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It’s their third week of freshman year, and Shion is in her Geometry course (being a fantastic student) when a boy asks her out. She tells you this after the end of the school day while you walk together with a quiet look of consideration which quickly contorts into laughter at your evident bewilderment.
It’s not that she’s not beautiful. You’ve told her time and time again that boys should be lucky to look at someone as beautiful as her; should be blessed to be in her presence, let alone have the chance of her gaze. Typically, this is in jest, and it makes Shion laugh, and then it makes you laugh, but there’s a grain of truth in it.
She’s got short, blonde hair that cuffs her ears. It lays flat after a run-through of a brush, but in the early morning it tangles like a bush. You would know better than most, of course. In those moments, you can’t help but wonder if she’s spent the whole night ruining it so you can spend those twenty minutes running a brush through her hair, helping tame the beast.
Freckles highlight her beauty, drawing attention from her face to her eyes, down her shoulders, and (not that anyone but you would know) down her back. It is the world’s cruelest temptation made flesh.
Her eyes have a sharpness in them no blade can match, but everyone else only seem to see her exhaustion and think her weak. They think you’re the strong one with your temper and your weird eyes. Together, you’re a match made from precision. A blade is nothing without a hand to guide it.
“Is something wrong with that?” Shion asks after a time, and you realize you never said anything after the phrase a boy in my class asked me out left her lips. She’s smiling, though. “Waka-chan?”
You laugh and hastily come with an excuse— something about the hot weather and your uniform. Seamlessly, the conversation could slide into your norm; gossip, laughter, reminiscing over times long past, and ignoring the worst of the world to focus on the one good thing in it. However, this is not a normal conversation.
Shion has never dated a boy before, at least nothing serious, and never one that you don’t know. It feels like a blow, oddly, as if she has hurt you.
Her smile is white and perfect, but they’re still teeth. Mechanisms made to break down flesh into food. You feel yourself being digested the longer this idea sets into you— that a stranger is coming into your life, her life, to ruin what you have spent a lifetime building.
You look away from her, to the clouds above her head, and ask for his name. She tells you. As the syllables leave her lips, you know for a fact you will forget it. And then, you ask her why she said yes.
“Well… he seemed alright. Ya know, he transferred in so he hasn’t really done anything to me or you.” She shrugs, thumb curling under the strap of her backpack. Her cheek careens until its held up by the knuckles of her fingers. There’s three small freckles on the joint of her pinkie finger; an equilateral triangle, perfection. “Plus, he explained some concepts to me, so… I guess I said yes ‘cuz I felt he deserved somethin’ nice back, ya know?”
You think about him kissing her in the hallway between classes. You voice your objection.
“‘S not that I don’t want it, it’s just… I dunno.” Shion grins like a stupid idiot— a stupid idiot who happens to be your best friend. “Guess that was stupid of me, huh?”
You immediately begin to argue about that phrasing and remind her how smart she is. Even saying yes to a guy out of, what, guilt? That ain’t stupid. It’s stupid of him to ask a wonderful girl knowing she wouldn’t say no! It is in no way Shion’s fault.
She’s infallible.
Shion’s face reddens at the stream of dialogue coming from you, at your passion, at your knowledge of her heart. She glances away with a shy smile. “Stop that,” she mutters, “yer jus’ makin’ stuff up now.”
You’ve always been fascinated by these moments: when the pale turns crimson. When you’re able to catch a glimpse of your own blushing face, you notice how all-encompassing it is. It dyes your skin all the way down to your collarbones. Shion’s is much more subtle for now, only coloring her cheeks. Later, it will spread up to her forehead.
But they are not alone there. Her freckles stand out like blood in the water; your eyes constrict. Each spot is a stepping stone across a garden, begging someone to press their lips against each one.
You wonder if this boy would do that act. Would he know the proper compliments to pair them with? Would he know not to press against her knuckles as he held her hand? Would he know that the only part of her body untainted by her grandfather’s touch was her face?
Would he lay in bed with her, fingers splayed across skin you’ve only been granted short glimpses at? Would he taint her skin with new bruises? New cuts? New painful memories Shion would carefully avoid bringing up to you?
Would he love her like you do?
You ask her if she thinks this is a good idea, dating some guy she hardly knows.
“Well, when ya phrase it like that, you make it sound so weird, Waka-chan.” Her blush is fading; you mourn its loss. “Can’t ya be happy for me?” She twists on her feet and grins, skirt pluming around her. “I’ve got a boyfriend! One I could have sleepovers with, who’ll protect me so you won’t have ta anymore, and… he’ll probably buy me food, too. That’ll be nice!”
You frown. You do those things. You should be enough.
“I mean,” Shion stutters when you bring it up. “Yeah, I guess… the only difference between you and a boyfriend…”
She looks at you, bangs hanging low over her eyes. Her pupils are shrouded in darkness yet their intent is evident.
“Waka-chan.” Her blush is returning steadily, burning up the planes of her face. Her hand reaches forward and entwines with yours. You don’t press down on the bandages you feel along her knuckles; her thumb gently caresses yours. “Do you want me to break up with him?”
You’ve never been a particularly good liar, especially to Shion, but… you know the truth isn’t the proper answer here. You know it will only add another wound to her collection.
You smile, and you lie.
“Oh… okay.”
They break up after two weeks.