Chapter Text
Twenty-four hours after the events of Monday, Asano has neatly wrapped and packaged everything that's happened into a box in his mind labeled: DO NOT TOUCH UNTIL 95-YEARS-OLD.
Asano's hoping he'll either be too senile or too dead to remember. Either option, he finds, would be more than satisfactory.
Tuesday arrives with little to no fanfare. The same can be said about Wednesday and Thursday. In fact, the rest of his week is so aggressively normal that Asano is halfway convinced that Monday was a fever dream or one of the rare nightmares he gets the night before a remedial lesson with the principal.
It is almost too easy to pretend nothing happened. It is as simple as shifting his memories a couple of inches to the right, changing his perspective:
He didn't snap at the Virtuosos; he exasperatedly asked for his test back.
He didn't leave the classroom in an agitated mess; he calmly excused himself to the restroom.
He didn't fall apart in a storage closet; he took a moment to compose himself alone.
The principal didn't verbally flay him alive; he sharply but understandably reprimanded him for his disappointing test scores.
(The raised, crescent scars on his palm are mental speed bumps, taking his memories off their new trajectory every time he runs his fingers over them. They're fading quickly, thankfully.)
Several days after the fact, the principal has retreated into whatever darkness he inhabits when he's at the house, his hunger for humiliation and submission satiated with the thorough dressing down of his son. Asano lashes out in little ways: slamming doors, ransacking his office, and refusing to acknowledge the principal when they pass one another in the hallways.
It is for show. They both know it means nothing, in the end. They both know Asano has been reminded of his place; he will not leave it anytime soon.
The principal, for his part, simply leaves practice questions next to Asano's dinner every night. Asano resigns himself to answering them until his next mock exam. Until he can prove his past mistakes will remain there: the past.
School is comforting in its monotony, its sameness. More or less, anyway. The Virtuosos have slipped back into their original rhythm, Asano's outburst is an offbeat note that he quickly gets them to forget by assigning more tasks and responsibilities.
Teppei has to record an upcoming school assembly soon, so he's in the gym with the rest of the Broadcasting Club members, practicing visual and audio set-ups. Tomoya is one of the students responsible for said assembly as a student chairman, so he's just as frazzled trying to coordinate student speakers and presenters.
Natsuhiko is getting ready for a science fair showcase of something or other for that same assembly for reasons that Asano doesn't quite care enough to discover but is glad it gives Natsuhiko something to do other than stare at him with concerned, watery eyes.
To be fair to Natsuhiko, though, Teppei and Tomoya had also worn worried looks. It was part of the reason why Asano had overloaded their schedules. So they didn't have enough time to look at him like that.
It's...harder with Ren. Because of course, it is.
Asano can't exactly assign Ren more work to do if he isn't around to receive said work. And when Ren is around, he doesn't meet Asano's eyes. Asano should feel happy about this. After all, distance is what he wanted. Distance is the reason he pushed the other Virtuosos away under the thin guise of productivity.
Honestly, he should be thanking Ren for making his job easier. Finding work to delegate is hard when Asano is busy enough with managing the larger aspects of student life on campus. It'd be easier with his secretary around, but Asano is willing to make sacrifices for the greater good.
But–
...Ren hasn't called or texted him since Monday. Not a big deal, really, except, that it was because Ren called him every night. And if he couldn't call, he would text because he was annoyingly persistent and predictable in that way.
Now, whenever he and Ren are in the same space, they talk around each other, never to the other person directly. Asano doesn't know if the others have noticed, but he certainly has.
They are out of sync, he and Ren, in a way they so rarely are and, Asano, for all his talk of tools outliving their purposes and not needing anyone's help to climb the ladder of his ambition, wants to fix it.
Annoyingly, frustratingly, and confusingly, he wants to fix it.
But–
He doesn't know how. Funnily enough, apologizing was never something the principal got around to teaching him in between college-level calculus and taking blows to the abdomen without losing breath.
