Noticed

The moment that followed should have been ordinary. A simple confession of young love.

Behind School Building C, a stuttering, blushing mess of a second-year boy anxiously clutched the fabric of his pants. His image easily invoked sympathy, by his quivering lip and flighty eyes, but there remained something genuinely endearing about his stalwart courage; after all, he was determined to see this confession through. As a bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, he took a bracing swallow.

No words followed. The boy had been trying and failing to admit his feelings to the girl standing in front of him for a solid, unbroken minute. Every second that passed seemed to stop his heart, an unbearable agony — yet the sinewy muscle had never beat so hard in his chest. Full of hope, full of anticipation.

As for the girl, who had been summoned here by a folded note left in her locker, she was the very picture of innocence if such a thing could be captured in feminine form. Her hazel eyes were large and bright, sparkling even in the shadows of the building. Her lips: soft and petal pink. What remained of the boy’s note was crumpled, however, in her left hand. The paper thin enough for the black ink of its message to bleed through; it read, “Please meet me behind building c after school” in a messy scrawl. Such careless penmanship was quintessential for a schoolboy his age.

But time was dragging on awkwardly. She, too, appeared affected. Even if the only outward sign of change was the way her smile subtly tightened around the edges.

“Satoru?” the girl softly called. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her crystalline eyes remained confidently on his — or they would have if the boy had the nerve to meet them. Her fist tightened, the note crinkled into a smaller wad; perhaps it would disappear altogether if she only applied enough pressure; it would collapse in on itself, like a black hole… and she’d never have to think about it again. “What did you want to meet me about?”

He glanced up, for only a millisecond, breath catching in his throat.

“Er — well,” he fumbled, sensing he needed to act now. His skin flushed an even deeper shade of red, his ears scarlet. “I — um, I just wanted to say —,” his eyes squeezed shut, heart thudding in his ears. “I just wanted to say that I’ve liked you for a while, Miho,” here, his eyes opened again; wide and horrified as his mouth went on without his permission: “and I think you’re really pretty and if-you-want,” he inhaled so fast he nearly choked, “maybe we could go out sometime!”

He did not mean to shout the last part, and neither had he meant to force out all those compliments in a humiliating rush of word vomit, but Satoru felt too nervous; this is his one chance, after all. Miho appeared stunned herself, mouth slightly parted and eyes appearing even larger on her petite face.

However, Satoru’s shout had the unfortunate consequence of echoing… Sound waves were carried upwards, bouncing against the solid building walls and traveling eagerly through the air.

…And into the ears of one very upset eavesdropper. In the classrooms of Building C, only a floor above the pair’s head, one boy had caught the exchange below through the open windows. His name was Akihiko. Class had long since been dismissed, but he alone stayed behind, volunteering so generously to clean. He had been sweeping the floor when Satoru’s desperate, clumsy shout reached his ears.

This. This was the precise moment “normalcy” began to rapidly deteriorate. The old broom in Akihiko’s grip did not stand a chance as the boy’s temper flared. It creaked and splintered as Akihiko’s knuckles turned white, blood vessels popping against the surface of his skin. There was a heavy exhale. The broom clattered to the floor with prophetic violence.

Akihiko’s responsibilities were swiftly abandoned, his feet carrying him to the classroom’s exit. There was no plan, no forethought. He would — a flash of light, glinting enticingly off metal caught the boy’s eye and he paused right before the door’s threshold. Akihiko turned, dark — black — eyes examining the innocuous tool sitting on an unused desk at the back of the room.

A box cutter: abandoned. Beside it: some boxes of general supplies, pencil toppers, pens, and the like, were half-opened. It was clear it had been handled for its intended purpose, its presence here unsuspicious. There was a strip of orange safety tape, partially unthreaded, wrapped around the end where the blade was currently sheathed — a warning, for students not to be careless with such a sharp tool.

Akihiko’s expression did not change, save for the slightest uptick to the corner of his mouth. He approached the desk, his hand reaching out; the silhouette of his fingers casting ominous shadows over the box cutter’s bicolored handle. Then it was seized, stored in the tight grip of his palm. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone, stepping over the threshold; classroom door shuddering as it was slammed shut behind him.

