Little White Lies

Click, 

         clack,

                    click, 

                             clack;

                                       the rapid sound of shoes slapping against the school’s tiled floor. The subtle shift in airflow as someone moved in front of her. The overwhelming sweet scent of the other’s perfume. And another’s face gradually coming into focus behind her fogged glasses, evidently only a foot or two away from her own…

Etsuko froze, utterly mesmerized by the other girl; the one perched in front of her like a showbird making rounds about the audience. As if afraid she would only bring filth upon the other, she hesitated in allowing her flighty gaze to settle onto her features. 

Big round eyes, which sort of resembled chocolate in their hue, glimmered with such an invigorating sense of innocence - of vitality - that Etsuko felt a sudden urge to spill her whole heart out and sob into the girl’s arms. Her thin, glossed lips curled upward into the most heartwarming of smiles. A smile which, if Etsuko weren’t to look away in time, could have melted her on the spot. And her nose, flat against her face - like little hills of carefully sculpted flesh - crinkled accordingly. Despite her frail frame, the girl’s cheeks remained plump, a faint hint of blush resting upon their peaks; only making her all the more enchanting. Her hair - only a few shades lighter than her irises - must’ve been curled, for each wave bounced upward to frame her face so flawlessly they seemed to defy gravity. 

Etsuko thought the other to be like a painting: a beautiful painting with an equally beautiful muse - perhaps an ancient deity or a beloved empress - which was slaved over by all the most skilled artists in the world. In honor of that muse’s service, a wizard had traveled across foreign domains with the intention of bringing this painting into existence - allowing the unfortunate public to, even if just for a brief second, witness true art. That is exactly how this girl came to be. 

Etsuko, caught in a web of her own dissociation, hadn’t even realized the empress began speaking. She internally scolded herself for this, shaking her head. 

“Hello?” She tilted her head, still smiling. “Are you ok…? You’re not sick - are you? Did you hit your head - I can bring you to the nurse!” She paused, furrowing her eyebrows as if to reflect on her prior words. “Am I being too quiet? I’m not losing my voice, am I?” 

“I…uhm,” Etsuko trailed off, her lips hanging limp. Her voice…it was just like an angel’s. Tearing herself away from the other, she stared down at her feet, too embarrassed to admit the truth. “I…no.”

The girl, taking notice of Etsuko’s awkwardness, jumped to her rescue. “That’s a relief!” She exclaimed, giggling. “I was worried I might’ve said something rude. I’m Yamada, though. Yamada Aoi!” She clasped her hands behind her back, leaning to the side. “Aoi means blue, did you know? And can you believe it - blue’s actually my favorite color! It must be fate. Don’t you agree?” 

“F-fate?” Etsuko struggled to keep up with Aoi’s words, her face flushing a deep pink - the pink of lotuses. “Y-yeah! Fate…blue…uhm, blue’s my favorite too.”

“Is it really?” Aoi’s face lit up, then, pursing her lips, she gestured toward the other’s hairclip, nestled between her choppy bob - a white cat spotted sky blue. “I could’ve guessed, though. Your hairclip! It’s adorable.” 

“Thank you.” 

“...What's your name?” Aoi inquired. But before Etsuko could seize the opportunity and answer, she continued speaking, “They didn’t tell me. It’s totally not fair if you know my name, but I don’t yours.”

“Sato Etsuko.” 

“Sato-san, then? What a strange coincidence! I had a childhood friend named Sato!” 

Puzzled, Etsuko idly nodded along. 

“Isn’t that funny?” Aoi pushed, chuckling. “Maybe we’re being reunited, after years of being apart.” 

Etsuko considered obsessing over the aforementioned topic in such a way to be simply pointless. Sato was a common name, after all. A very common name. Nonetheless, Aoi seemed oddly fixated on the concept of fate. And, now, having found an outlet to force the other into that same ring of adoration, she buzzed with anticipation.

Etsuko never quite understood the appeal of fate, or other such fantastical wishes. For, if fate were real - if one’s life was predetermined before even conception - then wouldn’t that mean everyone was a slave to their so-called fate? Left to drown in a searingly cold sea, tied down by expectation and heteronomy; Etsuko was absolutely petrified by the thought, and even more-so by the looming threat of what was sure to come from a misreading of fate. 

Putting all your stock into an office job, betting on the distant dream you’ll eventually climb your way up the corporate ladder. Only to find yourself, decades later, in the same position which you started. Too deeply involved to run away now, and too exhausted to even admit you were wrong in the first place. Still clinging onto the faint, dying hope; the hope that one day, in the near future, right before retirement, you’ll finally get promoted - effectively fulfilling your destiny in the process. 

