resonance !

“I hate this corny ass movie.” You gesture at the screen. “Wish they’d scream more, also.”

“You said you wanted to watch it,” murmurs Kaiser, not really giving a fuck considering he’s not even paying attention to the movie. His gaze is fixated on your hand, now far away from his again. Just when his skin was about to brush against yours and he was mentally congratulating himself for his discretion, you pulled away in such a blithe manner. All that straining for nothing.

“Well it sounded entertaining like, in a bad way, but it’s just boring. Also the religious themes are so superficial and edgy, you can’t even laugh. I think they should’ve been Amish. At least that would’ve been funny.”

You shift, settling your hand back over the couch. Kaiser wishes you were a little closer, though at least he can resume the hand holding mission, inching his fingers towards yours again. The physical response to what he’s attempting is embarrassing. With every advance his heart races harder, and his palms are sweaty, and it’s just fucking ridiculous. He can imagine your skin under his, almost tangible.

Technique-wise it’s not complicated. Despite the amount he’s tensing up, Kaiser understands, logically, that he’s making a mountain out of a molehill. But it is a tender gesture and Kaiser doesn’t know how to be gentle or sweet. Softness is alien to him. There is a certain light he needs you to see him in, to come off as suave and charming. It has to be perfect and smooth and like he’s done it thousands of times before, even though now will be the first. And you will swoon over him also, he’ll make sure of it.

Almost there, he’s about to grasp your hand in his, holy shit-

“Micha, are you even paying attention?” You adjust your position again, pulling it away completely as you recline on your side against the armrest. “I thought a pretentious snob like you would have more critiques to make?”

“The movie’s so shitty it has rendered me speechless,” he says. It comes out easy and natural enough, but his blood is boiling. Can you not sit still for more than a second?! This was the seventh time!

“Fair enough,” you reply, eyes still glued to the screen.

You’re teasing him, aren’t you? Otherwise how would it happen so much? You think messing with him is funny??? Exploiting his moment of weakness and faltering?!

Kaiser smirks (at nothing; the gesture is pointless since you’re not even looking at him and entirely performative for himself). As if you’ll get the better of him. Maybe more drastic measures are in order.

He starts scooting closer. You’re still bitching about the movie and with how slow he’s moving, he doubts you’re noticing him closing in on you, and even if you are you’re choosing to feign ignorance to it in your transparent attempts at belittling him. Well, that’s the way he’s perceiving your behavior, anyway, as a personal slight against him.

His arm is about to reach you, will reach you, wrap around you. He’s going to embrace you soon. Heart thumping away in his chest, Kaiser realizes his throat is dry all of a sudden when he swallows, but it’s going to happen-

You stand up and head to the bathroom without a second glance in his direction.

Kaiser sits there frozen in whatever position he was in mid-movement before your betrayal, jaw hanging open, and he realizes he must look like a stupid buffoon at the moment. He is livid, however. How dare you!? When he grits his teeth, it hurts a little.

After assuming a more acceptable and casual stance, he heeds the tv, finally. Some girl tries to drown the main character, but ends up dying of a head injury instead somehow and then some other bullshit starts happening.

Wow. You weren’t kidding, this movie is fucking garbage. It almost distracts him from his predicament.

You return and sit back down next to him all relaxed like you haven’t been actively giving him an uptick in cortisol and adrenaline. Do you think this is a game? It’s as if you can’t even tell you’re dealing him psychic damage — playing innocent and oblivious to your transgressions. What a cunning pretense that is.

Kaiser… grabs your hand and tugs it. And stares at you straight on. It’s kind of unnerving and intense for no reason.

You raise your eyebrows at him as if he’s being strange, this confused expression on your face. “Why are you squeezing so hard? I value my blood circulation, you know?”

Eye twitching, he corrects his grip to a proper, more sensible one, lacing your fingers together. You do not understand what his deal is. Kaiser says, “This will be the best hand holding of your fucking life even if it’s the last thing I do.”

… What.

Unable to help yourself, you burst out laughing. “You’re so odd, Micha.”

___

It takes a while for whoever it is to cross the distance, and then an unfamiliar voice rings, “Hey.”

Kaiser glances over his shoulder finally. You stand there, peering down at him while he’s sitting, cigarette spreading fumes in the air even though you don’t look any older than him. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge you, though, just stares, tense and confused about your intentions.

You crouch down so you are at eye level with him. The bad smell follows, wafting by his nose and he holds down a cough on the off chance any noise might set you off and make you violent. You pull it out of your mouth and flick it away from him, apparently possessing enough decorum to stop blowing smoke in his face. “Why are you always doing that?”

“Huh?”

Kaiser knows what you mean, but he can’t help asking. After all he’d noticed you before all those times just like you’d noticed him. Every day you hang around the solitary playground at a distance while he messes around with the ball, though he never expected you’d speak to him. If anything you never pay much mind to each other.

You usually leave like you’re on some kind of schedule, but you’re up close to him now and he can see you’re in a similar condition to him — bruises and dirt littering your skin, tattered and ill-fitting clothes barely hanging onto your frame. The offenders behind your loud entrance he identifies as the torn pink fuzzy slippers he always sees you wearing, smeared with faded mud. Certainly not the most reliable footwear, but you’re in a better boat than he is on that front, what with him not wearing any shoes at all. Not his fault he outgrew his last pair, although naturally his father found a way to blame him. He’s creative like that.

“You’re always kicking the ball and punching the shit outta it.”

Embarrassed by the reasoning behind his behavior maybe, Kaiser averts his eyes. He hopes not responding will dissuade you from interacting with him.

It doesn’t work. “What’s your name?”

“… Michael.”

“So basic, but fine. I’ll call you Micha, ok?”

“You don’t need to call me anything.”

You offer your name in return. After taking another drag, you smile and ask, “How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” he says, figuring this is unimportant enough information that he can offer it without consequences until you grow bored and go away.

You grin at him and squint your eyes. The expression makes you seem smug for no discernible reason. “I’m fourteen, so I’m your senior. You can call me boss if you want. Got it, small fry?”