It wasn’t needed: the box cutter. But the simple thought of the short, sharp slanted blade cutting a clean line through Satoru’s guilty flesh, peeling it back, open, unveiling spurts of vermillion red —

It would need to be done. Satoru had overstepped, confessing to Miho; asking her out. Akihiko had never felt so furious; the emotion potent enough to needle and puncture his throbbing, writhing heart. Had he not shown kindness, restraint, when he did not cut Satoru’s eyes out this morning when the other boy had looked at Miho? Had Akihiko not been the very paradigm of benevolence when he did not delimb the other for waving to her before the first bell rang?

But now Satoru had chosen to mock him, to take all these mercies for granted. Satoru had chosen to brazenly ask out a girl who was not his to ask out. Satoru had chosen death. So very simply. And Akihiko would deliver it.

To lure Miho behind a school building with such impure pretenses… Akihiko reached the end of the corridor, launching himself down the stairs. A filthy act from a filthy animal; I will put him down. His footsteps rang, a caterwaul of doom, in the narrow stairwell.

Behind School Building C, there still awaited a boy wrought with anticipation and a girl who didn’t quite know how to respond. Satoru and Miho remained blissfully unaware of the storm, the hurricane, approaching. They had no inkling about the boy with the box cutter in his hand. For now, they remained two innocent, ignorant adolescents alone. They were burdened only by the awkward tension stretching and snapping between them: as sweet and syrupy as molasses. The late afternoon sun began to burn fiery red against the line of windows behind the girl; the view inside the building was obscured by such vivid reflections. The figures of the surrounding landscaped trees mirrored in the glass were black and murky. A current of wind caught between the buildings and howled through the space, ruffling the girl’s skirt.

Miho’s teeth sunk into her bottom lip; the paper crackled as her fist tightened even more around Satoru’s note.

“I’m sorry, Satoru…”

It was not a desirable start. Satoru winced but stubbornly maintained a polite smile.

Miho flushed with guilt, “I’m…” she tucked a lock of perfect brunette hair behind her ear, “I’m not really interested in dating right now. I’m focusing more on my studies — I mean —” she interrupted herself with a giggle, “— imagine how disappointed my parents would be if I let my grades go over some boy —”

She seemed to sense her unintentional “foot-in-the-mouth” moment before Satoru’s smile vanished.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again, aghast. “You’re not — of course, you’re not ‘some boy.’ I just… really need to focus right now and I’m not… not in the same place you are.”

Embarrassed with her own behavior, she seemed to desire a quick exit. She apologized again, bowing, before she walked swiftly away from the boy. She did not even bother to wait for his response. Her heart rate was rapid, she was too lost in her own thoughts, and the paper note compressed into its tiniest, most crumpled form in her unrelenting grip.

All she left behind was a devastated boy, who called after her, “Wait, Miho!”

She did not wait. By incredible chance, Miho rounded the building on the opposite side of where Akihiko burst forth from the back entrance of Building C. By the time Akihiko stood in that doorway, perspiring a little and chest heaving, Miho was leaving the school grounds in a peaceful bliss; never once catching sight of him.

When Akihiko’s eyes scoured the open clearing behind Building C, he expected — anticipated, gut curling a bit — to see Miho but was instead met with the desolate picture of her absence. But Satoru, her assaulter, remained. The other boy was turned away, facing the brick wall. This was for the best, he assured himself. Miho would not have to see what violence would befall her unworthy suitor. Akihiko’s thumb moved, clicking the box cutter’s blade open slowly, menacingly. The sharp slant of metal exposed to the naked light of day: it almost seemed indecent. There were only a few signs of wear and tear on it: a few notches in the blade and an unidentified grime around the metal base.

Akihiko had done this dozens of times by now. Satoru remained ignorant, ignorantly unaware of the approaching danger. And Akihiko, thumb obsessively running up and down the length of the box cutter’s ribbed grip, footsteps softened to a mere whisper, he was going to — no witnesses, no mistakes — he was determined to —

An alarmingly swift arm wrapped around Akihiko. The tether curled around his chest, warm fingers digging into his shoulder, jerking him to the side with enough force he lost his footing. Then, it was a matter of applied force. Taken off guard as he was, it was all too easy for Akihiko to be pulled into the building’s side entrance, yards before he would’ve confronted Satoru. However, he was quick to recover, anyone who had seen what he was about to do, they’d need to be disposed of as well. He instantly twisted out of the hold, thrusting the short blade at his company before he properly saw them.

