My name is Kujira Kurokami. But the name is Youka Naze nowadays, because if you call me Kujira or Makoto Shishio, you better pray to whatever gods you believe in.
I consider myself to be a decent person, sure I hate a lot of things, including family, and friends, and well…
Never mind. The point is I am me. And I like how my life is, well, was.
All before those two idiots jumped my schedule and molested it to the point of no return. Somehow they also proclaimed themselves my friends. Usually, I want to kill them all. But to be honest, sometimes they aren't that bad. Emphasis on sometimes.
And today, they made it on my hate list, or at least that idiot I have for a younger sister did. I cannot stay mad at Medaka at all, because first, our brother Maguro would rape me, and second, I am polite to girls. I still have my honor, after all.
So anyway, little Medaka decided to bring a new counterpart into our little… group.
And I can honestly say, I hated him from the first look.
So Medaka drags over this guy, holding his hand mind you, and at first glance I felt my forehead throbbing. Instant headache, all from that horrible smile stretched across that pale face.
Then, I noticed behind that wide grin. He was cute, overly cute for a guy. With these big sparkly eyes and a little nose, he could easily pass for a female. And did I mention the weirdest part? He had this creepy aura all around him.
And don't get me started on what he was wearing. An all black variation of our male school uniform that seems to be too tight for him This whole, walking faggot, screamed homo.
As far as I could tell, girls, including Medaka, who had to stay professional and cool because of her presidential status at the student council, are whiny, annoying, clingy and cry a lot. I am the type who fights back, maybe beat him up a bit. And I knew this guy, was so not worth it.
Instantly I turned my nose up at that, that squirt, and refused to spend another gaze on him.
And then something hit the table, and there was the boy, all up in my face.
『Excuse me, but isn't the polite thing to do is say hello?』 He asked me. And I was about to scream. He sounds like a fucking weeaboo, looks like not even puberty wants to have anything to do with him. But no, the shrimp wasn't done. 『Oh, well I guess an uncivilized brute like you wouldn't understand manners. Sorry.』 Then he took a seat across me and just smiled. At me. It was seriously annoying.
Of course, usually I would have scowled and mumbled my usual response, but this kid was asking for it.
"Excuse me, twerp, but no one said I had to be polite to fags." See, this is why I didn't like to talk.
『So you are saying, you aren't polite to yourself? You should probably get some better self-confidence then.』 Medaka's jaw dropped and I swear, I growled. I was truly about to lunge over that table and bash his head into the floor, but a hand on my arm stopped me. Dammit Medaka.
And then, the faggot, held out his hand and grinned once more, but something seemed to change in his smile. Almost like, a challenge was in his eyes. And I, Kujira Kurokami, never back down from a challenge.
『Sorry for being so impolite,』 he said as he stretched his hand toward me, 『I am Misogi, Misogi Kumagawa. It is nice to meet you.』
I shook that stupid hand, attempting to break it but he just laughed.
"Kujira Kurokami." I mumbled to him, seriously. What the hell?
So that was how I found myself hanging around stupid Kumagawa, and discovered he lived literally next to me. So I would hear this shit from kiddy animes flying out of his window and I, I wanted to strangle him. Sometimes even piano music would reach my ears, and he was singing sometimes. I had to admit, he was rather good.
But, I never told him.
He lived with Medaka's homeroom teacher, Honekawa, who I observed riding recklessly into the driveway at one in the morning, sometimes with his wife Najimi, whom I believed to be an alumni, at the back of his bike.
Then, in the morning, I would hear screaming from what sounded like Honekawa (trust me, his voice wasn't that hard to tell, any male could imitate his voice easily if they breathed in enough helium) scolding, I am pretty sure, aimed at his tenant.
So it really wasn't a surprise when I got a knock on my door around the evening the following day, and Kumagawa asked if he could study. In my house. Well, I really was shocked that he had the guts to ask me, but I let him in nonetheless. His excuse, something about too much noise and then he went off in a rant about Najimi, accused for sexually harassing him.
So really, I should have expected that we became almost friends. And I also should have expected the bloody noses, the black eyes and the broken fingers that came along with our friendship.
He was a stubborn asshole, and so was I. And I really can't lie, but sometimes I wished that I hadn't had met him. Because honestly, I felt like there was more to us. He had all the characteristics of the person I was looking for, and I hated him for it.
Sure, we could get along just fine, but underneath it really we really just wanted to get at the others throat. Or, at least I wanted to.
The first time we kissed was a dare. Neither of us wanted to back down, so we did it. Just a peck, quick and to the point. I felt his discomfort, and I am sure he felt mine. And that is how it started.
Who could freak the other out, make them feel awkward, make them feel weak. When we would fight, it was now a contest on who could make the other the most uncomfortable.
Who could shut the other up.
And damn, that faggot won. Grabbing my hand in public, kissing me on the doorstep. Heck, even creeping into my room and sleeping in my bed. And I have to admit, sometimes I didn't feel as lonely.
So when Kumagawa met someone, a girl by the name of, whatever, I forgot. The point is, I felt an emotion never before felt by the stoic Youka Naze: Jealousy.
But the contest never stopped. The kissing, the holding hands, the close moments never stopped. And I knew that there was more to it.
So when I overheard a conversation, I knew that I was screwed. There was Kumagawa, yelling at my brother, and the worst part was it was about me.
Kumagawa had chosen the contest, the war, and the feelings with me. And that was when we had kissed, the first real kiss.
We both knew that this wasn't just a friendship, hell we were barely civil. But I, I wanted it to be more.
Honestly, I liked the feeling of having someone close.
So when I went off to college, it was no surprise that a year later I woke up to find a few bags littering my apartment and that squirt asleep on my couch.
How the hell was I supposed to explain this to my roommate? The only way I could afford this decent place was through sharing it.
But of course Kumagawa saved the day, and decided he would move in. Yeah, move in. Into my room.
Then began the screams, the fights, and the broken arm. Waking up to that short stack attempting to snuggle with his pillow. And for the second time in my life, I was jealous. Of that pillow.
So I pushed him out of my bed. And then we got into another fight. Only one of the many that resulted in spilled blood and usually kisses. A 'sorry', then a 'I missed you' kiss.
And I grew used to Kumagawa once more. Because I had missed him. I had missed him more than I missed my family, friends and childhood. Which honestly wasn't saying much, but still. Maybe I didn't hate Misogi Kumagawa.
So soon I finished college, and was off to find a job. And for two years I taught stupid, annoying, snotty nosed high-school brats dissecting animals in one of the best schools across the country.
And I missed him.
So why, WHY? Why the hell wasn't I surprised to wake up with arms around my waist during the second quarter of the third year I had been teaching. And attached to those arms was a messy haired squirt. Yes, that Kumagawa was now a counselor.
I was mad, no. I was furious. But at the same time I was excited, happy and satisfied. Because I had missed him.
And I didn't even mind when he dropped by during his lunch to watch my class. I didn't mind when he stared at me dreamily from the clear glass window, and I didn't care about the rumors the snotty nosed kids had spread.
Because he didn't care about my longing looks from the teacher lounge, he didn't mind when I randomly kissed him, and he didn't care when I hid all the pillows.
He didn't even ask why. And I swear something exploded in my chest when I woke up that morning and find my breasts being used as a replacement for the fluffy clouds that were hidden in the closet.
I didn't mind his annoyingly happy attitude, or his comebacks, or even when he decided to try and beat me up.
Because, I had found the person I was looking for.
The truth was, I loved that annoying, aggravating and fucking overly happy Kumagawa. And that walking blob of bullshit, messy hair and too tight pants loved me too.
Oh, and for the record. I still hate him.