"Coffeeeeee." Inari groaned, forcing himself to jump out of bed. Even if his alarm was extremely annoying - as it should be - he could've slept through it easily; the temptation of continuing his dream was so powerful. What he needed now was his jump start to the day. He put the coffee on, then used the bathroom, groaning through everything. 

Inari was a 6’1 man, 189 pounds of mostly muscle, and 21 years of age. He had fair skin, silver eyes, an upright posture, and thick, unruly black hair that refused to be slicked back. He’d grown to love the way it stuck out at different angles at the sides to give his hair a spiky look. And, the way he only had to wash it and leave it be to obtain the volume that suited him so well. 

He'd been having a dream that he'd suddenly got a magical thing called 'The Detective's Touch'. Where the 'Midas touch' had turned everything King Midas touched into gold, Inari's 'Detective Touch' allowed him to review every detail of a case, and immediately find a substantial lead, and that lead would always lead to another, and in that way, he'd effortlessly solve every case he worked on, even ones that had gone cold.

Mmmm. Inari thought as he sleepily poured his coffee. How nice it would be to become a detective. One day....

He took a seat on his bed, and finished solving the crossword puzzle from the Sunday paper, having worked on a tiny bit every morning since it'd been released. In the background, some soft lo-fi played on his phone.

Minutes later, he was dressed and ready to go, pulling the bento boxes he'd prepared last night out of the fridge and into his backpack. He double checked that he had all his homework, stationery, and a fresh water bottle in his bag, then headed for the door.

"Bye, Dad!" Inari called halfheartedly.

No reply. His father's eyes were glued to the picture he was staring at.

I don't know why I even bother. Inari thought, not knowing why he hadn't grown completely apathetic to his father's condition, yet. Dad's been acting this way ever since- now is not the time to be thinking about it. He'll move on eventually. . . maybe. . .

Meanwhile

Lance's morning was the same routine that it usually was. He hit snooze on his phone’s alarm until thirty minutes before he had to leave, which he then promptly rolled out of bed and slipped clothes on. He put on a black pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, nothing that would draw him any more attention than he already got. It’s not that he didn’t like the attention, but with bright kelly-green eyes and dyed hair that was black with vibrant blue bangs, his appearance already drew him enough attention. He didn’t need to worry about clothes.

Lance was 5’8 at 21 years of age and showed no sign of gaining any more height. He had an average male build and a light complexion that wasn’t obscured by many marks or scars, only dark circles beneath his eyes from exhaustion. His multicolored hair was thin and straight, the wispy ends often falling around his eyes and framing the edges of his face.

He used the bathroom and freshened up while he was in there, then went into the living area of his apartment. His private apartment. He had moved out as soon as he turned eighteen. Sure, he was using his parents’ money to pay for the place, but he was away from them and that was all that mattered. He could have had a suite if he'd wanted, maybe even his own house, but he thought that might get too lonely.

Lance picked up a black leather jacket and threw it on, then slugged his school bag over his shoulder. Skipping breakfast was a normality, but he did grab a Monster energy drink from his fridge before walking out the door, locking it behind him. The morning air caught his breath and he knew autumn was arriving. His dog days of summer would soon be over. No more lounging by the pool until his friends begged him to get in, no more weekend trips to the mountains, no more drinking on the beach. Not until the spring, anyways.

He reached his car, a black '67 Thunderbird, and slipped into the front seat, throwing his backpack in the passenger seat. The world might be a shitty place, but behind the wheel of this car, Lance felt like a god sitting on a throne. He cracked open his drink and took a big swig with an ibuprofen, which he usually carried because he frequently got headaches. Next, he opened the glove box and took out a pair of glasses. He was legally required to wear glasses while driving, but he hated wearing them so he refused to be seen with them on anywhere else.