When he did… Akihiko’s aim faltered, missing the person’s jugular by mere centimeters. Akihiko’s expression revealed disgust, his lip curling. The sight that greeted him was utterly exasperating, not to mention unwelcome. However, it was no threat.

Y/n L/n. Looking back at him with a twitchy expression, eyes wide and throat bobbing in a nervous swallow; he knew he had only been seconds away from death.

Akihiko swiftly surveyed the environment. If Y/n had taken him by surprise, had been lingering here, watching Akihiko’s movements… He cast his dark eyes up and down the length of the hallway. The first floor was empty.

Y/n, himself, was raising his arms up in unconditional and absolute surrender. Akihiko tried not to let his mind linger on the boy’s fingers on him milliseconds before. Digging in through the fabric of his blazer and tugging him. Yet, Akihiko’s black eyes stayed there for a heartbeat too long before they leveled Y/n’s (e/c) eyes with a fierce glare.

Y/n was in a precarious position. He was someone who knew of Akihiko’s true nature, of his… extracurricular activities. Of his obsession. Akihiko permitted his existence because Y/n was useful. However.

“Now, now,” Y/n placated with an easy grin, but it trembled at the corners. A shadow of fear betrayed the brilliant vibrancy of his eyes. Eyes that could not seem to decide between looking back into Akihiko’s own… or flicking down to the box cutter still aimed his way in such intimate quarters. “Let’s think this through,” if it was possible, the (h/c) boy’s voice came out even softer.

Akihiko’s jaw clenched. Y/n oversteps, sometimes. He forgets that his life is in Akihiko’s hands. He attempts to tell Akihiko what to do… or what not to do, based on groundless morals, and that is not his place. They were not truly friends.

“There is nothing to think through,” he spat with finality. There should be no argument, not with the way he pressed the blade closer to Y/n; not with the way his voice curdled so unnaturally over his vocal cords.

Yet, Y/n — so stubborn — did not visibly back down. He remained, eyes wide and so obviously afraid.

But it also remains true that Y/n has made helpful suggestions in the past and this is perhaps why Akihiko pauses. Why Akihiko felt compelled to take a moment to defend his statement, pointing the edge of the blade to the figure of Satoru clearly seen through the long line of windows.

Y/n hesitated, looking at Akihiko with uncertain eyes. As if the (h/c) boy was scared the instant he looked away, Akihiko would lodge the box cutter’s blade into his throat. But Y/n eventually shifted, following Akihiko’s line of sight.

Satoru behaved as if he was completely unaware of the pair arguing inside — as he likely was. He was staring blankly ahead, his eyebrows were crinkled in deep thought. His shoe kicked a rock that bounced along the pavement. He was trying to collect himself, his heart heavy with the sweetest rejection.

In stark contrast, the arm that pointed a deadly weapon at Satoru shook with adrenaline. With anger.

Akihiko carefully articulated the explanation of his homicidal urges, “I saw what he was doing with Miho — I heard him ask her out —”

Y/n knows that’s a line people cannot cross. Not when it comes to her.

Y/n winced, sucking in a loud breath between his clenched teeth, “Yeah,” he cut in with a smarmy remark, “— he kind of screamed that part.”

Akihiko startled the (h/c) boy back into silence when he took an aggressive step towards him.

“I am not deaf,” Akihiko continued with an abnormal singlemindedness. Y/n cannot argue with him, Akihiko heard everything, Akihiko is in his right to spill that boy’s blood all over the pavement, “— and I’m certainly not blind,” he continued, snarling. “That was a confession. I could see his idiotic swooning from the second floor. He’s dead.”

The final syllable fell, terminal, and it made Y/n flinch.

Still, Y/n — “No,” the (h/c) boy interceded, shaking his head. Akihiko’s eyes flared warningly. However, the (h/c) boy pressed onward, reaching a placating hand out to stop Akihiko from making an irreversible mistake.

The touch was rejected with a quick backhand, Akihiko’s glare edging into treacherous territory. The last thing he would appreciate in this moment was Y/n’s hands all over him, trying to — trying to calm him. What absurdity. He brought the box cutter in between them: a coordinated arch of movement, the muscle of his triceps flexing. It aimed the point of the blade a scant few centimeters away from Y/n’s chin. Below that point, Akihiko could see the rapid beat of the other boy’s jugular vein. How easily his skin would cleave. One heartbeat and Y/n could be lying at his feet, clutching his throat, failing to stop the blood from bursting between his fingers. Y/n knew this too, but the (h/c) boy had still moved towards Akihiko with the intention to stop him; he was stupid, Akihiko sneered, never doing the sensible thing and running away.

