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It was true that Minamoto-kun usually hung out with his other friends during lunch;
Today, though, he was supposed to come to the photography room to help Sousuke develop the photos they had taken together last week. It was early Spring, the time of year that arrived quietly after a season of rain; Minamoto-kun had accompanied him through the park while the clouds slowly gave way to sunlight. Near the edge of a shallow puddle, they’d stumbled across a plethora of frogs, clustered close together beneath the wet grass, something Sousuke had been especially fond of.
Now, the developed picture sat in his bundle: three frogs gathered together in a huddle, illuminated by the fading sunset as their shadows pooled delicately beneath them. The contrast had come out pretty nicely, if Sousuke were to say so himself.
Yet he felt no gratification, no satisfaction now that the envelope of photos sat tucked within his school folder: Usually, the slow ritual of photo development carried with it a quiet anticipation, a promised rite of passage once the process was over and the photograph was ready to be held in his hands. Now in its place sits sharp silence; a space which has been left so utterly void, like a black hole collapsing inward, dragging every thought into itself.
It generates a panic within Sousuke; he has to do everything he can to run as far away from it as possible.
So he tries to think; Minamoto-kun. Minamoto-kun, who is always going on about his other little friends; Yokoo-kun this, Satou-kun that. And what exactly was so special about them, again?
Sousuke knew of them vaguely; they were in the same class last year, but they weren't ever really friends. Sousuke knew them only peripherally, in the sense that he was cursed with an inventory of miscellaneous knowledge about Minamoto kun’s sidekicks. This was on account of the fact that he was forced to eavesdrop upon a number of their conversations during first year while being seated just a foot away from Minamoto-kun. Baseball practice after school during the spring seasons, invitations to afterschool cram sessions at Satou-Kun’s place, (offers Minamoto kun didn’t take up as frequently as he maybe should have); they were a regular group of friends who hung out on a regularly daily basis; in the end, they had a relationship no different from the one Sousuke shared with Minamoto-kun.
Not that Sousuke was totally replaceable; he liked to think of himself as fairly distinct. Satou-kun was a bit of a runt, probably due to a stunt in growth caused by overconsumption of Fudge bars and Taffy snacks. You should never have too much of one thing, as they say: (Sousuke applies this principle at his own discretion, whenever it pleases him;) As such, little Satou-kun would probably lay on his deathbed at that same pathetically short height, which was a real shame considering that his face wasn't too bad. It was a preventable outcome nonetheless; Sousuke couldn't feel too sorry about it. Sousuke always (reluctantly) made sure to sprinkle some cilantro into his microwave ramen bowls, and ate fish semi-frequently, even if the taste of salmon had the automatic effect of triggering his gag reflex; Ultimately, ‘You must eat your vegetables’. Except Sousuke finds most vegetables to be quite undigestible, so this alternative combination of proteins and diced garden leaves is implemented to ensure he has the healthy diet necessary for a growing young boy like himself.
Yokoo-kun had fewer traits to nitpick, much to Sousuke’s own disapproval. He possessed the sort of natural confidence which, if left unchecked, could easily curdle into a slight arrogance. And for a middle school boy already too sure of himself, there was no task more difficult than displaying some humility. As a result, Yokoo-kun moved through life with very little shame. He could make a complete fool of himself and brush it off moments later as though nothing had happened at all. It was the type of personality Sousuke could only ever dream to have.
Sousuke was instead the type of person who remained painfully aware of himself all the time, in every moment. Each awkward pause and failed interaction, each expression that lingered for too long on the face of an unsuspecting classmate: an unsuspecting classmate who could easily become an enemy if they happened to mistake his clumsy behavior for coldness or hostility. His currently inoffensive reputation could only remain molded within his grasp for so long, after all. The truth, no matter how desperately he tried to avoid it, always returned to the same conclusion: there was no amount of wishing that might ever turn him into an acceptable person.
It still hurt his feelings in a way that made him feel petulant, like a whiny little baby; It just wasn’t fair! He could not quell the ache in his stomach and it's perpetual hollow. No matter how much he tried to rationalize it, he would always want something different, something more;
but what exactly that was, he wasn't totally sure of. And why should he even try to grasp onto something so intangible?
By now, he knew he really ought to be used to his lot in life, should have come to peace with it at some point. Despite his greatest attempts to axe the tendancy, Sousuke had always been prone to jealousy; and as he sat alone at lunch, thinking to himself that, (at least he had a friend by now: at least he had anyone to talk to, ever at all): he couldn’t help but feel a part of himself start to shrivel into itself like a bare grape left out to sit in the hot sun, dried out at the edges, burnt up inside and stuck in a painful recursive loop.
Because if Minamoto kun liked Sousuke as much as Sousuke liked him, Sousuke wouldn’t be sitting alone in the corner of the photography club room sulking all by himself; if Minamoto-kun liked Sousuke even half as much as Sousuke liked him, Minamoto kun would be right here, sitting next to Sousuke right now. He wouldn’t have forgotten to eat lunch with him, because there would have been nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
After school, they'd planned to meet up outside the entrance, where they'd head to town to pick up scrapbooking material: now Sousuke wonders if Minamoto kun had forgotten about that, too.
