The library at lunchtime is the kind of quiet that makes your own heartbeat sound like a bad drum solo. The air smells like dust and old glue. Sunlight slides through the high windows in pale strips that don't reach the corners, and the clock over the stacks ticks like it's judging you. It's the perfect place to pretend you're fine.
She's where she always is: behind the counter like the queen of a very tiny, very nerdy kingdom. Braids, glasses, that flat look like she's three moves farther into some chess game no one else can see.
Panji...
"Alright," I say, because somebody has to break the silence. "You called me. I showed up. Congratulations to both of us. Now what?"
She doesn't even glance up. Turns a page. The papery whisper is louder than my voice. If she's doing a bit, it's a good one.
I hook my hands in my pockets and lean against the endcap of the nearest shelf. My jaw is tight from the morning, from the messages I haven't answered, from the way Himawari's face looked in homeroom when she didn't sit near me. Cosmos didn't even say good morning. That one stung more than I'll admit. Whatever. I breathe, count three beats, try again.
"Panji."
"Interesting, isn't it?" she says, finally. The words are soft, like she's just tidying up a thought. "You plan. You adjust. You try to herd everyone's feelings into a neat little pen. And in the end—" Page flip. "—everything collapses anyway."
I squint at her. "The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means," she says, eyes on the book, "you're not God. And you make a poor hall monitor of the heart."
A laugh punches out of me before I can help it, ugly and short. "Great. Philosophy hour. I'm thrilled." I push off the shelf. "You dragged me here to roast me, or was there going to be an actual point?"
She lifts her gaze then, finally, and it's like looking at a calm lake that might hide a sinkhole. "You look tired, Joro-kun," she says. "You should stop trying to decide how other people ought to feel. Even when you think you're helping"—her mouth tilts, not quite a smile—"they're still people. Poor Poor people."
My jaw works. Something in my chest pulls tight. "Shut your damn mouth, Panji..."
No heat. I don't raise my voice. The words drop between us like a lead weight. She blinks once. That's it.
I hate that she can still make me feel stripped bare with one sentence. I hate more that I let her see it.
The door rattles open on its tracks.
Of course. Perfect timing. This day has a sense of humor.
Himawari comes in first, hair ribbon bright, expression already halfway to hurt. Cosmos slips in right after, perfect posture wrapped in frost. And then Sun-chan—broad shoulders filling the doorway, righteous anger in a school jacket. A holy procession of headaches. I should start charging admission.
I don't move. The clock ticks. The dust motes drift.
"Joro," Himawari says, like my name is a bruise she keeps pressing. "Why are you here with her?"
Cosmos crosses her arms, tilts her chin so she can glare down without being taller. A neat trick. "I thought we agreed on some distance..." The last two words are stiff, like she's forcing herself not to spit them.
Sun-chan doesn't bother with pretense. "Dude, what are you doing?" His voice reverbs in the quiet stacks. "You said you'd help. You said you were on my side. So why are you sneaking around to meet her?"
I inhale. Count to three. The old drill coach in my head says if you can keep your voice level, you can keep your soul from walking out of your body.
"She called me," I say, flat. "I walked here. The end."
"That's not—" Cosmos starts.
"You can't-" Himawari said
Ah jeez... so annoying
"Jiro?!" Sun Chan asks
I'm there before anyone
I inhale...
"Shut the hell up...."
My voice is flat but cuts through the room with ease.
My voice is calm, and the silence that follows is absolute. Even the clock is scared to tick.
Himawari's eyes go wide. Sun-chan's brows slam together. Panji watches me like she's checking a pulse. They are instantly at my attention
I started
"You want to do this?" I ask. "Fine. Let's do it. You asked me for help. Both of you." I flick my fingers at Himawari and Cosmos. "You dumped the messy parts in my lap and called it friendship. 'Joro, talk to him for me.' 'Joro, figure out what he likes.' 'Joro, set the mood.'" I snorted angry. "You made me a tool because that was convenient. Now that it's not, I'm suddenly the villain. Hilarious."
Himawari flinches. Cosmos' mouth tightens. I can see the words hitting, not because I'm right about everything—I'm not—but because none of them planned for me to say it out loud. The truth always sounds rude when you were hoping for a lie.
"You're twisting it.." Cosmos says, but there's a tremor under the ice.
"I'm twisting nothing." I shrug. "You wanted a fixer. You got one. Turns out fixing people is a myth. Who knew?"
Sun-chan steps up until I can feel the heat off him. "You could've just said no," he grinds out.
"Yeah," I say, staring back. "I could've. That's on me." I tip my head toward Himawari and Cosmos. "But you all shoved."
The corners of Himawari's eyes shine. That punches through me in a way I hate. I look away. Straight into Pansy's lenses, which catch the light and hide whatever's behind them.
And then of course
Panji has to chime in
Fucking Panji
Her voice arrives quiet, cutting...
"Neh... Jiro kun... Why did you say I should go out with Ōga-kun?"
The floor tilts. I don't blink.
Himawari sucks in a breath. Cosmos turns her head a fraction, listening hard.
"And," Panji adds—so gently it feels cruel, "weren't you saying hmm... oh.. yeah" she looks at me "you said when one of Cosmos or Himawari has her heart broken, you'll swoop in..."
A hollow opens behind my ribs. For a second all I hear is blood. The air is too thick; the room is too small; the sunlight doesn't reach anything that matters.
I turn toward her slowly. She isn't smirking. She isn't being coy. She's just... neutral. Like this is an item on a list we're getting through together.
I try to laser my stare through the glass and into her eyes, like if I look hard enough I'll find the Panji who whispered she liked me when no one else was around. The Panji who kicked at my ankles under the counter and then pretended she hadn't. The Pansy who could fold me in half with a compliment.