Then again, if he ran… Akihiko’s tongue swiped the back of his teeth. I’d kill him before he ever took a step in the opposite direction.

“You can’t stop me, Y/n,” the declaration sounded gutted. “This is where I draw the final line. You already convinced me to keep her little ‘friends’ alive. In that, you helped me see sense. But this?”

“Akihiko, don’t —”

A complete lack of self-preservation, Akihiko observed. The black-haired boy tsked as he pushed the blade further forward, tapping the flat of it against the underside of Y/n’s chin. An action that made Y/n wince, and flinch, and brace himself every time the cold metal made contact with his skin.

The (h/c) boy’s fingers curled loosely around Akihiko’s threatening forearm.

“Please, just listen to me.”

There was a foreign tenderness to the request; a manipulative softness to his touch on Akihiko’s arm, even when Akihiko was threatening to cut his throat open. Akihiko loathed how it caused him to hesitate. How, for a few frightening seconds, he felt his stance relax.

But then — anger. It persevered when confronted by the idea of Y/n purposefully manipulating him with — with…

“If you don’t want to join him, Y/n, I suggest you sit tight…”

And Akihiko tried to shake the hold off his arm, not too forcefully at first. He didn’t believe it was necessary. Yet, Y/n’s fingers tightened —

Akihiko jabbed the blade forward in rapid retaliation. Y/n was unexpectedly prepared, his grasp on Akihiko’s arm tightening to the point he delayed the stabbing motion until he could sidestep to safety. Although, he did not leave completely unscathed. The blade glanced off the side of his jaw line, leaving one shallow razor-thin cut. A few tiny drops of blood beaded up.

However, Akihiko held seniority here, experience. He was even faster in his countermove. The instant Y/n dodged, Akihiko had already lodged his foot right on Y/n’s weak knee joint, causing the (h/c) boy to completely lose his balance. One hook of Akihiko’s foot around Y/n’s calf and the boy was suddenly on the ground, thoroughly outmaneuvered, tripped, and backside hitting the tiles with a spine-chafing jolt.

Akihiko crouched beside his dearest “friend,” smirk cutting across his lips.

“I would prefer you alive, Y/n,” he dragged the blade consideringly across Y/n’s unmarked cheek. “I might like your help cleaning the mess up,” those black, sadistic eyes darted over to Satoru’s lingering figure. “But that is all it is,” here, he drove the point of the blade a bit deeper into Y/n’s skin, not enough to break the flesh, but enough to leave a deep impression, “a preference. Stop trying my patience.”

Y/n stared quietly back at him, not daring to move but also not daring to point those (e/c) eyes away. Akihiko glanced down, a ghost of smirk on his face. Between his black eyes, and even blacker hair, with his incredible advantage in height… Akihiko embodied intimidation. Y/n sat there, frozen, hands faintly trembling against the cold dirty tile.

When that black-haired boy raised his head once more, his expression turned eerily blank, his eyes: cold. There were no more words exchanged between them. An unidentified moment boiled over between the connection of their gazes, and then Akihiko was straightening. Although, he remained acutely aware of how those (e/c) eyes followed him.

Akihiko purposefully set his sights on Satoru, the boy still obliviously pondering his (nonexistent) love life outside. Akihiko would act swiftly, without remorse.

What happened next, Akihiko would blame himself for. He had become too accustomed to Y/n’s typical behavior. Usually, when Akihiko committed to the decision to kill, and Y/n’s “morals” were addressed and he was scared back into submission, Akihiko did as he pleased, and Y/n stood by with a properly horrified expression.

Not this time.

Akihiko barely managed a step in Satoru’s direction, the door’s direction, before a body was slamming into his back. With a hitch in his breath, Akihiko found himself tackled to the ground by Y/n, whose prying fingers quickly dug into his weapon-wielding hand. The (h/c) boy wrenched the box cutter away and threw it across the hall while Akihiko was down, winded by the blow still. They both watched as the weapon skidded over the tiles before settling with a small clatter. More than several yards away.