And then Ren had texted him Thursday night, and Asano, buttoning up the last button on his shirt, had frozen at the sight of the name on his screen.
Ren's text was simple. Annoyingly, frustratingly, and confusingly simple:
I'm sorry, man. Can you forgive me, so we can start talking again?
The sincerity of his words was belied, a little, by the "man" and the string of nonsensical emojis tacked on the end, but the approach summed up Ren's personality well enough: Irritating in some lights but endearing in others.
It's Friday afternoon now. Almost 15 hours have passed since he first received the text, and he's yet to answer. He's both grateful and irritated that he hadn't gotten the chance to see Ren today as they had both been called in and out of classes several times for various reasons.
I'm sorry, man. Can you forgive me, so we can start talking again?
What does he say to that, exactly?
Yes? No? Only on the condition that you never bring up what happened again on the pain of being cut out from my life forever and possibly killed?
Asano's so engrossed in constructing the perfect reply he doesn't realize Nagisa's hovering over his shoulder until he hears, "You've been staring at your phone for the past 10 minutes, and you've only written, 'Ok'?"
Asano wishes he could say he's gotten used to Nagisa's uncanny ability to silence his presence enough to sneak up on him, but the embarrassing truth is that he hasn't.
He jolts, registers what Nagisa's said, and slams his phone face down in a series of movements that can almost be labeled as comical. Asano refuses to be flustered—Nagisa's in the wrong here, not him—but he feels his ears warm against his wishes.
"Aren't you supposed to be studying for finals?" He asks waspishly.
Nagisa's blue eyes widen and his mouth curves into a slight pout, feigning innocence and guilt in equal measure and yet somehow succeeding at both. "I was studying. But you looked so interested in your phone, I got curious."
"Isn't there a Western saying about curiosity and cats and staying out of my business if you know what's good for you?"
Nagisa continues as if Asano hasn't even spoken. "You barely acknowledge your phone exists half the time! I've watched you blatantly ignore the texts I send you. You can't blame me for being a little surprised."
"Because," Asano crosses his arms and lifts his chin, "it's a black hole of time and the enemy of productivity. Not to mention redundant. That's not even to go into how it needlessly complicates social interactions–"
"–Social interactions like this one, I'm assuming." Nagisa smoothly interrupts, nodding to the phone on the desk.
Asano stares at his phone case. Though they can no longer see it, the word "Ok" lingers between them in all its socially-inept glory.
"...You're not amusing, Shiota."
"So, you've said, Asano." Nagisa grins, his amusement plainly obvious and deeply irksome.
Sometimes—which is to say, most times—Asano puzzles over Nagisa's undeniable fondness for him. He's done nothing to deserve it. Nothing to earn it, either.
If he squints and tilts his head just right, he can convince himself their relationship is some kind of Stockholm Syndrome-esque trauma bond, and Nagisa is only attached to him because of the forced proximity.
Unfortunately, Asano's theory unravels the minute he tugs on the thread tangled in all the times Asano reached out first, defanged himself to offer kind(er) words, and opened the door to the Student Council Office.
He won't lie. A part of him resents their bond. Resents Nagisa.
They haven't talked about what happened between him and his father on Monday, but Asano can't shake the feeling that Nagisa now thinks they're the same.
(He's wrong.)
Something ties them together, and Asano is loathe to acknowledge or put a name to what that something is.
(After all, what's happening with him and his father the principal is different. Nothing like Nagisa and his mother. It's different.)
There are days when Asano is tempted to set the bridge beneath them aflame, to destroy their relationship before it inevitably destroys itself. It would be so painfully easy.
A cruel word. A raised fist. A locked door.
But then he sees this:
Nagisa—leaning into the side of his chair. Nagisa—reaching for his phone, easily. Nagisa—humming softly under his breath as he casts an eye over the text.
