Fate. A predetermined supernatural power. The will of the universe. Fate is order. It writes, and rewrites, gives and takes. It spins vibrant red strings that flow into the world and connect people who are destined to meet, to love, to share a story...
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"I'm sorry for the short notice, but I won't be able to bring you lunches anymore," Akito says without looking at me, his voice low and composed. He's got his eyes directed at my hands as they lie limply on my open textbook, half lidded and gray with disinterest. Something about the detached look on his face makes my chest throb each time my heart returns to beat. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, lifting my hands and shoving them between my knees.
I stare at him, waiting to see if he'll look at me. His cheeks look too pale, like all the warmth has seeped away from them, and I think about rubbing my hands together and touching them to his face. Is he cold? Would that help him feel better? Shit, he's not feeling well?
I unhelpfully glance around the classroom, because I don't have a single fucking clue about what I could do now to make things better. Do I ask him directly? Or...or I could tell Amari? She probably knows about this stuff, and...and we could take Akito to the hospital? If he wants to.
When I turn back around to him, he's already sifting through his notes again, eyes darting around the pages, finding points to underline, and...he's not going to wait for me to answer? "Huh, uh, okay," I scramble to say. "Because you have to...to study?"
He simply nods, still refusing to look my way, and my heart does a painful squeeze in my chest. I stare down at my hands, frowning. I got real mad yesterday when he abruptly left without saying anything, but then Amari explained to me that Akito had big plans for his future, and that he didn't have as much time on his hands as the rest of us did and that we should try to be understanding about it. So I glance up at him again, uncertainly, and decide to try. "Okay, I...get it. I get it. I'll figure something out, so...it's okay."
He just nods again. Fuck. I feel so...strange. My stomach feels...strange. And I don't like it. I just...I don't know why, but right this moment, I want so badly for him to look at me, and...and smile, or pout, or roll his eyes or just do anything with that goddamn face of his.
"Alright everyone," my homeroom teacher says, his clear voice cutting through the endless chatter of my classmates, and when I look up, the sinking feeling of dread suddenly hits me in slow, unstoppable waves. "Hey," I say, dizzy from the panic. "A-Akito."
Sensei is standing on the small platform at the front of the room, holding a cardboard box filled to the brim with folded slips. I swallow hard, and watch as he passes the box to our class rep, asking her to take it around the room to let everyone pick a number. "Shit," I breathe, an incessant prickling in my stomach, like it's crawling with insects. "Shit, he's making us change seats." I forgot they did that every three months. "Shit," I say again. "We're...we're gonna be..."
"Hm," Akito hums before I can say separated, with the same unconcerned face and the same dead eyes, and it's barely even a sound, it's barely anything.
No further words pass between us, and before I know it, I'm watching him grab his backpack and walk to the other side of the classroom, dumbfounded. "Excuse me," I hear someone say, and I glance up, distractedly, to see a girl waiting impatiently for me to move, bag slung on one shoulder. I hastily get to my feet, my knee knocking against at least three other desks as I push past the students crossing the room, fumbling to look at my slip.