What an annoying attitude. He places the ball over his stomach and adjusts his position so he’s hugging his knees, this surly expression on his face. “It’s not even that big of a difference…”

“You sound so pensive when you talk. Hey, why do you kick the ball even though you don’t have shoes? Doesn’t it hurt?”

What else is someone supposed to do with a piece of trash except hurt it? Expressing such a sentiment out loud seems shameful, though. “Why are you smoking even when it’s bad for you and stupid and tacky? Why are you asking dumb questions even though you’re not getting anything out of it?”

You burst out laughing. “Woah, relax. Touchy.” When he doesn’t respond and instead continues scrutinizing you with scorn (which at this point you deem undeserved), you say, “I stole ‘em off someone. What’s stopping you from stealing a pair of shoes?”

“They’re too big to steal. It’s impractical.”

“You think small, but fair enough,” you say, before standing up, still grinning. Then you wave. “I’ve gotta go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, Micha.”

“Who said I want to see you?”

You laugh again as if his rejection is funny, but trudge on away from him. “C’mon, lighten up.”

Kaiser scoffs, pressing his cheek against the ball, tightening his hold against it. There is nothing to lighten up about.

___

Kaiser hasn’t taken any particular liking towards you, but you do hang out together every day since you approached him. He’s not sure why he tolerates your presence. Maybe because you’re resourceful — stealing is so much easier when you two coordinate. Or maybe it’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t seem to want to strike him down and strangle him.

Currently you’re at the playground again. The lighter you use has some ugly, childish print on it. Kaiser is trying to inflate his ball with the air pump you swiped together from a shop in town earlier after you made fun of how ‘sad and flat’ it was and came up with the idea. When he hears the flicker and then registers the smell, Kaiser asks, “How many do you smoke a day?”

“One is to be stylish. Two is if I didn’t appreciate the first one enough. Three is if I still don’t feel like shitting.”

Kaiser frowns in disapproval at the moronic remark. Funny in an ironic sort of way how this lifestyle has you sounding like a ridiculous, fake adult — neither child nor mature, but something else entirely. A different category of human. He wonders if you think the same about him. “You fucking smell. How many are there in a pack?”

“Twenty,” you say after uselessly flipping over the lid, even though for one it’s not full and you already know the answer anyway, so it’s not necessary to check.

“So if you smoke three a day then you have to… steal one every two weeks?”

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion at this assessment. “No, that’s not right. It’s like once or twice a week depending.” Then you do some weird counting on your fingers for a while. “But even if it was exactly three a week, that’s like six point six or some shit like that. Dummy.”

“Shut up, shithead,” says Kaiser, embarrassed.

“Ok.”

“Leave me alone. I didn’t think about it too much.”

“I’m not even saying anything.” A moment of silence passes until an enlightened remark comes to mind. “Hey, Micha.”

“What?”

You scoot a little closer to him. Kaiser gets nervous at first and freezes, but calms down when it seems you’re not inching your hands towards him. Though the relief is short-lived because then you take an exaggerated sniff of the air and grin. “You stink too.”

He glares at you.

The ball ends up fine. Sure, it’s still beat up and dirty as most things around him, but at least it’s functional enough to kick again, and that’s what’s important.

___

“What now,” says Kaiser with an attitude of being greatly inconvenienced before plopping down next to you on the sidewalk.

You continue counting, trying to keep track of how much money you have on you. A series of gross, dry coughs escapes your mouth. When the fit near passes, you spit on the ground as if to ease your throat, hitting your chest for good measure. Kaiser watches the display with an impassive look on his face. Eventually you turn towards him and ask, “What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Ok.”

“You’ve been quiet, not talking to me.”

“I’m gonna go get a haircut so I’m trying to see if I have enough,” you say, figuring he’s wondering about what you’re doing in a roundabout way.

Kaiser rams his head into his knees and makes some kind of noise which you can’t categorize between acknowledgement and disapproval.

You say, “Those children from the schoolyard were telling me having a bad haircut is ‘social suicide.’ Like ‘getting stabbed’ everyday. Apparently it’s the bowlcut that’s really shameful.”

“Other people have such stupid problems,” he says, irked, resentful. “I just cut it with scissors at home.”

“Yeah, man, I can tell. They wash your hair at the hairdresser though, so I wanna go now.”

“You really hang out with them? What do you even talk about?”

You shrug, pulling out a cigarette and then the hideous lighter. The smoke will waft by his nose again and irritate him. It’s unpleasant. The smell he associates with you is unpleasant, but it’s also yours so it’s kind of conflicting. “Recently I’ve been telling them I’m a ghost from the forest.”

Kaiser remains unamused the way you’ve always known him, but after some contemplation graces you with a snort, which makes you smile in return. He asks, “They don’t believe that. Right?”

“Maybe. They’ve got a what-do-you-call-it… You like football, don’t you?”

“A pitch.” He rolls his eyes as if forgetting the word is some kind of crime. Back he goes to frowning.

“Yea, they have that. You should sneak in with me sometime.” You shrug again as if the suggestion isn’t a big deal. “It’s fun.”

His nose scrunches at the thought, forehead wrinkling. It pisses him off just imagining it — truly a sickening concept. Why would you subject yourself to such a thing? Mingling with children who have nice things and an education and clean clothes and probably eat proper meals every night with their families. He doesn’t want to exchange pleasantries with people who can afford to concern themselves with social suicide. Stomach twisted in knots, Kaiser almost hurls, but somehow swallows the bile back down.

“Never,” he denies with finality.

“So dramatic, Micha.”

“Like you’re any better. You don’t care about anything. At all.”

At the sound of his tone getting more sulky than usual, you decide to spare him another glance. “Aww, are you tearing up?”

“No,” Kaiser lies, lips wavering. Unable to hold it in yet desperate to hide, he settles for covering his face with his hands, folding over himself. “I just fucking… hate this place. And I want out so… so bad.” Aside from the muffled sobs, there are also voice cracks littering his admission.

The thing is: you don’t really know what to do to make it all better.

___

Kaiser feels like he’s about to get a cramp from keeping his leg in this position for so long, lifted up and extended. Recently he stole a pair of sneakers from the thrift store, but the soles ended up falling off. Now you’re lathering everything in glue and wrapping it in tape in an attempt to salvage the situation.

