She didn't seem to remember whether I was a good or bad student (bad), whether I was worth sparing or not (wasn't), for I had the stage presence of a plank of wood, and people tended to forget I existed. In the end, because the leaves Youji cut were so aesthetically pleasing, she accepted my album, docking off a few points due to tardiness. I could've cried. I could've skipped all the way to the entrance. Time to—

Wait.

How would I know where to meet Youji? Or when? Or how? Not that karaoke sounded remotely appealing to me, but after all he'd done and was, how could I say no? Yet I seemed to have done to unconsciously anyway. At this point it wouldn't surprise me if I were to tie shoelaces of different sneakers together in my sleep. Now it just seemed as though I'd deliberately avoided our... reunion? One step forward, two steps back. 

I could not even FATHOM what kept Youji talking to me. Kissing him had been a mistake. I thought he'd say no because of what happened in the morning. Self-sabotage? But to himself. Maybe that was it. For his past sins. As a sequel to prison. It made sense. I'd also interact with myself to atone for past sins if I were someone else. 

"Hey."

Who was talking to me no fuck you go away why are you sitting on my table. 

"Can I sit here with some friends?"

No. Fuck you. I hate all of you. I hate everyone. I will destroy the world. "Yes," I peeped.

Five people sat before and around me. It'd been my fault for choosing the cafeteria over literally any other place to sit; this, too, could be atonement. "Oh, cool," said the guy who sat next to me. "I like that game too. Who's your main?"

Then again, it could also be a way to socialize myself so I could stop scratching curtains and hissing at loved ones. I told him the name of my favorite character without looking at him, or anything not called 'table', really.

"Seriously? Me too!"

So I stopped looking at the table. Man, he was short. He had more piercings on his ears than I had fingers on my hands, his clothes baggy. Probably because he was short. "Why?" I asked.

This seemed to take him aback. I hadn't even noticed that the rest of the table talked about something else until then. "Uhh... because she's cute?"

"Oh." Disappointing. 

"I think most of them have pretty flat character arcs since, you know, there's so many characters at this point, but she always stood out to me because, like, she's so sweet despite all the shit going on in her life."

"Exactly. And. Her story quest."

"Right! If I were her, I would've just snapped halfway through."

"I would've snapped at the beginning."

This made him snort. It was true, though. "Show me her build," he demanded. If I did so, he'd see my unhealthy spending habits, but if I didn't, he might get mad at me for not being a socialized animal and hate me and I'd never have a conversation with anyone again. So I showed him. "Oh, holy shit."

"I don't, um. I've mostly spent on her and her. Team."

"Guys!" He snatched my phone off my hands, to then present my shameful nature to the rest of the table. "Check this out! What the fuck?"

The girl sitting across redundantly noted, "You must spend a lot of time playing."

"Or just spend in general," said someone next to her. 

When I tried to snatch my phone back, I slipped. One of them laughed, but the dumbass who stole my phone helped me up, saying, "Sorry, sorry," like that'd do anything. He released the hostage, which I promptly turned off. "Really. I'm sorry. Hey!"

I picked up my things.

I left. 

Who needed people. Who? Not me. I'd just be atonement to Youji and that was it. 

I didn't dare approach the cafeteria after that, so I stopped for a burger and some fries on my way to work. As I should. Too much cake, too many convenience store meals, too many burgers. I would've dumped more money into the game out of spite, but I had to save up for the upcoming banner after the current one which I thought I'd saved for but not really because I'd developed a sudden interest in the tall, muscular fist-fighting redhead that'd show up sooner than later, who also had a cool-looking tattoo I could not understand and grinned on his avatar profile. He had fire powers. Youji would have fire powers if he existed in that world. 

How to stop having morning w

Okay, no.

How to kiss:

I sat at the corner so it's not like anyone would see me. This was pathetic and I knew it, but... so? And? There could also never be a next kiss since Youji could one day decide he'd punished himself enough already, but... and? So? Fuck if I cared. I needed more experience on the subject. Just in case. To be a worse kisser than his two hundred and ninety-nine boyfriends would become one of my nightmares this week at this rate.

How to French k

Slow steps.

How to have s

Though I supposed I could learn this from dating sims. Anyway, it'd help. It'd helped. It wasn't as likely to be the worst kisser out of two hundred and ninety-nine anymore. I'd just have to explain that I hadn't purposely left him hanging and that it'd be unfair of him to constantly drive me around when buses existed and I didn't want to annoy him by holding onto him so tightly again anyway but I didn't want to die sometimes so it's not like I could just sit there without any kind of support. 

I actually met him on the way to work. Well, obviously, but not in the shop. Outside. As he parked his bike. My fight or flight response activated, but I refused to give in to unwanted bodily impulses anymore. Thus, I greeted, "H-hi."

"Yo. How did it go?"

Fuckkk, now I couldn't stop thinking about those articles. "Um. Fine."

"Really? I'm glad." As he walked by, Youji placed his hand on my shoulder. It couldn't have lasted longer than a second, so maybe placed wasn't the right term to use, but it hadn't been a pat, not really. If not for that, then I would've started convincing myself that this morning had been naught but a fever dream, or, well, the first part had been a nightmare, but later...

We didn't kiss the next day.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that. 

It'd be nice to have his number. One of those days, I hyperventilated because the speed of light was 299,792,458 m/s, and he noticed, and held my hand behind the counter. Another time I asked if he was okay because he didn't look like he was okay, but he lied. He did that a lot—look not okay, not lie. Maybe?

It really didn't help when one day we sat together during our break and I had cream on my face or something and he leaned over to wipe it, maybe, but I didn't think of that at the time, so I flinched. He looked like I'd just told him to die and didn't to touch me after. This happened the same day as he talked to me about some book he was reading and I didn't know what to say because I hated reading so I scratched my hand so much I slit my thumb open. He didn't talk after that, either. Maybe I should've just kept talking to those people. Then I'd know what to do. What to be. How to be good at existing. 

How to

Oh, whatever. As if these ever worked.