Chapter 14: An Eye for an Eye
Kiyoshi had been suffering Kensou's abuse first-hand long enough that a bitter heart was his only reaction; being a witness of it was a new, terrifying experience. He felt his beliefs shake, unsure which they were. His biased image of Sumire? Women in general? Kensou? Maybe all of them.
He wasn't sure what to expect when the small girl's friend slipped into the council room and asked about her. Kiyoshi didn't answer, becoming a spectator by proxy when Kensou started a conversation and he didn't leave the room. He said nothing as the two plotted to lay a trap for the first-year: cornering her in the distant room until she told them what they wanted. The tan girl musn't have known she was the chance their cunning superior was waiting for. He had forced Kiyoshi to spill Sumire's role in this cruel game after she visited with Gouenji-kun, and Kensou was drawn to beat her into submission like a beast to a prey.
Kiyoshi wilfully ignored their scheme, his mind plagued with bitter thoughts about Keima. After Keima visited his house, he was unusually grumpy and snappy. The thought of Itsuki comforting his best friend made Kiyoshi tremble with possessiveness.
So when he witnessed how Kensou revealed private information Sumire seemed desperate to hide and forget-- she was the direct heiress of a powerful conglomerate whose head and wife had been murdered, and was pushed away from the seat she rightfully deserved because of her illness--Kiyoshi couldn't help but internally comment, "Hey. . . isn't that terrible?" instead of realizing it was a consequence of his inaction but later that day.
Sumire yelling at Kensou to shut up at the top of her lungs was a scene out of a movie. She suddenly seemed more vulnerable: emotional, human. In contrast, the girl lazily leaning against the door pretending to be unfazed was the image of a girl Kiyoshi was raised with: cold, distant, fake, unwavering. Sumire was shockingly similar to his unstable self, and even more when her knees buckled and thumped to the floor, droplets falling.
"You will report to me any new findings," Kensou commanded like the Coach.
"Yes," was Sumire's faint reply.
Kiyoshi buried his head on the pillow at the memory, guilt and empathetic pain gnawing his heart.
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"He's a sicko," he grumbled, tumbling towards the soccer field. After what that tyrant did yesterday: the taunts and mockery at Sumire's apparent failure as a human being, seeing the girl was the least he wanted to do. What was worse was the manager of the club had to give him the numbers for the budget. There was no merciful escape, their coach instantly told him to ask Sumire.
Kiyoshi couldn't look at the girl in the eye and his stuttering and anxiety were over the roof. He just obtained the necessary papers and began to work solo in the clubroom. Even if he had a question, he decided to ask the coach eventually.
After an hour and a half, Kiyoshi lowered his laptop, walked out, and sat on the bench. The practice seemed to be going strong.
Kiyoshi inhaled deeply. Was he really doing it? Eagerly take advantage, despite what happened? Glancing nervously at his bag, he exhaled slowly. Tomorrow would be harder to ask. I have to do it, he encouraged himself. He opened his bag, took a minute off, took out the tupperware wrapped in a lilac bag, took a break, and stood up.
"He-hey," he called. His vision was blurry, and his quick deep breaths drowned his voice. Kiyoshi felt like an idiot.
He clamped his mouth shut when the girl's dull eyes locked onto him. The abyss-deep animosity was justified. Kiyoshi wanted to beg for forgiveness, but before intelligible words left his throat, Sumire spoke.
"Are you making fun of me?" Her voice was weary but clear, stabbing Kiyoshi's conscience deep. He shook his head furiously and tried to speak.
"Thi-s!" He shoved the cloth forward and squeezed his eyes shut.
After a few long seconds that felt like a crushing eternity, the girl repeated herself. "That's why I am asking. Are you making fun of me?"
"I-'m not!" Kiyoshi chocked. "It has nothing-to d-do with you!" His ragged breaths sounded louder than his words, and Kiyoshi belatedly recognized the consequences of pushing himself too far: It was like that tense afternoon with Keima; Kiyoshi was having a panic attack.
When she grabbed the tupperware from his shivering hands, Kiyoshi was ready to throw himself to her knees and thank her.
"I'm not accepting it," she explained herself swiftly. "You seem like you will faint at any second. Put some distance if it makes you feel better." Her words didn't carry a hint of worry, just factual statements.
Kiyoshi obeyed and took two long steps back before listening to her next advice: "I'll stay after they leave. So come back when you are calmer." Kiyoshi shook his head and spoke to the floor in one breath.
"Please accept it! I'll explain later! I promise they don't taste bad!" Kiyoshi's heartbeat and breath were so loud he barely heard himself.
