Daisuke Kamakiri's POV:
Mulling over things in silence was one of her worst habits.
While her idiocy led her to be impulsive and stubborn in horrible situations, for the most part, she bottled up her negative emotions so nobody would have to worry about her. She was never without an unreserved grin. Unless, of course, she was busy tearing up over small, heartwarming gestures.
She could be easy to read and at the same time, stubborn. If I outright asked her what was bothering her lately, she'd either play it off or lie that nothing was bothering her. Rarely did she ever admit to her feelings upfront.
Cooking for her was my roundabout method of getting to the bottom of her uneasiness. She was overjoyed, which was an added bonus, but time had slipped away before I could get any answers out of her.
Why couldn't she be more honest? It was ironic, coming from me. But if she was going to make it obvious something was bothering her, the least she could do was bounce it off of me.
"Sure in the future we'll probably disagree. There's no guarantee either of us won't hurt the other either. But, I want to reach a point we can move past that by talking it over and reaching an understanding. This all may be wishful thinking, but that's how I feel."
Was that all flowery talk?
The bitter November wind blew through the city in unequal spurts, fanning my face and clothing. A streamline of civilians strolled to and fro the busy streets, which wasn't an uncommon sight. I sauntered through the familiar roads, my movements intuitive.
It was a topic she'd prefer tip-toeing around me, that was obvious. If I had to wager a guess, it had nothing to do with our relationship itself. Then, was she afraid she'd inconvenience me if she brought it up? That was dumb. I told her she didn't have to pay me unnecessary consideration. I should've expected she wouldn't listen.
A sigh escaped my lips.
Being so fidgety about this was a little pathetic. For all I knew, I was reading too much into it, and she was perfectly all right.
I hardly recognized myself lately. Anything that I generally found troublesome, I avoided at all costs. In terms of her, though, that wasn't an option. I got all antsy waiting for her to arrive at that room every lunch. When we agreed to meet on day offs, I arrived a whole thirty minutes early on the off chance it meant seeing her a little sooner. If she hesitated longer than usual or her tone didn't pack as energetic as a punch, I thought about it to the point where it drove me insane.
Time and time again, she effortlessly she found a way to steal my heart. A simple glance, the tiniest of smiles, habits and expressions. . .
I convinced myself I'd prepared accordingly when I asked her out. That since I already realized my feelings for her, I'd maintain my cool no matter what she threw at me. I was terribly mistaken. From the moment I met her, and when we starting dating, I'd set my fate. These never-ending nerves and heart flutters exemplified each passing day.
I was wrapped pathetically around her finger.
So, her consideration was meaningless. Nothing she could say or do would ever push me away from her. She could be the greediest person in the universe—request the stars themselves—and despite the impossibilities, I'd break my back in order to appease her.
Truthfully, while that was how I felt, it was hard for me to push past my awkwardness and go to such ends, especially in public. I was an introvert through and through.
All that time ago, when I did horrible things, hung with horrible people to fill the lonely void in my life, I hurt her. I made her cry. And now, I wanted nothing more than to make her the happiest I could.
I wonder if she knew. That her decision to face me, to give me the chance to be with her; all of our conversations and interactions were treasures I'd remember forever..
Sighing, I retrieved my cell from my pocket. Dilapidated and cracked; it was long past its wear. Not that I could afford a new one.
Since I didn't have a single app downloaded aside from the ones that came with my phone, she downloaded games for me to kill time with (that I haven't yet touched). She poked fun at me for my awful photography skills, being a slow typer, and texting in full, unabbreviated sentences. She also mocked my lack of knowledge concerning emojis also. I was well-aware how to use my phone. I simply didn't use it aside from making occasional phone calls so all that additional stuff was pointless.
It wasn't normal for guys to have the hobbies I did, or be out of touch with all forms of media. Regardless, she didn't make fun of me.
If it was anybody else, they'd never let me live it down.
MY PRINCESS
why're u too cute i love u (/▽＼*)｡o○♡
That was the message she sent after I expressed she not send a certain emoticon to that childhood friend of hers. It was accompanied by a horde of hearts on top of it which had taken up half the screen.
"'Cute,'" I repeated, pulling a face.
It wasn't a word I was ordinarily complimented with. Well, I wasn't complimented in general. If anyone else had said it, I'd have cringed. Somehow, though, coming from her. . . I didn't mind it.
