Lolita Love Story

Slipping out of class would no longer go unnoticed for Kougou, if it ever had before. Despite that knowledge, he didn't return for the last half of the morning classes. Instead, he brought his bento to his father in the hospital. It was easy to leave once he escaped the crowded hallways. Holding the black lacquered box in both hands, he walked leisurely to the train station near the school. If anyone realized that he was skipping school, they didn't look surprised. He took one of the many vacant seats in the back and watched the city go by.

When he reached the hospital, the nurses and doctors nodded briefly to him, but otherwise paid him no mind. Many of them recognized him by now. The smell of cleaning supplies, saline, and death lingered throughout the building, buffeting him upon entry as it always did. Since he was first admitted, Kougou's father had been moved several times. He was now in a small room with a nice view of the ocean. Kougou walked into his room and set the bento on his father's lap.

"Kou-kun, you're here early today," his father observed, the only sign of delight was the way his eyes widened a little.

"I wanted to see you, otousan," he said, smiling a little. "To see how you're doing."

"Healing. According to the doctors, I'm doing well, though I'm not so sure." He chuckled softly. "I feel strange sometimes, with my... changes. It's hard to get around without stumbling."

The topic almost dragged Kougou's eyes down to his father's kneecaps, but he kept his eyes on his father's by a force of will. "A bad feeling?"

"No, just... strange. Something that will take time to get used to." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about your father, Kou-kun. I always make do somehow."

"As you wish, otousan," he said, lifting the lid to the bento. "I made your favorite."

Kougou's father smiled as he looked at the carefully-prepared food. It was almost like a chef's cooking. He met his son's eyes. "Arigatou."

"Iie," he said, watching his father eat with a much stronger appetite than before. Another positive difference was that he had regained his strength. His hands no longer shook, threatening to spill his food. He seemed almost back to normal.

"You said you made some friends a while ago," his father said, taking a piece of sushi and popping it into his mouth. Kougou tried to think if there was anyone he would consider a friend at his new school, but the Yamasui girl was the only person who came close. "Why don't you spend time any time with them?"

The question reminded him of that night he walked with Saikai. She said something about how Kougou didn't have many friends, and that she understood how he felt. It was strange, coming from a girl who seemed to be adored by almost everyone who knew her, but he supposed loneliness existed in crowded places too. He didn't tell her, or anyone, why he didn't have friends. It wasn't just because he was shy, it was because he didn't want friends. He didn't want to see them die in his visions, like he'd seen his parents' attack and his mother's death. The thought of seeing someone else's final moments made him sick.

"I'd rather see you," he said, looking at the floor. His father didn't say anything, but the small smile on his lips was enough to say that he believed his son.



When school released, Kougou took his time putting his things away. Rushing back from the hospital to the school in time for class made him tired, not to mention that he hadn't slept well since before his mother's death. As he was putting his notebooks back into his briefcase, one of the boys who sat in the row in front of him stopped by his desk.

"It's Kougou, right?" the boy asked, a full neck taller than Kougou. He nodded silently, closing his briefcase and looking up fully at the boy. He was tall and muscular with short, fluffy black hair. Probably an athlete. But he had an easygoing smile and determined, friendly eyes that were very different from the others. "The name's Ryota Nakamura. I've seen you around, but never had the time to get to know you. Sorry about that. There's tryouts today for the sports clubs if you're interested. How about it, Kou-san?"

"I'm not adverse to soccer," he said, smiling a little.

"Oh, so you're a soccer kinda guy, huh?" Ryota grinned hugely. "We'll get along well. Meet you on the field, Kou-san."

He was so quick to leave that Kougou didn't have the chance to tell him that he didn't have any soccer gear. As if coming to his rescue, someone else approached him. A girl with long, curly blonde-brown hair and thick eyeliner. She moved in a catlike manner, and her eyes seemed to be saying a lot more than she ever would. "Hi, senpai. I noticed you fretting over the soccer tryout. Maybe you'd like to skip it and come to art club instead?"

Kougou looked at her for a long moment. She didn't seem the type to do art, sports, or much of anything really. Perhaps cosmetology. He picked up his briefcase. "I'm sorry, but Ryota-san seemed really certain that I would go. I can't let him down." Before the girl could press him further, he rushed out of the room and toward the field.

When he got to the locker room, he was surprised to see a full set of gear in a duffel bag with his name written in permanent marker on the strap. He changed quickly and put his things in the nearest vacant locker, then rushed onto the field. He was relieved to see that he wasn't late. In fact, there weren't many bodies present.

