Num Noms are cute (often scented) toys with food/drink themes, but later added other features as well like crazy hair and makeup(similar to Shopkins). They started off with Nums and Noms characters, stackable scoops of various foods like ice cream, cupcakes, sushi, etc. But later they started introduced surprise boxes that included slime, makeup, and other kits. There is also an animated youtube series.
I started collecting them as they were going out sadly. But some of my favorite kits were the cereal, slime pops, snowcone, makeup dolls, and snackables. There are so many characters and types!
Help! Does anyone know where I can get these 2 num noms snackables character?
Beary fluffy and Toasty puff, I've been trying to find at least one of them for the past few years, and I CAN'T. It's either found in the pizza kit, or a blind box that is way too overpriced, I don't want to gamble for them (I might at this point😭), please help! If anyone is trading for them, I have a bunch of num noms I can trade.🥹
Started: 07/21/2025
Last Updated: 07/21/2025
Total works: 39
Undressed (Lychee Light Club Reader Insert fic)
A Lychee Light Club fanfic wherein a foreign girl (you), falls in love with Kanon. But since you're too ashamed to confess as a girl, you become a boy just for her.
Your life is mundance, that's until the Light Club introduces themselves to you.
(Warning: Homophobia, nonconsensual stripping)
Raizou, eyes gleaming with mischief and nostalgia, leaned over and shoved her a picture under Arata’s nose. “Look, look! It’s baby me. I had buck teeth and a bowl cut. Beautiful, right?”
Yakobu peeked over his shoulder and grimaced. “Ugh. Warn us next time, that’s terrifying.”
Raizou scoffed. “Jealousy is ugly, Yakobu.”
Arata, unfazed, looked at the photo and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve always looked like that.”
Then, without lifting his eyes, he added, “I’ve already given all of you my elementary pictures. I haven’t seen any of yours.”
A sudden beat of silence fell over the club room.
“…it's classified information,” Yakobu said quickly, eyes darting away.
Dentaku nodded firmly in agreement, typing something into his calculator like it had anything to do with the topic.
Nico simply returned to his work, tuning out the conversation completely.
Jaibo melted further into his corner like a shadow.
Dafu gave a nervous cough and looked away, pretending to study the peeling paint on the wall.
Kaneda bit his thumb, then winced, realizing the tiny thumb mitten Arata gave him was still on.
Zera remained still at his desk, quiet.
Tamiya looked up, expression neutral. “You don’t need to. We already met back then, remember?”
Arata gave him a blank stare. “That doesn’t count. I didn’t even know who you were.”
Tamiya looked away, lips pressed into a faint line.
-----
The next day at school, it began.
Arata found an old, blurry class photo on his desk. No name. Just a note scrawled on the back: “DON’T LOOK TOO CLOSE.”
Then, later in the day, Yakobu nonchalantly threw a photo at him while sprinting past the hall.
“THIS NEVER HAPPENED!”
By the end of the week, he had a small stack—each one shoved into his locker, slipped into his textbook, or stuck to his bento box lid with a sticky note.
Some were crumpled. One was laminated. One had a post-it that just said: “I was cool back then. Trust me.”
Most of them looked ridiculous.
Arata kept them all in the inside pocket of his bag, carefully pressed between notebook pages.
Arata’s hair had gotten longer lately, wavy, thick, and falling in uneven strands around his face like ivy creeping through iron bars.
Raizou, ever theatrical, squinted dramatically at him from across the room. “You look like one of those angels in old Bible paintings. The soft, glowy ones that look like they don’t do taxes.”
Arata reached for scissors without a word.
“NOPE.” Yakobu was the first to snatch them away.
“Oh, put it down.” Dafu warned, stepping in like he was diffusing a bomb.
“Wait, wait- here,” Tamiya said, digging through his bag before pulling out a pale pink hair tie with a tiny butterfly charm. “It’s from Tamako’s old accessory box. Use this.”
Arata looked at it, then at Tamiya, then reluctantly turned around. Tamiya tied up the top half of his hair while Raizou clasped her hands like she was witnessing a sacred ritual.
Yakobu walked over, grinning. “Alright, alright, let’s see how it feels-” He combed his fingers through Arata’s hair as a joke, but the moment he felt the softness, he paused.
“…What the hell. It’s like touching steamed milk,” he whispered.
