The air around him always felt like a black hole. Sucking in any and every emotion within a two-meter radius. No one approached him, and it'd been like this since Chūshi Oshiba became aware of Aoto Hoshino shortly after moving. It's not like you're any better than everyone else, he thought to himself, shouldering his bag.
And he wasn't any better.
Like your average stalker, Chūshi stood behind a thick telephone pole watching Aoto from afar. It was quiet on their commute to university at this time in the morning. The first wave of workers were already at their desks, and the second wave was just rolling out of bed, so the streets were deserted. And like always he walked at a measured pace with his head tilted slightly up, thin neck revealing his bobbing Adam's apple.
The sight made getting up earlier than he normally would worth it. No one else could say that they knew the Aoto Hoshino (seemingly) had conversations with himself. Chūshi always walked too far to properly eavesdrop to avoid detection, but could see his lips moving. Even in this unguarded state, the black hole remained.
That's what drew Chūshi in the most. Plus, two outsiders should stick together. The other outsider being himself. Not only was his name a red flag to the other students that he was different, but his fabled great great great grandmother's darker complexion persisted for generations no matter how many women in the family tried to dilute it away.
So, his father had fled Japan as soon as he could, transferring in high school and staying abroad and starting a life in America, planning to never look back. However, with Chūshi's maternal grandmother falling ill, his father sent him and his mother back to Japan. He pulled strings in such a way that forced Chūshi to a country he'd only engaged with through anime and manga, during his second year of university. His only saving grace was that both his parents made sure to teach him the language throughout his childhood.
The trip down memory lane cost him though and he suddenly found himself meeting slight resistance before stumbling forward. Before he could fall completely, an icy hand grabbed his wrist, which restored his balance. Chūshi felt embarrassment well up inside his stomach as he dusted his jeans off. "Sorry."
There was no one else out here this early in the morning, so he knew who stood before him. He'd never been this close before and knew that meeting Aoto's gaze would reduce him to a stuttering mess. He made a step to push past him, but that cold hand turned frosty and gripped him tighter. "What was that?"
"I-I said s-sorry." Chūshi was by no means small or weak, but something about Aoto's grip weakened him. He cleared his throat, still boring holes at Aoto's black tennis shoes. "Won't happen again. So, uh, l-let me go?"
The air, already still, froze. Almost as if Aoto's black whole rippled and expanded until only the two of them remained. "How can I let you go when you sound unsure of it yourself??"
How can you sound so lifeless and yet so…
Chūshi didn't know what to do. He was being laughed at, even though he knew if he looked at Aoto's face, it'd be as flat as his tone. One thing Chūshi couldn't stand: being laughed at. Remembering his pride, all strength returned to him and he jerked his arm away, finally looking up.
Bottomless pools tempted him behind square glasses, looming larger due to the slight magnification. Chūshi felt his resolve shake, but somehow could tell that his stunned reaction was a cause for Aoto to laugh harder.
His expression remained the same though as he waited for Chūshi to respond. Chūshi's admiration and fascination for Aoto warred with the side of him that wanted to make this geek's ears burn crimson with shame. Finally, he said, "Your hands are cold as ice dude, guess the rumors about you being a frigid bitch are true."
Suddenly the sounds of the street rushed over them once more, and off in the distance he could hear a chiming clock. Wordlessly, he pushed past the object of his obsession for the past six months and rushed toward campus. It wasn't until he sat at his usual seat in the back of the lecture hall that he crashed from the adrenaline.
His muscles morphed into jelly and he couldn't even find the strength to grip the zipper on his bag to get his textbook and notebook. He felt alive, but could also see the pearly gates of heaven. Or maybe they were just the lecture hall lights. Either way everything about him felt unsettled. If someone were to ask him his name, he wouldn't be able to recall it.
Pull it together. He kept repeating the thought over and over as if it'd erase what he said to Aoto.
He probably hates me now, he lamented, closing his eyes as the professor began class. He tried to pay attention, finally managing to grab at least his notebook and pen, but it just wasn't in the cards. Each lecture passed in a blur, along with the usual stares and gawking. The university, while not large, was large enough that there were a few people who had yet to see the new spectacle.
He didn't have the usual energy to glare back and rushed along to the cafeteria, vaguely thankful that his classes were done early on Wednesdays. He also liked that usually at around midafternoon the hall was basically empty.
Still dwelling on his fatal error from the morning, he threw random things on his tray. Chūshi sat next to one of the few windows that overlooked the lawn, mindlessly opening a bag of shrimp chips. Students walked at various speeds, some alone, some in larger groups. It made Chūshi miss his friends from home.
They chatted everyday but it wasn't the same. He was twelve hours ahead of them after all. He'd hoped to approach Aoto on the premise of outsiders sticking together. After all, they had a little less than two years left of studies. It would go faster with someone to occasionally study with or whatever.
Maybe I should apologize… He toyed with the idea while chewing and not tasting the usual salty goodness he savored about the sack.
Even if I do, I'm not sure I can survive that again. Aoto's gaze was two degrees above intense, and it dawned on Chūshi why people avoided even looking in Aoto's direction.
That face flashed in his mind again; fine eyebrows over those mesmerizing eyes, a small nose, and thin lips. His cheekbones sat high making him appear even more ethereal up close, especially when juxtaposed with his glasses. How did I miss the glasses?
Chūshi finished the rest of his lunch without tasting it. He was in such a daze he almost ran into a number of people on his way back home. His father reluctantly agreed to his moving out. The only stipulation being that he was a five-minute walk from his mother's apartment building.
"You're there to support your mother, not party. If your grades drop by even half a point, you're moving back in. This is your last and only chance. Don't fuck it up."
"Maybe I should stop by," he muttered to himself, the sun beating down on his neck.
It had been a few days since he'd visited his mom and he knew he'd be hearing from his father sooner rather than later if he didn't fix it.