Lunchtime, outside

Inari sat in the shade of an oak tree behind the school, on an old green blanket his father wouldn't miss. He was currently enjoying the comfort of one of the criminal psychology books he'd checked out of the library. The subject of psychology interested him to no end, and it seemed to be the only kind of textbook he could read without it feeling like work. Child psychology, criminal psychology, behavioral psychology, and cognitive psychology were his favorite types to research. Endless afternoons spent in libraries, or underneath trees enjoying lovely lunches. . . what lovely reprieves they were from the rest of his life.

Inari had a whole 'in another world' vibe when he was at school. Even people that invited him to sit with them during lunch or go someplace after school felt like they were talking to someone who was further away than they appeared. He had always replied politely to every invitation. . . a soft "No thank you" coolly with unspoken tones of, "Please leave me alone." Inari was quiet in class, had no friends, and more often than not seemed to be daydreaming or studying. Eventually, all the invitations and friendship attempts stopped.

At a table nearby, Lance sat with his three closest friends. There was Daniel, a fluffy haired rich kid who didn't give a damn about the lower status people at that school. There was Samara, Daniel's girlfriend. She was cool, but very preppy. She cared way too much about appearances and always scolded the boys if they were wearing sloppy clothes. She almost chewed Lance's head off when he showed up with green hair a couple years back.

"Green is the absolute most horrific color to put in your hair. You know what's worse than green hair? The ugly puke color that it turns after a few weeks. Do you want puke hair? I might puke in your hair for you if that's what you want."

At the time, Lance had only smirked and said, "What if I'm into that?" To which Samara, or Sam, promptly blushed and shut her mouth.

Finally, there was Lance's best friend, Mark. Mark was a good guy, he truly was, he was just. . . a social chameleon, sliding in and out of cliques like nobody's business and he flocked with whoever he was trying to impress at the moment. Lance tried to keep him out of the bad crowds, but sometimes he would get into trouble. Nonetheless, everyone seemed to like Mark. He was a tall blonde that made straight A's and he was also very tall and strong. He even had a good amount of money. What a guy.

Lance was about halfway through his meal when a short girl with straight black hair bounced up to them. Lance gave her a side glance with a soft smirk.

"Hello, Katie," Lance said to her in a smooth tone. She rose an eyebrow at him, then shook her head and turned to the rest of them.

"So, guys, next month my dad is going on a trip to Ireland for a week and he's letting me use the ski lodge for whatever I want. So, this is your formal invitation to my party. October twelfth," Katie explained and gave them all small slips of paper, lined in what looked like gold, "Oh, and you have to bring a date.”

"Why?" Lance asked, looking at the paper. It was an invitation, sure enough, like the golden ticket in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Maybe a little less gold.

"Because, there is space for two people in the lifts," Katie beamed with pride.

"That's. . . not a good reason."

"Well, it's the rule. You want in, you have to have a date."

"Well why can't you be my date?" Lance took Katie's hand and gave her his most charming smile. She simply pulled her hand away and shook her head.

"Don't be silly, Lance," Was all she said. 

Ouch.

Katie stayed and chattered with them for a bit about useless nonsense, like how there were going to be seniors from other colleges at the party and how she knew where her dad kept the best wine.

Across the courtyard, Inari finished his lunch of katsudon with chicken broth rice, and glanced at his watch. The watch had a beige leather band. The face was an ornate compass rose with a beige background, and there were no numbers to indicate what time it was; only a set of brown hour, minute, and second hands. He noticed he had a few minutes 'till his next class, and gathered his things.

Back at the table, once Katie moved on, Mark turned to Lance. However, Lance was already standing up to leave.

"Hey, where are you going??" He asked.

"Class? Lunch is over in five minutes."

"Well, do you have any idea who you're going to ask to the party? You better start making the moves now, you only have a month."

"A month is plenty of time. I could get anyone I want, don't be foolish." Lance threw his empty plates and bowls in the trash and then crossed his arms.

"That's not true. You can't get. . . him," Mark pointed to Inari, sitting a distance away beneath a tree. Well, he was packing his things now, actually.

Damn. That guy. . . He never talks to anyone. He sits by himself every day and anyone who approaches him doesn't stay long. Something must be wrong with him. He must smell bad or something. No, no, that can't be true. I'm pretty sure I sit in front of him in Biology, and I never noticed anything. Or maybe that's someone else I'm thinking of.