Etsuko, looking at what her imagination had conjured square in the face, could do nothing but shudder. However, there also remained the lingering danger that - by drawing attention to her own opinion - she’d upset Aoi. 

“Ye…yeah!” She attempted to mimic the other’s excitement, though her falsification was painfully clear. “I’m…glad to f-finally meet you…Yamada-san.” 

Aoi, paused a blank look crossing her features; wholly foreign when modelled on this lively girl.

After a few seconds her eyes snapped back into focus, her smile returned, and she extended a pinky out toward Etsuko. “Let’s be friends, then! Again.” 

Etsuko’s eyes bore red-hot holes into Aoi’s hand. The breath caught in her throat as she struggled to keep the sudden surge of vomit under reign. A childish gesture, it was - yet a gesture that left Etsuko utterly disoriented, caught in a web of nostalgia. 

Preparing herself, she held her breath, unknowingly crossing the fingers of one hand behind her back, while the other interlocked with Aoi’s 

“I…I-I’d like that.” She flashed a meek smile. 

A small bout of silence passed over the pair, during which Etsuko picked away at the threads of her blazer. 

“...Why don’t we get going?” Aoi chimed, breaking the silence. “I still have to show you around…I totally forgot,” she giggled. “If we just keep chatting we’ll get scolded, definitely.”

Etsuko’s eyes darkened. 

“Besides, I’ll feel guilty if you end up getting lost later.” 

Aoi was Etsuko’s tour guide. She was only sticking around due to obligation. She only preached their friendship…because of obligation. 

She was toying with Etsuko. Surely, she was. Trying to derive some sort of twisted amusement at the other’s expense. A siren; Aoi was a siren. She had the looks, and not to mention the charisma - there wasn’t the slightest doubt in Etsuko’s mind regarding her popularity. She was nothing more than a two-faced bitch. Claiming to be her friend only to turn right around and badmouth her to her true flock. 

Etsuko clenched her fists, her chest heaving. 

A means to an end; a pity acquaintance intended to harbor social points. 

“Etsuko-chan?” Aoi whispered, her brows knit tightly, laced with concern. “...Are you sure you’re ok?” 

But, against all logic, hidden deep inside the girl’s soul, there was a side to Etsuko which struggled against the defamation. A part of her - the most naive, primal part of her - wanted to believe in Aoi’s innocence. She assured herself the girl was being authentic, not muddied by ulterior motives and social classes. 

The image of Aoi’s face twisted into a defiant scowl just seemed so extraordinary, Etsuko couldn’t even begin to imagine it. 

“S-sorry,” she relented, head hung to the side. “You’re…probably right.”

Aoi nodded, turning on her heel, gesturing for Etsuko to follow. The familiar sound of clicking shoes against tile returned.

“You’re an artist, aren’t you? Our homeroom teacher told me.” 

When Etsuko didn’t immediately respond, she continued, “You won the nationals, didn’t you? I couldn’t believe it, honestly - that a girl my age was so skilled at painting! It’s amazing.” 

“Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t be humble!” Aoi insisted, her neck swiveling to face Etsuko. “You have the right to brag.”

“I…I just like to paint.” Etsuko paused, her hands rolling up and down her neck. “I’m nothing special.” 

Aoi, lips pouted, turned to her front once more. “How about we head to the art room first? That only seems fitting.”

~Timeskip! Not writing all that…😬~

Click, 

         clack,

                    click, 

                             clack.

                                       Aoi stopped dead in her tracks, allowing her hands - gripped around her schoolbag - to loosen. Anticipating the approach of the boy she was sure to be behind her, she held her breath and shut her eyes as tightly as humanly possible. The echo of long, confident strides reverberated throughout the empty hallway’s entirety, followed by an unbearable stench - which was only, to Aoi’s knowledge, derived from sweat. Leather straps attached to her bag - a black number filled to the brim with all the trendiest keychains - slipped further down her fingers. 

And the noise from a younger boy’s voice, deep and monotonous in nature, arose from behind. “Aoi! What are you still doing here?”

Aoi, whilst willing the boy to disappear on sight, slowly - and with the utmost caution - turned around, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. 

The boy had caramel skin attributed to a lifetime of beachside getaways and routine sports training. Thick, curly hair - soaked after an afternoon spent on Judo - sat, immaculately groomed atop his head. His sharp nose paired just splendidly next to a set of thin, blood-stained lips and protruding cheekbones. His deep brown eyes were perpetually drawn into a vacant, yet smoldering, glare; which, in the face of such overt contrast, left the hairs on Aoi’s arm raised high. His left eye in specific, however - by consequence of a recent beating - shone, purple and swollen. And, with the sleeves of his gym uniform rolled to their elbows, Aoi could observe a plethora of stained, poorly applied bandages threatening to give way at any abrupt movement thrust in their general direction. 

