A teen is stunned to discover he's half-vampire. Will being asexual-aromantic thwart bloodlust, or are there other emotions strong enough to trigger murder?
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Natsu anxiously follows his mentally-ill mother's rules, forcing himself to be an em...
Before his lips can curve into a grin, he pushes them together hard.
"I told you, you can smile." Maybe he listened, because his smaller smiles he doesn't hide. It's the bigger ones that he's ashamed of.
"Then... just around Natsu-senpai." With a shy smile, he starts to draw.
"He—Hitori," I call as something comes to memory. "Do you still hear birds?"
His smile is gone but eyes are still happy as he looks at me curiously. "Yes."
"Do you talk back to them?"
"Um... sometimes. But... I shouldn't in public," he says, shaking his head. "It's bad."
Staring at him, I wonder what this talking with birds thing is all about. Does he have schizophrenia? Or are they like imaginary friends?
"You see... the birds tell me things... That I need to hear, sometimes. Sometimes it's bad, but it's usually good. And... I can tell them things. Like... what I did today or... how I feel... Because, they'll listen. But... Well... Like... They told me Katana-senpai is a good person. So... like that." He nods once.
"Oh." I have no clue what else to say.
He smiles at me innocently before returning to his drawing. He's so peculiar that I don't know what to make of him. But despite his quirks, I don't have any bad feelings towards him. Compared to any normal person, for whatever reason, he's—
I stop my thoughts short. They were definitely headed in a dangerous direction.
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Sunday, May 27, 2007
I walk to the station nearest my home to meet Hitori. I shouldn't be doing this. But my mother isn't around. I shouldn't be doing this. But if I don't, Hitori will...
I get to the south entrance and see the boy leaning against the wall. The sight is startling. His casual clothes are mostly black: skinny jeans with purposeful tears across the legs, an oversized shirt—the neckline hanging off one shoulder, exposing a red and white striped shirt beneath it. The long sleeves cover most of his hands, and platform shoes add four or five centimeters to his height. What was it called... Punk?
His back straightens when he sees me, and he covers his mouth with his fabric-covered fist. When I reach him, he looks up at me, hand still covering his mouth. "Oh!" he removes his hand and bows.
I glance around, wondering if anyone sees this awkward situation. "You don't need to bow."
"Ah, is that so?" he ponders, a bent finger to his mouth.
The awkwardness is so bothersome, I don't say anything and just walk towards the train. He runs to catch up.
When we get into the city, we go to one of the more popular bookstores. I help him choose a math textbook and another for English then lead the way out of the store.