Dafu, now intrigued, joined in and touched the ends. “What shampoo do you use?”
“I’m cutting it off,” Arata threatened, turning toward the scissors again.
“NO!” Raizou shouted, diving to block the path.
Nico, from the corner, groaned. “If you lot spent half as much energy on your actual work as you do fondling Arata’s head, we’d have invented time travel by now.”
Arata didn’t reply. But when no one was looking, he quietly tugged the butterfly hair tie a little tighter.
Kaneda blinked at the tiny mitten balanced on his thumb, unsure if he should be touched or offended.
It looked like a thimble wearing a sweater.
“You’re telling me… she made this?” he asked, rotating his thumb like it suddenly gained an accessory.
Arata nodded, holding up a few more thimble-sized mittens in his palm. “Mei-mei sewed them for the kitten’s paws. Said it would keep them warm on cold floors. She made a lot...”
Yakobu leaned over from his seat and snorted. “She should’ve just put one on the kitten’s tail. Make it look like a fuzzy exclamation point.”
Arata didn’t even glance at him. Instead, with careful precision, he slid the extra mitten over Kaneda’s bitten thumb.
“You bite this one the most,” he said plainly.
Kaneda stared at his thumb.
“…I don’t know whether to feel exposed or protected,” he muttered.
Raizou, passing by, gasped. “That’s so cute I think I got a cavity.”
Tamiya peered over, deadpan. “You already have cavities.”
Dafu grinned, “He’s gonna start a fashion trend, thimblewear.”
Arata just picked up a second mitten and quietly slipped it into his pocket for later.
Arata sat in a folding chair like a man on trial, expression blank, as Raizou enthusiastically dusted shimmer onto his cheekbone.
“There,” Raizou chirped, leaning back to examine her handiwork. “You have such good bone structure, it’s criminal.”
Meanwhile, Arata was quietly opening another box of candy, sifting through the wrappers with clinical focus.
Yakobu leaned over, squinting. “Wait, how did you bribe him? Arata doesn’t even flinch at the sweets girls give him.”
Kaneda, narrowing his eyes at the brightly colored wrapper, said, “Those candies come with prizes. Trinkets. Tiny plastic charms.”
“Girl trinkets?” Dafu asked, raising a brow. “Arata, you into that now?”
Arata didn’t look up. “Mei-mei wants one. The purple rabbit with the ribbon. It’s rare.”
There was a beat of stunned silence.
“You’ve gone through-how many boxes?” Yakobu asked.
“Nine,” Arata replied, already unwrapping the tenth. “I keep getting the blue fish.”
Tamiya, who had just been silently observing, grabbed a box and opened it with a dramatic pop. His eyes widened. “Hey, is this it?”
He held up the purple rabbit charm.
Arata’s head snapped up so fast Raizou smudged the glitter by accident. Arata stared at the charm like a man in a desert seeing water.
Tamiya blinked, then wordlessly handed it over.
Arata pocketed the charm and stood. “I’m done.”
“But I didn’t finish contouring- ” Raizou whined.
“You’ve done enough,” Arata replied, already walking away with the quiet satisfaction of a man who just secured his sister’s happiness through the power of cosmetics and girl trinket gacha.
Raizou crossed her arms. “I better get a photo of that face. He’s glowing.”
Yakobu leaned to Kaneda. “He just got glitter-bombed and played candy roulette for a rabbit.”
Arata had been spending a lot of time around the Light Club members, (not by choice), mind you. They were like fungus: unshakable, mildly toxic, and everywhere.
And slowly, imperceptibly, he began to change.
It started simple. A scratch on the nose here, a habitual one-fingered nose resting there. Yakobu’s thing. No big deal.
Then came the nail-biting. Just a nibble. Kaneda noticed first. He stared at Arata in betrayal.
“You’re stealing my stress tic.”
Arata blinked. “Your what?”
Then came the muttering. Whispered formulas, half-finished theorems, fragmented theories drifting from his mouth as he wandered the clubroom. Dentaku was thrilled.
“He’s learning through osmosis,” Dentaku beamed, pushing his glasses up.
It got weirder. Raizou caught Arata checking his reflection in the polished kettle for the third time.
“You looked fine five seconds ago.”
“I was making sure my left eye hasn’t twitched,” Arata murmured, totally unaware he was repeating Raizou’s old excuse verbatim.
