Work Text:
After school, the classroom felt too big.
—It always did once everyone else left.
Desks sat in crooked rows, chairs pushed in badly, the board still carrying half-erased notes from the last class. Someone had left a small streak of chalk near the corner, and Zemu kept staring at it like it had personally understood her pain.
The sun was low outside.
Orange light slipped through the windows and spread across the floor, catching dust in the air. Somewhere far from the classroom, a volleyball hit the gym floor.. once, twice. Then came a shout Zemu could not make out.
She did not lift her head.
Her cheek stayed pressed against her open notebook.
The page had gone warm under her face; and she could feel the faint bumps of her own messy writing against her skin. Her right hand still held a highlighter, though she had not highlighted anything useful in at least ten minutes.
A yellow sticky note clung to her sleeve.
... She did not know that.
Kei did.
He sat beside her, posture annoyingly straight, packing his things with the calm of someone whose brain had not been beaten to death by biology.
His notebook went into his bag first.. then his pencil case. Then his headphones.
Zemu watched him through one half-open eye.
He looked fine.
That made everything worse.
“My brain is melting,” she said. Her voice came out muffled because her mouth was still partly pressed against her notebook.
Kei did not even pause.
He slid one loose paper into his folder and lined it up with the rest.
“That implies there was enough to melt.”
Zemu lifted her head.
The page had left a mark on her cheek. Her hair was messy around her face; the sticky note on her sleeve fluttered when she moved.
She pointed the highlighter at him.
“Tangina mo, Keki. I hope you fail by one point.”
Kei glanced at the highlighter, then at her face. His mouth twitched like he had almost smiled and decided not to give her the satisfaction.
“.. That would still put me above you if you keep writing your notes like that.”
Zemu looked down at her notebook.
There were arrows everywhere. Some were connected to labels, some were not. A small drawing of an angry cell sat near the margin because she had gotten bored while reviewing mitosis. Her handwriting started neat at the top of the page and became increasingly desperate as it went down.
She covered the page with her hand.
“My notes are beautiful.”
“They look stressed.”
“I am stressed. They are reflecting their creator.”
“That’s one way to admit they’re bad.”
Zemu groaned and dropped her head back down. This time, she turned her face to the side so she could keep glaring at him.
“You are so cruel to me.”
“You asked me to study with you.”
“I asked for help, not emotional damage.”
Kei zipped his bag halfway and looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You asked me.”
Zemu hated that he had a point.
She hated it even more because he looked good while saying it.
The sunset had caught the side of his face, turning his blond hair warmer. His glasses hid his eyes a little, but not enough. She could still see how amused he was trying not to look.
Bwiset.
Her stomach did a stupid little flip.
How is he annoying and cute at the same time?
Pick a struggle.
She sat up properly and tried to return to her notes with dignity.
There was not much dignity left.. but she tried anyway. Kei had one page open in front of him. He was writing something on the bottom corner, just a short note to himself.
His pen moved smoothly across the paper.
Zemu looked at it.
Then she looked at her own pen.
Her pen had been skipping ink for the last half hour. She had already shaken it twice, threatened it once, and scribbled circles on the edge of her paper until it decided to work again.
Kei’s pen looked perfect.
—Of course it did.
Her hand moved before she thought about it.
She took it.
Kei’s hand stopped.
Zemu turned back to her notebook and started writing with his pen like she had always owned it. For a moment, there was only the sound of the pen scratching over paper.
Then Kei said, “That’s mine.”
Zemu kept writing.
“Our academic resources are shared now.”
“No,” he said. “You stole it.”
She looked up at him with a serious face. “That’s such an ugly way to describe community.”
Kei stared at her.
Zemu stared back.
The corner of his mouth moved again. He looked away before it could become a real smile.
“Give it back,” he said, holding out his hand.
Zemu looked at his hand: long fingers, clean nails.. a little ink near his thumb. She looked away very quickly because that was not a thought she needed to have in the middle of academic suffering.
“No.”
“Zemu.”
“I’m using it.”
“You have your own.”
“My pen is dying.”
“So you killed mine?”
“I’m giving it purpose.”
Kei’s hand stayed there for a few more seconds; it was still and patient and waiting.
Zemu kept writing.
The room was quiet enough that she could hear him sigh. He lowered his hand and took another pen from his pencil case.
Zemu paused.
“You had another one.”
