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English
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2017-05-23
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Not a Date

Summary:

"Even back then they never chatted easily. But sometimes… sometimes there had been enough there to fill the space between them and make it seem a little less like they were two odd shaped pieces that didn’t fit together. Two odd shaped pieces that could be okay together because they didn’t really fit in anywhere else."

Mob and Emi go on what is most definitely not a date.

Notes:

*whispers* This was meant to be a drabble. I tried to write... prettier? Because Emi is a writer, I wanted to try and do something that would suit her.

Anyway, I really love this ship and I really, really love Emi, she is so well written. I need more content of them and I swear I will do my part.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

There were a group of boys rough housing, playing a make believe game of sport involving a broom and a duster. They were meant to be cleaning but school was over and the air was warm and after sitting still all day who could blame them for wanting to be noisy and chaotic. The broom was swung but missed by a mile, followed by peals of laughter and perhaps not-so-good-natured taunts. She pursed her lips as she watched. Kids could be cruel. However it wasn’t a simple matter of condemning it because inside she knew that she, too, could be cruel, had been cruel. It was a part of her and was something she wasn’t sure she would be able to cut out of herself no matter how hard she tried. Did that make her a bad person? Did that make all of them bad people? She hadn’t thought so, but she wasn’t so sure anymore.

She hadn’t meant to stop. Watching boys be idiots was hardly a worthwhile use of her time and this introspection was making her uncomfortable. It was the end of the day, was it really necessary to go home feeling terrible about herself? She wonders vaguely why it all had to be so complex. Feelings in general. It seems to get worse as she gets older and one day it feels that it might swallow her whole and she will either go completely nuts or completely numb. Neither seems like a super great choice for adulthood. Ugh, adulthood…

One boy wasn’t taking part in the game, but nor did he seem to really be doing his job of cleaning. He held a bin, full to almost overflowing with paper and rubbish, but had gotten sidetracked. He stood staring at the blackboard. She couldn’t really read his expression or tell what he was thinking, but there was a complex set of English phrases on the board so maybe he was having an existential crisis as well. English could do that to you.

Another swing and this time a connection. Back peddling, a fumble, overreaching, collision, bin went flying and rubbish rained down on the floor. Rather than an apology the boys laughed again, called the other boy out for daydreaming. He knelt down to collect everything that had spilt out, not saying anything in his defence, not standing up for himself. He makes no demand of them to help and no help is offered. They push their luck further with name calling.

Cruel, cruel, cruel.

She slammed the window open as hard as she could, causing it to screech alongs it’s rails and smack into the frame hard enough to make the glass panes shudder.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

Her question, so eloquently delivered, was meet with stunned silence and stares. Both the duster and rubbish lay forgotten for a moment as everyone faced her.

“Nothing,” one of the boys finally muttered with a frown.

“Yeah, I can see that. You’re meant to be cleaning.” She leant on the sill, pitching her voice low. She didn’t like the fact she was outnumbered, the fact she had no real authority over them, the fact that they could so, so easily start throwing taunts at her instead of each other. A part of her wanted to run away but that part was currently consumed by fire that burnt hot and fast inside her, the type that made her grit her teeth and want to bodily harm someone. The type that tended not to die so much as sit and smoulder with every intention of jumping back into full flames at a moments provocation.

“Pfft, what are you, a teacher? Fuck off,” the boy rolled his eyes, both physically and verbally shrugging off her comment. One of the other boys snickered. She felt the rails on the sill bite into her palms with how hard she was pressing down. She could feel the panicky voice inside her rising in pitch and she had no idea if it was making her more or less angry. She could feel her muscles shake under the tension and she kind of wished she was close enough to punch one of them. Maybe that would help with the feeling inside her.

“Should I go get one then? Maybe they could help with your “cleaning”?” She hated this. She hated the way her voice cracked, she hated the fact she was scared, she hated the fact that they made her scared and embarrassed and she wasn’t even doing anything wrong.

A groan, as if she was the most annoying person in the world and wasn’t even worth the effort of putting up a fight, every inch as dismissive as he could possibly make it. “Whatever. We were done anyway.”

They let the broom fall to the ground with a clatter and slouched out of the room, slow enough to prove that she hadn’t made them do it, they had chosen to. This outcome, while peaceful, was also so deeply unsatisfying. She wished she had thought of something cooler to say, something that would fluster them, something they couldn’t answer back to. She hated the feeling that somehow they had still came out on top. Not that it was a competition or anything.

Who was she kidding. At their age, everything was a competition. Maybe it was always a competition.

The boy on his knees was left behind. He hadn’t spoken up, hadn’t really moved at all except to watch the boys leave. That made her angry too.