Well, Sousuke supposes, nibbling at the noodles he packed for lunch, cold and stale. It’s not as though he has a catalogue of friends to sift through like Minamoto-kun does; he’s only got just the one. Him and Minamoto-kun are fundamentally different after all, he thinks while eating the stupid leftover takeout he had quickly grabbed from the fridge on the way out the door to school that morning. It's mediocre and goes down his throat only to surely disappear midway before it reaches his stomach: that must be why his tummy still hurts.
He wonders what kind of lunch Minamoto-kun packed today. Probably a gourmet bento arrangement, prepared by himself under the guidance of his perfect darling mother, cooked with expensive high end ingredients reserved for a more prestigious clientele. Minamoto-kun always brought his lunch in one of those pricey bento boxes Sousuke would see displayed at the convenience store: with lacquered wood imitation and fancy divided compartments. Whenever Sousuke asked his mother to please buy one for him, she would wave him off and tell him that his plastic Doraemon bento box was just so much cuter.
In Sousuke's humble opinion, these leftover takeout noodles served in a dingy container littered with scratches and indents certainly didn't look very cute; Doraemon was quite oudated, and his noodles were seriously average, as in utterly dissatisfying; it was a real shame that he hadn't the time to dice any cilantro this morning. Maybe if he'd arranged his lunch with bright vegetables and neatly sliced tamagoyaki, like Minamoto-kun might have done.
Whenver Minamoto-kun decides to eats lunch with Sousuke, he typically offers him some of his own food. It is always unfortunately quite tasty, maybe even delicious; The sheepish grin on Minamoto-kun's face whenever he says so is even more rewarding. (He's strangely humble under this scrutiny, bashful in a way that feels private, like Sousuke has coaxed something usually kept outside the frame into view. It's moments like these which Sousuke likes the best.) He picks at his noodles with his chopsticks in a way his grandmother might scold him for when he starts to wonder if Minamoto-kun offers his lunch to all his other friends, too; if that was just another "General kind gesture" of his, before deciding there that was no point in dwelling on such meaningless things.
He wished, suddenly, that he wasn't the only one who felt this totally desperate. After all, he was already so delicate. His constitution couldn't handle it. A spike of irritation ran down his spine, and he sat up a little straighter when he pulled out his phone.
12:34 PM: i’m feeling a little sick i think i'll just go home afterschool. we can meet next week instead
After he decided that lunchtime was over and had already begun packing his food away, his stomach began to rumble. Sighing deeply, Sousuke gathered his things and trashed his leftovers, gnawing at his bottom lip with his teeth. Minamoto-kun was so scatterbrained, he might not check his texts for another couple hours.
That was okay, that was fine. It’s not like Sousuke will spend every second of the rest of the day before school ends waiting for a reply; then, nitpicking Minamoto-kun’s response when he is met with an inadequate amount of concern; and then finally going home totally alone, after cancelling his own plans.
Later the regret settles over him, approaching slowly in hours of the evening as he sits atop his bed in a t-shirt and pajamas watching OSU playthroughs, half distracted and eyelids heavy. His throat feels both too hot and too cold as he wonders why he had to go and get so butthurt over such a mundane offense; everyone makes mistakes, things slip their minds, and Minamoto-kun is especially forgetful, way more than most. Minamoto-kun is also His only friend; shouldn’t he be grateful that anyone chooses to spend their time with him at all? Now Sousuke sits by himself in his room, miserable and alone when he very well could have been hanging out with Minamoto-kun and extorting him for cash. And it's all his own fault.
He checks his phone to read a text that has been left unread for hours while he was busy feeling too spiteful to look:
14:08 PM: Aw alright I hope u feel better! And sorry I forgot to come around for lunch earlier T_T I’ll see u next week Sousuke!!!
Gluttons are paradoxical creatures: easy to please but impossible to satisfy. Give them a throwaway scrap, a fleeting thrill, a shallow comfort, and they will greedily devour it before finding themselves hungry once again. Looking down at his phone, Sousuke feels a flip in his stomach, and he can feel his face warm as blood rushes to his face. But as his stupid pea brain begins to fixate on the emoticons Minamoto-kun includes in his message, the three exclamation points tacked to the end, (the way his skin pricks with chills when Minamoto-kun calls him by his first name, a recent development: it's cute, and Minamoto-kun is just so sweet, and Sousuke should feel lucky that they're friends at all,) his own simplicity instantly disgusts him. The following shame he feels knocks him off his adrenaline rush and exhausts him so much that within a moment, he has lost the will to keep his spine upright; he falls sideways into his assortment of pillows and blankets, laptop pushed off to the side as he curls into himself, arms hugging his folded legs and head tucked into his knees.
How easily his mood is lifted when Minamoto-kun gives him a lick of attention; and how easily it breaks when Minamoto-kun looks away. Like a bug retracting into its body he shuts his eyes tight and hopes as hard as he can that Minamoto-kun doesn’t think of him as too clingy, too parasitic.
Then again, Minamoto-kun might hardly think about him much at all; probably not to the extent with which Sousuke thinks about him.
Minamoto-kun had other friends to occupy his time with, anyway.