“Obviously.”
“So you let me take this one.”
“I didn’t let you. I just know arguing with you takes longer than using another pen.”
She smiled down at her notes. “That sounds like surrender.”
“It sounds like time management.”
“It sounds like love.”
“It sounds like you’re not studying.”
She went back to writing, but her smile stayed.
Kei let her keep the pen.
That was the important part.
The next few minutes passed in a tired rhythm. Zemu wrote two lines, complained under her breath, forgot what she was writing, then stared at the diagram in her textbook like it might eventually explain itself out of pity.
Kei finished packing almost everything and waited beside her with the kind of patience that did not look like patience because he kept pretending he was annoyed.
Finally, Zemu closed her notebook with both hands.
“I’m done.”
Kei looked at the page. “You stopped in the middle of a sentence.”
“That sentence was going nowhere.”
“It says, ‘cellular respiration needs energy because…’”
“Exactly. It needs energy— I need energy. We’re both suffering.”
Kei blinked and Zemu blinked back.
He looked away first, but this time the smile escaped a little. It was small, barely there.
She caught it anyway.
Her chest warmed… then she remembered something and sat up too fast.
“My worksheet.”
Kei’s smile disappeared. “What worksheet?”
“The printed one for art club.” Zemu turned toward her bag and started moving things around: notebook, pencil case. A crumpled snack wrapper… another notebook. “I put it somewhere. Wait lang.”
“You say that every time before you find it in the most obvious place.”
“I don’t need this judgment.. right now.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said it with your face.”
She checked inside her art folder— nothing. She checked under her notebook… Nothing. She lifted her textbook, then the flashcards, then the edge of her bag.
Kei watched her for a few seconds before picking up one paper from the far side of the desk and holding it out.
“This?”
Zemu turned.
Her worksheet sat between his fingers. She stared at it, then at him, then at it again.
“...How long has that been there?”
“Long enough.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“You looked busy panicking.”
She snatched it from him, but there was no real anger in it.
“Evil. You’re evil.”
“You found it, didn’t you?”
“You found it.”
“Because it was right there.”
“Okay, but you saw it first.”
Kei gave her the paper. “Because I was looking.”
Zemu took it with a huff. “I hate when you make sense.”
Kei looked like he wanted to respond, but Zemu stood before he could.. too quickly.
Her knee hit the bag hanging off his chair.. The bag rocked.
Both of them looked at it.
For one hopeful second, it seemed like it might stay— then it slipped from the chair and hit the floor with a heavy thump.
The zipper dragged open.
… Not everything fell out, but enough did.
His notebooks slid across the tile. His pencil case rolled beneath the chair. His headphones landed near his shoe. Volleyball tape bounced once and stopped by Zemu’s foot. A few loose papers spread out in different directions.
Zemu’s soul left her body.
She covered her mouth with both hands, then dropped them because panic needed room.
“AYY— sorry, sorry, sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to assassinate your bag.”
Kei stared at the mess.. then he looked at her.
“You’re a natural disaster with glasses.”
“I said sorry!”
“You say sorry a lot for someone who keeps doing damage.”
“I am helping now.” She crouched quickly and grabbed one of his notebooks. “See? Responsible. Mature. Girlfriend behavior.”
Kei crouched across from her, slower and much less guilty. “Don’t call it that.”
“Why not?”
“Because every time you name it, it sounds worse.”
Zemu handed him the notebook with a wounded look. “I am being loving.”
“You knocked my bag over.”
“Loving people can make mistakes.”
“You make them with impressive range.”
She picked up the volleyball tape and placed it near his hand. “There. I restored your sports tape.”
“My sports tape?”
“Volleyball tape. Whatever. Same thing.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is to me.”
He took it and put it into the side pocket of his bag; of course he knew exactly where it went.
Kei always did.
… Everything in his bag had a place. Every pen, every notebook, every small thing. It was neat in a way that made Zemu want to both admire him and mess it up a little.
She reached under the chair for his pencil case. Her fingers brushed dust and an old eraser shaving before she found it.
“Here,” she said, pushing it toward him.
“Thank you,” Kei said.
It was so quiet and normal that Zemu almost missed it.
She looked up.
He was already collecting his papers, not looking at her. His tone had not changed much, but there was no bite to it.
Zemu smiled a little and continued helping.
They picked up his things in a silence that felt ordinary at first: paper, notebook, headphones, pencil case.
