We skipped the rest of our classes that day to make out. I guess it paid off to be a loner with no friends. No one cared if I was missing, though I suppose that precluded the assumption they even noticed I was.

The perks of being a wallflower.

Regardless, that was definitely the most decent Monday of my life.

For the next few weeks, and not just on Mondays, Ayane and I kept meeting in that corridor after-school. We’d usually laze there till the central heating shut off right after sunset. Sometimes, we didn’t even wait for “after-school”—skipping classes became a bit of a habit, and so did coming to school on days there weren’t supposed to be school.

Some days, we’d talk about how our lives ended up so broken we ended up having to hide in a forgotten maintenance shaft with a stranger to cope. On others, we’d watch movies on her phone and cuddle. Most of the time, though, we just made out and touched each other. 

But it never progressed past just making out.

We met so frequently that I began refurnishing the place. First, I brought in an old futon that had its stuffing turned clumpy and repurposed it as a thick general purpose carpet. After settling the floor cushioning, I moved back the old water boiler to its original place, added a humidifier, and also tried to maintain a small pantry of dry snacks. I soon realised eating there was dumb because it began to attract insects, unfortunately, and so Ayane suggested stopping the food experiment in favour of just making out more often.

Speaking of Ayane, she told me many different things. How she earned money, what her job scope entailed, how she survived living alone, how her new trade name was now Sayaka… despite all of our talks, though, I never seemed to understand why exactly she needed money. It didn’t seem like it was just about vanity. There was definitely something dark lurking in her untold stories, slowly bubbling under the surface like an invisible cancer threatening to rip us apart.

But I didn’t care. 

We were just friends that happened to also kiss each other a lot in a secluded place.

And that was fine.

I never talked to her outside of that spot, and neither did she. In fact, the both of us probably considered this the ideal arrangement.

Nobody cares if you lose a single sex friend.

Surprisingly, the nose-busting incident didn’t make the rounds as much as I expected. It turns out bullies aren’t so keen on publicising events where they’ve been thoroughly humiliated, and kicking up a fuss to the teachers doesn’t work if you instigated it. There was an initial commotion when one of the bullies showed up to school with a bruised nose, but that was it. That story died out just as fast as her nose healed, and then it was just normalcy again—everyone continued bullying Ayane because of her age, and I carried on with my life.

Everything was fine.

Then, for an entire week in a row, Ayane skipped school.

As the constant hum of exhaust vents filled my ears—the background noise of winter—someone’s voice momentarily cut through time and brought me forward into spring. 

“You seem happier these days, huh?”

Nanako twirled her auburn locks as she peered down from above me. They’d grown slightly longer, I think, though I couldn’t really be sure since I wasn’t really paying attention to that… I was more focused on her gudetama limited edition panties. Looking at them from this close, they actually seemed kinda intricately designed.

“I guess.”

Nanako smiled. “Enjoying the view?”

“...”

Once I realised the implications of what I was doing, I flipped over to my side.

Sure, Nanako followed Japanese beauty standards to a tee, including the fake innocence and natural makeup… but I wasn’t into little sister types, figurative or otherwise. If I wanted to get off to something, I’d rather not risk turning my family tree into a family circle while doing so. Not that I was literally related to Nanako, but you know… the idea of getting involved with her was as sexy as a blowjob with teeth.

I heard Nanako patting her skirt down and sitting next to me. Then, forcefully turning my cheek towards her, she flicked my forehead.

“Ow!”

“You’re terrible at flirting.”

“I wasn’t trying to…”

She giggled a little, then began to stroke my hair once she finished abusing me. I guess I hadn’t seen her for a while, so I tolerated it.

“Say, Katou.”

“It’s Nanako.”

“Katou,” I repeated. “Have you gotten a new boyfriend yet?”

“Nope. Why? Interested in my status?”

“Nah. Not into little girls.”

She flicked my forehead again.

“Jesus Christ! You need to stop doing that.”

I opened my eyes and rubbed my forehead in frustration, intending to yell at her, but she cut me off with a curious statement.

“You know, that’s one of the worst things you could say to a girl your age that likes you. Probably around the third-worst.”

“Huh? What’s the second-worst, then?”

“I hate you.”

Fair enough. “And the worst?”

Nanako lowered her face next to mine. 

“I love you,” she whispered.

And then she got up and began stroking my hair again.

“Eh.”

“Hehe.”

We stayed like that for a while—my head cradled in her hands with the sounds of an exhaust vent filling in for an otherwise silent scene. Back in elementary school, our positions would’ve been reversed: Nanako would be crying while lying on my lap, and I’d be picking out the bugs and the other nasty shit boys put in her hair just because it wasn’t pure black. I guess it was a form of xenophobia, or maybe just bullying the pretty girl for attention. Whatever it was, Nanako had a terrible childhood as a result. Then middle school came, puberty kicked in, and Nanako’s popularity catapulted in the other direction. 

People were fickle like that. Sadly, my social standing didn’t exactly follow in her trajectory. I guess I just had a disposition that was attracted to drama, but I somehow found someone new to dote on and protect and ruin my life for.

That new person was Mari. 

I ended up doing a lot of things for her out of goodwill.

Cycled to places in the dead of night, got beaten up, beat people up, quit my club, raised money, rejected girls, rejected friends, frequented an idiotic place that we called our “cave”… by the end of it all, my efforts were futile, and she transferred out.

I don’t regret my choices one bit. 

If I had to be entirely truthful, though, and with the caveat that I don’t like blaming circumstances for my shortcomings… I’d say my loner status was 99.9% due to the drama I’d stepped in to help her with. And at an escalator school like the one I was in where you were mixed together all the way from ages 13 to 18, just one blip could ruin the entirety of your teenage years.

“Say, Katou.”

“It’s Nanako.”

“...Fine. Nanako, how’s Mari doing?” 

Her hands suddenly froze at the top of my scalp. “Wow. I didn’t think you would ask that so soon.”

“Is it really that surprising?”

“...More than that. I didn’t expect you to move on so quickly.”

You couldn’t be further from the truth, Nanako.

I still fantasised about Tsujimoto Mari every time I went back to our hiding spot.