It was painfully silent.

I couldn’t keep myself from occasionally glancing at him from my window seat on the train, my hands tying themselves into knots as I tried to ignore his invasive stare.

“So is this how it’s going to be?”

I was irritated by his tone of voice, and told him as much. “What did you expect? You follow me to the train station, buy the tickets—without even knowing where I’m going besides ‘Tokyo’—and now you want me to just tell you whatever it is that you want to know?”

He laughed at my quiet outburst, and with a smirk he replied: “Well, yeah.”

I was flustered by his casual attitude about the whole thing—it was such a contrast from his earlier anger and bafflement that I had to know what had caused such a change in so short a time.

“I—I was so rude to you earlier, so why—”

“So why do I seem like I don’t care now?” He finished my sentence again, and I blushed, only nodding in response. He leaned back in his seat, sighing as his smirk faded away. “I guess I remembered how touchy you get about personal topics like that, and then . . . your reaction made a lot more sense.” He looked over at me as he said that, and I turned away, embarrassed by how well he knew me.

He continued despite my reluctance to respond. “I know it’s hard for you to open yourself up, Watanabe. But . . .” he trailed off, gazing at me all the while, “I would really like it if you could tell me what’s on your mind.”

At that, I looked at him with slightly sadder eyes; his honesty never failed to amaze me, especially when I compared it to my secrecy. I smiled briefly and leaned my head against the window, staring at his reflection there.

“Well, what do you want to know?”

-

An hour and a half later we sat in silence again, though the quietude was mostly on his part this time. He just stared holes into the back of the seat in front of him, and I watched him from my seat, my head once again leaning on the window.

He turned to me after a time, his brow furrowed. “So . . .”

“Hmm?”

He shook his head, scratching it with his hand as he thought. “You . . . you’re really okay with being ostracized like that?”

I tensed at the question, and I was sure he could see the hairs on the back of my neck rise as a result. “It’s not like I have a choice,” I said plainly, eyeing him harshly before looking away again. “They all love him and I—I’m just in the way.”

“But it doesn’t sound like you’ve tried to change their perception of you, either.”

I turned on him quickly, glaring. “How could I? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Shimizu-kun, but high school girls are not exactly the most understanding bunch.” I nearly spat his pet name that all the girls at school called him by, and he recoiled at my seething, glaring at me in turn.

“That may be true, but they’re not all like that. Even you must know that, Watanabe,” he said with conviction, and though I scoffed, he didn’t let me blow off his comment so easily. “I’m serious. You can’t expect people to be nice to you without you even trying to be nice first.”

I scowled at that comment, my glare turning into a glower. “That’s easy for you to say! Those girls have hated me since elementary school; even if I tried to say something, just the fact that I’m with him all the time makes me an eyesore to them.” My eyes focused in on him, and it was getting harder and harder to keep my voice down so that other passengers couldn’t hear our conversation. “But you, Shimizu . . . you’re intelligent, handsome, and available, as far as they know—in other words, the ‘perfect guy.’ And you always have been. So everyone is naturally friendly with you and initiates conversations without you even having to say a damn word.”

I felt myself becoming bitterer and bitterer as I spoke, and cut off my thought short. I couldn’t look him in the eyes, my lips set in a frown as my glower abated. I had said too much.

He sat quietly again for a while, then later leaned over in my direction when he found something to say. “You’re right,” he admitted in a whisper, leaning back again. “I wouldn’t really understand.” Then he lightly rested his hand on mine, saying, “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t at least be there for you.”

“And how will you be there for me?” I asked incredulously, snapping my hand away from his. “Will you tell the girls to play nice and stop harassing me like he tried to? Would you risk your own popularity by talking to me at school?” I laughed bitterly when he didn’t reply straightaway. “I didn’t think so.”

He looked pensive for a while, and I didn’t bother watching his expressions change this time, closing my eyes as my shoulders continued to tense in the silence of the train. I knew that I wanted him to say something, but . . . I had left him on a rather acerbic note, and so I couldn’t expect much in the way of an answer to my volatile commentary.

Nonetheless, when he did finally say something, I twitched in surprise at his words.