Another paper.
Kei moved with quick, neat hands. Zemu tried to follow his system, though he still rearranged almost everything she gave him.
She was about to complain when Kei reached for the side pocket of his bag a little too quickly. And before he could zip it shut, something small and dark slipped out from the pocket…
It landed between them.
It was: plain, dark and neat. Very Kei.
But the zipper was already half-open. Zemu noticed it; Kei noticed her noticing it.
His hand moved.
The pouch tilted before he could reach it. Small things spilled onto the floor.
Zemu froze.
For a few seconds, her brain did not understand the sight—
There were lactase pills.
Painkillers.
Hair ties.
Bandages.
Her favorite candy.
An extra pen.
Sticky notes.
A tiny pack of tissues.
A spare eraser.
And a folded napkin with a little strawberry logo printed at the corner.
The classroom went very still.
Zemu’s hand hovered above the floor.
Wait.
Her eyes went back to the lactose pills.
Wait wait wait.
Kei did not need those.
Kei could eat shortcake like a normal person. Kei was not at war with dairy. Kei had never, to her knowledge, sat in a café booth after eating cake and whispered that his stomach was fighting God.
Those were not his.
—They were for her; not from her bag and not literally hers.
But for her.
… Because she kept eating cake even when she knew what would happen after.
Her eyes moved to the hair ties, then the bandages, then the candy.. then the extra pen.
Then the napkin.
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs.
GAGO..?
This was not a pouch.
This was a confession with a zipper.
Kei reached forward.
“Don’t touch that.”
His voice was still low, but it was too fast and too late.
Zemu picked up one of the hair ties.
It was simple and black, the kind she always lost within a week. She turned it between her fingers.
It was such a small thing… that was what made it worse.
A big gift would have been easier to laugh at; this was a hair tie. Something she needed before she even remembered she needed it.
She looked at him.
“Keki.”
“Put it down.”
His face was calm, almost bored, but his ears had started to turn red.
Zemu’s mouth parted.
“Keki…”
“You’re not deaf.”
“Is this mine?”
Kei clicked his tongue and looked at the floor beside her hand.
“No. It’s for the other short, loud, lactose-intolerant idiot I know.”
The wrong answer.
Zemu sat up straighter. Kei’s eyes shifted, just a little, like he knew he had made a mistake.
“Oh,” she said softly.
“No.”
“Oh, Keki.”
“No.”
The tiredness left her body so fast it was almost funny. The headache, the sleepiness, the remains of biology killing her from the inside; all gone. Something bright and warm had taken its place.
She picked up the lactose pills.
Kei sighed.
“For the cake,” he said.
Zemu looked at the packet. “You carry lactose pills for me.”
“You keep eating things you shouldn’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
“No, it’s you avoiding the soft part.”
Kei reached for the pills, but she pulled her hand back.
“I am still processing.”
“You process too loudly.”
“I haven’t even screamed yet.”
“Please keep it that way.”
She stared at the pills again. A memory rose up before she could stop it: Straw-bebi, pink seats, strawberry shortcake, Zemu pressing one hand to her stomach after insisting she was fine. Kei sitting across from her, looking unimpressed while sliding a glass of water closer.
You did this to yourself, he had said.
Then, five minutes later, he had walked to the counter and returned with tea because he said the water was not doing enough.
She had teased him then.
She wanted to tease him now— but her throat felt warm.. so she put the pills down gently and picked up the painkillers.
Kei’s gaze followed her hand.
“You get headaches after you study too long,” he said.
Zemu held the small packet in her palm.
The words were plain, no big confession nor dramatic speech.
Just a fact.
…. But the fact meant he had noticed. It meant he had seen her rubbing her temple during late study sessions, squinting at her notebook, pretending it was fine because she hated stopping. It meant he had not just seen her loudness. He had seen what happened after it faded.
She pressed her lips together.
“Oh.”
Kei glanced at her face, then away.
“It’s not a big deal.”
She did not answer yet. She put the painkillers beside the pills and picked up the hair tie again.
“You always lose them,” he said.
“I do not always lose them.”
“You lost one yesterday.”
“That was different.”
“You said that yesterday too.”
Zemu paused.. then, very quietly, “I had to use a pencil.”
“Yes. It looked stupid.”
“I looked creative.”
“You looked like you lost a hair tie.”