“Akashi,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “What a pleasant surprise.” 

“Aw, now don’t be like that,” the man - Naoki Akashi - whined. “You’re always so cruel! Can’t I just check on my favorite cousin?” 

“I’m your only cousin.”

“And I really couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“...What do you want?” She sighed, turned back around, and continued down the hallway - only this time at a much brisker pace.

Naoki, not having expected the girl to move on so quickly, hurried to match her steps. “You hiding from your mom?” He continued his earlier point, inadvertently answering her question. 

“You know you reek, right?” Aoi made a theatrical display of faux gagging. “Go home - take a shower.”

“But I’d rather tail you!” He smirked, spinning on his heels so he now walked backwards. “At least tell me where we’re going.” 

“I’m,” Aoi added an extra weight to her assertion, “leaving. Alone.” 

“But you’re not alone?” Naoki stuck his finger against his chest. “Do I mean nothing to you…?”

Scowling, Aoi tilted her chin toward the ivory ceiling. “What are you even still doing here?”

“You want me to answer your questions, but completely neglect my own…?” Naoki pouted, pausing for a while as if he could change Aoi’s state of heart. 

“The Hayashi twins wouldn’t stop bickering, so we all got punished in their place.”

The Hayashi twins… Aoi’s eyebrows furrowed at the mere thought of those insolent fools. Two twin boys notorious for their seemingly bottomless temper and total absence of self-restraint. A year prior, Aoi had the misfortune of being assigned to their side - a mentor of sorts, attempting to reign the beasts in and eliminate the threat they posed to their fellow classmates. Not only did Aoi’s contributions end in futility, but the twins - in retaliation - became even more so insolent. 

Suddenly, Naoki chuckled, his voice raising an octave or two, “Ah, you should’ve seen the look on everyone’s face; absolutely mortified. It was hilar-”

Aoi, cutting Naoki off, massaged her temple as she spoke, “Stop. Forget I even bothered to ask.”

Cast into silence, the boy drew his lips together, tapping his finger against his thigh with each lift of the leg. 

Thin veils of sunlight, already showing the distant indicators of dusk, broke through each and every green-toned window; encompassing the pair under a coastal shadow. Birds - singing amongst themselves and fluttering their tiny wings as they rushed to find shelter for the frigid night - alongside the soft whir of a heater, hidden away someplace in the walls, were the only two sounds able to withstand the school’s void. 

Aoi had never been particularly keen on taking note of the beauty this world had to offer. She was cursed to see such loveliness solely during dreams, and, when alert, abandoned to obsess over matters of technicality. A shift in expression or idiolect, the approach of footsteps - and whom they happened to belong to - minuscule components of one’s appearance which she could later compliment…she’d spent every waking moment reacting, never observing. 

But, now - for the strangest reason, one Aoi herself couldn’t pinpoint - whenever silence overtook her environment, she found herself meticulously searching for potential subjects of art. She stopped to listen to trains passing by and koi fish, residing in manufactured ponds, dashing past - leaving ripples of disturbed water in their wake. She’d started to take note of it all, and afterwards, with a jovial grin and particular shimmer to her eyes, she ran to tell…

Naoki, bringing Aoi’s train of thought to a harsh halt, drew attention to a sliding door only a few steps away. 

“The art room?” He identified, snickering. “Don’t tell me you got lost.”

“What?” Aoi, mind scattered, spun her neck the same direction as Naoki’s. 

He was right: she had in fact neglected her original motive, and instead ended up in front of the art room. A set of sliding doors - residing in a wing opposite of the school’s exit - towered in front of her. Precisely eye-level to Aoi, not leaving so much as an inch of deviation, sat a small panel of tinted glass. Suddenly, as if enticing the girl to peer inside, the sound of coughing rang out from inside the room. 

Someone was there. 

With her mouth still hanging agape - trapped inside a swarm of unspoken declarations - she took a small step forward, submitting to the window’s whims. “Etsuko,” she muttered under her breath. 

Sat in the room’s furthest corner, with nothing but the faint sunlight to guide her hands, was Etsuko - hunched over a half-painted canvas. Which, when in comparison to her petite form, seemed absolutely monstrous. Without a moment’s hesitation Aoi slid the door open, stumbling inside. 

“Who?” Naoki, for once unsure of himself, chased after her. 