Then one day, Arata walked in wearing soft blue mittens, slightly oversized, with a little yellow star stitched onto the backs.
Everyone stared.
“Mei-mei made them,” Arata explained simply. “Said my hands were cold.”
Zera grinned wide from his seat. “You’re copying me.”
Arata furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”
“The gloves. The quiet vibe. The soulless stare. That’s my brand.”
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Arata replied, but something about the way he tilted his head was very Zera.
Yakobu whispered, “He’s becoming one of us…”
Raizou gasped, “We’ve corrupted him.”
Arata just sneezed, scratched his nose, and went back to muttering equations under his breath.
They all watched in stunned admiration as the last threads of individuality slowly snapped.
Then, after a beat, he sighed and reached out anyway. “But I wanna show it to Mei-mei.”
He took the kitten carefully, holding it at arm’s length like a cursed relic. The kitten sneezed. Arata sneezed louder.
Kaneda, gently panicked, rushed over and tied a tiny bell around the kitten’s neck. “So we don’t lose it.”
Raizou wrapped a red ribbon scarf around its body like it was royalty. “It shall be named Flick, in honor of Arata’s favorite method of communication.”
"Flick the bean." Jaibo mocked from behind a generator.
Lately, Dentaku had been asking Arata way too many questions.
Not technical ones either. These were... oddly specific.
“What’s your favorite flower?”
“Do you like your toast slightly burnt or evenly golden?”
“Would you say you’re more of a ‘moonlight walk’ or ‘midday sun’ kind of person?”
Arata, as always, answered without flinching. He didn’t seem to mind. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
The rest of the club, though?
They were not letting it slide.
“Seriously?” Dafu leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Is knowing Arata’s favorite flower really essential for club documentation?”
Raizou raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait. What is your favorite flower?”
“Erigeron canadensis,” Arata said plainly.
Raizou blinked. “...That’s a weed.”
“It’s technically a flowering plant,” Arata replied, looking unbothered.
Yakobu leaned forward, mischief glowing in his grin. “Alright then, real question, would you ever kiss anyone in this club? And if you had to, which one would it be?”
A collective gasp echoed around the table.
Kaneda, who had been quietly fixing a motor coil, looked up in alarm. “Why would you ask that?! That’s not appropriate club discourse!”
Tamiya scoffed. “Doesn’t matter. Arata already- ”
“I’d kiss Raizou,” Arata cut in casually, not even looking up from the gear he was polishing.
Dead silence.
Then- “WOOOO!”
Raizou jumped up, arms in the air. “YES! DECENT ENOUGH! I knew it!”
“You WHAT?!” Yakobu nearly choked. “Why him?!”
“Yeah, seriously, Raizou?” Dafu echoed.
Arata shrugged. “She’s clean. Doesn’t ask weird questions. And she shares her lunch.”
Raizou flopped dramatically into her seat, hand over her heart. “I feel so validated.”
Kaneda looked seconds away from malfunctioning. “Th-this club is losing structure.”
Tamiya just sighed, shaking his head. “We need supervision.”
“Or glue,” Nico muttered, not looking up from his work. “To shut your mouths.”
Raizou, still basking in glory, leaned over to Arata. “Do I get, like, a certificate for this? Maybe a forehead kiss?”
Arata calmly flicked a soot smudge onto her forehead.
Well-normal in the sense that Yakobu was loudly teasing Dafu about girls again, Dentaku was pretending not to listen, and Raizou was dramatically sighing about how no one could ever understand her "complex inner universe."
So yeah, normal.
That is, until Arata walked in, late as usual. His entrance was quiet, but somehow his mere presence silenced the group like someone had hit mute on the conversation.
No dramatic flair. Just one long-haired boy with a face like he was already done with the day.
Yakobu, who was in the middle of miming some ridiculous pickup line, froze mid-gesture. The silence stretched. Then he snapped.
"Okay- listen," Yakobu groaned, standing up. "Arata is technically a boy, yeah? So why does he always look like he’s about to throw up when we talk about this stuff?"
Without missing a beat, he turned to Arata. "Hey, have you ever kissed a- OW!"
Nico had smacked him on the head before he could finish. “Shut up.”
Rubbing his skull, Yakobu muttered something about “curiosity being a right.”
Arata, unfazed, dropped his bag onto the floor. “No. I haven’t kissed anyone.”
