Expression

Chapter Eight

Today was cold. The wind cut into Jotaro's skin, freezing his veins and turning his blood to ice. The sun wouldn't help, not with that dark layer of clouds keeping it hidden, unable to make contact here. His heavy wool gakuran aided a little, but it wasn't enough. Not enough to keep his face and neck from stinging in the pre-storm air. Jotaro looked back at his home. Noriaki's scarf was there—soft, warm, comforting.

For a second he began to turn back.

Best not to. I don't think he wants any more association between us. Mid-turn, he stopped. No; he wouldn't wear it. He never should have accepted it, never should have expressed his feelings and put himself in that position in the first place. He couldn't be close to people. What am I supposed to do now? What are you supposed to say after a tense conversation that you left suddenly? This wasn't something he'd ever learned, not a situation for which there was some guide to tell him what to do. Do I do anything at all? Say something first, or wait for him to approach me?

The way to school was especially silent today. Normally students took their time, walking slowly to talk with their friends before the school day began, in no rush to get to school. Now, with the chilled air feeling like a knife against the skin and the clouds rumbling—the sound of a soon-arriving rain—everyone walked by hurriedly, not waiting on anyone else. Jotaro alone moved slowly, hoping that on his way he might see Noriaki, might be able to close the rift between them, might at the very least make things clearer between them than this murky fog-like state he found himself in. Does Noriaki feel the same way? Is he, too, stumbling his way along a path he cannot see? Can I even help him? What power do I have to banish the mists that cloud everything before us?

Some things are just hopeless.

Each moment on the way to school was spent searching for Noriaki, the sight of those dark sunglasses, the sound of those footsteps. He was nowhere on the path Jotaro walked.

Noriaki trembled in the cold. Having chosen a different route to avoid Jotaro, he had to walk a longer way. He needed to focus, to make sure that he was heading in the right direction; this area was still unfamiliar to him, which slowed him down even more. As much as he just wanted to get to school quickly, get out of this chilling air that had seeped deep into his bones and settled over him like permafrost, he couldn't. He was traveling a way he didn't know, hoping that he didn't get lost, and he had no one to help him.

If Jotaro were here... he could help me. But I'm in this situation because I decided to walk alone, after all. I don't know what to say to him. Fucking hell, what are we?

He kept his arms as tight against his body as possible. He would have to be his own source of heat. That scarf—ah, if I hadn't given it up, offered it so readily. Something given in love that leaves an absence behind it when that love is uncertain, far away—gone? I need to stop thinking about this and get to the school building already. This is unbearable.

Ever since last evening, he'd been feeling sick. He'd only eaten half his dinner, and, this morning, hadn't had breakfast at all. He felt like if he did, he'd vomit. Even now, his empty stomach churned, mocking him. There was nothing at all to throw up, but still it was as if he would. Yes; this was one of those days, perhaps one in what would be a streak of many, where he could only feel that anxiety which gripped him so completely that it had taken his body, not giving an inch of him relief from that vague fear that something was wrong, that all his anticipation would be met with rotten, spoiled, hopes. Along with the edge he'd been on ever since waking up, the constant vigilance against a stand attack wherever it may lurk (no matter that this made no sense) he had little hope for a happy day, or even a peaceful one.