I Just Wanted Them to Like Me...

The hallway smells like stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. From behind closed doors, you hear snippets of off-key singing, laughter, bottles clinking.

You press your eye against the narrow gap where the blinds don't quite meet. Heart pounding harder than it should.

There she is.

Kyoko sits on top of the karaoke table in that bunnygirl costume - the satin corset pushing everything up, those long black stockings covering her legs, little bunny ears perched on her head looking so damn wrong on someone who usually has her nose in a textbook. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she's giggling at everything. Not evem wearing a skirt.

Two senior guys flank her like wolves.

Tsubasa - bleached hair, cocky grin, the kind of guy who peaks in high school and knows it - has his arm draped along the back of the table behind her. Kaito - taller, quieter, sharper eyes - sits on the edge nearby, holding a bottle and watching everything.

"See? This isn't so bad," Tsubasa says, leaning closer. "You were nervous for nothing."

Kyoko tugs at the hem of the costume. "I just... I've never worn anything like this before."

"You look good," Kaito says flatly. Doesn't smile when he says it. Somehow that's worse.

She ducks her head, hiding a smile. "Really?"

"Would we lie to you?" Tsubasa's hand drifts closer to her shoulder. Not touching. Just hovering. "We don't hang out with just anyone, Kyoko. You're different."

Her whole face lights up. "I really wanted to come tonight. When you invited me, I couldn't believe it."

"Course you came." Kaito pours something into a cup from the bottle. Slides it toward her. "Drink?"

She hesitates. "I don't really..."

"Just a little. Loosen up. Sing with us."

She takes it. Sips. Makes a face. They laugh - not meanly, not yet - and she laughs too, relieved.

Tsubasa's hand finally lands on her shoulder. Squeezes gently.

"See? You fit right in."

She beams.

Kaito catches Tsubasa's eye over her head. A small nod. A look you know too well.

The door is closed. They don't know you're here.

You saw her this morning in homeroom, practically vibrating with excitement. "They actually want to hang out with me," she'd said, like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

It was.

The clubroom smells like instant ramen and old paper. Posters of shows you actually watch cover the walls - the real stuff, not the mainstream garbage the popular kids pretend to like. A battered TV in the corner plays some opening theme you recognize. Tables are pushed together, covered in manga, card decks, and half-empty soda cans.

This is your place. Your people.

And somehow, Kyoko is here too.

She's been coming for two weeks now. Ever since she found out you were in the club. At first you thought she was just being nice, maybe wanted to hang out more. But she kept coming back. Asked questions about the shows. Borrowed your manga. Actually seemed... interested.

Today is different though.

Today is initiation day.

The seniors - Tanaka and Sato, third-years who've been in the club forever - stand near the TV wearing matching grins. Sato's holding a camera. A nice one.

The rest of the club members are scattered around, trying to look busy but clearly waiting.

Kyoko stands in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot.

She's in costume.

Maki Zenin, Shibuya Arc. The rental costume is... accurate. Too accurate. Torn shirt exposing her midriff and side. Wrapped bandages around her arms and thighs. The fabric is frayed, riding up in places that make her keep pulling at it. She's even got fake burn marks on her cheek and a prop weapon in her hand.

Her face is bright red.

Tanaka whistles low. "Damn, Kyoko. You actually went for it."

"I rented it," she says quickly, voice too high. "From that place downtown. They said it was... popular."

Sato grins, lifting the camera. "Burnt Maki. That's a choice. We gotta document this."

Kyoko blinks. "Document?"

Tanaka: "Every initiation gets photos. Club memories."

Some of the other members nod. A few look uncomfortable but don't say anything.

Sato already has the camera up. "Okay, okay, let's start simple. Just hold the weapon. Yeah, like that. Good."

Kyoko poses awkwardly. The camera clicks.

Tanaka: "Now turn a little. Show the side profile. The costume details."

Another click.

Tanaka steps closer, studying her. "The armpit area on Maki's outfit is important. Very iconic. We need to get that angle."

Kyoko freezes. "What?"

Sato: "For accuracy. Cosplay photography is about capturing every detail. The ripped fabric, the exposed areas. It's for reference."

Kyoko looks around the room. At the other members. At you.

Tanaka: "Show us your armpit. Just for the shot."

She hesitates. Her hand hovers near the torn edge of her shirt.

The cultural festival is in full chaos. Hallways overflow with students, parents, and visitors. Classrooms have been transformed into haunted houses, curry shops, and cafes.

Room 2-B is now "Maid Heaven."

Streamers hang from the ceiling. Cheap lace curtains frame the windows. Cardboard menus sit on every table. The smell of instant coffee and microwaved curry fills the air.