Friendship, Asano realizes slowly, is the realization that his first response to Nagisa touching his things is not to break his arm but to scowl in indignation.
Friendship is the fizzy warmth that crowds his chest when he's around the Virtuous, Ren, and more recently, Nagisa.
When did they get so comfortable around each other?
No. That's the wrong question.
When did Asano get so comfortable around them?
"Are you arguing with Sakaibura-kun right now?"
Nagisa's question, innocent as it is, finally tugs Asano out of his head.
He plucks his phone out of Nagisa's hand, ignoring his whine, and looks at the text threads between him and Ren.
"Something like that." He clicks back onto his home screen. "Our alliance is suffering some... unexpected setbacks, you could say. I'm trying to repair it, but it's proving difficult. The situation is undesirable, to say the least."
With the words finally out, Asano finds the courage to look at Nagisa, only to find himself confronted with a set of thoroughly unimpressed eyebrows settled over judgmental eyes.
"What's 'undesirable' about the situation is you calling Sakaibura-kun an 'ally' when everyone at school can see he's one of your closest friends."
Asano doesn't bother pointing out that Nagisa tends to "see" a lot more than normal people—he's almost preternaturally observant— deciding to latch on to the other part of the sentence he took issue with:
"You act as if being called an 'ally' is bad. It's not. It's an honor, really, considering who I am."
For the record, Asano takes immense offense to Nagisa rolling his eyes but doesn't get to voice his affront out loud because Nagisa—sweet, innocent summer child, that he is—decides to idiotically suggest, "Why don't you apologize too?"
"I haven't done anything wrong," Asano says tightly.
Another eye roll. He's lucky they're still in his head. Or that Asano hasn't tried to take them out yet. "Then accept his apology. That's what that text was, right?"
Asano grimaces, and Nagisa finally drops the put-out expression and looks at him closely, concern knitting his eyebrows together.
"...Unless he did something awful?"
"No," Asano says automatically. Then pauses to actually think it through before sighing and repeating more firmly, "No. R–Sakaibura hasn't done anything wrong. Nothing he hasn't already apologized for, at least."
"Oh. Good." Tension Asano hadn't realized had crept into Nagisa's shoulders slips away, and the other boy slouches slightly against the desk where he's leaning. He's wearing a cream-yellow sweater vest, and he very nearly drowns it—no doubt, intentionally. All the same, he looks the furthest thing from intimidating without being a sentient cotton ball.
Asano can't help but huff in amusement.
"And if he had done something unforgivable? What exactly were you going to do about it, Shiota? Hm?"
"Kill him," Nagisa sniffs, standing a little straighter, briefly. They make eye contact, long and unfaltering...until Asano snorts, and Nagisa immediately deflates, scowling.
"You're a jerk, you know. You're like Karma that way." That immediately puts an end to Asano's fun, and now it's his turn to scowl, annoyed. Nagisa doesn't notice, lost in whatever memory his old friend's name has dug up.
"He was always super intense about this kind of stuff. Fights and arguments, I mean. But he also didn't ever really take any of it seriously. It was always hard to tell what actually bothered him."
Asano, oddly curious, asks, "For him or you?"
Nagisa smiles, a little sad, a little fond, a bittersweet mix. "Both, I think."
Strangely enough, Nagisa rarely brings up his past friendship with Akabane.
Well. Maybe not so strange.
Asano, admittedly, often shuts down any potential conversation surrounding the minefield that is Akabane Karma by vehemently reminding Nagisa that he loathes the other boy whenever he's brought up.
Had Nagisa truly wanted to talk about him, though, Asano would hardly care enough to stop him, and Nagisa knew that. So, the aforementioned lack of Akabane's presence in their conversations was as much Nagisa's doing as it was Asano's.
Asano, feeling as if he owed Nagisa for an irritatingly large number of reasons, decides to prod a little, making it clear he doesn't mind if Nagisa decides to talk about that maniac. Today, anyway.