That earned a pointed cough from Tamiya in the corner.
Dafu snorted, nudging him with his elbow. “Smooth.”
Arata shrugged, brushing soot off his sleeve. “But I’ve held hands with someone I liked before.”
“Oooh~!” Raizou immediately perked up, practically vibrating in her chair. “I wanna hold hands with Arata too!”
Before anyone could react, Arata calmly flicked a bit of soot toward him.
Then nodded. “Sure.”
The entire room collectively paused.
Raizou gasped. “For real?!”
Arata extended a hand, expression unreadable.
Raizou leapt up like she’d just won a prize at a festival, grabbing Arata’s hand with both of hers, practically glowing. “This is so romantic. It’s like a school drama. I’m the main girl.”
Tamiya muttered, “You're the comedic relief.”
“Shut up, let me live this moment,” Raizou said, lacing her fingers with Arata’s and sighing dramatically.
Arata simply sat down, still holding her hand, looking like this was all just another Monday.
Everyone turned just in time to see Raizou clutching her index finger like it had been amputated. “A spark just attacked me!”
She stomped backwards, dramatically inspecting the fingertip. “Microscopic damage!! There is visible trauma!! I demand hazard pay!”
Dafu squinted. “It’s barely red.”
“It’s red enough, thank you!”
Raizou turned to Arata with betrayal in her eyes. “This place is a menace! A torture chamber! Our hands, our beautiful hands, aren’t made for this kind of abuse!”
She gestured to Arata’s soot-streaked knuckles and ash-dusted wrists. Arata had grease smudged halfway up one arm, his bangs dangerously close to an oil puddle like they were trying to kiss death.
Raizou gasped. “Look at you! Your hands, my hands, this environment is barbaric!”
Arata didn't even flinch. Instead, he lifted one sooty finger and flicked a dark speck at Raizou's shirt.
“ACK- !! Disrespect!”
Nico, not looking up from his wires, groaned. “Then just wear gloves, idiots.”
Soot flick.
The particle bounced off Nico’s cheekbone.
“HEY- !”
Arata’s face didn’t change. He was already back to soldering.
Yakobu grinned, arms crossed. “It’s not that bad. You just gotta be fast- ”
SCHLPK.
A glob of oil, gravity’s favorite prank, slipped off a pipe and smeared right across Yakobu’s shoulder. He stared at it, betrayed.
Arata wordlessly reached over and swiped a streak of soot across Yakobu’s other arm. For balance.
“...Thanks, I guess?”
In the corner, Tamiya muttered under his breath, “I wanna get swiped with soot too…”
Dafu didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed a smudge from the edge of the table and smacked it straight across Tamiya’s face with the force of a satisfied big brother.
Tamiya blinked. “..."
“…Thanks.”
Kaneda let out a quiet snort, biting back a laugh as he handed Yakobu a rag. “We’re all going to die of lung poison before this AI is even finished.”
“Worth it,” Arata said blankly.
Raizou held up her singed finger. “Speak for yourself.”
Some snippets of the hikari club's daily life (includes YOUUUUUU _____/arata)
It started innocently...as most things didn’t in the Light Club base.
Dentaku, hunched over a pile of tangled wires, suddenly glanced up. “Hey, Arata.”
Arata, seated nearby with a soldering iron in hand, didn’t look up. “What.”
“Got any photos from your elementary school days?”
A pause.
Every head in the room turned toward them like synchronized puppets. Even Tamiya froze mid-screw, brows furrowed in disbelief.
“You serious?” Yakobu barked, half-laughing. “You think he’s gonna show you that?”
“Arata? Voluntarily?” Jaibo added, adjusting his goggles. “Dentaku, buddy, you’ve been breathing too much solder smoke.”
Nico leaned back in his chair, smirking. “That blond rat probably burned all his childhood photos the second he turned twelve. Probably filed the ashes into alphabetical order.”
“I bet he was already glaring in his baby pictures,” Dafu chimed in. “Scowling at the hospital lights.”
Even Raizou, sipping soda with a straw he’d fashioned from leftover tubing, joined in. “Unless he wore a mask back then too. Mystery infant. Gender: classified.”
But Arata just stared at Dentaku, face unreadable. Then he went back to soldering, saying nothing.
No one thought much of it after that.
Until the next day.