That said, what she changed her contact name into was beyond embarrassing. 'Kisaragi' was fine. Her unreal expectations were problematic. In what way was I prince-like? I'd been related to a 'demon' before, so a fairy tale prince was a long shot.
I should set her straight.
As if on cue alone, my cell phone buzzed. An incoming call.
Her psychic powers were fearsome. At least, I assumed so until I noticed the Caller ID had 'PAIN IN THE ASS' sprawled in capitalized letters.
Glaring, I cancelled it.
Unfortunately, he didn't take the hint.
Within seconds, my phone vibrated again. And again.
By the fourth time, my thumb was positioned on the power button to turn it off completely. However, the instant I caught the 'MY PRINCESS', I set it to my ear.
"Kisaragi?"
"Rude! You rejected my calls three times and answer the little lady's straightaway! I'm wounded by this blatant disrespect! Your! Brother! Is! In! Pain!"
"U-um, Kamakiri?" Her faint voice resounded next.
But my patience had already crumbled to dust.
"Where are you?" I didn't let her finish.
"At. . . your house," she timidly replied.
The dark malice exuding from my scowl caused passersby to spring back and turn tail to flee in all directions.
I was murdering him.
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
Shiina Kisaragi's POV:
Some way or form, I met Kamakiri's older brother.
It was written in the stars. The one day he was in the city to pay his family a visit—at that exact crosswalk I'd sighed his family name—Akiya Kamakiri had responded. I possessed reservations about speaking so candidly with a stranger, but Akiya swept me up in his pace in no time. In a flash, we discovered the Daisuke Kamakiri we both knew was the same one. We exchanged introductions. Mortal Mania had come up in lieu of small talk, which ended in me graciously thanking him for his concert tickets ways back.
I'd ended up at their childhood house, too.
It was located in a reclusive area about fifteen minutes from Hoshizaki. The majority of the houses were uncannily barren and had mismatched doorways, shattered windows, and beatdown vehicles, but his house in particular was a hint less daunting. The board displaying the family name KAMAKIRI hung on its last hinges. The grey paint had faded in places. A few bars on the outer fence were missing. Inside, the floor planks had busted inward, and were covered and taped down by random newspapers as signals to be fixed later.
"Always the neat freak, I see," Akiya mused as soon as we strolled inside Kamakiri's bedroom. No family photos. Decorations. Merely, the essentials: a desk, bed, carpet. Considering he put so much effort into accessorizing his library sanctuary at school, it was jarring. "Little lady, are you sure you're fine with someone like Daisuke?" Akiya drawled, running his finger along the desk's surface. "Everything about him, down to his hobbies, are far from masculine."
"I'm sure," I replied. "Besides, don't you think that's what makes him endearing?"
"He knits, sews, cooks, and cleans—all for fun, you know."
"I know." I wrapped my fingers around the scarf around my neck, the one he'd gifted me, a smile poking into my cheeks. "It doesn't suit his personality at all."
"You're—you're an angel, little lady!" He scooped my hand in his and tossed it up and down. "I promise: Daisuke will make an amazing wife someday!"
I blinked rapidly. "D. . . don't you mean husband?"
"No, I meant wife." He bore the largest grin in existence. "I can't believe my Daisuke has finally gained a soft spot. He answered your call right away, too. You work miracles, little lady."
"It was a coincidence," I played it off. "He likely didn't see your calls, and accidentally picked up mine—"
"Not a chance. Daisuke is bad with technology but I call him at random times during the day and each time, he doesn't answer. Whenever I text him, he ignores me. And when I come to visit, he locks me outside or runs me out with a knife."
. . .Kamakiri really disliked him.
"He never lets anyone get close to him." Akiya released me in an air of melancholy. "Constantly puts up his guard. The fact that he let you get this close. . . worm your way into his heart. Truly, it's commendable. I'm jealous."
"Kamakiri treasures you too!"
Akiya's eyebrows skyrocketed.
"The fact he can't go a day without randomly mentioning you. Or why he has you saved in his phone despite ignoring your calls and texts. He's always first in line to buy all your books, too. I-I don't have a full grasp of your relationship, and I'm definitely stepping out of line by saying this, but, from my perspective, he does care about you. You have a dear spot in his heart too. I'm sure of it!"
He chuckled warmly. Then, bent over, his big palm mussing the top of my head.