“I’m not sure this is how it works,” he says. It’s kind of meek — a pathetic mumble — but you can recognize unwarranted criticism when you hear it.

“Take it or leave it.” You snap off the tape and move onto the next shoe.

When a snarky or otherwise offensive response doesn’t immediately come to mind, Kaiser resigns to silence. He continues observing you while you squeeze out copious amounts of glue. For a moment the only noises between you are those of your sniffles, the obnoxious huffing in of snot.

A few raindrops pour down, pelting your heads at the same time. You hiss when you realize your hard work is about to go to waste while all Kaiser provides in terms of reaction is a blink and a downwards twist of his lips.

“I don’t wanna go home,” you say, sounding distant, which he doesn’t hear from you much — usually there’s a lilt of amusement in your tone, some kind of playfulness lingering in all your words.

“I don’t either. It’s pointless anyway because you’ll get drenched by the time you go home and then there’s nothing to dry yourself with properly and it’s all one huge pain in the ass.”

“Right.” After signaling your agreement with his assessment, you shrug off your hoodie and stretch, trying to drape it enough so that it shields the two of you from the rain. Kaiser accommodates your goodwill by adjusting his position, scooting over next to you and cramming so he’s taking as little space as possible. It’s not an adequate cover by any means and you can tell his shoes will break apart again. But Kaiser is hugging you around the waist, resting his cheek against your neck, and you don’t have to deal with being at your place yet, so it can’t be all that bad.

___

“You look like a pufferfish,” you say unhelpfully.

Kaiser narrows his eyes at you in that way he tends to do which you haven’t seen anyone else replicate exactly. It’s kind of amusing when he does that, especially when one of them is irritated and droopy. “And you look like a spoiled apple.”

“Don’t mind. It’s a lot of bad things happening to me in that house.”

“I know,” says Kaiser.

You rub your cheek and then some more under your eye where the spots are the brightest. It makes him wince because your hands must be dirty, what with everything you two get up to in a day. Since Kaiser’s father strangles him, he’s always swollen and not so much bruised, but he thinks your parents must only leave it at punches while making up for it with enthusiasm. “I kinda like touching them when some time passes.”

“You’re sick.”

“Honestly I was, but it went away. I think I might have an ingrown toenail though.”

“No… I mean in the head.” To emphasize his point, Kaiser reaches out to probe your temple with his index finger. There’s another scratch blooming there, only coming to attention once his focus lands there, but it’s a waste of energy fixating on any of the small ones — he just can’t help but notice sometimes. “By the way, I don’t need to know what kind of toenail you have.”

You laugh, apparently finding his remark funny somehow. Then you reel your hand back before bringing it back down quickly as if you’re about to slap him. Still retaining his common sense, Kaiser flinches and tries to defend himself with his forearm. The reflex is foreign since he usually takes it lying down without moving an inch when it’s his dad.

His reaction makes you laugh harder for some reason, and you don’t smack him at all. Kaiser glares at you for your unfunny prank but you disregard it. Your hands settle around his throat instead, lightly tracing over the purple fingerprints, still fresh from last night. Almost immediately he clenches his teeth, tightlipped, breaking out into a sweat, expecting a harsh squeeze which never comes.

Kaiser wants to scold you for your idiotic behavior, yet he doesn’t. Maybe your hands aren’t for harm, he decides. And then he reaches out too, pressing his knuckle against the darkest contusion on your face. Your eye twitches closed. It turns into a strange fascination then, your skin touching his and his touching yours in places others had hurt. A ritualistic erasement.

___

You’re splitting the money again after selling off another valuable. It was some kind of fancy watch you two stole this time, more ballsy than usual. Once you pocket your share, you ask, “Are you saving up?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna move? Where?”

Kaiser shrugs. “I don’t care. Anywhere but here.”

You hum and walk ahead of him, probably looking for one of the drinking fountains in the area.

Either compelled by unusual curiosity or bothered by your silence, he says, “You wanna make it the fuck out of here too. Where would you go?”

“To the beach.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes behind your back, finding your answer stupid. Sure, the beach is an exotic idea considering he has never been to one, but all he can imagine is the sand sticking to his skin and the gross seaweed he’s seen in commercials inside stores and such. But on second thought both of these things are probably way less gross than the environment he spends every day in. He lets out a performative huff anyway and says ‘huh’ as if to demand an elaboration.

“I wanna be free like one of those seagulls that fly over the sea. D’you wanna be a seagull with me, Micha?”

“No. That’s dumb,” he says. You ignore him. Kaiser steels his nerves for a second and, after a dry swallow, takes a step so that he’s walking next to you rather than lagging behind. Then he brushes his fingers against yours lightly before making a sweaty, half hearted attempt at holding your hand. His cheeks are warm in a way he hasn’t felt them before. “Take me to your shitty beach someday.”

You make a more competent attempt at hand holding, grasping his fingers in yours until they’re interlacing, and then you swing your arms up and down. Kaiser has enough sense to be embarrassed by this, but doesn’t tell you to stop. He doesn’t know why, but this is the kind of contact he feels the need to savor. “So you do want to be a seagull.”

“Not interested.”

“You’re such a sourpuss, Micha, never playing along with anything.”

“It’s not my fault you make it sound dumb- Well, do you think it’s any use? Hoping for something like that…”

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up.”

“I won’t give up,” he says. “I just don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Come on. We’re gonna get out of here together someday. That’s gotta work.” You lift his arm in the air next and try to make him spin like a dancer. Though Kaiser is used to standing still and limp and letting things happen to him, the attempt doesn’t come out successful. At most he does a slight twist.

“Yeah. Together,” he agrees, like a promise. He imagines messing around with you in the sand with the sun warming his skin in contrast to the perpetual chill he’s become used to. Honestly despite belittling the idea earlier, it doesn’t seem so bad in his mind.

___

Kaiser yawns while sitting next to you on a bench, eating a burger. Since you’re famous for your generosity and kindness and all (not), you decided to ‘splurge out’ by buying food for you both from some shitty hole in the wall. It’s the most filling meal you’ve had in a while. You’re still chewing when you ask, “Are you tired or something?”

