[Early on, Akira realized she'd need to perfect a specific sort of smile, no teeth, but rising into her cheek, a softening of her chin: grateful. Like she is honored to stand wherever she is standing. She was honored, for a long time, but now she's just impatient. Now, at podiums, she tilts her chin and inclines her head to highlight the curve of her cheek, but she thinks about telling them that she deserves to be here. She dreams about it. She fantasizes about it. In her fantasies, they can see her teeth and they fear them. All of a sudden, Akira smiles. She lets Shindou see her teeth, and not bared in anger. It's like telling a secret so secret that nobody even knew it's been hidden: she can smile like any teenage girl. Maybe she could even whisper behind her hands, while she's here sharing her dreams and all.
Then, just as sudden, she turns her face away. From this angle, the nape of her neck makes her look a little sad. Maybe that's like any teenage girl, too. Her hair is pinned up, and her collar is stiff and stark, but the back of her neck can sweat and have a melancholy curve. She really is fifteen. She speaks in the other direction:] So that's what you've been thinking about all along. [She's reassured, in a way, because Shindou is Shindou, and that hasn't changed. But that doesn't mean she isn't also jealous, and it doesn't mean she isn't frustrated. If she'd had a name a hundred years ago, would Shindou think about it?
She does turn back in time to see Shindou look away from her. It makes something in her guts go a little spastic.] Second or third? I see. [It's like this helps her reach a decision. Akira's eyes fall from Shindou's face to the fan held close to her chest, and she is envious of its position, its nestle near to Shindou's heart. Once that gets to be too much, she just presses her whole face against her knees. Her shoulders heave as she takes one great breath, before she sighs it out. Then she stands up, an abrupt and tactless rise, a grim skyscraper of a girl.] I'll make you come, [she announces, and it's a brutal promise. It's a promise.] You're going to come for me. I came after you, today, and you're not going to embarrass me by denying me the same in return. If you don't, I'll come instead, and I'll take Honinbou. [She isn't clenching her fists. Sometimes, Touya Akira coils so tightly that she seems liable to spring into destruction, the ridge her knuckles primed for vengeance. But, right now, her fingers are barely even curled. On the second step of the fifth floor landing, she stands in her shiny loafers, taller and more bleakly alluring than all the trees in Aokigahara. All her chasing has left her tight bun askew, with strands of too-straight hair come loose in places. She says,] Are you finished crying? [But her voice is the sheathing of a knife—protective.] Or do you need more time?
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Then, just as sudden, she turns her face away. From this angle, the nape of her neck makes her look a little sad. Maybe that's like any teenage girl, too. Her hair is pinned up, and her collar is stiff and stark, but the back of her neck can sweat and have a melancholy curve. She really is fifteen. She speaks in the other direction:] So that's what you've been thinking about all along. [She's reassured, in a way, because Shindou is Shindou, and that hasn't changed. But that doesn't mean she isn't also jealous, and it doesn't mean she isn't frustrated. If she'd had a name a hundred years ago, would Shindou think about it?
She does turn back in time to see Shindou look away from her. It makes something in her guts go a little spastic.] Second or third? I see. [It's like this helps her reach a decision. Akira's eyes fall from Shindou's face to the fan held close to her chest, and she is envious of its position, its nestle near to Shindou's heart. Once that gets to be too much, she just presses her whole face against her knees. Her shoulders heave as she takes one great breath, before she sighs it out. Then she stands up, an abrupt and tactless rise, a grim skyscraper of a girl.] I'll make you come, [she announces, and it's a brutal promise. It's a promise.] You're going to come for me. I came after you, today, and you're not going to embarrass me by denying me the same in return. If you don't, I'll come instead, and I'll take Honinbou. [She isn't clenching her fists. Sometimes, Touya Akira coils so tightly that she seems liable to spring into destruction, the ridge her knuckles primed for vengeance. But, right now, her fingers are barely even curled. On the second step of the fifth floor landing, she stands in her shiny loafers, taller and more bleakly alluring than all the trees in Aokigahara. All her chasing has left her tight bun askew, with strands of too-straight hair come loose in places. She says,] Are you finished crying? [But her voice is the sheathing of a knife—protective.] Or do you need more time?