"Here I wasn't even fishing to be consoled. You're too precious, little lady. Thank you. For looking out for Daisuke, and for showing me kindness. It's all right if he gives me the cold shoulder, but he better be cherishing you."
My face warmed. "He is," I promised.
"Good."
His beam dissolved my nerves. He displayed his emotions on his sleeve, so readily and genuinely. They were opposites, for sure.
"It's hard to say Daisuke deserves a gem like you. Maybe if you were a few years older."
"Sorry. Older or not, you're not my type."
"Ouch! You're brutal, little lady!"
Manoeuvring into the living room, he flopped onto the floor, stretching and making himself comfortable.
"Did you know, little lady? Before Daisuke was born, our mom was told he'd be a girl so our grandmother bought him a ton of girly clothes. So all throughout his infancy and well into his toddler years, she'd style him up in dresses and skirts. He was so adorable. Wanna see pics?"
"You're lying," I hissed, dashing to his side in an instant. I eagerly leaned in to catch a glimpse of his cell phone he'd scrounged from his pocket. "Yes, please!"
"This is him around. . . age two, I think?"
"Aww! His hair is all braided. And the little bow. . . !" I extended my bottom lip. "Send it to me. Send them all to me."
"Hold on, let me show you the whole slideshow. Now, this—this is gold. Daisuke in his diaper—"
The front door slammed open with no restraint.
"Hey, Daisuke! Welcome home." Akiya rose his hand in mock salute. "Give us a sec, we're going through your girly baby pictures."
I was seized by the wrist, yanked to my feet, then shepherded behind Kamakiri's large frame. In his free hand, he had his phone to his ear.
"What are you doing?" Akiya demanded.
"Calling the police."
"Wait, wait, wait! On your own flesh and blood?"
"I've never met you in my life. Get out of my house. Hello? Yes, I'd like to report a kidnapping—"
"Kidnapping did not occur! The little lady accompanied me by her own free will!" Although it was plain as day that he was faking it, Akiya—gullible as he was—snatched Kamakiri's device and shoved it into his pocket. While Kamakiri had significant height, Akiya stood a few inches taller. "You haven't seen me in a while so what's this animosity? Is this from the same boy who religiously buys his older brother's books to support him?"
Kamakiri glanced at me.
I glanced elsewhere.
I didn't mean to tell him, it accidentally spilled.
When Kamakiri's focus fell to the table, the spotless dishes, he gritted his teeth. "You even demolished the food I specifically cooked for Kisaragi. . ."
"I offered to share," I interjected. "Akiya was hungry, and I deemed it wouldn't hurt—"
"Why are you here?" Kamakiri's bark had me, and Akiya, flinching. "Crawling back here whenever it suits you, and messing everything up. . . You're a bother! Leave!"
Goosebumps bristled my arms like needles. There was a chill in my bones, the coldness bringing the synapses of my brain to a standstill. The pain in his voice, it pierced my heart.
A click in the distance. The screech of a door. Wobbly footsteps.
The man that rounded the corner had the eyes of a dead animal. An uneven stubble traced his chin. In his white tank top, his beer belly hung over his boxers.
"I was wondering what all the damn yelling was."
His beady stare, his slurred growl, was cruel and unforgiving.
"D-Dad?" Akiya stumbled for his composure. "You were home? Didn't you have—"
Dragging his feet, unsteady as he was, he didn't acknowledge Akiya's existence at all.
No. His hostility emanating from his snarls was aimed right ahead.
He stopped right in front of Kamakiri.
Then, he backhanded him.
"Fucking brat. Who allowed you to raise your voice? Under my roof?"
A gasp hitched in my throat. Kamakiri maintained his footing, the bright red mark glaring against his skin. His fingers dug into my wrist. He shielded me from him, scowl dark as night.
"You're going senile, bastard. I'm talking normally."
His dad swung for his throat. Akiya furled his arms around him in time to yank him back. Uninhibited, ear-piercing yells ensued.
"Get outta my fucking house!?" Flailing, he clutched the nearest items and flung them at him. Beer cans, books, the lunch containers. "Won't last a minute."
"Get off your high horse! The only reason I'm breathing right now is myself. You don't do jack shit for me, bastard! Never have! Drop dead already!"
"Daisuke!" Akiya hissed.
Kamakiri scooped up my bag and swivelled. Wrenching my arm forward and out into the stark of evening, he slammed the door after us.