He rubs his eyes. “My father was fucking making noises throwing up all night.”

“Ah, your worthless sperm donor.” You nod sagely in acknowledgement.

“Yea, him. It reeked too and when I went to clean it, there were whole chunks in his vomit.”

You scoff. “Don’t clean after him.”

“Not like anyone’s going to clean it if I don’t.” Two more yawns accentuate his sentence. You reach out to throw away the container. For a second you consider keeping the plastic cutlery and maybe washing it at the drinking fountain later, but that seems too desperate even for you. Kaiser says, “I’d take a nap right now if I could, but I don’t want to go back yet.”

“It’s sunny today for the first time in a while. Would be a waste.” You watch Kaiser while he wipes his mouth and his fingers with the napkin. The dark circles around his eyes are worse than usual. “You can lie down on me and sleep if you want.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yea, it’ll probably be really boring, but I’ll tolerate it,” you allow, ever so charitable.

Kaiser frowns, contemplating. He’s silent for so long, you forget you even suggested anything, but he eventually shifts around and rests his head on your lap, tense. You rake your fingers through his hair. “Don’t smoke,” he warns, but it’s kind of difficult to act butthurt when you’re being so… gentle with him.

“I won’t.”

“Seriously, don’t smoke right now.”

“I said ok already.”

Now that the matter is settled, he decides to trust you and flutters his eyes closed. Though your thighs and the bench aren’t the most comfortable places in the world, to Kaiser who only knows the cold hard floor, such an opportunity is borderline luxurious. The tang of the cigarettes clings even to the fabric of your pants, to your fingers — his favorite smell. You continue stroking his scalp and he dozes off with ease within minutes. Even though he’s snoring already, he moves to wrap his arms around your knee as if he feels a compulsive need to hold onto something in his sleep.

Kaiser looks surprisingly peaceful and precious right now. You hope he’s having a nice dream if any. A long stretch of ennui is ahead of you.

___

The antics have been ramping up as of late. In your defense, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to resist urging Kaiser to break in with you when you noticed the house with the open first floor window, clearly vacant. Though at first he displayed kleptomaniacal tendencies and wanted to rummage through the drawers for anything expensive, you deemed it too risky since you had no idea when the owner would come back. And then you told him you were merely interested in taking a proper shower.

Now you’re almost dry, waiting for Kaiser to finish. You can’t remember the last time you were so free of grime. Wearing the old clothes again almost feels shameful, like a step back. You sniff your armpit like a weirdo and realize your skin smells good .

Kaiser takes a while to come out and emerges looking like he underwent some kind of magical girl transformation. He’s trying to soak up the water from his hair with a towel, sending specks flying everywhere and dripping down his shirt when you blurt out, “You’re handsome.”

In a fashion you’d consider comedic, he stops dead in his tracks to gape at you with flushed cheeks. “What?”

“Your face is pretty.” He blinks. A crease appears on his forehead in apparent disapproval, though you’re not sure what he’s mad about (it’s a compliment!), especially when he’s still blushing. You make a vague hand gesture near your head to clarify your next point, “Try untangling it with your fingers.”

It takes Kaiser a good few seconds to get with the program before he twitches to attempt and follow your advice, but you both freeze when you detect the unmistakable sound of a door closing and locking downstairs. You push him back into the bathroom and close it behind yourself as gently as possible. Then you drag him back to the tub and gesticulate incomprehensibly some more to signal you should both get in and hide before sliding in behind the curtain and reclining on your side. Kaiser follows after you, but you think you might be doomed. It’s still wet, too, which is unpleasant, but not a priority considering the upcoming disaster.

Kaiser opens his mouth to speak, so you clamp it shut with your palm before putting your index finger over your lips. He embraces you, and he’s trembling, and then he hides in your neck as if you’re going to save him from whatever is about to come.

Like you’d assumed, the house owner enters almost immediately. You’re nauseous, stomach clenching. Kaiser is making a stunning impression of a corpse the way he’s not even breathing anymore in his attempt at being quiet. Your muscles are so tense on alert that it hurts and each passing second puts you more on edge.

Thankfully the flush comes and then the running water and then the person leaves with a click. Their footsteps get fainter and fainter until another door opens and closes. You stand and step out, trying not to make a noise still. Before going out into the hallway you throw a glance over your shoulder just to make sure Kaiser is still walking behind you, which he is.

Your movements are slow and light. The escape, especially while making your way down the stairs, is drawn out and excruciating. You hop out through the window you came in from. There you are outside, somehow without incident.

You turn to look at Kaiser again once you hear the rustle of the grass accompanying his jump. With the adrenaline still kicking, you break out into a sprint, eager to get far away. Kaiser catches up to you and you burst out laughing but you’re not even sure why, since you don’t find any of what transpired particularly amusing. A slight smile appears on his face when he recognizes the sound.

___

The next day you notice Kaiser isn’t at the playground, even though he always gets there before you do. No biggie — you can exert some patience.

After a while you start tapping your foot. It’s not like you have a watch to check what the time is or how long it’s been or a phone to ask him where he’s at. So you settle on putting on a show of irritability.

Nothing. Your legs hurt so you go sit down on the swing. You’re getting pretty old for the playground anyway, you think as you pull out a cigarette and light it, eyes darting around. Parents and their children, but no sign of Micha.

You exceed your usual three and end up burning half the pack in your attempt to occupy yourself during your waiting. It relaxes you usually, smoking, when you have a lot of shit juggling around your brain, but it doesn’t work this time.

Did something happen?

… Did his dad finally kill him?

___

Kaiser doesn’t show up at the playground ever again no matter how many times you go.

___

It’s another day where you need to shield your eyes from the sunlight with your hand. You’ve been seeing more of those since you ran away. Must be allegorical or some shit.

From your peripheral vision, while you walk down the street, you pass by a store that has one of those TVs on display, playing a sports game. You spare a moment to look, intrigued, nostalgic in a way — it reminds you of when you were little, when that kind of thing was more common.

They’re playing football, you realize, and you find that evocative too. Some guy scores a goal and they zoom in on him even though he’s not celebrating, instead choosing to stand there like a statue with his arms crossed. Like he’s too cool to get excited, which strikes you as obnoxious.