She laughed before she could stop herself. The sound came out softer than usual. Kei’s shoulders relaxed a little at the sound, though he probably thought she did not notice.
She noticed.
She always noticed him.
Next were the bandages.
Kei did not wait for her question.
“You’re clumsy.”
Zemu turned the small pack over in her hand.
The last time she had scraped her finger, she remembered Kei taking her hand with an annoyed look. Not roughly (never roughly). He had cleaned the small cut and put a bandage on it while telling her that scissors had handles for a reason. She had called him bossy. He had said she needed supervision.
She had laughed then.
Now, the memory made her chest feel tight.
“I’m not that clumsy,” she said.
Kei looked at her fabric-covered knee as she followed his eyes. There was still a faint mark there from when she had tripped over nothing last week.
Zemu covered it with one hand.
“... The floor was slippery.”
“It wasn’t.”
Zemu looked away. “Okay, but I was tired, so that still counts.”
Kei’s mouth twitched.
Zemu picked up the candy before he could hide the almost-smile.
The wrapper was familiar: strawberry-flavored chewy candy, the kind that stuck stubbornly between her teeth if she bit down too hard. Her favorite. She used to buy it after long study sessions when she felt tired enough to bite someone. Once, she had described it to Kei as “small violence, but sweet.” He had stared at her for three seconds and said nothing.
He remembered the exact brand.
“You get quiet when you’re hungry,” Kei said.
Zemu blinked.
That was not what she expected.
She had expected him to say she got loud.. or annoying, or dramatic.
Kei’s fingers brushed the edge of the pouch, but he did not take the candy from her.
“You get quiet,” he repeated, like he regretted saying it but would not take it back. “Then you get irritated. Then you say you’re fine.”
Zemu looked down at the candy.
Her vision softened at the edges.
Ah.
That was worse.
That was so much worse.
—Because anyone could notice when she was loud. Anyone could notice when she was laughing too hard, talking too fast, filling a room with too much of herself.
Kei noticed when she went quiet.
She swallowed.
“Maybe I’m just thinking.”
“You usually announce when you’re thinking.”
“I do not.”
“You’re not subtle.”
She looked down at the candy in her hand, suddenly a little too warm in the face.
“I thought I was.”
“You’re loud even when you’re quiet.”
Zemu smiled, but it wobbled.
Kei saw.
His hand stilled.
She quickly picked up the extra pen before he could ask.
“This,” she said, trying to make her voice light again, “is because I steal yours?”
Kei looked at the pen she had stolen earlier, still lying on her notebook… then he looked back at the spare.
“Obviously.”
“You planned for theft.”
“I planned for you.”
The words came out too naturally.
Both of them paused.
Kei looked like he wanted to take the sentence back and eat it.
Zemu stared at him.
Heat rushed to her face: not the loud kind nor the kind that made her want to scream. A quieter heat, spreading slowly from her chest to her throat.
I planned for you.
Her brain repeated it in his voice.
I planned for you.
She wanted to be normal about it.
She was not normal.
She lifted the pen and held it to her chest.
Kei’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“I am simply holding your planning.”
“Put it down.”
“I am touched.”
“You’re annoying.”
“You planned for me.”
Kei reached for the pen, but his hand slowed before touching hers. Zemu noticed that too. She gave it back.. not because she wanted to stop teasing him.
Because there was something in his face that looked too exposed.
He took the pen and placed it back in the pouch. His fingers were careful.. And at last, she picked up the sticky notes.
“—You write on your hand too much,” Kei said.
Zemu looked at her own wrist out of habit.
Nothing was written there today.
“You say that like it’s a crime.”
“You wrote ‘buy paper’ on your wrist and still forgot.”
“I was distracted.”
“You were talking about cake.”
“Exactly. Distracted.”
Kei gave her a look.
She gave him one back, but softer now.
The whole pouch sat open between them.
It did not look like much… it was just a handful of small things on the classroom floor. Cheap things; practical things. Things anyone could buy from a store.
But every single one had her name on it without needing to say so.
Every item said: I noticed.
Every item said: I remembered.
Every item said: in case of you.
Zemu’s chest felt too full.
So, naturally, she smiled and tried to make it less dangerous.
“You made me a survival kit.”
Kei started gathering the items. “I made myself a way to avoid listening to you complain.”
“That sounds like a survival kit.”