“This is fine, then.” He tried to get my attention, and I gave him that, our stares locked again. Without even the hint of a smile behind his cocoa-colored irises, he said, “The way we are now, I mean. Our . . . relationship, or lack thereof.” He looked a little pained to phrase it that way; I looked down, feeling guilty for his sudden willingness to acquiesce to my original demands.

He frowned at my downcast expression. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

I gazed at him, then, with some complacency; I had taken the plunge long ago and couldn’t turn back now. I lost my fire from our debate earlier, replying in a tone so even it surprised even Shimizu.

“Yes.”

---

I ended up in an alternate universe-type situation later that evening when I introduced Shimizu to my father at the station in Shibuya, something that even Hayato had only done once. My father looked puzzled to see a boy with me; I tried to explain him away simply as a friend, but the look of suspicion on his face could not be so easily assuaged. Nevertheless, he smiled as if he wasn’t bothered by Shimizu’s presence, offering to take us out to a late dinner in the city before he drove us back to his apartment. Shimizu could hardly reject the offer; he didn’t exactly have enough money for a train back home after paying for both of us.

The memory of him so boldly stepping in and paying for the tickets made me blush as we sat in the fancy-looking restaurant, though I hid it by taking a sip of my father’s wine from across the table. Shimizu looked up at me in surprise at the action, though I ignored his stare. My father, used to such things, continued to browse the menu.

I wondered if Shimizu was entirely comfortable in that setting—having just learned of his parents’ outrageous spending habits, the expensive restaurant that we were currently sitting in must have stirred unwelcome memories. Whenever I looked at him, however, he seemed perfectly fine; he chatted with my father while looking at the menu and sipping his water, a total natural. It assuaged my surface fears, though beneath those the worry about his true feelings remained.

“So, Kahoko, how have you been doing in school?”

I pushed aside my worries and took another sip of the wine before answering, plastering on a smile. “Fine, papa, just fine. How is your work?”

“Oh, the same as always,” he replied without looking up from his menu, and I felt my smile drop a bit, my eyes resting back on my own menu.

“Is that so,” I said out of formality, and he smiled briefly before going about his own business again. I could feel Shimizu’s eyes on me as I blankly scanned the overpriced dishes, settling on a (relatively) inexpensive meal. When the waiter came around, we made our orders, and I pretended not to care about my father’s obvious indifference. I watched, without listening at all, as he talked jovially with Shimizu, a fake smile on my lips all the while.

Our food arrived and I ate in silence, still not paying any attention to their conversation.

“Kahoko? Are you listening?”

I looked up with wide eyes. “Eh?”

My father looked slightly annoyed by my apparent disinterest in their talk, and from the corner of my eye I saw Shimizu draw back in guilt at ignoring me. I chose to focus on my father instead, feeling too tired of the restaurant already to address Shimizu’s lack of attention to me.

“We were just talking about colleges and Shimizu-san mentioned an interest in getting an athletic scholarship—he said he was thinking about teaching!” He smiled broadly at Shimizu, who returned the expression half-heartedly, his guilt clearly eating away at his good mood earlier. I nearly grimaced at my father’s follow-up question. “What about you, Kahoko? You like math and science, ne? Have you thought about teaching too?”

I laughed a little incredulously despite my father’s excitement, holding in my annoyance over the fact that my father kept referring to me by my full first name in front of Shimizu. “Papa, really . . . we’re only freshmen in high school! How can I be thinking about those kinds of things already?”

He looked displeased with my answer, crossing his arms and frowning. “Well, you may ‘only’ be freshmen, but two more years from now you won’t be, and you’ll have regretted not thinking about ‘those kinds of things’ earlier.”

I only bowed my head a little to show some respect, not wanting to be totally rude to my father in front of a guest—he seemed satisfied by this gesture, and we all went back to eating afterwards. Shimizu and I, however, were clearly eating with little zest, and by the time dinner had finished and we had gotten into my father’s car, an uncomfortable silence had settled on the three of us. Shimizu was the first to break the silence.