He came in late again (typical) carrying a weather-worn file folder tucked beneath one arm. Everyone expected it to be schematics or maybe fan mail from another batch of Hoshika girls.
Instead, Arata walked over to the nearest workbench, dropped the folder down, and flipped it open without a word.
Inside were several old photos.
A younger Arata, unmistakably him. Same sharp eyes, same calm detachment. But his hair was longer, nearly waist-length, tied in uneven low pigtails. He wore the standard elementary school girl’s sailor uniform, sleeves crisp and expression blank.
Not a hint of shame in his posture.
He tapped the top photo. “Grade 2. I think. That one’s at the class festival.”
Silence.
Dentaku blinked.
Yakobu choked on his drink.
Nico froze mid-step.
Jaibo’s mouth fell open like a mechanical latch.
Tamiya looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Raizou broke it, letting out a quiet, “...Holy crap.”
Dafu laughed under his breath, but it sounded almost respectful. “You actually did it.”
“Wait- ” Yakobu leaned closer, eyes bugging out. “You weren’t joking? You really went to school like that?!”
Arata tilted his head. “I was a girl.”
“Yeah,” Nico muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... didn’t expect you to be so chill about it.”
Arata just stared, and with owlish eyes, blinked.
Dentaku, still quiet, gently picked up one of the photos. “You were cute.”
Arata raised a brow. “Tch. I hated it.”
Raizou blinked. “Wait, wait, wait. Can I show this to the Hoshika girls? They’d freak out.”
“No,” Arata said flatly, already gathering the photos.
“C’mon, just one- ”
“No.”
He snapped the folder shut and walked away.
The others watched him go.
The silence he left behind wasn’t awkward. Just... shifted.
In the Light Club base, the air had gone stale with waiting.
One hour bled into the next. Then two.
Still no Arata.
Nico clicked his tongue, pacing near the wall of exposed pipes. "We should've executed that blond right there and then," he muttered darkly, his boots scuffing metal.
Jaibo arched an eyebrow, lounging against a crate. "Tch. You say that about everyone who makes you wait."
From his seat at the far table, Dentaku didn't even look up from the circuit board he was soldering. "Cool it, Nico," he mumbled. "He's probably just busy playing prince with the Hoshika girls. I saw him earlier- totally swarmed. Too busy being admired to bother showing up."
Nico scoffed. "Those girls from Hoshika?"
"Mm." Dentaku nodded. "Didn't stick around long, but I saw him. He was smiling."
Kaneda, seated upside-down on one of the battered chairs, chimed in. "Most of the Keikou guys were glaring at him like he spat in their rice bowls. Didn't care. He acted like he didn't notice, like he's above it."
Dafu leaned forward in his chair, grinning. "Though, to be fair... some of the girls were making eyes at Tamiya too."
Tamiya, crouched by the wall with a water bottle in hand, shot Dafu a sharp glare.
Dafu raised his hands, grinning. "Hey, not my fault you've got that tragic-boy charm."
Yakobu gave a snort. "Wonder what those girls would think if they found out their precious blond prince was actually a princess." He made a mock swooning gesture, hand over heart. "Scandal of the century."
Raizou hummed, twirling the end of her scarf. "I don't think it'd be a problem for her. Girls, boys, people like Arata- and me -get adored either way."
Yakobu rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."
But the chatter died as a shift settled into the room, subtle at first. A pressure. A change in gravity.
Zera, seated atop the rusted throne at the far end of the room, hadn't spoken once.
Now his one visible eye narrowed, darkening as it flicked toward the base entrance.
His fingers curled along the armrest. Sharp. Controlled.
No one said a word.
Not even Dentaku's tools clicked anymore.
The silence drew tight, like a held breath.
Then-
The creak of the door.
Soft. Slow.
And all heads turned.
There stood Arata.
His arms were full, cluttered, really. A loosely tied plastic bag bulging with lychee-flavored sweets dangled from one wrist. A small bouquet of red roses rested awkwardly in the crook of his elbow, a few petals already fluttering to the floor like crimson snow.
Letters peeked from the folds of his jacket, covered in glitter and ink-smudged hearts.
He looked like a walking shrine to a crush.
But Arata's face, expressionless. Distant.
Some of the wrappers dangled loose. A letter slid out and drifted to the floor as he walked.
Yakobu opened his mouth, probably to throw a jab, until Zera stood.
