The gossip started before the first bell had even sounded.
He'd just entered through the gates when someone muttered it under their breath.
"That's him."
By homeroom, his name was already being whispered in half-truths and full-fledged gossip.
"I heard he was expelled from his last school."
"They say he got a teacher into the hospital."
"He never talks. Like, ever."
He simply sat in the back row, by the window. Of course, they put him there, always farthest from everyone else. It wasn't a punishment, but it definitely felt like one.
He rested his chin on his hand, gazing drowsily. Dark hair spilled uncombed over his forehead, the strands sweeping down past his eyebrows. The faint shadows under his eyes were there to stay, not from lack of sleep, just from having been around too long.
He wasn't tired. He just looked it.
And that was enough for people to avoid him.
Mr. Hashimoto growled for quiet and muttered during roll call. When he came to "Hayakawa Izumi," there was quiet.
Izumi raised one hand, just barely, then he let it drop again.
Hashimoto nodded, voice shaking. "Welcome. Do your best this semester."
There was no answer. The silence that followed was more crushing than the welcome.
Lunch break lagged too long.
Izumi did not go to the cafeteria. He already imagined what that would be like — commotion, heat, gazing eyes.
He went to the other end of the school building, behind the gym where the crates full of maintenance materials were stacked up. Peaceful there. Weeds that overgrew corners. The distant cicadas' hum.
He sat down on a block of concrete and opened his onigiri purchased from the convenience store.
And then, voices.
Girls, on the other side of the gym wall. Whispering, giggling, speaking louder than they knew they were.
"Did you see how he looked at that math problem? I mean, he was going to ace it."
"No, he just glares. My cousin said that type of guy is seriously violent."
"Ugh, get stuck beside him. I'd kill myself."
Izumi went on chewing, not even blenching. He had heard worse.
But then
"You guys are ridiculous," one voice interrupted.
A moment of silence.
"Seriously. He's not intimidating. He's just tired looking."
That voice.
He had guessed.
Miharu Kobayashi.
The class rep.
Always arguing. Always chomping gum, which she wasn't supposed to have. Always giving answers with too much certainty. The type of girl who began speaking before her mind was done and never worried about anyone else joining in.
He hadn't spoken to her. Hadn't even looked in her direction. But everybody knew her.
Now she had defended him.
Izumi slowly blinked once. The rice was tasteless in his mouth.
He just looks tired.
He swallowed. That was not supposed to matter.
It did.
Later in the day, after school, he wore his earphones and made his way down the back stairway to avoid the front gates.
As he turned the corner, there she was, Miharu. On her phone, leaning against the railing. Her eyes caught his instantly.
"Yo," she said.
He didn't answer.
She pocketed her phone, pushed off the railing, and fell into step beside him.
"Running away from the crowds?"
"I'm just walking," he muttered, weakfully.
She grinned. "Right. Because walking with murder-eyes is a totally normal thing."
He glanced at her.
She had a plastic band-aid on her knee and a backpack covered in idiot little pins, cats, frowning faces, one that merely said "NO." Her hair was gorgeous. She looked like the sort of girl who bashed her face into existence every morning and didn't ask anyone's forgiveness.
She said nothing more. Just walked.
The distance between them was strange, not stifling. Just… present.
Halfway down the hill to the station, she finally spoke.
"People are stupid," she said carelessly. "They think silence means danger."
Izumi looked down the road. "Or they just want somebody to talk to."
Miharu shrugged. "Maybe. Still stupid anyway."
She kicked a rock into the gutter.
They arrived at the crosswalk.
As the light flashed green, she went ahead. He did as well.
And for the first time that day, the whispering stopped.
That night, Izumi sat at his desk, staring at his homework without even picking up a pencil.
Outside, cicadas buzzed. The fan in his room whirred out a constant beat.
He hadn't paid attention to what people said about him in years.
He knew the rumours. He knew the way they looked at him. That was familiar.
But what she said, he just looks tired was new.
Simple.
True.
And somehow…
It stung his chest.
A little.