Then they show his face in full, up front.

You know that face. You’d recognize that face anywhere.

The back of his jersey reads ‘Kaiser’ and yet you never knew him as anything besides his first name.

At first you’re relieved considering you were under the impression catastrophe must’ve befallen him, but the solace doesn’t last long. When the realization hits, your eyes widen and your lips fall into a thin line. It's similar to a punch in the gut how all the air seems to vacate your chest. All this wind around you and you can’t get any.

The only person you ever loved left you behind without a second glance in your direction.

___

II.

Michael Kaiser is mildly inconvenienced. Billions injured on the scene and millions more will die.

So maybe he’s been ranting at someone who he didn’t even glance at, eyes closed, mind way too lost in his reverie. A part of his brain doesn’t even comprehend he’s in fact speaking to a person instead of a cardboard cutout. It’s to his complete shock and bafflement when after so much babbling he receives a reply. “Hey, Mr. Kaiser was it? Shut the fuck up.”

He flutters his eyes open to give the ingrate a glare and speak his mind some more, but he freezes on the spot at the sight in front of him. His blood runs cold, heart stuttering in his chest.

He’d know that face anywhere, even if right now it’s more unamused and neutral — nothing like the expressions in his memories. He’s not sure why his body is reacting like this either, tensing up with a nervous jitter in his system.

Wasn’t he supposed to have left all that stuff in the past? Yet a single look at you is enough to cause this response: this uncertainty, like he’s still a little boy who veers towards hopeless and incompetent, and fuck, why are you giving him such a dead stare?

Do you not recognize him?

Do you not love him anymore?

It’s a rash thing to focus on as his immediate concern especially when he hasn’t been killing himself with worry over you or anything during your years apart, but right now when you’re in front of him it’s all he wants to know. Which is cruel and selfish in a way, in his specific Kaiser-ish way, how he’s first preoccupied with himself before he wonders about your state of mind or living situation. A need to bait for a sign you still care about him torments him even if it might be drastic right off the bat.

When no ingenious idea for such a thing comes to mind and Kaiser realizes he’s been staring at you like a moron, he says, “Don’t call me Mr. Kaiser. It makes me sound old and decrepit.” And that isn’t what you of all people should be referring to him as.

You continue assessing him in a manner which can be described as judgmental at best. “Isn’t that what you said your name is during your little monologue?”

“You already know what my name is.” The awkward silence which follows is almost unbearable. Kaiser scratches himself on the neck even though he’s not itchy just to pass the time. Finally he snaps, “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Sorry to break it to you, sir, but most employees anywhere aren’t happy to listen to ten minute long demented tirades about non-problems.”

“Well maybe I overreacted a little,” concedes Kaiser and gives you what he thinks is a suave smile in an attempt at downplaying how uneasy he is. He thinks you can feel it. He thinks you’re doing it on purpose, hurting him with intention. “Are you seriously going to act like you don’t know me?”

Your pitiless gaze sticks to him like glue even when you take out the ice cubes and throw a generous amount into his drink before sticking a paper parasol in it with lots of spite, which is what the big stink he threw a tantrum over was all about. Kaiser wants to tell you that you’re very hot when you’re no longer a starving punching bag, but thinks better of it. Doesn’t seem charming even coming from him. 

“There.” You slide the cup across the counter towards him. “I fixed your shitty smoothie.”

“It’s not a smoothie!”

“A mocktail is basically juice.”

Wrapping his fingers around it, Kaiser doesn’t leave. Instead he chooses to stay and observe you in silence, jaw clenching.

“You can go.”

“I’m not going until you admit you know who I am.”

“What, are you famous or something?” you ask, bemused.

Kaiser is on the cusp of hypertension because you’re doing it on purpose and you’re not even doing it well because you want him perfectly aware of what you’re up to. You’ve never done this — hurt him before, let alone by design — so Kaiser almost assumed you were incapable of it. Though it makes sense that you are. After all, you’re the same type of inhuman he is, and he’s done this if not worse hundreds of times, and even reveled in it. Yet the realization you’re not what he remembers of you stirs disillusionment within him. The nature of it, he doesn’t quite grasp.

Kaiser contemplates causing a scene more than he already has, but he’s not sure how to do so while still getting what he wants. Trying to joke even though above all he wants to throw a tantrum, he whines, “You’re so immature.”

“I’m sorry that my reaction to getting threatened with a lawsuit over ice cubes was immature, Mr. Kaiser.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

Your exterior remains listless and vacant, and Kaiser wants to scream the longer you scrutinize him in this manner. Eventually you spin your finger near your temple as if to call him delusional, then move onto taking the order of someone else.

His eyes narrow until you’re so blurry he can barely see you, perhaps either to censor you from his sight or because a milder expression wouldn’t suffice in communicating his disdain. With a final grit of his teeth and maybe a visible vein on his forehead, Kaiser stands up to leave. Fine. You win this one, but it’s war now.

The scorch of the sand under his feet startles him. He kind of forgot how hot it was, what with getting so distracted. Another comeuppance on a list of many. Today is punishment.

Dramatic inner soliloquy aside, Kaiser makes it back to the beach bed quickly, still reeling over that interaction. You’re here? You’re here, in front of him again, and apparently you’re not too happy to see him.

In the most disinterested tone he can muster, Sae asks, “Did they fix your smoothie?”

“It’s not a fucking smoothie!” With the grace of a lobotomized koala, Kaiser drops it over the small table separating them and barely resists the urge to hurl it at Sae. This would do wonders for his mental health short term, but again he’s trying to feign decorum.

With his trademark deadpan, Sae pretends none of that just happened. Kaiser turns around to look back at the hotel bar where you’re gesticulating at your coworker. Both of you seem immensely annoyed, wild and animated while you converse.

“Fuck, they’re totally complaining about me.”

Sae follows the line of direction through which Kaiser is stalking you. After a few seconds of analysis, he says, “Those are definitely the ‘this shit stain just threatened to sue me,’ ‘wow, really, what the hell’ faces.”

Kaiser snaps his head to look at him with genuine surprise. “What- How’d you know?”