“Ano, Watanabe-san, I’ll be sure to pay you back as soon as I can—”

“Don’t worry about it,” my father interceded with a wave of his hand. “It was my treat.”

Shimizu persisted, saying, “But . . .” But every time he protested, my father assured him it was all right; after a point he settled back in the back seat, and I watched a sad expression drift over his features from the rearview mirror. I was glad to be sitting apart from him, even if it was only for a few minutes. His jovial conversation with my father had annoyed me to no end, though I could hardly voice those thoughts aloud. I held them inside, my irritation over the situation eventually mixing with an inexplicable sort of unhappiness. I got into the elevator of my father’s ritzy apartment building and then entered his apartment with equally little enthusiasm, dropping my bags off in the guest room of his small space.

It was then that my father noticed that Shimizu had brought nothing with him save for his jacket; he looked at him in surprise. “Shimizu-san . . . you don’t have a change of clothes?”

Shimizu reddened in embarrassment, bowing deeply. “Ah . . . I’m so sorry, Watanabe-san.” When he rose, he was even redder. “I kind of bought a train ticket at the last minute, you see.”

My father nodded, though it was clear he didn’t entirely understand. He smiled tiredly, patting Shimizu on the back. “That’s all right. I have plenty of clothes to spare,” he assured him, showing him to his room. “Just pick some out for tomorrow. Ah,” he said suddenly, looking sheepish, “I forgot to tell you—there’s just the one guest room that I keep for Kahoko. Would you mind it terribly if you slept on the couch?”

Shimizu shook his head, bowing in gratitude again once the two of them had come back to the main entryway. “No, that’s completely fine. Thank you very much for your kindness, Watanabe-san.” My father patted Shimizu on the back again, and when he passed me by on the way to his room again, he said offhandedly, “Kahoko, make sure that the couch is set up properly for Shimizu-san, ne?”

I felt sick when I heard the door to my father’s room slide shut, and without even sparing a second glance at Shimizu, I walked ahead to the living room.

He followed me with some spring in his step, and I could practically feel the waves of guilt rolling off of him now and hitting me in the back. I pulled out the bed from the couch, and I refused to turn around, reaching into a dresser by the couch and quickly snatching some sheets out of it. He leaned down as if to help me, but I visibly recoiled from his outstretched hand, beginning to lay the sheets down myself. When he tried to take the other end and straighten it out, I snapped the cloth from his hands, eyeing him fiercely.

“Watanabe—”

“Don’t,” I warned him as I had in the past, nearly slapping the sheets down on the hard mattress. “Just don’t.”

He looked desperate to say something; I felt a little sorry for making him feel so culpable about something that was really my father’s fault, but I was too hurt to take responsibility for anything myself. He let me set up the bed by myself, thankfully, in silence; afterwards, however, he spoke against my wishes again.

“I had to talk to him, Watanabe,” he pointed out, following me as I walked back into my room. I shut the door to it before he could enter. I heard him sigh on the other side, his voice quiet through the door so as not to wake my father sleeping in the next room over. “It’s common courtesy.”

I felt indignant, drawing closer to the door as I replied in a thinly-voiced seethe. “And is it common courtesy to ignore me all dinner long and then not say a damn thing when my father—” I stopped mid-sentence to keep myself from saying irrelevant things, already feeling angry at myself for revealing so much of what I was feeling to him.

“Dammit, Watanabe, you know I couldn’t say anything! I’m—I’m sorry for ignoring you, but can you really say that you would’ve acted any differently?” He said under his breath, and my anger began to fade, my head leaning against the doorframe. Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back with a sniffle, sounding so pathetic that I could barely stand it. He heard me from the outside, and his tone softened considerably when he next spoke.

“Ne, Watanabe, let me inside,” he said gently, and I coughed a little, holding back the tears as best I could.

“Are you crazy? My ‘tousan is sleeping next door.”

“Then come out and let’s go to the couch,” he said even quieter, and it was almost hard to hear him. I stifled a laugh at his words, smiling despite myself.

“You mean the bed?”

I could tell he was smiling as well. “Uun. The bed.”