Lance narrowed his eyes after concluding his thoughts. "No, I don't want to try for him."

"Why not," Mark grinned, knowing he had found Lance's Achilles heel, "Are you afraid he'll be the first person in your life to turn you down, prince charming? Worried he'll make a fool of you?"

Lance almost physically flinched at the insult. Bastard. He knows I don't like being called that, He thought distastefully. "You know what, fine. Just for that comment I'm going to get that guy and prove you wrong."

. . . Just as soon as I find out his name.

After the last class

Inari remained seated until nearly everyone else had left the classroom. He hated being shoved and pushed around in the initial rush of students eager to leave, so he simply waited through what he called the 'hallway rush'. Calmly gathering his things a few minutes later, he stood, and headed out. Another good day. He thought optimistically, admiring the bright blue sky peppered with clouds as he reached the parking lot. Just as he had that thought, a boy bolted past, bumping into him without saying anything as he made his way towards the school.

Lance, meanwhile, had hardly made it through the rest of the day. He was tired. I should have packed an extra Monster. He did make it, though his backpack felt like a boulder on his shoulders as he walked to his car. He had completely forgotten about the bet he had made with Mark at this point. That is, until he saw the jock running past him as well.

When the boy passed Inari, he shrugged it off, and kept walking. It was human nature, apparently, to ignore the 'treat others how you'd like to be treated' principle. If Inari ever found someone that truly followed that rule, he'd be sure to repay the favor wholeheartedly. Like that'll ever happen. He thought. He didn't know when his cynicism had become this unhealthy, and he was aware it wasn't a good thing. . . but it was a defense mechanism he relied on. 'Trusting no one' led to peaceful days in the company of the one person in the world who would never betray him - himself.

As to why the boy had been running towards the school. . . He probably forgot something, He logicized.

What Inari hadn't seen, with his head in the clouds, was that the boy who'd bumped into him had stolen his watch, and moved to hide behind a nearby car shortly afterwards.

What are those two goons on about now? Lance had spent a little time with the troublemakers when he was around other jocks. They weren't anything special, in his opinion. He yawned as he reached his car and slipped inside. He started the engine, put his glasses on, and put his hand on the gear shifter. . . then there was a soft thump on the side of his car. When Lance looked out his window, he saw the boy, named Kurt, crouching beside his tire, snickering. Lance rolled down his window.

"What are you doing?" Lance asked, but he got shushed as Kurt flashed his phone toward the sun.

The boy who'd stolen the watch was Kurt. His friend was Ram. Both athletes on the football team, and both pissed that a loner pretty boy got more attention by refusing to interact with anyone and being a total nerd than they got training hard, working out, practicing, and winning.

Ram was hiding behind another car somewhere ahead of Inari and saw the light glinting beneath Lance’s car. And here we go, He thought, seeing Inari's footsteps as he walked by the other side of the car. Ram crept around the car's anterior, then moved to stand in front of Inari, blocking his path.

"What, you think you're better than us? Too good to hang out with your classmates? Too smart for anyone?"

Lance looked out at the parking lot and saw Ram emerging from behind another car and approaching a dark-haired guy. Lance was struck with Deja Vu when he recognized the guy as the same one he was supposed to ask to the party.

Inari said nothing, meeting the boy's brazen expression with a cold, deadpan one. He sidestepped, just attempting to walk past Ram.

Ram copied him, still blocking his path. "What, you scared, smartass?" They were about equal in strength, with Inari being four inches taller, and knowing basic self-defense, contrary to what Ram thought. He gave Inari a gentle push, simply as another taunt. "You can't take me on, huh?"

Lance watched curiously as Ram interacted with him, but when Ram shoved him, Lance stepped out of his car.

"Kurt, I don't think you should-" Lance was interrupted by Kurt, who pushed him back against his car with one hand and then went to join Ram.

