how cruel. How cruel of her indeed. He supposed there was some merit in saying that Katsumi Emi was sometimes callous, but there had always been some part of him that had thought he was an exception to that rule. Maybe it’s just desperation, he thinks. The boy goes on and makes a few friends and suddenly thinks that maybe he’s an ’ EXCEPTION ’. Like he’s fucking special. She had always been kind to him and maybe that was because he wanted to protect this girl. This hopelessly strong-willed girl who saved other people - saved him countless of times - but needed saving herself.
Briefly he wonders if he ever liked her at all or if this was just him, wanting to play hero to someone. ( HE WISHES HE DIDN’T LIKE HER. )
He’s stopped before he manages to get very far. Hands are clenched at sides and at first, he doesn’t understand why she stopped him to talk. Wasn’t she ANGRY with him? Didn’t she want to hit him? Somehow, being beaten around suddenly sounded less painful than what comes next. Put him up to what? PUT HIM UP TO WHAT? It registers then very quickly. THE KATSUMI CHALLENGE. A game made up by the guys in that school who deemed Katsumi Emi UNDATEABLE. She’d shoot anyone down who tried and he had heard of it once before. “… ‘ow little d'you think of me, Katsumi-san?” But this wasn’t it.
He’s never gotten angry with her. He’d never hurt her, but he’s suddenly compelled to push her away as hard as he can before taking a few steps back himself. Eyes are glossed and he lifts an arm to his eyes so that he doesn’t FUCKING CRY IN FRONT OF HER. She doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of seeing him cry. He laughs. “Did you really think I’d fuck around w’ that kinda shit? I never say ANYTHIN’ I don’t mean.”
His voice falters when arms drop back down to his side and Hayato sniffles, the words caught in his throat and on his tongue. “How little do you think of m’, Katsumi-san? I mean, I guess I’m stupid for thinkin’ that you might'a known better. But yer’ so fuckin’ SCARED of bein’ hurt and I.” A wave of the hand. God, he’s crying like a teenage girl after her first heartbreak and he’s got the feeling of melodrama running so deeply in his veins that he’s surprised there isn’t an orchestra in the background. Dictating his every emotion, every word. “Fer'get it.” He’s done.
Out of all of them, Hayato was probably one of the few whom she really tolerated. And dare she say.... Actually liked him? He treated her well, despite the fact that she was cold and harsh to him almost every time they met. But, when he talked to her, it was usually in earnest. Not with a lick of fear or disrespect, the way Kenji did -- whether or not he had intended to. Hayato was everything she was not, but maybe that was why this had hurt the most.
But if only she knew that this was some kind of misunderstanding. Her whole entire life seemed to be based on misunderstandings. If someone sat her down with her brother and they had a heart to heart talk, no doubt they could have resolved this huge rift between them. But they continued their unspoken war. If she had stopped to think that maybe -- just maybe -- that he had meant every word he said. That this wasn’t some kind of joke to him.
Maybe Emi was a lot more arrogant than she let on.
The other’s words cut through her like a knife, as ironic as it may be. Realization soon seeped into her bones, causing her breath to hitch in her throat. Her eyes widened a bit, fist relaxing at her side. Tilting her head back, she stared up at the ceiling, hand clenching at the shirt over her chest now.
“BUT YER’ SO FUCKIN’ SCARED OF BEIN’ HURT.”
He was right. He was so right. She was so scared, she literally scared everyone who tried to get close to her away. But still, that did not change a thing. Did it? “Hayato!” Her voice was sharp, but there was a certain lilt to her tone.
“Stop blubbering,” because he deserves so much more. “And pick me up by seven.” It seemed more like an order than anything, which wasn’t how most people did it, but Emi had always been a bit unorthodox. Damn, she will have to find a way to make it up to him.