“... You’re so embarrassing, it’s predictable.”

“And you’re annoying,” he says. “I’ll tell Coach to get rid of you and airdrop me Ness.”

“It’s cute that you think the coach cares about your opinion on me enough to replace me. The same as thinking the strippers at the club like you, in a way.”

There is a while of silence where Kaiser’s just snarling while Sae seems like he couldn’t give less of a shit. Then he adds his finisher,

“Or I guess in your case it’s like thinking the bartender actually cares about your order.”

Oh, fuck this vacation.

___

The heat is unbearable.

You step out into the sun and saunter up the wooden path to take your break away from the beach. Sweat has been exuding from your skin for the last few hours. Even so when you make it to the sidewalk, you keep your eyes trained on the scenery as you trudge on to your destination. The sand, the sea, the plants — some natural and some artificial.

Before long your legs take you to your usual street vendor, where you’ll order a shitty pancake that won’t do much to nourish you, but it’ll be so sweet that you’ll be too nauseous to get hungry for a while. The queue isn’t unbearable.

Not until you sense someone hovering behind you, followed up by a hand settling on your shoulder. You turn around to grace the offender with a disgusted side glance, but you’re so baffled to see Kaiser there, you just… freeze.

He’s sneering at you. In fact he looks so happy with himself, you want to vomit. Preferably on him.

“What a coincidence,” he says without even a sliver of shame.

You roll your eyes and face front again, deciding it’s in your best interest to feign ignorance to his existence. Taking this as a sign to elevate the antics to a more obnoxious level, Kaiser resigns himself to the role of one of those domesticated leeches, hanging off you now, fully wrapping his arm around your shoulders. His gaze is burning into your side profile to the point it’s unnerving and you can feel the artificial smugness emanating from his form.

“I thought we were done talking yesterday.”

“Really? You did? How naive,” he coos at you mockingly.

It is convenient that during this time of need — when you’re lacking a good comeback — your time to order comes up. You talk to the guy working about your aforementioned shitty pancake. The moment you shut your mouth, however, Kaiser starts listing off things you’re not even keeping track of like you’re hanging out together or something.

With a mild dispute over whether it’s ‘backwards’ that they do not accept payment through a card, which makes you want to die because you’re a regular here and now the employee who knows you by face will associate you with this pest, Kaiser pays for your thing, too. On the one hand you’re prideful, but on the other you’ve lived the life of a bottomfeeder who takes every scrap they’re given without question, and it’s the kind of conditioning you can’t let go of. So you allow it.

He ends up with an inordinate amount of food in his hands, too much for one person to eat. You’re still doing your ignoring shtick even when Kaiser pulls you down to sit next to him on the table. Content with pretending he doesn’t exist as he is dead to you, you bite onto your food in relative peace, mind drifting somewhere else. Until he speaks that is. “This must be our fateful meeting.”

“I don’t see what’s so fateful about it if you followed me?”

Unbeknownst to you, Kaiser too is adept at the ‘hearing only what he wants to hear’ game. So he moves on with the conversation without any indicator of comprehending what you just said. “I think it’s quite ironic, actually.”

“What are you on about now?”

“You told me you want to go to the beach once. And where do I find you? On the beach. It's an astral influence, I’m sure.”

“Ah? I don’t remember telling you that.”

You’re blinking at him in mild confusion. This hurts Kaiser a hundred times more than when you were deliberately going out of your way to act dismissive of him because he can tell you mean it. To think one of the moments he clung onto the most had slipped your mind.

His eyes are wide and his lips stand still in a thin line, so he forces himself to smirk again and glosses over the information which just shattered him. “So you admit you know me then?”

“No, Mr. Kaiser, I have no idea who you are. I’m thinking you should admit yourself to a hospital. They say false memories are an important symptom in psychopathology.”

“Very funny. I prefer Micha or at least Michael, though.”

“Do I give a fuck?”

He scowls at you. “Yes.”

You finish off your pancake and wipe your hands with the napkin in mild disgust. Kaiser laughs at the wrinkle of your face while you do so, and then he scoots an inch closer.

“Help me finish it all off.” He gestures at all the paper plates.

Pinching between your fingers, you tug the first thing that seems appetizing closer to your side of the table. Kaiser scoops up some of the portion for himself and dumps it in another meal. You ask, “Why are you trying to suck up to me?”

“Aw, is it so wrong to want to treat my closest friend?”

You scoff. The movement of your eyelids fascinates Kaiser — you never really showed any annoyance towards him before, so he finds these expressions of distaste fascinating even if they make him sick. “We haven’t seen each other in four years, so if I’m still your closest friend somehow, that’s just sad. Be for real if you’re gonna be anything.”

“You’re being so difficult! What did I even do?!” To be honest, he’s lying and his gaze isn’t even shying away from you while he’s lying, not even a twitch. He knows you, so he knows that you’re mad he couldn’t be assed to tell you where he went even though he obviously could. He thinks playing dumb might be more in his favor here, though, so he’ll do that. “I don’t even like going to the fucking beach. I’ve been going every year to different places searching for you.”

The unbridled perturbation on your face upon hearing this is quite amusing. Priceless even. You were calling him crazy merely for the sake of fucking with him, and perhaps it was your earnest attempt at gaslighting him but you’re not about to admit it. Right now, though, you think he is genuinely insane.

“You’re saying that to appease me,” you accuse, hoping you’re correct, but also not. The idea he might’ve thought about you like you did about him while you were separated enthralls you, though you can’t let him win you over his bullshit.

“Maybe,” says Kaiser, trying to be mysterious.

Since he obviously wants you to ask him for an elaboration, you deny him the satisfaction.

“How much do you make working at that shitty bar?”

“Enough.”

“I should take you back to Spain with me,” Kaiser decides. With too much confidence at that. “You’d have anything you could ever want.”

It is not like it was before. He’s not acting the way he used to. You suppose you aren’t either. But anyway, you thought it inconceivable that he would ever joke — is he joking? — or make the absurd statements he’s been making. It’s natural, in a way, since you’re also not of the same temperament as before.

With a huff, you say, “You’ll never be my sugar daddy, Kaiser.”