The scrape of metal against metal echoed as the Light Club's leader rose from the throne.
Everyone went still.
"I hate waiting," Zera said calmly, stepping down from his rusted throne. "And I especially hate when someone makes me wait."
His eye fixed on Arata, voice a blade barely sheathed.
Arata said nothing.
Just stood there, gaze empty, gifts hanging off his limbs like they belonged to someone else.
Nico's jaw ticked.
That silence, again. Too long.
"You deaf, pretty boy, you're ignoring him now?" Nico snapped, storming over. "You think that makes you clever, huh?"
The boy with the scar over his eye grabbed Arata's collar roughly, shoving him back a half-step. A couple of sweets tumbled from the bag and hit the ground with soft, pathetic thuds.
Still, Arata didn't flinch. His arms barely moved.
Instead, his eyes lifted slowly to meet Nico's. Flat. Cold.
"The girls from Hoshika promised me their student yearbook," he said.
A beat passed.
"Their photos might help with programming Lichi's expressions."
Another beat.
"Now get your hand off me."
Nico stiffened, anger and confusion flickering in the scarred lines of his face.
Jaibo, still lounging, let out a laugh. Mocking. "Well, thank you for your tireless service, Prince Arata." He drawled, clapping mockingly. "Our little idol's working overtime for the cause."
Arata's gaze flicked toward him, unimpressed. He adjusted the roses so they wouldn't slide off completely.
Zera watched from across the room, unmoving.
His eye had gone dark again, but his lips pulled into a slow, quiet smile.
It didn't reach his face. It never did.
-----
The tension in the room didn't vanish, it just thinned.
Like smoke trailing upward, curling into the steel rafters.
Arata moved first, walking toward a dusty bench near the back wall and dropping the sweets, flowers, and letters with a soft sigh. "They were starting to feel like sandbags," he muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers.
He didn't bother organizing them.
"Oi, Arata." Dentaku's voice floated from across the room, where the pale glow of the worktable shimmered around Litchi's still form. "Come here a sec. We need to go over Litchi's damage log."
Arata made his way over, brushing petals off his sleeve.
Raizou, meanwhile, had already begun poking at one of the letters. "This one has glitter inside," she said, turning it side to side with wonder. "Feels like it's vibrating. Is that normal?"
Yakobu groaned. "Dude, stop slouching off. You told me you'd help rewire the processor today."
"After I assess the enemy's psychological warfare tactics," Raizou replied, holding a card to his nose. "This one smells like lavender. Fancy."
Yakobu's curiosity betrayed him, he walker closer to sniff it too.
On the other side, Dentaku had begun pointing at the open chassis of Lichi's torso. "Here, the servo connectors are loose. Probably from that short during yesterday's overload test."
Before Arata could respond, a sharp smack landed on the back of his head.
Not hard, more annoyance than aggression.
"Oi," Nico muttered, standing behind them. "That's your fault to begin with, genius. Don't act like you're doing us a favor."
Arata rubbed the spot absently. "I'm repairing it, aren't I?"
"Don't go hitting Arata! What if he breaks before Lichi does?" Raizou suddenly barked, head jerking up from her letter bouquet. "We still need his hands intact!"
"Since when did you care?" Nico shot back.
Raizou sniffed. "I don't. But I do like functional limbs."
"Smells like strawberries," Yakobu added, now holding another letter to his nose.
Raizou; now distracted, leaned in. "Let me smell."
Nearby, Tamiya groaned from where he was hunched in the corner, tightening a small bolt on a rusted frame.
"Maybe you'll get your own pile of creepy letters next week," Dafu joked, elbowing him lightly. "Just keep posing dramatically near the school gates."
Tamiya glared, wrench tightening with a click. "Touch me again and I'm sticking this bolt through your ear."
Kaneda chuckled softly under his breath, carefully unwinding a tangle of wires from his hands.
Laughter, mutters, and mechanical hums filled the air again, the rhythm of boys being boys, the room slowly regaining its pulse.
And through it all, Arata stood quietly at the workbench, tracing the edges of Lichi's exposed frame with his eyes, as if reading a map only they could understand.
The final bell rang, sharp and hollow, echoing off the cold steel railings of Keikou Middle School. The day ended, but for Arata, it had never truly begun.
Not with the way he kept his distance. Not with the way he let the hours pass without ever once meeting Tamiya's eyes.