"I imagine you and Akabane rarely fought," he hedges, remembering how the two of them used to be attached at the hip in the halls and cafeteria.
But Nagisa looks amused at the assumption as he pushes off the desk. He returns to the table where he'd been working to gather his journals and binders, and Asano finally takes note of the time.
Ah. His chauffeur is waiting for them.
"I don't know if it's possible for friends to never get into arguments," Nagisa says. "But yeah, I guess it didn't happen too often. We would butt heads over stupid things like comic books or bullies."
"Bullies?" Asano has some idea why that'd be a point of contention, but he wants to hear it from Nagisa.
Nagisa glances over at him, sheepish. "You remember how Karma was. He can get a little aggressive–"
–Asano snorts. A severe understatement. It's like saying a tsunami is a little rain–
"–I was trying to get him stop, but it was really hard with Ono-sensei watching out for him." Nagisa face twists into a rare expression of dislike, surprising Asano. Nagisa didn't even begrudge the bullies that messed with him, but this is where he drew the line? "Honestly, I'm not surprised he's involved in Karma's suspension. The way he treated him always felt slimy."
"Yes, I'd heard about that...partnership." Asano closes the Student Council Office door behind them and locks it.
Ono Kensaku, one of the homeroom teachers for D-Class, had let Akabane do his worst without fear of consequences. Whenever Asano had brought it up with the principal, he'd simply shrug and point out Akabane's recent grades.
"If you want me to do something then be better than him, Asano. He's in D-Class, for goodness sakes. Aren't you embarrassed? Ashamed?"
If he's so fucking amazing, why isn't he in A-Class, Asano had wanted to snap. But he hadn't because they both knew the answer to that.
Instead, Asano had refused to bring the subject up again, thoroughly humiliated and furious.
On the way to the car, Nagisa continues. "Karma's parents are constantly traveling, so I think Ono-sensei might have been one of the few adults who cared about him. Or pretended to, anyway."
Asano frowns. It's new information he's not entirely sure he wants to know. It makes Akabane Karma sound more like a troubled kid acting out for attention than the devil spawn he actually is. The last thing Asano wants is to think Akabane Karma, of all people, is worthy of sympathy, so he redirects the conversation.
"How'd you apologize when you both argued?"
Nagisa blinks at him. "Besides saying, 'Sorry'?"
Asano hopes his expression makes it very clear what he thinks about that, and Nagisa laughs.
"Don't look at me like that. It really is as simple as that, Asano. You're overcomplicating it."
"If it were so simple, it'd be Karma walking you home right now," Asano mutters and immediately regrets it when Nagisa's face falls a little before a forced, cheery smile reappears.
"Well, you know," he scratches at his cheek. "I'm not the most interesting person, and Karma's got a pretty short attention span. He probably got bored."
His words are light, his tone sheepish and airy, but Asano would have to be deaf to not hear the hurt floating beneath the surface of nonchalance.
"I thought I had it made clear that I believe Akabane to be a sociopathic degenerate and an immense idiot. It would be foolish to hold his opinion in any regard." Asano doesn't look back to see Nagisa's reaction to his statement. Instead, he nods to his chauffeur and steps into the car.
After a minute, Nagisa follows him in, and he's still smiling, but it's smaller now and warm like a slice of sunshine.
They sit in the quiet while the chauffeur gets into the driver's side and starts the car. It's a comfortable silence, though; one Asano feels no need to fill. Instead, there is only a low rumble as the car turns out of the school parking lot.
"What's stopping you from responding to Sakaibura?" Nagisa asks after indeterminable time and road has passed, Kunugigaoka long gone behind them.
Asano, looking out the window, shrugs one shoulder. "Nothing really."
Nothing but crushing mortification, a desperation to be free of Monday and all its many mistakes.
Nagisa doesn't realize this, of course, so he's listing off unsolicited suggestions, "–You could say, 'Of course!' or maybe even 'Let's forget about this!'"