“It is not a ‘Zemu kit,’ if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Zemu gasped softly. “You named it already?”
“I said it was not named that.”
“So you thought about the name.”
“Zemu.”
“Keki.”
He looked at her.
She smiled.
It was not her biggest smile… not her most dramatic one— but it was just enough to show him she knew exactly how embarrassed he was and loved him for it.
“You carry me in your bag,” she said.
Kei looked down at the pouch and his ears were red again.
“I carry supplies.”
“For me.”
“For problems.”
“I’m the problem?”
He was quiet for half a second too long.
Zemu’s smile grew.
Kei sighed through his nose. “Sometimes.”
She laughed, and this time it sounded more like herself.. then she saw the folded napkin.
It had slid near the leg of the desk: small and wrinkled and a little old.
The strawberry logo sat at the corner in faded pink.
Zemu reached for it and Kei stopped moving.
That was what made her heart slow down.
He did not say anything. His hand just froze over the pouch, fingers slightly curled… His face went still in that way he had when he was trying too hard to look like nothing mattered.
The napkin was soft when she picked it up. It had been folded for a long time, the creases deep. Near one fold, there was a faint stain.
Cake.
Strawberry shortcake.
Zemu knew before she fully remembered.. then the memory came in pieces.
Straw-bebi. The table near the wall. Kei sitting across from her, shoulders too stiff for someone pretending to be calm. A whole strawberry shortcake between them. His knife cutting it in half with careful, exact pressure.
His voice, low and awkward.
I’m sorry for stealing your shortcake.
This cake is my heart.
I know I like you.
Zemu’s fingers tightened just a little around the napkin.
Everything else had an excuse.
The pills were practical.
The bandages were practical.
The hair ties were practical.
The candy was practical if Kei tried hard enough.
But this?
This was paper.
This was memory.
This was Kei, who acted allergic to romance, folding a napkin from that day and keeping it in his bag for months.
She looked up.
“Kei.”
His eyes lowered. “Don’t.”
Her teasing had softened without permission.
“You kept this?”
“It was in there.”
“For months?”
“I forgot.”
She watched his face.
He was a good liar when he wanted to be. His voice could be flat enough to pass for truth. His face could look bored enough to make people stop asking.
—But his ears were red.
Very red.
Zemu looked at the napkin again and smoothed the edge with her thumb.
“Keki.”
“What.”
“You’re sentimental.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“You folded it.”
“It probably got folded in my bag.”
She gave him a look.
He avoided it.
The room felt gentle now; the sunset was softer. The classroom seemed quieter around them, as if even the chairs knew not to interrupt.
Zemu wanted to say something huge.
She wanted to tell him that this stupid napkin made her feel like the whole day he confessed had been real in a new way.. like it had not only mattered to her. Like he had taken a piece of it and kept it close, where no one else would see.
—But if she said it like that, Kei might shut down completely.
So she held the napkin out to him carefully.
He took it.
Their fingers touched.
It was brief, but neither of them moved right away.
Kei was the first to look away.
He folded the napkin again; slowly, neatly… too carefully for someone who had supposedly forgotten it. Then he placed it on top of the other items in the pouch.
On top.
Zemu saw that.
She said nothing.
Kei began putting everything back faster after that: Painkillers. Pills. Hair ties. Candy. Bandages. Pen. Sticky notes. Tissues. Eraser. His movements had gone sharp with embarrassment, but the care stayed in them.
He tried to zip the pouch closed.
Zemu caught his wrist, not hard but just enough to stop him. Kei looked down at her hand then at her face.
She smiled softly.
“It matters to me.”
He did not answer.
The quiet stretched, but not painfully. She could feel his pulse under her fingers… It was faster than she expected.
She let her thumb move once, barely, over the inside of his wrist.
“... No one really notices this stuff,” she said.
Kei’s eyes shifted.
Zemu looked at the pouch because looking at him made her feel too seen too.
“The small things— the inconvenient things.” She breathed out a small laugh. “The embarrassing things. Like the fact that I keep eating cake even though I shouldn’t… or that I lose hair ties all the time. Or that I get headaches and pretend I’m fine.”
“You do pretend,” Kei said quietly.
“I know.”
“You’re bad at it.”
“Am I?”
“With me, yes.”
Zemu looked up then.
Kei’s face was turned slightly away, but his eyes were on her now.
Her throat tightened.