“You’re no fun nowadays.” There’s an amused lilt in his tone while he sneers — you think the way he smiles is fake. You recall he was kind of quiet and awkward and stilted, unnatural at first maybe because he was out of practice in communicating with others, but now he speaks with insincere charisma, like a showman. Yet still the things he says so casually are off-kilter, ruining whatever illusion he’s attempting to sell. “And I said to call me Micha.”

“I don’t need to call you anything.”

It’s all about the metamorphosis. It’s about becoming each other so you’re never truly apart.

___

You’re crouching under one of the tropical trees overlooking the road by the wooden path leading down the beach. The shade is insufficient and the heels of your feet are digging into your ass to the point it hurts. Before your break, the thought of smoking a cigarette had entered your brain so you obeyed it as it was too pervasive even though you don’t enjoy lighting up anything during such weather, believe it or not.

Your eyes are glossy since you’re spacing out, taking puffs. When two silhouettes come to a halt right in front you, only then does the absentminded trance end.

Kaiser waves at you with unnecessary enthusiasm which is just for show. They’re late, arriving way past their usual time. Earlier when he and his companion didn’t show when you expected them to, you assumed maybe their vacation ended and they’d headed home.

The other guy is sullen, but at least his eye lashes are long, which must count for something. After sparing you a glance, he turns towards Kaiser and says judgmentally, “You’re still harassing staff.”

“I’m not har-”

Not giving a shit, the other guy straight up leaves, not bothering to participate in the discussion on a topic he brought up. You watch in mild bafflement as he walks off without a care.

“Ignore him,” Kaiser says. A plastic smile overtakes his face before he squats down next to you, butting into your body with his and almost toppling you over. This is probably bad for his knees, and you’re half exposed to the sun now. Somehow he has created several problems where there were none. “You still smoke.”

You don’t reply, but maintain the common decency not to blow any in his face. He should stay away from you. Isn’t he an athlete? Shouldn’t he be cautious about secondhand smoke? You consider putting it out altogether, then, so you stub it in the almost empty can of the fizzy drink you’d been drinking earlier.

“What kind of lighter do you have now? Has your taste gotten any better?”

No response again. He places an arm around your waist. Through touching you so often it’s like he’s trying to hammer it into your head that you were close, and yet intangible things seem to evade Kaiser, so maybe he’s struggling to conceive of any other way to reestablish your connection.

“You still smell the same. Like nicotine.”

“Well, you smell the way you used to, too.”

The space between his brows wrinkles and his nose twitches in irritation at your words. “The fuck do you mean? No, I don’t.”

“Let me spell it out for you in a way we both understand.” For the first time since your strange reunion, you reciprocate the physicality and pull him in by the shoulder till you’re forehead to forehead so you can look him in the eyes while explaining. “When I saw you a few days ago for the first time in so long, it was like you basically still had a sign that says ‘broke ass bum.’”

He gapes at you with incredulity, this offended expression on his face.

“I mean,” you say, snickering in bewilderment at the absurdity of his previous actions, “you were gonna sue me over some ice cubes, really? Acting like a spoiled little prince to disguise where you crawled out from? I think you and I have got the kinda stench not even all the Dior in Avenue Montaigne can wipe off.”

His fingers would’ve dug hard into your flesh if your shirt wasn’t in the way with how his grip tightens in response. The grit of his teeth exposes more of them. Strangely, you think he has nice gums. “Why the fuck are you being like this?”

“‘Cause you were content to forget all about me, but you don’t want me to be angry at you either. You should’ve just been polite and pretended you didn’t recognize me. But no, you want it all. I hate people like you who make no sense.”

“You’re just jealous,” Kaiser accuses, trying the snobby angle. If he’s pretentious then he’s not hurt by you claiming you despise him. At least that’s what he settles on.

“Sure. That could be true as well.” You stand up and take the can with you to throw away.

Kaiser plops down on the sand, tired of squatting, and doesn’t bother watching you plod back to the bar but the sound of your footsteps rings heavy in his ears until it dissipates. He hugs his knees like the wet wipe he is at heart.

The kindest person he’d known was a scammer and a liar and a thief and who knows what else. It hurts like nothing else to bear the weight of your desertion.

This must be cellular rejection. You should’ve been ecstatic to see him on account of your shared inhumanity. Does it not matter to you anymore, the fact that you and Kaiser are the same?

… Right; you’re not the ball. When he hits you, you can hit him back.

___

The beach is desolate and eerie at night. Kaiser came out to brood, which was fine because Sae didn’t care to ask him where he was going when he left the room. Unlike during the day, the sand is cool under his feet now — what an obtuse observation to make, all things considered. He’s annoyed and frustrated at himself as usual when things don’t go his way.

There’s a light illuminating someone’s face where they recline on one of the lounge chairs. It’s blue, meaning the source is a phone. Kaiser startles because he assumed he was alone.

And you startle when you see him staring at you in the dark, but instead of screaming all you do is let out an unconvincing gasp and turn on the backlight to reveal him. Kaiser covers his eyes with his forearms and turns away, letting out some vampiric kind of noise.

Then you frown and go back to tapping away on your shitty mobile game. “You’re such a creep honestly,” you say in distaste.

Once he gets over the assault you just committed on his admittedly sensitive eyes, Kaiser sits down next to you uninvited.

“It’s a coincidence,” he snaps. “I don’t want to be around you either. You’re so fucking exhausting. Can’t talk to you like a normal person at all because of your stupid grudge.”

“Then why are you still trying?”

Of course, there are many answers to that question. Some including but not limited to I think I can still love you like before and I miss you and I regret not sending you that postcard and I hate how you’re mad at me, but I can’t seem to get it right. Though such pathetic things aren’t in Kaiser’s nature to spew, so they never make it past his throat. The words constrict around his neck like a noose.

Instead of answering, he says, “You’ve got a phone now. You should give me your number.”

“No.”

“You’re just trying to make my life difficult for no reason!”

You give him another one of your blank stares. In the dullness of the night, obviously the gesture stays meaningless, though Kaiser can sense the bemusement in your silence at least.