You're here as a customer, mostly because your friends dragged you along. You're sitting at a corner table, nursing a drink you didn't really want, when you see her.

Kyoko.

She's wearing the maid costume. The full maid costume. Frilly headband. Lace apron. Puffy skirt that ends way too high on her thighs. White stockings with little bows at the back.

She's not alone. Three other girls from your class work the room too - Yuna, Miki, and Aoi. The popular ones. The ones who suggested the maid cafe in the first place.

They look comfortable. Natural. Posing for photos, giggling with customers, twirling trays with practiced ease.

Kyoko looks like she's been dropped into someone else's body.

She's carrying a tray of drinks to a table of older guys. University students, maybe. They're loud. Too loud.

University Guy: "Hey, miss! Over here!"

Kyoko turns, smiling that nervous smile. "Yes? How can I—"

University Guy: "More tea, obviously. And maybe a picture with you? For the memory."

Her laugh is too high. "Oh, um, I'm not sure if—"

University Guy: "C'mon, it's part of the maid experience, right?"

She glances toward the back of the room. Yuna, Miki, and Aoi are huddled near the kitchen, whispering, watching. Yuna catches her eye and waves - a quick, dismissive gesture that clearly means just go along with it.

Kyoko nods. Poses next to their table. The guy's phone flashes.

University Guy: "Thanks, cutie."

Her cheeks burn. She hurries away.

Their table laughs.

Across the room, Yuna and Miki exchange a look and smirk.

The next hour is a blur of tables. But somehow, Kyoko keeps getting the ones the other girls avoid. The loud groups. The handsy guys. The ones who want "extra service" with their tea.

You hear one of the popular girls whisper to another: "Fresh meat." They laugh.

Kyoko catches your eye from across the room. Just for a second. Something flickers in her expression - embarrassment? Shame? A plea?

Then a customer grabs her wrist. :Hey, we're still talking to you."

She doesn't pull away. She stays.

The cultural festival is over. The crowds are gone. The hallways that were packed with people an hour ago now echo with the sound of distant cleanup crews and shutting doors.

Room 2-B is empty.

Mostly.

Streamers hang limply from the ceiling. Tables are pushed to the sides, waiting to be moved. The smell of instant coffee and curry still lingers. Someone left a cardboard menu on the floor.

You stayed behind to help clean up.

Well, that was the excuse.

Really, you just couldn't leave.

Kyoko sits on the floor in the corner, back against the wall, knees pulled up to her chest. She's still wearing the maid costume. The frilly headband is in her lap. Her stockings have a small run near the knee. The lace apron is wrinkled and slightly stained.

She's been staring at the same spot on the wall for five minutes.

You walk over slowly. Sit down next to her. Not too close. Just close enough that she knows you're there.

For a long time, neither of you speak.

Then, quietly:

Kyoko: "They said I should be grateful."

Her voice is small. Flat. Empty.

Kyoko: "That they even let me be in the cafe. That I got to wear the costume like everyone else."

She laughs, but there's nothing funny in it.

Kyoko: "Yuna told me I should take it as a compliment when those guys wanted photos. Means I'm 'cute enough to notice.'"

She pulls her knees tighter. Hides her face for a second.

Kyoko: "I just wanted them to like me."

Her voice breaks on the last word. Just a little. Just enough.

The room is quiet. The festival noise outside feels like another world.

She doesn't look at you. But she doesn't tell you to leave either.

The rooftop door has always been unlocked. Nobody cares enough to fix it.

It's after school. Late enough that the hallways are empty, the clubs are meeting, and the courtyard is deserted. You came up here to get away from everything.

She's already here.

Kyoko sits with her back against the chain-link fence, knees pulled up, staring out at the Nagoya skyline. She's in her normal clothes today - the old sweater you recognize from middle school, jeans she's had for years. No costume. No desperate smile. Just... her.

She doesn't turn when you sit down beside her.

For a while, neither of you speak. Just the wind. Just the distant sound of traffic.

Then:

Kyoko: "Do you remember when we were kids?"

Her voice is quiet. Tired.

Kyoko: "At the Osu Kannon festivals. We'd get those cheap candies and you'd always give me the ones you didn't like, and I'd pretend to be mad."

A pause.

Kyoko: "I think about that a lot now."

She pulls her knees closer.

Kyoko: "Back when I didn't have to try so hard."

She finally looks at you. Her eyes are red. She's been crying. Or maybe she's still holding it in.

Kyoko: "Why do you stay?"

A genuine question. Like she really doesn't understand.

Kyoko: "Everyone else leaves eventually. Why do you keep... being here?"

The wind blows. The city hums below.

It's just you and her.

...