For a moment, she did not know what to do with herself. She was used to being loud; used to filling silence before it could swallow her. Used to teasing Kei until he smirked, rolled his eyes or told her to shut up.
—But this silence did not feel empty.
It felt like a hand held out carefully.
She kept her voice low.
“Thank you.”
Kei blinked.
Zemu smiled a little, still holding his wrist. “Really.”
His jaw shifted.
He looked away first.
“You’re always forgetting things,” he muttered.
There was the hiding.. but his voice had gone soft around the edges. Zemu heard it.
“Yeah,” she said.
“And getting hurt.”
“Sometimes.”
“And eating things you know will make you complain later.”
“That one’s a choice.”
“A bad one.”
“A delicious one.”
His mouth moved, almost a smile.. then he looked down at the pouch.
“I just…” He stopped.
Zemu went still.
Kei did not finish right away. His fingers flexed once, like he was annoyed with his own hand for giving him away.
“I don’t like it,” he said finally.
Zemu waited.
Kei’s eyes stayed on the pouch. “When you need something and don’t have it.”
The words were simple.
—That was what broke her.
Not dramatically, of course and obviously.. As she did not burst into tears. She did not throw herself at him. She did not scream even though a very loud part of her wanted to.
Her chest just ached, warm and sharp at the same time.
Gago.
He really said that.
She let go of his wrist slowly.
Kei tried to zip the pouch again, probably because he needed something to do with his hands. Zemu did not stop him this time.
“It’s not fair,” she said.
Kei paused.
“What is.”
“You being this cute after insulting my handwriting.”
He looked at her.
For a moment, his expression was blank— then irritation returned, familiar and safe.
“That was your takeaway?”
“One of them.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I know.”
Zemu wiped quickly under one eye before it could betray her. Kei saw the movement.. of course he did. His gaze sharpened, but he did not say anything.
She appreciated that more than she could explain; so she chose to reward him by being annoying again.
“I’m making one for you too.”
Kei’s whole face changed.. not much, but enough.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t.”
“I already have ideas.”
“Lose them.”
She sat back on her heels, trying to look serious. “Glasses cloth. Painkillers. Volleyball tape. Candy.”
“I have those.”
“Not from me.”
That made him quiet, only for a second.
—But she saw it; the tiny pause, the way his eyes moved back to her before he forced them away.
Zemu smiled, softer this time.
“I’ll put dinosaur bandages too.”
Kei closed his eyes.
“Please don’t.”
“They’ll be cute.”
“That’s exactly why I said don’t.”
“And maybe a note.”
“No.”
“Just a small one.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’ll say, ‘drink water, beanpole.’”
Kei opened his eyes and looked at her like she had personally ruined his life. Zemu pressed her lips together to keep from laughing too loudly.
“You’re already planning where to hide it,” he said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I’m planning where you’ll find it. Different thing.”
He stared at her and she stared back.. then his shoulders dropped a little.
“You’re going to do it anyway.”
It was not a question.
Zemu’s smile softened. “Yeah.”
Kei sighed, but there was no real anger in it. “Of course you are.”
The softness returned, but this time– it did not feel as dangerous. It sat between them with the mess of papers and the fading sunlight, warm and awkward and very much theirs.
Before he could put the pouch away, she touched the top of it once.
“... Thank you for carrying me around.”
Kei froze.
The words were gentle, but they landed heavy. He looked at the pouch, then at her hand, then away.
“You’re heavy.”
Zemu gasped, one hand flying to her chest. “I am small and adorable.”
“Small, yes.”
She swatted his arm.
Kei let her hit him, which meant he deserved it and knew he deserved it.
He put the pouch back into his bag.
This time, he did not hide it at the bottom. He placed it beside his notebooks, visible for a moment before he zipped the bag halfway.
—Like a secret that had already survived being found.
He looked at it once, then muttered, “Just stop getting hurt so often.”
Zemu smiled.
“Stop caring so obviously.”
“No.”
The word came out too fast and too honest.
Both of them stopped.
Zemu blinked.
Kei adjusted his glasses immediately, though they were already sitting properly.
“I mean…” His voice flattened with effort. “No, because you’re stupid and someone has to.”
Zemu stared at him.
He refused to look at her.
Her smile spread slowly, so wide it made her cheeks hurt— because she heard him the first time; not the correction nor the insult.
The first word.