Asano grimaces.
"Yeah, you're right," Nagisa sighs, having caught a glimpse of his reflection. "He might think your phone's been stolen if you're too nice."
"Rude."
"But true."
He refuses to dignify that statement with a response.
"How about–?" Nagisa abruptly cuts off, releasing a strangled noise that has Asano turning around.
"What's wrong with yo– Oh." The source of Nagisa's sudden distress is Ms. Shiota waiting in front of the apartment entrance where Asano normally drops Nagisa off.
"Your mother," Asano says. A bit redundant, yes, but he's taken off guard by the change in routine. "What's she doing here?"
"She lives here, Asano," Nagisa replies, and the nearly imperceptible strain present in the God-awful joke is the only reason Asano doesn't verbally eviscerate him. He knows, then, that Nagisa is hiding something from him.
He narrows his eyes, more confused than offended, because Nagisa is normally an open book even when Asano doesn't want to read its pages. "What are you not saying?"
Nagisa smiles brightly. "Don't worry about it. You don't need to stick around."
"Shiota," Asano's firmer with him than he has had to be in a while. "Why is your mother here?"
"–And hear Sakaibura out later, ok? Don't get too upset either." Nagisa, being an idiot or under the impression that Asano is an idiot, reaches for the door to step out.
And...sigh...Asano must actually be the idiot Nagisa thinks he is because rather than letting him go, rather than minding his own damn business, he reflexively reaches over him to grab the door handle, barring him in.
Nagisa whips around and has the nerve to glare at him. It's like being swiped at by a particularly vicious kitten for all the effect it has on Asano.
"Don't look at me like that; I can't take you seriously with that face, and I'd like to have a serious conversation."
A flash of annoyance crosses Nagisa's face. Good. Know he knows how Asano feels. "You're being pushy."
"I know. It's awful. So tell me what's wrong, and we can both stop enduring it."
"Asano–"
"Here. I'll make it even simpler for you: Tell me you'll be okay if I leave, and I'll leave."
Nagisa's mouth opens...and closes wordlessly, expression pinching slightly.
Asano smirks, triumphant, but something about the victory rings hollow.
He looks up in time to see Ms. Shiota approaching Nagisa's window, and he pushes a button with his free hand to roll it down partially.
From her vantage point, she can't see him still holding onto the door handle. He and Nagisa probably look as if they were in close conversation before her arrival.
"Shiota-san, good afternoon! How are you?"
Her smile is stretched wide, pleasant, and Asano briefly wonders if he imagined the cruelty he saw all those weeks ago. "Asano-kun! It's so good to see you again."
Her gaze flits briefly to Nagisa, but she doesn't acknowledge her son yet. Instead, she leans forward a little.
"How's school and your father? I imagine both are busy this time of year."
"You wouldn't be wrong," he agrees charmingly. "I can't wait for spring vacation."
"Oh, neither can I or Nagisa!" Ms. Shiota laughs.
Nagisa has yet to say anything, but he also isn't fighting Asano to step out of the car. His hands are in fists in his lap, and Asano keeps this in mind as he continues this aimless small talk, determined to find what's gotten him so spooked.
"–That aside," Ms. Shiota eventually says as the conversation begins to wind down. "What time should I be expecting you for dinner tonight?"
Next to him, Nagisa stiffens.
Dinner?
"Dinner?" Asano repeats, keeping his tone pleasant if not slightly confused.
Ms. Shiota's smile turns glacier, her gaze darting to Nagisa before returning to Asano.
"Oh, dear," She affects a slight pout, hand raising to lean into to her cheek. "Nagisa was supposed to invite you to dinner this week. Did he forget?"
The arm she has wrapped around her middle tenses as she grips the fabric of her sweater tightly. Though her voice remains kind and steady, Asano is suddenly happy he kept Nagisa in the car.