Etsuko didn’t appear to acknowledge their arrival, or, for that matter, much of anything at all. Her uniform, once a pristine white, was now vibrant - bathed in an assortment of various paints, most of which had dried hours ago. Her blazer, thrown an arm's length away, had been refashioned into a palette, buried beneath a pile of brushes and paint swabs. The same hairclip which Aoi had, during their first encounter, professed affection toward, now held her bangs back; effectively revealing her face to the other girl. Pale pimpled skin, small, downturned eyes the hue of ink, and lips pressed so tightly together, Aoi feared they just might disappear. Though she wasn’t wearing her glasses. Those were neatly placed upon the nearest windowsill, the finest coat of dust beginning to settle over the glass. Only then did Aoi discern how horrifically cracked the pair was; held together by nothing other than a fragile string of tape. 

Etsuko’s eyes zeroed in on the canvas with such unwavering focus that her previous character - the meek, unobtrusive girl who could hardly formulate a sentence without giving way to dread - registered as comical in comparison. Each brushstroke was flawlessly executed, all with a larger purpose in mind, none trivial - leaving, hidden within the painting, proof of the girl’s unrivaled talent behind. 

Aoi’s fingers repeatedly clenched and slackened, desperately searching for something that could tie her to gravity’s pull once more. Despite the plethora of unique individuals Aoi regularly conversed with, never before had she witnessed genuine talent - nor dedication - on a scale so otherworldly.

And, for what? A love of one’s craft; a desire to bestow upon others a novel perspective? 

“Oh, the little mute girl?” Naoki hummed, leaning forward so that, even from behind, his face met Aoi’s - and blocked Etsuko from her field of view entirely. “You’re really inconsiderate Aoi. Bringing me on a pointless detour, just to watch a mute girl paint.” 

“She’s not…mute,” Aoi grumbled, utter confusion forcibly ripping her out of the trance-like state she’d entered. 

“Isn’t she? She never responds to me,” he whined. “If not mute, she’s boring. No taste in men - seriously. I me-”

Aoi cut the boy off, pushing his head away. “Just leave. You don’t want to be here, so leave.”

Naoki, cradling his cheek as if to harbor sympathy for an injury that never existed in the first place, paused. His eyes fixed on Aoi, then Etsuko, and finally the door behind him. Without a word prefacing his departure, he trudged into the hallway, making a point to noisily whimper as the doors slid shut. 

At the precise moment where a deafening thud echoed throughout the stuffy classroom, Etsuko jerked upward. Her eyes wide, and the paintbrush she masterfully held tumbling to the floor. “A-Aoi?” She trembled, her chest heaving.

“Etsuko-chan?” Aoi, swiftly adapting a charming smile and air of innocence, returned the callout. “I didn’t expect to find you here so late.”

“Yeah…” Etsuko, at a loss for words, nodded. 

“Are you painting?” Aoi skipped to meet her side, tilting her head. 

“There’s a, uhm, competition next week.”

A heavenly mermaid, perched atop a bed of jagged rocks and torn seaweed, watched over the painter with the most predatory of glares. The mermaid’s tail - adorned with pearls straight from an oyster’s grasp and raisined starfish - faded from a deep scarlet into a dull peach. Long, chocolate hair, slick with seawater, cascaded down her shoulder’s curve, encasing her bare chest within a veil of tangled driftwood. 

“It’s beautiful - you really are amazing!” She flattered the other, clasping her hands behind her back in a hope to hide the straining of her muscles. Giggling, she added, “I never thought you’d like mermaids.” 

“No-” Etsuko started just as quickly as she stopped, an odd melancholic - yet somehow nostalgic - glint to her expression. Hesitantly, she continued, her voice so hushed it could've easily dissipated into the surrounding clouds of dust if Aoi were to fail at catching it, “Not…it’s for someone I knew; a f-friend.”

“Aw, how sweet. I wish I could paint my friends, too.”

Aoi, swooping in after Etsuko failed to respond, swapped subjects. “After graduation: do you want to be an artist?”

The painter nodded, raising her left hand so she could toy with a shirt button.

“You totally should! I know you have it in you to get famous one day. Having your face on the morning news, getting invited to talk shows…doesn’t it sound like a dream come true?” 

Aoi briefly paused, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. With a near-possessive underlining to her words, she confided in the other girl, averting her eyes toward the canvas, “I’ve always wanted to be an actress. Maybe… we can get famous together?”

Etsuko, against her better judgment - a firefly compelled toward a lit chandelier - allowed herself to smile. “O-of course.”

~The end!!!٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و I’m lit so sick of this now… Etsuko I HATE YOU!!!~