Seeing that ignoring the problem at large isn’t turning out to be the winning move, Kaiser sighs and tries to think of what to say. There’s probably some kind of trick to this, some way he could fool you into overlooking his transgressions. Though when you were friends, he never did that to you, and you never left him then. Maybe it’s not necessary. In this situation, it’s proving to even be detrimental.

Kaiser picks at the skin on his neck. It’s to his benefit you can’t see each other well — he’s not sure he’d be able to spit it out without the detachment of the environment. “Listen, I’m not good at this shit, but… If I have to be honest, I was really paranoid. I didn’t want to think about the past and I didn’t want to get dragged back into it, so I was too scared to even write you a letter to tell you I’m fine. But stumbling on you again, it’s probably fucking stupid but I don’t want to lose track of you anymore. It’s lonely.”

“I wasted a year of my life thinking you were dead,” you say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow’s my free day.”

There’s an uncertain excitement in Kaiser now, as if you might be yanking his chain and he doesn’t want to commit to the feeling right away. “Sure, I’m leaving after tomorrow, so that works. Meet me here and we can catch up.”

“I see this shitty beach enough as it is,” you say.

“Yeah, but not the way you’re supposed to.”

You shrug.

Without prompting or any indication that you care, Kaiser says, “I have a horrible sunburn.” He will always find something to bitch about. It’s like he’s never satisfied.

After a few swipes, you unlock your phone and pass it to him so he can add his contact information. “Then use aloe vera or something. What are you, stupid?”

“I don’t have any,” justifies Kaiser, inputting the digits. His tone is defensive because this is the first he’s heard of it, but it’s not like he’ll admit that.

Your forgiveness is fake, in a way. It’d been a grudge you held for a while and a betrayal you wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else. Maybe you’ll hold it over his head if he displeases you. So it’s not real forgiveness, is it, more so a lenience, a testament to your past, that your love for him somehow prevails over your need to enact the lex talionis.

___

The sand sinks under your weight with each step you take, waves lapping over the shoreline, seagulls and children squealing in the background. Sunset makes everything easier on the eyes and the heat is finally settling down since it’s getting late into the afternoon.

You had a nice time catching up with Kaiser in another part of the city, although he displayed a susceptibility to tourist traps. He gloated a lot, and you pretended you didn’t know about half of it from reading his Wikipedia page that one time when you were fostering your hate boner for him. You told him about how you ran away and ended up in another country and about how you’re still on the missing persons site.

Now you’re going back by the seaside instead of through the streets. You walk side by side, your ankles touching the water. Kaiser’s grin is wide, which makes him seem smug, but this time it doesn’t strike you as forced so maybe he is simply carefree. It’s an unusual sight for you — Kaiser, genuinely smiling.

“I think I’ll come see you again when it’s off season. Or maybe we can arrange for you to come visit me instead. I’ve got all sorts of things I want to show you,” he says. He never really had anything to give you before, and now he takes pride in having the means to do so, regardless of whether you’re interested or impressed.

“Whatever, Micha. You’re so full of it. I bet it’ll be lame or you’ll forget you promised.”

He remains pleased despite the teasing, even happier if possible. “It’s fine if you say pointless shit like that, I don’t mind a challenge. All I have to do is prove you wrong.”

___

satoru gojo

ucla

accepted by all the ucs except uc merced btw ty aaesuki for the idea. bro is so mad he drives down to uc merced in his fanciest prettiest clothes to strut around and geto is in the passenger seat like lol (are you serious).

but no ofc he's ucla. dude's on frat row getting wasted and banging every single hot person on gayley. he shows up to lecture once in a while not to listen but to look pretty while everyone stares and whispers abt him. ruins every single stem curve. god i hate him

i think his favorite dining hall would be epicuria because he has fine taste :)

suguru geto

ucla

dude i think he'd go to uc irvine but aaesuki was like no he and gojo go together so whatever. he actually shows up to lecture 40% of the time and has good notes. he sells them for $20 and makes a tidy profit unlike gojo who buys an ipad and proceeds to play temple run on it instead of writing notes.

he goes to peet's coffee after lecture and orders a caramel latte or sthing fruity except when he looks for his meal ticket he realizes he forgot to redeem one. everyone in line gives him theirs

ieri shoko

uc san diego

she is a woman in stem and she hates socializing (i think) so nowhere is better than uc socially distant. if she's not in her single dorm she's in that big ass building on campus where it gets progressively more quiet as you go up and she's in the most quiet floor. i don't go to ucsd

i think she would be in a lab freshman year, doing clinical research sophomore year, and publishing papers junior year. goes to grad school at stanford or something ..

kento nanami

uc berkeley

im so sorry im so sorry i have to put u here nanami. i was gonna say he goes to croads for fun but i can't even say that cuz he would never do that. bro is the guy who tells people in the libraries to be quiet since some people need to study. bro also shows up to every single lecture in the front row and asks insightful questions the profs love him

he rooms w haibara his second year after they get kicked out of the dorms cuz ucb hates providing housing :3

megumi fushiguro

uc berkeley

im so sorry goomi that u would go to uc berkeley. i mean what. go bears! brain like berkeley! anyways dude's on that 4.0 gpa 25 creds a semester 4 extracurriculars shows up to office hours kinda guy. he DOES go to croads but only bc it's close by and he doesn't want to spend money on doordash but he rlly should. he should get doordash

accidentally gets drunk at a party he was dragged too and drunk texts the yuuji + nobara gc but because he's so hammered it comes out like "mile read my" and when they're like what he sends the blurriest selfie except he's not even in it it's his hair and half a finger.

nobara kugisaki

uc santa barbara

yassss prison dorms prison school. never attends lectures, but gets decent grades anyways. often out partying and shopping but also a fan of studying in the library after putting on makeup and picking out a fit good enough to gag the students from abroad. gets dole whip from that one dining hall. yea

hates the lagoon cuz it stinks bad but still goes there anyways when she needs some time to relax

yuuji itadori

uc davis

go!! aggies!!!! let's be real he accepted cuz he heard there were cows and there are cows. he loves the cows. dude i think he would be a target and costco fan he likes to go in there and walk around and stare at everything. except he has to drive to sac to get to target since they don't have one at davis LMFAOOOO ..... go aggies!