I rouged as I quietly opened the door, thankful for both the dim lighting inside the apartment and my father’s habit of being a deep sleeper. Shimizu looked genuinely happy to see me open the door, and I bowed my head as I exited, leading the way to the bed, as it were.

I sat down on the edge of the foldout mattress once we were in the living room, and he copied my movements, though he sat a little further back. Perhaps he was encouraging me to get more comfortable . . . honestly, I didn’t really care. I was too caught up in my own thoughts to interpret his every gesture. Seeing this, he leaned forward again and looked at me seriously, knowing that I wasn’t going to say anything anytime soon.

“You know, Watanabe . . .” he began, and I looked up at him. He was caught a bit off-guard by my sudden attentions, and reddened a little before going on. “I’m sorry if this whole scenario is really weird, me being here and all.”

I kept from rolling my eyes, answering mockingly, “Yeeeah.”

He frowned a bit at my rudeness, but it slipped from his lips as his expression turned serious. “Look—I’m sorry for the way I intruded in on your life like this, and I’m sorry that I can’t really understand the school situation, but this . . .” Then, he spoke with a certain hardness to his tone. “This, at least, I do understand.”

Usually I would have countered him with a “How could you possibly understand” or “You would never know” in response to his assumptions; however, in this case, I felt that he really did understand. Neither of us were “tortured” kids by any stretch of the imagination, but we . . . we were in similar situations. Both of us had families that we couldn’t confide in or bond all that well with; both of us had few people to turn to save for each other. It had been these strange yet comforting commonalities that had drawn us to each other beyond our initial meetings, and I wondered if they would continue to pull us towards one another.

It was clear that Shimizu comprehended my silence as an acceptance of his empathizing by the way his shoulders slumped a little in relief. I didn’t look at him once after he spoke, staring at the television opposite his bed. My eyes closed on their own.

“Okaasan always used to say that Papa wanted a son,” I said suddenly, “and that when they found out I was a girl, it really hurt their marriage.” I ignored his widening eyes, continuing. “I was only three when they divorced, so . . . I guess it never really bothered me.”

I finally leaned back a bit, feeling utterly resigned. “And even though I’ve always done well in school and tried to be a good daughter, he—” I stopped myself short, smiling ruefully. “Papa tries to be proud of me, I know he does—like when he mentioned college tonight and becoming a teacher and all that—but he and I both know that I’ll never be what he most wants me to be.”

Shimizu’s eyes dimmed, seeing my sad face, and he said softly, “Watanabe . . .”

I would have none of that; I laughed bitterly, eyeing him with some deep contempt I hadn’t felt in a long while. “And then you, Shimizu, a complete stranger, talk to him for an hour at most and he treats you like his own son!” I scoffed at the idea, turning away from his perplexed features.

My volatility was short-lived in light of his hurt expression; I knew that he didn’t deserve my wrath, but he had received it nonetheless. I felt my anger dissolve gradually when he didn’t speak, but before I could convince him that I hadn’t meant it, he eyed me pensively.

“There’s no need to explain yourself,” he said quietly, his brow unfurrowing. “I know it’s not me you’re mad at.”

I felt my damn eyes well up again and my lip tremble, not feeling as though I deserved his kindness in that moment. I laid a shaking hand over my eyes, shielding them from his view. He only took my hands away from my face, tenderly holding them in his own. I looked at him gratefully, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes, and gave him a soft smile.

-

The rest of the night passed in utter silence; until almost two in the morning, I laid down on the pull-out bed with him. I rested comfortably in his embrace, neither of us sleeping, relaxed simply by feeling the lull of his chest softly going up and down. It was strange for us to be lacking conversation; I suppose I had subscribed to the common notion of friends or lovers staying up all night talking, so I hardly expected to feel contented saying nothing at all.

It’s like being with Hayato, except—

I wasn’t sure how to finish that thought. Yes, the quietude was the same, but . . . there was another feeling belying the silence that was decidedly different. When an idea arose in my mind as to what that feeling might be, I quickly quashed it.

No. There’s no way.