Another hellish eternity seemed to pass before the girl replied politely.
"I understand." Kiyoshi would believe she was her usual feisty self if her tone carried emotion.
She munched on an onigiri, and her countenance seemed to regain color. The strange moment of silence allowed Kiyoshi to focus on another object but his emotions. She turned her head away from his inquisitive gaze as if she didn't want him to see the rest of her natural reaction, but he undoubtedly noticed her shaky shoulders. If she didn't spit the rice, he would accept it as a positive response.
After Kiyoshi took notes about what he wanted, he put his phone away and returned to his seat. But he couldn't help glancing at the girl every so often until the club was over.
Kiyoshi had no other clues about the soccer manuals. Kensou and the President seemed to be conspiring to protect Back Tornado's manual, and Kiyoshi hadn't talked to the latter but one time and lost his chance to ask. The newspaper club had some clips about the soccer club from ten years ago, but nothing relevant. He had no more moves.
However, Alumni Day was that weekend. So instead of requesting help, Kiyoshi decided to patiently wait for the day. Otherwise, he would be asking too much from her.
Until then, he had another issue to worry about.
On the train ride back, Kiyoshi stared at the text in his phone to distract himself from the mass of hot bodies nudging him. Sumire gave him a list of ingredients of the foods Kidou-san liked and didn't. He couldn't believe he was doing this. But he was.
"He basically rejected me though," Kiyoshi mouthed. He found Keima the other day in the abandoned park in the same dejected state. Kiyoshi assured himself his best friend chose that particular place because he was the only person Keima wanted to be bothered by if his friend had a choice.
The chatter was casual and gentle, Kiyoshi's dry jealousy and violent longing slipping away in the intimate moment. Keima was smiling a bit, and Kiyoshi soon leaned against his beloved friend in a gesture of innocent affection and trust.
The mood was just right, quiet and comfortable. Kiyoshi couldn't help himself. He gently pushed his body up a little, capturing Keima's lips in a light kiss.
Kiyoshi had dreamed about it years, a kiss from his prince.
A casual apology left his tingly lips with a chuckle. Keima had never reacted adversely to his romantic innuendos so when he clamped his lips together as they twitching and twisting a little while wearing a blank expression, Kiyoshi's heart almost stopped.
". . . Asexual, huh?" Kiyoshi gently stroked his lips, recalling Keima's dry ones. "It doesn't hurt. It's fine." Even if Keima said he could never return those feelings--wanting to kiss--there seemed to be a deeper truth intentionally concealed. During the whole revelation, Keima was unusually relaxed, as if it was nothing they should make a fuss about.
Ah, he wasn't ashamed, Kiyoshi realized. His confession would have disappointed Kiyoshi, but Keima stood on his ground. Thus, Kiyoshi could easily accept the objective reality.
"It doesn't mean I can't fall in love," Keima also added. Those surprising words urged Kiyoshi to learn more, so he surfed on the internet that night: being asexual meant Keima had never thought of sleeping with someone, fantasized about someone, got hot over someone. It was. . .
"Cool." Was all Kiyoshi would think, naturally. Keima was his best friend after all. Likewise, if Keima were the sluttiest person in the world, Kiyoshi would joyfully accept him all the same.
"Doesn't that show just how much I love him though?" Kiyoshi mused. He thought Keima implied he didn't like guys, but being asexual was not being aromantic according to AVEN. Homoromantic, was it? Watering down the various possibilities. The more Kiyoshi learned, the more confused he was about Keima's hidden message.
Because he implied Kiyoshi should chase Kidou-san instead. Keima swiftly changed the topic: "What about Kidou-san? Why don't you make him a bento?" He didn't look at Kiyoshi as he said that.
Kiyoshi covered his mouth and sat on those words. "Keima has never been the type to reject people in their faces." He let Arisugawa chase him since they were little after all. "I don't get it. What did he really want to say?" Was he unable to want to kiss guys or people in general? Did he reject Kiyoshi's feelings, who wanted him sexually and of course romantically as well?
However, this didn't change the fact they were best friends, trying to rekindle their relationship.
However, Kiyoshi was unsure Keima's vague reply to his old feelings were for the best. Nevertheless, he felt a pang of guilt for pushing the one he had loved for so long to an unnecessary point.
Soccer or a lover, Kiyoshi chased both for the same reason. But in doing so at the same time, he was sure he would obtain none.
"But there's no way I can choose." Kiyoshi sighed. "I'm a greedy idiot."
An Eye for an Eye | End