"Mom," Nagisa's voice is almost a surprise with how quiet he's been. "Asano's been busy this week. I didn't want–"
"Oh, but did you even ask, Nagisa, dear?"
He hadn't. He hadn't even mentioned it. And yes, Asano's been busy, but he's always busy, and Nagisa has more access to him than most. If Nagisa wanted to ask...he could have.
Which means he hadn't wanted to.
"...I forgot." Nagisa finally says. There's an air of quiet devastation that seems too extreme for the situation. "I'm sorry."
"Oh." Ms. Shiota's eye twitches. Her smile remains frozen in place, a death grimace. "Well, you could have said something this morning, you know. I've been preparing all day."
"I'm sorry. I'll help you pack some for the neighbors." Nagisa finally looks up from his lap to smile sheepishly at her.
Ms. Shiota's eye twitches again.
"You're not normally so... forgetful, Nagisa."
"I know," And he does sound truly regretful. Asano, for his part, is confused as to why it feels like he's missing another layer to the conversation. "I'm so–"
"–You're sorry. You forgot," Ms. Shiota parrots back, the lines between her eyebrows tight. "I heard you." There's a look in her eyes that sends a whisper of deja vu through Asano.
It takes him a moment to place it, but then she shifts and Nagisa tenses and Asano suddenly remembers it as the same look she wore in the parking lot all those weeks ago, the same intense fury that drove her to raise her hand and strike Nagisa across the face.
Asano suddenly knows, without a doubt, that when he leaves, she will hurt Nagisa tonight.
Nagisa must already know. It's why he'd tried to get Asano to leave. It's why he couldn't promise to be okay when Asano left. It's why his eyes have remained glued to either his lap or his mother since she'd approached them even as his shoulders wound tighter and tighter like he was bracing for something.
Don't worry about it.
That's what he'd said.
You're being pushy.
Hah, takes one to know one.
And now: "You have to get going, right, Asano?"
Nagisa's finally looking at him again, bright blue eyes pleading wordlessly, and Asano doesn't know how to interpret it.
No, that's not true.
"I'll see you next Monday."
Asano just doesn't want to understand.
"Right?"
More importantly, he doesn't want to listen.
"You should have just asked, Nagisa!" His smile is mostly for Ms. Shiota's benefit, but he makes sure he's looking at Nagisa. "I'd love to have dinner with you and your mom."
Nagisa's eyes widen, his mouth falling open, and Asano would tell him he looks stupid if Ms. Shiota wasn't two feet away clapping her hands in excitement.
Nagisa looks... decidedly less excited. In fact, he almost looks horrified, but Asano can't exactly do anything about that now.
"We'd be delighted to have you!" Ms. Shiota beams, hands pressed together.
"Thank you," he glances at his watch. "I'll go home to get ready. Is six a good time to come back?"
"Perfect," Ms. Shiota grins. "Come along, Nagisa. I'll need help cleaning up."
Asano finally let's go of the door handle, but Nagisa doesn't immediately step out. Instead, he waits for his mom to get a decent head start to their apartment.
"You don't have to do this." He sounds miserable, and Asano, for the life of him, doesn't know why.
"Do you want to be alone with her tonight?"
Nagisa sighs wearily. "I'm alone with her most nights, aren't I?"
Asano frowns, suddenly uncomfortable. He's not very good at...this. This being helping out when it's not been explicitly asked of him or doesn't benefit him in some tangible way. "Nagisa, if I've overstepped, I can tell your mother–"
"No!" Nagisa finally pushes the door open and steps out. "That might make it worse. Maybe. I don't know. Just...dress nice."
"When don't I?" Asano replies, reflexively.
Nagisa's ensuing smile is half-hearted, at best, but it's there. It remains until his mother turns around to beckon him to her, and Nagisa's hands go up to play with the ends of his hair. It's a nervous tick Asano hasn't seen him do in weeks.
"See you in a little bit, Asano."
"Yeah. See you soon."