She watches me watch her. Nothing moves on her face.
The hollow grows teeth.
"So that's it?" Cosmos whispers. "We were... pawns to you?"
Himawari shakes her head, hurt sharpening into anger. "I trusted you, Joro. I thought— I don't even know what I thought."
I scrape a hand down my face. "You want a confession? Fine." My voice stays level out of pure stubbornness. "I tried to control a mess that wasn't mine to control. I thought I could keep everyone from getting hurt if I took the hits. I was wrong. Congratulations."
"And you asked her to date Ōga-kun?" Cosmos snaps, seizing the part that cuts. "That's—"
"He asked me," Pansy says quietly, and the room tips again. "I declined."
"Jesus," I breathe. "Panji...."
Sun-chan's hand clamps down on my shoulder, turning me to him. "Say something that isn't a dodge."
"You've already decided what I am," I tell him. My lips feel numb. "Why waste breath?"
He hauls me by the collar; the fabric bites my throat. "Because we were friends."
"Were, huh..?" I stare at him...
His hand was cocked back
I stared at it
"....If you're going to pitch, captain Put that baseball hand to good use."
The fury in his eyes goes from simmer to boil. For half a heartbeat I think he'll back off. He doesn't.
The fist comes in clean. I don't move. It clips my cheek and slides across the bridge of my nose with a wet snap. The world pops white around the edges and then slams back hard. I stumble into the nearest table. A chair legs screech. Something falls. I taste copper.
I steady myself on the chair
"Feel better?" I ask the floor. I swipe blood off my upper lip with my sleeve and look up. "Violence against your own best friend is bad."
Sun-chan's jaw flexes. "You're no best friend of mine."
I deserve that. Doesn't mean it doesn't land like a bat to the gut. I steady my breathing. Get the room to stop shivering. And then, because I'm an idiot and because I have to, I find Panji again.
She's looking down now, fingers pressed lightly to her throat like she's holding something in. The sight bites worse than the punch.
The question flares before I can stomp it: Did you say you liked me for fun? Was any of it real? I bite my tongue until I taste more blood. That shuts the thought up.
Cosmos and Himawari step in, crowding me with the smell of shampoo and accusation.
"Explain yourself," Cosmos says, gloved in ice.
"Joro," Himawari whispers, wrecked, "just tell us the truth."
You know what...
I can't right now I'll deal with this crap later
"Here's the truth," I say. It's almost a laugh. "I'm done." I say putting up my hands
They blink. All three. Even Pansy looks up.
Sun-chan's hand lifts again like he's forgotten he just used it. I shift back out of range and roll my shoulder out of his grip. It aches where he grabbed me. Everything aches.
"Where are you going?" he demands.
"Home." I push past the table, past the little strip of sunshine, toward the door. "I have to feed my cat." I toss a look over my shoulder that I hope reads like a period at the end of a sentence. "Thank you very much. Now let me go."
Sun-chan exhales like a wounded bull. For a terrifying second I think he'll swing again. He doesn't. His fingers bunch, then unclench. He steps aside.
Himawari makes a small sound, like she wants to say my name and can't figure out what it means anymore. Cosmos keeps her arms folded until her nails bite her sleeves. She looks furious; she looks lost. Join the club.
Panjis eyes are on the floor again. Dark hair, pale skin, that damn calm. If I look at her any longer I'll say something I can't take back. So I don't.
I slide the door open. It rattles like it did when they came in, only now it sounds like a verdict. I step into the hallway.
For two steps I feel their eyes on my back like pins. At three steps the library air is behind me and the corridor's cooler breath hits my face. At four steps I decide not to look back.
I always look back. Not today.
⸻
The men's room is a bad place to do surgery on your thoughts, but I don't have a better one. I stand at the sink, watching water go pink and then clear as it swirls down. My nose stopped bleeding fast—small mercy. I splash my face, pat it dry with the cheap paper towels that feel like they're made of sawdust, and stare at the mirror.
A guy stares back who looks like me if you left him in the tumble cycle too long. Hair a mess. Cheek already shading toward bruise. Eyes that don't know where to land.
"Congrats," I tell him. "You just speed-ran the 'lose all your friends' route before midterms. A new personal best."
He doesn't laugh. Mirror guy is humorless today.
I lean my hips into the counter and let my head hang. The tile hums under the fluorescent lights. Someone outside runs past, shoes squeaking, and then the hallway swallows the sound again.
I am not angry, I tell myself. Anger would be easier. Anger turns the world into a nail and me into a hammer. This is worse. This is heavy and quiet and sits low in the stomach like a swallowed stone.
They weren't wrong to be pissed. Hell, I'd be pissed at me too. I tried to choreograph a waltz with four left feet, and when everybody tripped I pretended it was part of the show. That's on me. Fine. Not arguing.
But Panji...
My throat closes. I grip the counter until the metal groans.
We were supposed to be—what? "In it together" is a joke, but it's the only language that fits. She dragged me into the truth when lying would've been easier (she always does). So why did it feel like she stepped on my fingers while I hung from the ledge? Why bring up Ōga? Why say the "swoop in" part out loud, right then, like throwing chum into the water and watching the sharks go to work?
Because I deserved it? Because she's honest to a fault? Because she wanted to see if I'd still pick her after she set the room on fire?
Or because she's right about me, and nothing else matters?
"Stop it," I tell the mirror. "You're not special. You're just tired."
My phone buzzes. I don't look at it. It could be an apology. It could be a kill shot. Either way, I'm not in the mood to bleed again.
Feed my cat. Right. Something practical. Something alive that doesn't ask me to narrate my soul. I tuck the phone back in my pocket, adjust my collar—creased now, thanks Sun-chan—and step out.