shoot to miss

copper

notes:
chapter tws: disassociation/hallucinations, graphic violence, drug abuse
please take care of yourselves! please DO NOT read if any of this stuff bothers you. stay safe u all!! we're getting right into the thick of things from the start. 

d>e>a>t>h>m>e>t>a>l ; panchiko
post rave maximalist ; machine girl

October 1997

Two bites into his lunch, the classroom door opens and shuts, right on schedule. Really, Denji's stalker isn't even trying to be sneaky about being a total creep anymore– although, even if he did try, it wouldn't work, because Yoshida's been joining Denji for lunch every day since he first showed up. It's routine at this point. Shiny black shoes click against the tile floors of the classroom before tapping to a stop right in front of Denji's desk. A bookbag slumps to the floor.

Denji smothers his smile with a massive bite of rice, topped off with an edamame bean, keeping his gaze fixed on his bento box.

"Denji," that quiet voice murmurs, soft and sweet as ever. It practically drips with honey, so positively over the top that it makes Denji want to hurl.

He takes his time chewing, sorting through the food in his mouth, and refusing to meet Yoshida's heavy stare. First a couple of bites on this side, then a couple there, move the rice back to the left, swallow the excess...

Yoshida chuckles. His presence looms over Denji as he leans forward, and then a gentle finger is tapping on Denji's shoulder. "Denji," he tries again, louder this time. More insistent.

Another heap of rice, a mini sausage balanced precariously on top this time, pauses mid-route to Denji's mouth. "Not interested." Denji forces the grin that has inadvertently spread across his face before finally looking Yoshida in the eye. His face is still stuck halfway between a smile and a scowl. "You're a stinky stalker creep."

Black eyes crinkle and soften into an amused smirk, a chuckle playing at the corners of Yoshida's lips as he tilts his head, bangs falling in front of his face to cover his eyes. Denji wonders, vaguely, how Yoshida manages to see behind that curtain of hair. He supposes that Yoshida can't see through his hair and instead navigates his surroundings with some sick sort of echolocation to gracefully avoid obstacles, like a bat. Or a vampire. Yeah, like a vampire– Yoshida's tall and brooding enough to pull it off.

"This particular stinky stalker creep wants to walk you home today," Yoshida says. He has a wide grin plastered across his face, and there's something challenging in his tone, almost like he's daring Denji to say no. And Denji had tried, the first week, to say, no. These days, he doesn't even begin to think about declining Yoshida's requests– which isn't to say that he doesn't complain. Denji likes to think that he complains a healthy amount about every single thing that Yoshida demands of him.

When Denji doesn't respond immediately, Yoshida tilts forward, hands bracing the wood of his desk on either side of Denji's pink plastic lunchbox. The wood creaks under the extra weight, but neither boy pays it any mind. "Please?"

"Again?" Denji huffs. "How am I supposed to get chicks if you keep hoarding me after school?"

Yoshida arches an elegant brow. "Hoarding? That's a new word."

"Uh huh," Denji nods. Nayuta had taught it to him last night while they were doing chores. Denji's a big hoarder, she'd said, poking at the boxes full of random stuff Denji kept shoved in the big room at the back of the apartment with a broom handle. The previous tenant hadn't taken all their stuff when they moved, but Denji didn't have the heart to throw it out. While it had felt wrong to jam what felt like a whole personality into a single room, Denji had quashed the feeling and done it anyway. Except he'd kept the TV out in the living room. He needed that. "My kid sis– well, friend, I guess– Nayuta–"