No.
No, he would not stop caring.
No, he would not stop noticing.
No, he would not stop carrying what she needed.
Zemu stood with her bag against her hip and his stolen pen still tucked safely inside her notebook.
“You’re so cute.”
Kei zipped his bag. “I’m leaving.”
“Because I’m right?”
“Because you’re loud.”
“You love that I’m loud.”
“I survive it.”
“You made a kit for surviving it.”
“I’m regretting that.”
“No, you’re not.”
He walked toward the door.
Zemu hurried after him, grabbing her folder and nearly dropping it again. Kei’s hand twitched at his side like he had almost reached out.
She saw.
She always saw.
The hallway outside was almost empty. The air was cooler there, moving through the open windows and carrying the faint smell of chalk, dust, and fried food from somewhere near the cafeteria. Their footsteps echoed softly against the floor.
Zemu walked close to Kei, then closer… then close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm.
Kei glanced down at her.
“You’re clingy.”
“I’m affectionate.”
“You’re in my way.”
“I’m beside you.”
“Barely.”
She hooked two fingers around his sleeve.
Kei looked at her hand.
He did not move away.
…. That was answer enough.
They walked past the stairs, past the windows glowing orange from the sunset. Zemu kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye. His face was back to its usual bored look, but his ears still held the faintest red.
She squeezed his sleeve once.
He said nothing.
Halfway down the hall, a thought arrived.
A very good thought.
A very dangerous thought.
Zemu looked up at him.
“Since…”
Kei answered immediately. “No.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”
“I know your tone.”
“Keki.”
“No.”
“Cake.”
“No.”
“Emergency cake.”
He finally looked at her. “That is not a real thing.”
“It is for me.”
“You just studied for three hours.”
“Exactly. I need recovery cake.”
“You need dinner.”
“Cake can be dinner.”
“No, it can’t.”
“It has eggs.”
Kei stared at her.
Zemu smiled up at him, still holding his sleeve.
He looked away first.
They kept walking.. she kept staring.
Five seconds passed.
Ten.
—Then Kei sighed.
“One slice.”
Zemu beamed.
“I love you.”
“I know.”
“Say it back.”
“After you take the pill.”
Her laugh filled the hallway before she could stop it. Kei winced, but not really.
“Too loud.”
“My love is loud.”
“Clearly.”
“Especially for you.”
“Unfortunately.”
But his sleeve stayed in her hand.
—And inside his bag, the pouch stayed where it was: full of lactose pills, painkillers, hair ties, bandages, candy, a spare pen, sticky notes, tissues, an eraser and one folded napkin from Straw-bebi.
He carried it like supplies.
He carried it like evidence.
He carried it like love, even if he would rather fall through the floor than call it that.
Zemu looked at him as they turned toward the stairs, warm from the inside out… Kei loved like he blocked: quietly, carefully, watching for the right moment.
He noticed where things hurt.
He prepared before she asked.
He caught her in small ways before she even knew she was falling— and somehow, somehow, that made the whole world feel softer.
A few days later, Kei opened his bag and found a pouch that did not belong to him.
He stopped moving.
The classroom was loud around him. Someone was laughing near the door… a chair scraped against the floor. Tadashi was saying something nearby, but Kei did not catch the words.
The pouch sat on top of his notebook.
… Exactly where he could not miss it.
It was smaller than his.. lighter. There was a label taped to the front in Zemu’s handwriting, decorated with one tiny heart and one tiny angry face.
IN CASE OF KEKI
Kei stared at it for a long time.. then he slowly unzipped it.
Inside was a glasses cloth.
Strawberry candy.
Dinosaur bandages.
An extra pen with a heart sticker on the cap.
One of Zemu’s hair ties.
A folded Straw-bebi receipt.
And a tiny note.
Kei picked up the note and unfolded it.
There was a small strawberry doodle in the corner.
Under it, Zemu had written:
for emergencies. obviously.
Kei stared at the note, then at the pouch, then at the note again. His face did not change.. but his ears did. After a long moment, he took out his phone.
His thumb hovered over the screen before he typed.
You’re ridiculous.
The reply came almost immediately.
YOU LOVE ME THO >:3c
Kei stared at the message, then he looked at the pouch again.
Five full minutes passed.
Finally, he typed back.
Unfortunately.
—Then he put the pouch carefully into his bag, right beside hers.