Tamiya stayed late packing his things, trying not to make it obvious that he was stalling.
Outside, the late afternoon sun bled a washed-out gold across the pavement, a tired kind of light.
At the school's main gate, a small group of girls lingered in their sailor-style uniforms, not Keikou's black and green, but Hoshika's crisp white and lavender.
Their chatter was hushed at first, until one of them gasped, eyes wide behind thick lashes.
"Is that... him?" she whispered, clutching the sleeve of her friend.
"Of course it is," the friend whispered back, voice laced with certainty. "That hair? You can't mistake it. It's-"
"Arata Picksford!"
In seconds, they were rushing toward him, skirts fluttering, shoes clacking against pavement.
"Arata-kun!" one called, breathless.
"We haven't seen you at Hoshika lately, did you quit piano lessons?"
One girl pouted. "Your piano teacher said you transferred?"
"Why Keikou of all places?" another chimed in. "It's so... rough here. These boys- " she looked around with barely hidden distaste "-don't suit you at all."
"I heard a fight broke out last week. You okay? You're not hurt, are you?"
Their concern was aggressive, like they were shielding a wounded animal. One even reached out, like she might check his temperature or inspect him for bruises.
The noise drew attention.
Boys from Keikou, lounging near the bike racks, turned their heads.
Some squinted at the girls. Others frowned.
A few whispered among themselves, jealousy souring their tone.
"Girls?"
"Who are they?"
"Must be from some rich kid school."
"Guess Prince Arata already has a fanclub."
"Tch. Seriously?"
Kaneda and Dafu stood at a distance, watching it all unfold.
"Seriously?" Kaneda muttered. "It's like they know where he is."
"Let him cook," Dafu replied. "Or, y'know... crash and burn."
But Arata barely reacted. He exhaled long and slow through his nose, lips drawn in a line. He wasn't in the mood for this.
More noise. More attention.
Then-
"Oi!"
Tamiya pushed his way through the murmuring crowd, eyes scanning until they landed on that familiar head of gold. His hand shot out, firm on Arata's shoulder. "Back up a bit, will you?" he said to the girls, half-gentle, half-firm. "Give him space."
The girls giggled. One of them stage-whispered, "Ooooh, protective much?"
Another sighed. "the prince charming has a prince charming too."
Arata stiffened under Tamiya's touch.
He didn't look up right away. Instead, he stared at the ground, at the cracks in the pavement, at the way the edge of his shoe scuffed the concrete. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes were cold.
Very cold.
"Don't touch me," Arata said, brushing Tamiya's hand off his shoulder like dust. His voice was soft, but sharp enough to cut.
"I'm busy," he added, louder now, smiling thinly as he turned back toward the girls. "We were talking, weren't we?"
The shift in tone was immediate. Arata's whole posture changed, not relaxed, exactly, but open. His smile was faint, his eyes unreadable, but his voice took on a calm, practiced gentleness.
He answered the girls' questions with the grace of someone used to being admired. He even tilted his head slightly, the way he used to when charming recital audiences.
"Hoshika was nice," he said, "but I wanted something different. Something... more challenging."
The girls hung on his words.
Meanwhile, behind him, Dafu and Kaneda approached Tamiya from either side.
"But- " Tamiya's voice caught.
"He doesn't want you right now. Let him do his thing." Dafu grabbed his collar, one hand poorly trying to hide his face in embarrasment.
"Listen to us, just don't," Kaneda muttered, gripping Tamiya's sleeve. "You're just making it worse."
Dafu nodded. "Come on, man. Let him breathe."
Tamiya didn't resist. But his jaw clenched as the giggles and whispers grew louder.
"Do you think they're enemies or exes?"
"If so then he totally brushed him off- ouch."
"They're like those characters in those friends to rivals manga."
Another gasped. "No way, that'd be so dramatic."
"I'd read that."
And above it all, Arata stood, smiling gently, his eyes refusing, absolutely refusing , to glance back.
Bonus:
"Arata Picksford," one of the girls sighed dreamily. "Still so pretty, even in that awful Keikou uniform..."
"You haven't changed at all," another added. "Still like a doll. We missed you."
"Do they even have a piano here? Or do you just sit around looking pretty all day?"
Arata gave them a smile, tilting his head just slightly as he answered, "We've got a dusty old one in the music room. But it has... charm."