“Are you an idiot?” The question came out harsh, almost as harsh as the first one. Did she mean it like that. Maybe. She didn’t know. It got his attention anyway, his head snapped in her direction. His eyes flicked away and then back again. It didn’t look like he knew how to answer that question so he choose not to.

She eyed the wall in front of her. It was a little high. But if she walked around it would take too long. There was a certain sense of urgency, given that she had gone to so much effort already. “Don’t look,” she commanded with a sigh as she heaved herself up onto the sill. He looked like he was about to question her but he quickly decided not to and just as quickly turned his head to the side as his cheeks flushed. She somewhat gracelessly swung her legs over and somewhat fell into the room. Skirts were really not made for climbing over things.

Clothing rearranged she made her way over to start gathering up the rubbish. “Oh, you don’t need to-,” he attempted to say but she silenced him with a look. She did not go through all that to be told she didn’t need to do something. That was obvious.

They gathered up the pieces and put them back in the bin in silence. It was times like these that she wished he was more talkative. But he wasn’t and she didn’t really know what to say anyway. Even back then they never chatted easily. But sometimes… sometimes there had been enough there to fill the space between them and make it seem a little less like they were two odd shaped pieces that didn’t fit together. Two odd shaped pieces that could be okay together because they didn’t really fit in anywhere else.

She sat back on her heels and looked up at the board, still covered in the teacher’s sprawling script. “They didn’t even finish…” she muttered under her breathe, feeling the coals of her anger warm slightly. She climbed to her feet and picked up the eraser to start cleaning the board. “If you take out the rubbish, I’ll finish this off. It’ll be quicker that way.”

“You don’t need-“

She took in a deep breathe and let it out through her nose. Yes. Need. She didn’t need to at all. But she was and he sure as hell was not going to stop her. She turned, calmly of course, to face him. “Mob-kun. Take out the bin. Now.”

So he did. She finished cleaning the board, put away the broom, straightened the desks that had been knocked out of place by the stupid, stupid boys. The classroom was quiet. She could hear the distant sound of conversations through the open window. The light streaming in through the glass was warm and rich and lit up the dust motes like tiny specks of gold. Everything looked pretty in this type of light, even dust, and as she heard the door slide open a part of hoped she did too.

“Are you going home now?” she asked, turning slightly. There was something about this moment that she wanted to keep subtle and still, captured like this between one breathe and another.

“Yes,” came the short reply. She waited, but not for long because she hadn’t forgotten that subtly was not one of his strong points. Or a point. To be honest she wasn’t sure he even knew what it meant.

“Do you want to walk home together?” She wished that this request didn’t already come with weight attached to it, but it did and it was her fault. If it was painful to ask she had no-one to blame but herself.

He didn’t answer right away. She knew it was just because he was considering the answer properly, that it was because any answer he gave would be what he meant. Didn’t stop her from using those moments to mentally rewrite that request several times over, rephrase it in a way, any way, that would clearly be better than how she had just said it.

He glanced away and she had a handful more moments to start planning out what to say to handle the rejection. “Okay,” he said with a small nod and time started to flow again at a more appropriate speed. He got his bag and they fetched her’s on the way out. They walked together, side by side, an echo from another time. Except this time it was different. Wasn’t it?

They took a path they both remembered, that they walked along without thinking, without checking with each other. Out the east gate, along one street, left turn, right turn, along the waterway where the sky opened up beautifully to show a wider world and longer horizon. She titled her head back to take in that sky, with its small scattering of clouds skirting its borders like an edging of lace, and felt it help open up something inside her as well.

“How is your story going?” a soft voice asked, not breaking the silence so much as gentle pushing it to the side to make room for the question. She had forgotten how quiet he could be, even when he was speaking.

“I’m stuck,” she sighed, head still tilted back. “It’s not doing what I want at all and I’m starting to think I’ve ruined the whole thing by this point and the idea is stupid. You’ll probably regret saving it,” she added with a laugh, though the comment wasn't really funny and in reality she even felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She found her frustration even more stupid than the idea really. “Maybe it should have stayed torn up.”

“Don’t say that,” he actually turned slightly to look at her, his body leaning ever so slightly towards her, which was as much an indication as you would ever get that you had his attention. “You work very hard on it, it was worth saving, even if you never finish it. It matters that it matters to you.” He glanced away and down at the ground, whether to watch where he was going or to avoid further eye contact she didn’t know. “I’m not very good at these things, but I could read it. If you want. If you ever need someone to just read it, even that is something I could do.”

