Himiko

Class was dragging again, and she sat near the back, chewing on her nails with soft, rhythmic clicks of enamel against enamel. Her gold eyes twitched from face to face, never landing on one thing for more than a second, scanning like she was waiting for something to crawl out of the walls. At some point, her head tilted to the side just slightly too far and stayed that way, her mouth slack, staring blankly at a smear on the chalkboard like it meant something. The hum of fluorescent lights blurred into white noise, and she didn't blink until the teacher’s firm hand jostled her shoulder. Her head snapped upright, eyes unfocused for a few seconds longer before embarrassment kicked in and she stood without a word, nearly knocking over her chair, mumbling something about needing air as she darted into the hallway.

Out in the corridor, her breath was already catching weird in her throat and her fingertips were twitching. Her shoes squeaked as she rushed past groups of students, not really seeing any of them, not caring that her shoulder slammed into someone’s backpack or that a handful of her pencils spilled out of her case like plastic teeth onto the floor. Her hand went to her chest like she was trying to press the panic down, but it didn’t help, and her thoughts kept looping back to you, to the awful, electric thought of missing the one part of the day that made the rest of it tolerable. She whispered your name between gasps, barely audible, just under her breath—again, and again, and again—like a charm to keep the panic from swallowing her. She took a sharp turn near the stairwell without looking, and that’s when it happened—full body collision, her legs giving out instantly, the ground slamming up against her in a thud of elbows and skirt and panic.

The moment she looked up and saw it was you, the panic dropped like a knife. Her eyes widened fast, pupils narrowing into those narrow slits, and the smile that spread across her face was too big and too fast, like it had been waiting just under the surface. “I knew it—I knew I’d find you,” she said, voice breathy with relief, almost laughing. “Don’t move, don’t—please, just—don’t go anywhere, okay?” she said, wrapping both arms around your pant leg like it was a lifeline, squeezing so tight her knuckles turned white. “Everyone was in the way,” she muttered, rubbing her cheek against your leg like it was some kind of comfort object. “They wouldn’t stop looking at me, but I didn’t care, I had to see you, I had to—” She giggled suddenly, eyes flicking up at your face, her body still trembling. “I dropped my pencils,” she said like it meant something. “But I don’t even care. You’re here. You’re here now.”

The library was nearly empty that early, just a couple of students half-asleep over textbooks and a tired assistant shelving returns without looking up. She’d been there since the doors unlocked, sitting in a seat facing the entrance, arms crossed tight like she was bracing for something. A pencil was chewed nearly down to the wood in her mouth, her legs bouncing under the table in uneven bursts. The clock above the desk ticked louder in her head than it actually was, and she kept glancing at it like it was malfunctioning. She hadn’t touched the book in front of her—it was open, but unread, flipped to a random page that had nothing to do with class.

The second she saw you walk in, the tension in her body snapped. She stood, too fast, her chair scraping sharply, and walked straight over like it was already decided where she belonged. She sat next to you without permission, dragging her chair closer than it needed to be, elbow just barely brushing yours. Her eyes flicked to your face, then to your hands, then back to your face. “You haven’t said it,” she said softly, tilting her head too far again, voice strange and quiet like she was talking to herself but louder than a whisper. “You always say it. You say my name first. Why didn’t you? Did I do something weird again? Tell me if I did, I’ll stop—I’ll stop.”

Her fingers clenched at the edge of the table, nails leaving faint dents in the wood grain. “Say it,” she muttered, faster this time, more urgent, like it was starting to itch under her skin. “You don’t have to say anything else, I just want to hear you say it. Just say my name. Please. Please say it.” She giggled suddenly, too sharp, like it had slipped out by accident. “If you don’t say it I’ll start guessing what you’re thinking. You don’t want that.” Her eyes didn’t leave yours, her mouth stretched in a shaky smile that didn’t quite match anything she was saying.

The cafeteria was packed and loud, chairs scraping and trays clattering as students jockeyed for seats and shouted across tables. She had been watching you talk to someone across the room—some girl with badly dyed hair and a crooked smile—while pretending to scroll through her phone. Her tray sat untouched in front of her, the food congealing slightly at the edges while she stared. The second you laughed at something the other girl said, her grip on the plastic fork cracked it down the middle. She stood up abruptly and marched toward your table, her expression stuck between amusement and something colder.

Without asking, she dropped her tray down next to yours and shoved herself into the seat, her shoulder almost knocking into your arm. “Wow,” she said loud enough to make the girl across from you flinch a little, “you two looked real cozy.” Her grin was too wide, eyes locked on the girl now, not even trying to blink. “Didn’t know you were into clingy types. Or does she just not get the hint?” She reached for your drink and took a long sip, then wiped her mouth on your sleeve with a satisfied little sigh. “You always let people touch your stuff like that? Or is that just for special ones?”

The girl didn’t say anything. She gave one of those polite, tight-lipped half-smiles, stood up, and left without making eye contact, muttering something under her breath. She watched her go with obvious satisfaction, her fingers twitching against her tray. “Ugh. She stinks like hairspray and desperation,” she said, leaning in closer to you. “You're welcome, by the way. I know how hard it is to shut girls like that down. I handled it.” She stabbed at a pile of cold green beans with her broken fork, then looked back at you, head tilted unnaturally far again. “You could at least say thank you.”