"Sorry to sucker you into it, Kou-san, but you're on the team now," Ryota said, giving him a half-apologetic look.

"What?" Kougou said, looking around. There were only three other guys on the field, but they were all much more powerfully built than he was. "I haven't even tried out yet."

"If you really suck, we can always help you improve with practice," one of the guys offered, shrugging.

"That's enough, Takeshi. Don't be an ass to Kou-san," Ryota said, returning his gaze to Kougou. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Heads up!" the shortest on the team called, tossing a bunch of soccer balls onto the field.

"Oh, right," Ryota said, "I almost forgot to introduce you." He pointed to the short one tossing soccer balls onto the field. "That's Akihiro." He then pointed to the guy from before. "Takeshi." Then he pointed to the last boy, an identical twin to himself. "My brother Daisuke."

They did warm-ups for half an hour, drills for an hour, and their cool down was a game split between the five of them. Kougou couldn't remember the last time he really exercised, but it felt good to use his pent-up energy. When practice was over, the sun was beginning to go down. Kougou grabbed his things from the locker and hurried out of the school. In his rush, he almost ran into Saikai, who was also walking home.

"Oh, senpai, I didn't see you there," she said, taking in his soccer uniform with a small smile. "I didn't know you were into sports."

"Soccer isn't bad," he told her, out of breath.

"Somehow, your hair isn't even messed up." He ran his hand through it, and to his surprise, found that she was telling the truth. Shrugging, he looked at her slightly-altered uniform. He looked back up at her, a little surprised. Saikai didn't seem the type to break any rules, much less dress code rules. Her smile turned into a little laugh, pretty and light like wind chimes. "You never noticed before?" He shook his head.

"You don't go straight home after school, do you?" Saikai said, looking at the second bento box in his duffel bag. He shook his head, part of him wanting to readjust the bag so that she couldn't look inside of it. "I don't usually, either."

Kougou wondered where Saikai would go after school if she didn't usually go home, but he didn't want to ask. He knew that if she asked him, he would feel awkward giving her the answer. So he said, "You're leaving school kind of late."

"I'm in art club," she explained, offering him the plain-covered sketchbook in her hands. He took it uncertainly. She nodded in encouragement. "Take it with you... where ever you're going tonight. If you get the chance to look, tell me what you think of it tomorrow, or something." She smiled. "You don't have to worry about hurting my feelings."

He nodded solemnly. "Arigatou gozaimasu."

"Iie." They stepped onto the train. Kougou was about to take a seat when he realized that it was the only open seat left. So instead, he let Saikai have it and he held the rail as the train departed. Their ride was silent and although he knew her feelings were far from hostile toward him, he felt a twinge of awkwardness between them.

"Mata ne," she called, waving warmly and leaving him on the train. "Be careful!"



When Kougou returned home that night, he returned with his father. He was still a little unstable on the prosthetic legs they'd fitted him with, but he was becoming used to them little by little. He seemed happy to be back home instead of in the hospital. Kougou stood only a few steps away so that he could step in and help his father only if he absolutely needed it.

Although it was a relief to have his father home with him, with his return, his mother's absence was even more glaringly obvious. He felt his heart aching as he looked at all the signs that she was no longer living there: the teacup sitting on the table still, the refrigerator filled with food that she would have said aren't healthy, and the kotatsu was nowhere in sight.

"Arigatou, Kou-kun. You did a good job moving all the furniture in," his father said off-handedly, looking around the house. "Lock the doors, please."

Kougou did as his father asked and sat on the couch beside him, taking Saikai's sketchbook out from his duffel bag. His father contentedly flipped through channels on the TV while Kougou flipped open the first page. It was a pencil drawing of a young girl feeding a dolphin with her hands. The next page was in oil pastels and it was a pride of green lions with purple manes and orange eyes. Each page was in a different media from the last, and each had cute or sweet subject matter. Kougou was impressed with her talent, but not in the least bit surprised with her subject. The last page, however, surprised him. It was unlike the rest of the art in the sketchbook. It was a picture of a mother holding a baby with a cleft palate. The mother had a look of concern on her face as she looked at her child, but in her other hand was a cigarette.

As he went to close the sketchbook, a loose sheet of paper fell out. Kougou picked it up and examined it. It was a half-finished and photo-realistic pencil drawing of a boy smiling absently. The face was unmistakably his own.