"Step aside. I'm just trying to get home." Inari replied coldly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me? Are you sure you can even do that, Teacher's Pet?" Ram laughed, pushing Inari again, harder this time.

Inari didn't budge - Ram wasn't a match for Inari's balanced stance - but it still irritated Inari. "Cut it out."

"Are you really gonna leave without this?" Ram reached his hand out, easily catching the watch Kurt tossed him.

Inari's hand instinctually pressed at his wrist; it was bare. His deadpan expression turned into a glare. They wanted a fight, and they would get one for stealing that. Just as soon as he got his watch back. He reached for the watch, but Ram threw it back to Kurt. Inari's gaze followed the watch to memorize the face of the boy he'd be fighting next, and that was when it hit him.

Ram punched Inari as hard as he could in the eye.

Inari had just enough time to shut his eyes before the punch landed.

Lance was pouting a bit, looking down at his chest where he had been shoved. He looked back up just in time to see Inari get punched square in the face by Ram.

With a deep growl, Inari took Ram down with one spinning hook kick to the head.

However, the kick seemed to happen in slow motion for Lance, a slow-motion picture film ingrained in the air. Lance's mouth fell open, just ever so slightly, in awe.

Oh damn. . . That boy just took down a quarterback with one foot. . . Lance leaned back on the hood of his car.

When Kurt saw Ram go down so easily, his eyes went from cocky to worried. "Ram! You're just joking, right? RAM!" Receiving no answer, Kurt bolted as Inari advanced.

He took off running while Lance was still processing what had happened. The mysterious loner followed. Well. . . He seems to have it handled. I might as well enjoy the show.

The "show" was over quickly, but Lance soaked in as much of it as he could. 

Kurt didn't make it very far before Inari tackled him, and Kurt hit his head hard on the ground, knocking him unconscious on impact. With a heavy sigh, Inari took his watch back, and put it on. The face was fine - no broken glass, and it was still ticking, to his relief. He briefly envisioned kicking their heads in, but they weren't worth the trouble. He looked from Kurt to Ram's unconscious figure, thinking hard. Then, he got an idea. He reached into his backpack, pulling out a permanent marker and a few tissues. He wiped the sweat off Kurt's forehead, thinking of what to write. In the end, Inari settled on 'Pedo' for Kurt, and 'Prison Bitch' for Ram. Knowing he'd missed the bus, he planned to head to the mall four blocks away and spend some time at the arcade. Games would surely elevate his mood...right after he got an ice pack for his eye.

That was nothing for him, Lance thought. He was like a tiger. So effortless. . . and his expression. . . he doesn't even look phased. His kick, flexible and powerful. I think I'm in love. Of course, this was an exaggeration, but he had to admit he felt his face grow warm with the faintest blush as he stared at the guy standing over the limp bodies of two absolute units. He is stronger than he lets on. . . I'd like to see what he can really do.

Lance's mouth was dry as he stepped forward to approach the boy, eyes focused on him. He was in some sort of trance, but was snapped out of it when his phone went off in his pocket. He looked down at the notification that he received.

‘Inari is a firm believer in

'treat others how you'd

like to be treated'. But,

he's been betrayed so

many times, he doesn't

think he'll ever get to

apply that. Try

rephrasing these words:

'Trusting no one won't

work forever. Not everyone's

the same. Give me a chance.'

I guarantee you it will work.’

Lance stopped in his tracks. He looked around. The cryptic message on his phone sent shivers down his spine. Was someone watching him? He didn't see anyone else in the vicinity, just some cliques hanging out in their own circles by their own cars. No one was near Lance. He looked down at his phone again and reread the message. Inari. . . so that's his name.

He turned his attention back to "Inari", who had just finished scribbling all over the two bullies. He hurried his pace to reach him before he could step away.

"Inari," he said quickly to get his attention. Lance was not prepared, however, and had no idea what to say next. As he desperately tried to remember the text message's suggestion, he fumbled around in his pocket for some ibuprofen. It was the only thing he could think of to get Inari to engage in conversation with him. He extended his hand, palm up, with two small pills.