If she wouldn't hear the general noise that rivalled hers from the other room, then he'd be studying. Soon after, she would ignore the continual knocking of his annoyed brother who had at some point the time before told her at the front of her door to keep the racket down a bit, which she hadn't done at all.

Whenever they'd buy ice cream, an occasion in itself only so frequent, he'd choose cookies and cream, and she would settle for caramel. Secretly, she liked cookies and cream.

She would hurry home fretting she would be late in watching her favourite show that was broadcasted at the instant their school bell rings for classes to end, and he wouldn't even worry about his many club activities and social standing.

Many a people wonder if they really were related, and she would joke that they were—usually adding that Len was her mother in disguise—and he would tell the truth and they would admire him for being so honest.

She would nick his mp3 player when hers was running low on battery, and he'd be okay with it…so long as he had time to lecture her an hour later.

She was nonchalant.

("Carefree" would've fit better in some circumstances.)

He was idyllic.

He was always the favourite, and she'd say she was better.

He would say that a man should treat a lady better when the other boys bully her, and she would inquire, "What men?"

He always thought ice cream was better if a boy was to pay for the girl, and she would roll her eyes at his equipped masculine dignity and would ask if she could have the most expensive caramel one on a silver platter.

He consented to that.

He made a lot of friends in school, apparently running all over to keep up socialising with them, whereas she on the other hand, as he had gathered from what he could understand from her constant whining he used to think was either out of PMS or adolescent teenage girl exaggeration but proved useful in the end, she detested her class very much and would look for every excuse to escape.

He would whip her up homemade cookies with slices of oranges—they were her favourite—to cheer her up every time he came home after she did. She would come down the stairs and take them without giving the least sign of gratitude.

Just as every time, he wouldn't wonder why she'd make pizzas for breakfast for him the next morning.

At one point, she fell madly in love with a boy, and it was when he decided to expect more trouble coming their way. She would nag about him about him—text him whenever she saw him at the mall—and would share to him—like a normal girl would—her fantasies. It was a threat to his masculinity, however just as it was, she was becoming more and more feminine that way. He thought she was maturing if a bit.

She was tenacious.

He was auspicious.

She was excellent in English as he was in numbers; however they had to help each other out to understand the other's aptitude that was their own weakness. She failed terribly in badminton and he couldn't pitch a baseball to save his life—the other's flaw was the other's strength. It was kind of like that and stayed no matter how hard they try to change it. Now, nobody expected a similarity the two shared. Strangely, they started to both like the same genre of music at the same time without either realising.

For six or so years, they'd been each other's valentine. It only stopped when they turned twelve.

A year ago she was suddenly stunning: She'd given in to wearing hairclips and a bow, as her friend so suggested. He didn't see that coming. To be enthralled by her beauty was like being pricked by a rose's thorn. Or, in his case, drowning Narcissus's lake. The thing was, she didn't know what was going on. She didn't notice the boys who look away from others more beautiful to stare at her.

And it annoyed him.




That very same year he was popular with the girls. He was a late—very late, at that—bloomer and only had his hair cut a little. Transferees were rolling in and they found that blonde doofus quite charming after all. He began with one girl.

And he didn't stop.

It was oddly around that time that they grew very distant.


They didn't know.

She joined the school paper this year, and he the student council.

He would sometimes find her skipping classes, and she would threaten, upon being discovered and endangered to be taken to the office, to write a column about what happened when they were seven.

Eventually he'd join her company in cutting classes and dismiss his school patrol early.

He would arrive home and hear moderately loud music coming from her room, as though she was blocking out every foreign noise. He'd not be surprised that she'd leave the door open—she always forgets—and would be even less astonished to find her already asleep on her study table, which she made to be her own café.

He'd carry her to bed with what power he kept hidden from her.

She wore headphones more often, and more than just frequently, she would be caught sleeping in classes. Why?

He bought her those same headphones for Christmas a year ago. He always came home so late, and she'd stay up to surreptitiously wait for him to come home.

Just the other day she insulted someone superior to her. He asked her about it.

They had a fight.

What made you do it? Huh?

He started it.

Then it turned to something more when he brought up another subject just to ultimately be the better of her.

What's with you and Utatane?

What about me and Utatane?

He rambled about her rudeness—she didn't like to hear it. He went on. That boy was being particularly polite, so she had absolutely no reason to snap at him like that.

She gave up and admitted that he confessed his feelings to her.

He stood there in front of her, dumbfounded.

Is that it?

No, it's not.

Then what?

She said she wasn't into him.

What, Rin?

She put on her headphones to make another one of her infamous hit-and-runs.

Exasperated with her unresponsiveness, he pulled them off her head and threw them on her bed.

He grabbed her shoulders.

What's gotten into you?

Nothing you can see, obviously!

Is there something wrong?

Yes, something very, very wrong.

Is it me? Am I the problem here?

You don't get it! You never do!

Get what?

I want you!

That month she was never late nor absent.

She would talk more to others, and she was happier.

He dumped every girl he duped at the same time.

He had the space he thought he deserved, and that's what's different.

He came clean about liking caramel more than cookies and cream, and she owned up that she liked the latter more.

Two years ago she cried for the boy who didn't like her back, and two years ago he was suspended for injuring a certain male student.

The students would be astounded to find the ordinarily so detached pair to walk home from school together.

He would find the door to her room open and could sneak in any time he wanted and she openly wouldn't mind about what he did to her.

He was allowed to come in her classroom, to give her her lunch without worrying about arranging the food to make a sappy, corny message by simply being related to her.

She smiled back at him whenever she caught his gaze. It made her day to just see that stupid dorky message in the form of messed-up food that he made.

Nobody's going to find out, anyway.

He couldn't control himself around her anymore.

He always felt like he was about to burst.

Not now.


Sometimes, her "can we do it later?" just.





She'd snuggle with him in front of the television on the couch, and he'd protectively wrap his arm around her small waist. He'd ask how she was. He'd find her asleep.

(Or pretending to.)

Nevertheless, he kissed her on the forehead sweetly, like making sure this was all real and he could do whatever he pleased with her.

I'm a little too boyish for fluffs ._. This is Rin's/Whose Fanfiction in a nutshell! Glad you read it if you did =D Please tell me what you think! I think this was fairly cute.