“Are you going to listen to me now, Aki?” it was clear by the nickname Y/n was attempting be lighthearted, but the exertion and fear in his voice made it wobble. His weight trying to settle on top of Akihiko’s body was similarly wobbly. Though, Akihiko did have to admit, the other boy did have the advantage — for all of two seconds.

However. Y/n was sloppy in his attempt to pin Akihiko down, unthinking in the way he tried to straddle his back — Akihiko sent his head back, skull cracking against the (h/c) boy’s nose. Y/n’s responding whimper caressed the black-haired boy’s ears before Akihiko was twisting around, hands finding the other boy’s throat and forcing Y/n to the floor. The (h/c) boy’s hands went from clutching his pulsating nose to curling around Akihiko’s wrists.

Akihiko taunted, “Are you going to listen to me? Or do I have to put you down here and now?” his thumb stroked over Y/n’s Adam’s apple.

Y/n’s fingers squeezed his wrists but didn’t even try to pull his hands away. “Just — listen — to — me,” he gasped out.

Akihiko eased his grip. Just enough.

“Look, y-you might’ve seen the whole confession and heard Satoru ask her out, but,” Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, “I heard her,” the emphasis had Akihiko’s face twitching, no one should be hearing her other than me. But Akihiko forced himself to keep listening to Y/n’s account. “Miho flat-out rejected him. Honestly? It was a little pathetic — and humiliating considering we both know about it. I think that’s enough punishment. Let him go. Miho’s… Miho’s still yours, you psycho.”

“Is she?” Akihiko wondered aloud, feeling some of his fury receding. The black-haired boy considered the information Y/n had relayed to him for a few seconds, keeping an ear out for any inopportune people around. There should still be some staff and students lingering on the school grounds, after all. Their position was… a tad compromising.

His black eyes dropped back to Y/n’s, “You’re not lying to me, are you, Y/n? Just desperate to save someone’s life yet again — unaware their worth is equivalent to maggots feasting on yesterday’s garbage?”

“No…” the gentle susurration passed through the stale, air-conditioned atmosphere. Y/n shook his head: a small and restricted movement, given the perilous position of Akihiko’s fingers, spreading and flexing around his vulnerable throat. “No,” the (h/c) boy repeated, “you know you can trust me… after…”

There were so many instances that could follow such a dangerous, leading word like “after.” After everything I’ve done. Everything I have kept quiet about. Everything I have let you get away with. Everything I have been forced to help you with…

Yet, Y/n surprised Akihiko when the (h/c) boy said none of this.

Instead, Y/n licked his lips, making them shine under the artificial lights overhead.

“There wouldn’t be a point in lying anyway,” he admitted. “If Miho accepted his offer of a date, you’d know and — and you’d kill him anyway. That would just be delaying the inevitable, right? So, no… there’s no point in lying. And I’m not. Lying.”

Maybe just one iota of trust. An infinitesimal amount, truly. Y/n’s reasoning was sound. If Miho truly rejected Satoru, Akihiko would see the evidence of it for himself in the coming days. But if it is a lie, and Satoru lays a hand on Miho, I will kill both of them. Satoru and Y/n can rot together. Both perpetrators in defiling Miho’s innocence.

Akihiko’s hold on Y/n’s neck fell away and the black-haired boy stood up. Those dark, fathomless eyes looked down at the (h/c) boy’s sprawled form, still between Akihiko’s legs.

“I am still considering murdering you one of these days.”

“But,” Y/n eased up onto his elbows, “not today, right?”

“No,” Akihiko’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, “not today.”

Then, he stepped away, putting distance between them at an alarming speed.

“Where are you rushing off to?” Y/n asked, scrambling to stand up on his own two feet.

Akihiko hummed and grinned, “I need to be sure Miho reaches home safely, Y/n. Of course.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘of course’ how could I be so stupid?” Y/n muttered sarcastically under his breath.

Akihiko listened to the sound of Y/n’s footsteps hastily catching up with him. He spared only one glance towards the (h/c) boy, eyes pausing on the tiny scratch the box cutter had left behind on his jaw, the painful flush of his bashed nose, and the lingering imprints of Akihiko’s fingers on Y/n’s throat.

Y/n still followed him, chattering inanely.

A marvel, in some respects.