Chapter Text
Asa thought the shack behind her school was abandoned. For three months, Asa used the empty space as her own personal crying corner for whatever silly reason she wanted to express her emotions over.
Raw chicken on her indoor shoes in her busted locker? Cried.
A seventy-eight on her Japanese grammar test that her mother helped her study hard for? Cried harder.
Having to spend another lonely lunch in the bathroom? Sobbed.
Dad came home drunk? Mum got into a screaming match with him? Sobbed so much that her snot dripped onto her shirt.
No matter what the cause, that shack was a good, solitary place to let it all out. It felt secluded and safe, unlike many environments in Asa’s life. With the ever watchful eye of her alcoholic, unemployed and at times abusive father, Asa didn’t feel like she could be completely herself. Here in the shack, she could be free as she wanted.
On the day Asa discovered the shack wasn’t abandoned, she planned to use the shack for something other than crying for once. That day, Asa snuck her thin gym towel, two volumes of Shark Kick from the school library, and a banged-up thermos of hot chocolate to school. The weather forecast on television that morning predicted a heavy rainstorm that evening. With the shack possessing a tin roof, Asa wanted to experience the sound of rain pounding against the metal. Her mom often spoke of visiting her grandparents in the countryside and how relaxing that particular sound was.
With her mother working a night shift, Asa could read and enjoy the rain until the storm let up. Some nights, she even found the courage to write a bit of poetry. It was all bad, but not all of it was quite bad enough to crumple up but as soon as she finished and read through it once.
As soon as she opened the door, the first thing Asa noticed was the quilt-covered lump on the old mattress inside. It was the type of quilt that looked worn to within an inch of its life in between heavy and coarse patches—something perhaps retrieved from the dumpster. The stained cream sashiko stitching over navy cotton was broken and patchy.
“Ey!”
The lump spoke.
Involuntarily spooked, Asa let out a sharp scream.
“What…! Who…?!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” the lump demanded.
“What…what am I doing here?” Asa stammered.
The person under the lump sat up and drew the quilt away from their face. The lump was a very skinny boy. Probably about her age, Asa decided in a panic.
Twelve, give or take a year.
Shaggy dark blond hair framed a drawn face. He scowled at Asa. Asa felt her panicked heart pulse in the sides of her throat.
“Well?” he demanded, examining her warily.
“This…this is where I cry,” Asa stammered.
“Eh? That’s hella weird. Why do ya cry here instead of at your house, or apartment, or whatever?”
“None of your business,” she shot back.
The boy rolled his eyes. Asa bristled.
“Well, if you’re not here to cry like I am, why are you here instead of at home?”
The boy’s face paled. He began to wrap himself back up in the quilt, paying little mind to Asa.
“Well?” Asa demanded defensively.
“As you said, ‘none of your business.’”
“I’m not asking. I am requiring an answer,” Asa clarified stiffly.
“Geez, ‘requiring’?” he snorted before grossly rubbing his nose with the open palm of his hand.
“Correct.”
“Are you always this bossy?” the boy asked, clearly avoiding the question.
“Yes,” Asa lied proudly. She didn’t know this kid, so why should she pretend to be a kind and passive people-pleaser with him? Not only was he a kid, he was also a boy. Boys were gross. Everyone knew that.
When the boy’s eyes flitted up to hers, Asa tried to make stubborn eye contact with him, but found herself taken aback. She’d never seen someone with such distinctive eyes. Warm honey brown and slightly turned down at the corners.
He has pretty eyes, Asa found herself thinking involuntarily as she looked away, suddenly self-conscious of her own dark eyes that a classmate she had a crush on once described as “mean-looking.”
Why, boy with an amber gaze…do you recline there? Her brain finished the haiku without her consent.
“Hey! You there, weirdo?”
Asa broke out of her brief haiku-induced fugue and glance over at him with a faux huff. ‘Uh, yeah, why?”
“You sure?” he asked.
“I am a hundred percent sure.” Her blatantly confident answer surprisingly rewarded her with a small smile on the boy’s face, but the expression was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Despite her best efforts to appear stoic, Asa felt her cheeks heat up.
Is…is this what finding someone cute feels like, despite him being a gross boy? Asa wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.
“Ugh, fine. I guess I’ll tell ya. Uh...I guess it’s more…more comfortable and quieter here than at home,” the boy reluctantly admitted. He snuggled back under the quilt, but didn’t let her out of his sight.
“So, then we are here for basically the same thing,” she concluded with a heady sniff. “Peace and quiet.”
“Guess so,” he reluctantly agreed. He laid back down on the grimy mattress and turned his back to Asa.
Asa opened her mouth to protest, but the boy spoke before she could interrupt.
“Since we want the same thing, you can stay here, I guess,” he said, not bothering to look at her.
“I’m not planning to stay for longer than like, two-ish hours,” Asa clarified.
“Oh. Well, that’s okay too.”
If Asa was better at reading emotions, she would’ve wondered if she had heard disappointment in his voice.
“You sure it’s okay for me to be here?” Asa asked, suddenly insecure with the boy’s lack of protest.
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason.”
When the boy didn’t answer, Asa laid out her towel in her favorite corner opposite of the mattress and began to set up her books and hot chocolate daydream scenario. When she unscrewed the thermos, the heavenly scent of milk chocolate filled the air. That got the boy’s attention.
He rolled over onto his other side and watched Asa pour herself a drink before speaking.
“Hey,” he interjected awkwardly.
Oh, great. He wants to talk again. Asa hoped he was going to ignore her.
“Uhm, hello?” Asa responded, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
“What’s your name and what’s the smell?” he asked bluntly, sitting back up.
“My name’s Asa—”
What are you doing, giving him your first name? Asa scolded herself in a brief panic and gathered her courage.
“And this…”
What, is he talking about the thermos or is he talking about me?
Asa was hyperconscious of her own hygiene ever since her father mocked her for being a sweaty kid a few months ago. If that wasn’t bad enough, her mother gently told Asa to begin wearing deodorant a few months ago. She could mentally roll her eyes at whatever her father said, but her mom saying the same thing? Absolutely mortifying.
Asa hesitated as the two possibilities ping-ponged back and forth in her brain before she forced herself to just choose one.
“This is hot chocolate,” she finished, swallowing down her possibly crush-induced nerves.
The boy inhaled deeply, but his eyebrows remained narrowed.
“Well, Asa, the name’s Denji, and if you’re gonna continue using this shack for crying and…whatever else, you gotta do one thing for me.”
Asa’s mind raced with different scenarios, but she put on a brave face. “That being?”
“Ya better have some of whatever that chocolate stuff is for me next time you come here.”
Asa blinked, surprised by his demand.
“Deal?” Denji asked impatiently.
“Uh, sure. Deal.”