VIOLET SKY, takigawa chris yuu

━ chapter eleven

"Not him exactly. Other stuff. His friends, the other people at our school, and in the worst case scenario, Hase."

Chiyo shakes her head. "Stop thinking about the worst case scenario and think about the best one. Even if you face problems, you'll have him, it's not like he's the kind of guy to flake out on someone. Honestly, he seems pretty freakin' loyal."

She covers her eyes. "I'm acting like a teenage cliché."

"You kind of are," Hiro agrees, unhelpfully.

"I just —" she stops, grimacing. "How could he be into me? I just feel like," she sighs, pushing around the meat floating in her soup, "I have zero direction in life but he has it figured out. I feel like he needs someone who has their life figured out, too."

"Don't be dumb," Chiyo chastises. "He hardly has anything figured out. Don't put him on that kind of pedestal. It was literally yesterday that he stressed himself out so bad he got sick. Does that sound like someone who has their life figured out?"

She purses her lips.

"Trust me, he's just like the rest of us, weighing his options still. Maybe he has a better idea, but he doesn't really have it all figured out."

"If anything," Hiro adds, "you should really talk to him about this. I'm not saying you have to say anything about your feelings, jeez, don't give me that look — you can just express your concerns. He'll probably be honest with you. You know that communication is important."

"Yeah," she sighs. "Yeah, it is. Okay. I'll . . . see what I can do about that, then." She scoops some soup into her mouth.

"Oh," Hiro says, face blanking. "He's coming to our table."

She freezes. "What?"

She turns her head just as Chris steps up the table. He smiles apologetically. "Sorry for intruding — Amara, could I borrow you for a few minutes? I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh, uh, sure," she agrees, heart jumping up to the base of her throat as she stands.

Chiyo gives her a look. Talk to him about it.

Maybe, she hedges, following Chris out of the cafeteria. It doesn't have anything to do with my feelings, she reasons. And it'll clear up my own doubts. I don't see why not.

But that leaves her here, following him through the halls of the school, to some unknown location.

Why does he want to talk about it out here? She wonders, scrambling to think about something — anything — that he could want to talk about.

She comes up with nothing.

Except —

Feelings?

She fights between dread and relief at finally having something being done.

She wipes her palms on her skirt, swallowing nervously, trying to anchor herself to the way that Chris' gait is calm and collected.

It doesn't work, because all she can think about is his broad shoulders and how his button-up stretches over them.

Time and place, she reminds herself, nearly tripping over her feet as he abruptly turns into an empty classroom.

Her face feels warm, feverish, and she has half a mind to bail on him and say that she feels sick. But her feet are leading her into the classroom after him. She flinches as the door slides closed.