She didn’t answer immediately, turning the offer and her answer over in her head the same way he so often did, giving them time and consideration that she never normally did. But she didn’t really want to talk about her writing anyway. The fact he had offered was both kind and what she expected from him and she didn’t want to expect anything more from him than the offer. She stretched her arms above her head, fingertips towards the sky and let out a sound that made him jump. “I missed this!” she said, giving him an open smile she felt she hadn’t used in a long time. He looked like he didn’t quite understand the change in direction in the conversation but he gave her a small smile back anyway. She almost wanted to burst out laughing. Of course he did.
“Hey, Mob-kun?,” she started to ask, to make sure she still had his attention and mentally apologising for yet another subject jump. “Why don’t you stand up for yourself? Those boys were bullying you, you know? You didn’t have any problem jumping in to stand up for me that one time, so why don’t you do it for yourself?”

He looked genuinely surprised by the question and titled his head to the side to consider it. “I don’t mind… I guess? It doesn’t really affect anything.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t affect anything? Doesn’t it affect you?” she continued to press, raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t wander through life taking stuff like that all the the time, why make your life harder like that?

“I guess it doesn’t really. Affect me, I mean,” he said with a small shrug.

She frowned and she felt the small embers inside her heat up again, both at him and also at those that would do that to him. Including herself. “That’s stupid.” She pulled to a stop and stood her ground, hand gripped around the handles of her bag and her face set. He’d shuffled a few feet ahead of her before noticing she had stopped and turning to face her.

“If my stupid writing matters, then you matter as well,” she felt her face heat up and the prickling sensation crawled down her neck at the implication of what she was saying. She forged on regardless, he probably wouldn’t notice the nuance anyway. A part of her hoped he would, but that was the dreamer part of her. “You matter to a lot of people right? Like your family. Don’t you think it would make them sad if someone who mattered to them was treated like that?”

He blinked at her. They stood like that for several minutes and they stretched on to feel like several hours. She shifted uncomfortably, starting to think that maybe she wasn’t actually going to get an answer, which meant waiting for one was kind of a pointless. She hiked her bag further up her shoulder and started moving again. If he was still thinking he could do that while walking, and this way was a lot less awkward.

They’d made it all the way to the bridge, past the broken bicycle that had been there ever since she could remember and the scattered wildflowers, when he finally spoke up again. “I made my brother worry once, doing that. I thought maybe I had changed, but maybe I haven’t.” It was his turn now to look at the sky and she glanced across at him. Such an awkward set of shapes for such an awkward person. But he had changed, even she knew that. Anyone who cared to look would notice that. “You are right,” he continued with a nod. “I should learn to do better to speak up for myself. It’s not fair to make others do it for me. I don’t want to be a burden like that.”

She frowned because she hadn’t quite meant it like that. It wasn’t like she regretted what she did today. She just didn’t want… or did want… She opened her mouth to interject, to say something even though her mind and her heart hadn’t yet agreed on what that something should be, but he turned back to her with a smile before she could start and she forgot anyway. “Thank you, Emi-san.”

The blushing was continuing, and possibly getting worse. It had to be one of the most annoying things a body could do, so far out of her control and yet so outwardly obvious. She stared almost angrily at the ground, knowing her face was going to betray her even if she kept her tone carefree, but she had to press on anyway. “There… there is a place I want to go to. I haven’t really been hanging out with those girls from before so I haven’t had anyone to go with. I have time, so do you maybe want to go? They have like cakes and things. Tea. Ice-cream. Milkshakes. That type of thing.”

A small sound escaped him and she glanced up to see that his face had lit up and her heart did a little stutter that was not helping with the general flow of blood around her body. “I like milkshakes,” he said with as much interest and excitement as she had ever seen him have. Ah. Well, it wasn’t her offer but it was a start. Maybe.

She laughed anyway, and it was real and honest and oh so freeing. He really was the class weirdo. “You like milk?”

“Very much.”

“You really should be taller then.”

“Eh!”

And so they went to the cafe and they had milkshakes, vanilla malt for him and chocolate for her and she paid as a thank you, for helping her that one time, since this wasn’t a date.

And they walked in the park, chatting about school and random things they had heard from people, and she didn’t mind when her shoulder brushed against his because it wasn’t a date.

And he walked her all the way home, right to her gate, because he was polite and this wasn’t a date.

And she had to leave with a spoken goodbye and nothing else because this hadn’t been a date.

And when she got back to her room and curled up on her bed feeling like there were a million butterflies inside her beating their fragile wings against her ribcage, against her throat, against her heart, it was merely because it had been a long day and she had gotten pretty angry at that one point and definitely not because it was kind of, sort of, like it had been a date.

Notes:

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