The girls giggled again. "You should transfer back," one said, almost pleading. "We'll tell your teacher you're being held hostage."
"I don't mind a little danger," Arata replied with a quiet chuckle, eyes still soft, but distant. "It's... educational."
Behind the crowd, Dafu muttered, "Does this guy ever talk like a real person?"
As promised, Arata returned. He returned to the factory district, to the heart of Keikou, where smog clung to skin and the Light Club's shadow reached further than anyone dared to admit.
Mei-Mei had cried. His mother had clung to his arm. His father had looked away, jaw clenched like he was trying not to break something.
But Arata... he only smiled at them once, small, bitter, before brushing Mei-Mei's hair back.
Before he left that morning, Mei-Mei had pressed something into his hand, one of her cherry hairties, slightly frayed at the edge from all her fidgeting. "For protection," she had whispered, her small fingers brushing against the bruises on his wrist.
Now, Arata wore it tied carefully over the faded scarring, a bright, childish red bow standing stark against his battered skin.
A promise. A tether. A reminder.
The gates of Keikou Middle School felt colder than the Light Club's base.
Zera had insisted. If you're to be one of us, you will walk among the ordinary and know the difference. You will know what they lack. You will see why the light must reign.
He hadn't fought it.
The moment Arata stepped into the classroom, time seemed to pause.
Dozens of eyes turned, like needles. The murmurs began immediately.
"Is that the transfer student?"
"He's so pale-"
"Wait... is he a model?"
"I heard he doesn't even speak Japanese."
"No way, that's fake- "
It was just like elementary school again. Just like back then.
Arata stood at the front, posture calm despite the throbbing in his joints and the fresh layer of stares coating his skin like oil. He gave the standard introduction, his voice even and polite.
"My name is Arata Picksford. I hope we get along."
The teacher motioned for him to sit. Arata scanned the rows.
And then his eyes met Tamiya's.
Tamiya looked like someone had just punched the wind out of him. Shock, then relief, flared in his eyes. He straightened in his chair, half-lifting a hand in instinct.
But Arata's gaze moved on. Like Tamiya didn't exist.
No nod. No twitch. Not even a blink of recognition.
Tamiya's hand dropped. Slowly.
Kaneda, seated behind Tamiya, leaned forward slightly as if to whisper something, maybe ask if Arata had really just blanked him, but Tamiya ignored it, lips tightening.
Dafu just sighed, nudging Tamiya's arm. "Told you he'd be different."
"Not to me," Tamiya muttered.
-----
Tamiya could have been so wrong.
He'd spent the first half of the day waiting, half-listening to lectures, half-staring at the back of Arata's golden head, expecting... something. A glance. A muttered "hey." Anything.
But the blond avoided him like the plague.
He didn't just ignore him, either. Kaneda had tried offering him a sharpened pencil at the start of homeroom, Arata blinked, said nothing, and reached for his own broken one. Dafu attempted a soft joke during lunch break, the kind of half-hearted peace-offering that usually earned a grunt. Arata responded with silence, eyes fixed on his lukewarm carton of milk.
But with Tamiya?
He dodged him.
The few times Tamiya tried walking near him, at the shoe lockers, down the hallway. Arata would veer off. He even stepped into the wrong classroom just to avoid walking past him directly. And Tamiya could take a hint. He wasn't an idiot.
But it hurt.
What had he done this time? Was it the kiss? The chains? Zera? Everything?
The worst part wasn't even the cold shoulder.
It was that Arata chose to talk to the other students. The ones that whispered about his looks the second he turned away. The ones who only liked him because of the mystery and the hair and the way his name sounded like a foreign prince.
Students began to chatter around him like moths to flame. Some fawned. Others gawked. One boy leaned across the aisle, laughing as he said, "Can you even understand us? Like... you speak Japanese, right?"
Arata turned his head slowly. The look he gave was dry enough to flatten a forest.
And then, in perfect, clipped English, he replied:
"Do you speak anything other than stupidity?"
The class howled.
The boy turned red.
But Arata? Arata just turned back toward the window, chin resting on his palm, the cherry hairtie on his wrist bright and visible.
And behind him, Tamiya stared then he smiled.
Even now, even like this, Arata still had fire in him. He still had something.
But whatever it was, Tamiya wasn't allowed near it.