Nonetheless, I was disturbed by the very notion. It was around that time that I decided to go back to my own room lest my father should discover me in Shimizu’s arms come morning. He at first protested my leaving by tightening his hold around my shoulders, but with a little push he relented. I snuck back into my room, sighing once the door shut behind me. It felt safer in there, but . . . I was still left with my own, conflicted thoughts. Plagued as I was with my uncertainties, I crawled into bed, snuggled into the sheets, and tried to get some sleep.

---

The rest of the weekend passed by in a flash—while my father was called away most of the time for extra hours at work, I gave Shimizu a tour of Tokyo, taking him to my favorite restaurants, shops, and other locales—and all the while I tried to suppress that strange feeling from Friday night. Considering the frequent intimacy we shared in those few days, our exploits unknown to anyone from around our area, it had been especially difficult to quell the knotted sensation at the bottom of my stomach whenever he smiled at me, or touched me.

To tell the truth, I was even a little relieved to go back to school, if only to slap off the rose-colored glasses I had been wearing all weekend.

Nothing much changed when I returned—Mom was still crabby as ever, I unpacked in silence, slept through the night easily enough—but I felt uneasy nevertheless, especially when Hayato came knocking Monday morning, all ears to hear about my visit to the big and exciting city. I was reluctant to give him too many details, still feeling completely at odds with myself over what had happened with Shimizu, but I wore a convincing smile and gave an interesting enough (if slightly censored) anecdotal account of my travels to satisfy his curiosity. He replied with his usual “Ah, I wish I had been there!” or something to that effect right as we reached the school.

I gave him a short laugh, saying, “It wasn’t that exciting—”

I cut myself short when I caught sight of Shimizu looking through the window of 2-A straight at me, his chocolate eyes holding a warm regard that only I could recognize. I reddened a little at the sensation his look gave me, and was embarrassed when Hayato raised an eyebrow at my temporary stupor.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, quickening my pace. He only glanced at me with some slight suspicion, though I made sure not to heighten it any more than necessary that day.

-

I chewed on the end of my pen while waiting for him in 2-A, puzzling over a seemingly impossible equation. I had struggled over it for a good twenty minutes, and had gotten no closer to finding out the answer than I had been at the start. With a frustrated sigh, I simply shut the math book with a slam, grumbling to myself about the uselessness of the subject (even though I usually excelled in it). I glanced impatiently up at the clock on the wall, then got up and started pacing.

Fifteen minutes late.

He was never this late, and yet my own anxiety and irritation over the short period of tardiness was even incomprehensible to me. When had I grown so dependent on these meetings for my peace of mind? When had I grown so dependent on him to—

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the sliding door outside, and I furrowed my brow at the strange gesture, knowing that he never used such a formality. Nevertheless, I decided to be coy, thinking that maybe he was simply playing with me. A small smirk graced my lips, and I called out, “You’re late, Shi—”

I felt his name shrivel up on my tongue as Endo sauntered into the room, gently sliding the door to 2-A shut behind her. She threw a sickeningly-sweet smile my way as my entire body froze, the hairs raising on the back of my neck in utter shock. I couldn’t remember the last time I had exchanged words with her—early winter, maybe? I only knew that it had not been pleasant. And seeing her in that room, standing across from me with that insufferably perfect smile and perfect face of hers, it was all too clear that she knew.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Watanabe-san?”

---

Title of chapter (translated): Obstacles

Author’s Note: OK, so I know that it’s been, basically, a RIDICULOUSLY long time since my last update, and I have no excuses besides being a college student, but I’m going to go ahead and say I AM SOOOOO SORRY TO ALL MY READERS AND REVIEWERS!!!! I still love this fic, it’s my baby and I DO plan on updating it whenever I get the chance to in the future. One note, however: I am NOT going to use Japanese language terms anymore save for name suffixes for clarity reasons, which I hope you all respect. I hope this chapter has been an interesting one—finally another major player enters the mix!—and I hope you keep reviewing and giving me great feedback, and continue reading!

CHAPTER 23 PREVIEW:

With the sudden re-entry of Endo Ai, Kaho’s former nemesis, onto the scene, how will our lovelorn heroine handle her growing feelings for Shimizu and her uncertain relationship with Hayato?