"Why are you here?"

"You're the one who asked me to come."

His response summoned a swirl of disgust at the pit of my stomach.

I buried my face into my hands. "Go home."

"Why the hell would I? I'm already here!"

I peeked through the cracks of my fingers to address the snarling male, glaring at me with extended fists. My lips caved into a frown.

Toru Igarashi wasn't supposed to get that ticket.

I was so sure of that minuscule prospect that I'd burned it into my mind. Though, upon hearing the final bell and seeing him saunter his way out of the classroom, I panicked, and like the idiot I was, tossed the ticket straight at his face. Things unfolded in a large-scale argument, in which we decided to meet up near the venue. Until here we were now, both as grumpy and irritable as could be.

Was it my fault for giving it to him? Sure. But if I hadn't, I'd really have wasted a Mortal Mania ticket. How could I squander a ticket to my ride-or-die band, living with the guilt that I was depriving a fan out there total bliss? Granted, this fan was Igarashi who therefore didn't deserve bliss, but I digress.

"Consider this an act of charity," I spat, allowing my arms to hang limply by my sides. "And spare me the embarrassment by not talking to me."

I started down the sidewalk first, squeezing through the gaps of the incoming crowd. The sun was setting in the west, dousing this portion of the city in an orangey glow. Although I speed-walked on purpose to leave him in my dust, I could distinctly hear footsteps strolling beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, Igarashi's angrily scrunched countenance was clearly illuminated as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He dragged his feet in large strides unbefitting for his small body and craned his neck in the opposite direction.

"Do you really hate the idea of being here with me that much?"

"Of course I do," I had no qualms replying, tossing him a dirty look. "So stop walking so close to me. How about if people start questioning if you're my child?"

"I'm not that small!" Grinding his perfectly symmetrical teeth, he sneered, "What reason would people have to associate us, anyway? Let's settle this and head home. Being with you is giving me a headache."

"You should've turned me down."

"Only an idiot would turn down a free Mortal Mania ticket. If anything, you're the one who shouldn't have stopped me after school to throw it at my face."

I frowned from frustration. Why oh why did I do that again? Even if I wasted it, anything would've been better than this situation. Considering our seats were right next to each other, even if we didn't meet up beforehand there was no way to escape the worst night of my life. And here, it being my first Mortal Mania concert, it was supposed to be the best.

I hated this all. Even walking alongside someone way shorter than me—a guy, no less—only worked to make me more self-conscious. Especially in a crowded area of the city like this.

"You really have the worst personality."

I swerved in Igarashi's direction. "What did you—"

"Does your height bother you that much?" He stopped to address me with a glower. "Who cares how tall you are."

My voice caught in my throat, much more swiftly than it ever had. Igarashi's malice was like a punch to the gut. I screeched to a halt as well, playing back his sentence.

"'Who cares?'" I echoed, already knowing the hurt in my tone was apparent as day. Clenching my teeth, I stamped a foot forward. "All you and everyone else in school do is ridicule my height! Every single day without fail you all call me a beanstalk, titan, giraffe or even Big Foot—as if I don't have feelings! And ever since I was little—"

"Do you think you're special or something?"

Once again, I was stunned into silence. Like a hit to my diaphragm, I couldn't muster any oxygen nor formulate words for a while. Igarashi's knuckles were white from clenching his fists, teeth gritted in an effort to keep his cool. Still, his anger was suffocating. It carried traces of hurt I wasn't expecting.

"A guy like me is only five foot three! Not only all the guys, but plenty of girls are taller than me. Midget, ant, pipsqueak, dwarf. . . If you've been ridiculed your whole life for being tall, try to think about how I feel, moron!"

His eyelids tapered, in almost a challenge. Truthfully, it was difficult to muster a response. It wasn't as if I was trying to ignore that fact. Igarashi was mocked by our classmates as much as I was. Since he constantly kept his cool even in the face of them, I'd somehow assured myself I was the odd case out.

"I—I didn't really," I sputtered, guiltily casting my gaze.

Releasing a heavy breath, he folded his arms behind his head. "Well," he shouted, loud enough for me to hear, "unlike a certain moron, I don't let it get to me as much."

He called me a moron twice. . .

Nudging aside the aggravation wounding up inside me, I pinned my focus to his figure in the distance.

"Hurry up, Kisaragi," he called over this shoulder. "Do you really want to be late for the concert?"

My mouth downturned in a heavy frown. Unable to muster the energy to argue, I followed, keeping my pace lazy enough to walk behind him.

He'd given me a reality check; knocked me back down to earth from whatever cloud I was lofting on before. Igarashi was short, way tinier than the average. Similar to how I stood at a height way above your average girl.

I'd always thought I was alone, but Igarashi must've felt pathetic every day, too. Even in this situation—if walking with a shorter boy made me self-conscious, why wouldn't he feel awkward about accompanying a girl way taller than him?

Despite that, this entire time, I'd somehow convinced myself I was the only one in the world with a height complex. Even if it was to someone like Igarashi, I'd behaved like such an arrogant child. I wasn't the only outcast who existed. And Igarashi, the biggest jerk I'd ever met, was one of them.

After coming to terms with that, the evening became a lot more. . . enjoyable.

Possibly due to our environment and the influence of Mortal Mania, as soon as that initial awkwardness from our height difference evaporated, the two of us had managed to bond. Whether that be through speculating fan theories, discussing our favourite songs and podcasts. Somehow I'd even managed to learn Igarashi's favourite shows and mangas aligned perfectly with my own.

He was similar—unbearably so. We were so alike that the concert I was assured would be the worst experience of my life turned out to be the best. We were such a hopeless fangirl and fanboy to every little thing, and I loved being able to squeal and have him understand my euphoria on a personal level.

Even as we left the venue, ears still ringing from the intense rock concert, the two of us rambled away with huge grins on our faces.

"I still can't believe how near they all were." Heaving a breathless sigh, I draped my palms against my cheeks. "Even Kano was so, so close. This entire concert was a dream come true."

"Tell me about it," Igarashi agreed, folding his arms behind his neck. "Our eardrums totally went to heaven and were purified."

"Our eyes, too. Whenever I go to bed from now own I'll just dream about how amazing Mortal Mania was."

"You sure that's possible? You and positive thoughts don't exactly sound compatible."

"Am I really hearing this from the guy who lives off insulting others?"

"Call it a gift."

"I will not. Get another hobby."

He snorted.

Streetlights illuminated the sidewalk we walked on, twinkling alongside the stars in the night sky. The scents of countless food mingled as passersby ambled to and fro this busy plaza.

"Say," Igarashi called, "you hungry?"

"Starving." All that screaming had left me famished. "Why don't we go to Mt—"

"—Foodji."

I blinked, as did he. Our voices overlapped. He'd finished my sentence. "You know that place?"

"I always go there."

"Me too." I made a face. "Stop being creepy."

"I should be telling you that."

A period elapsed, consisting of us eyeballing each other.

Yet another similarity. Then again, Mt. Foodji was a well-known family restaurant. Everybody I knew had been there at least once—more than that considering their reputation for heavenly cuisine at reasonable prices. I even stopped by with my dad and sister for our family dinners every so often.

So, realistically thinking, Igarashi going there often was completely normal. I wasn't at all revelling at the idea that he could've been my other half, separated at birth.

Yup. Totally.

Considering the restaurant was literally around the corner, we arrived soon enough. Undeterred by the time of evening, families and students of all ages were scattered around various tables, conversing animatedly.

Igarashi and I were ushered to our seats at the furthest end of the room, near the drink bar. The waitress handed us our menus then walked off to allow us time to look at it. Not that I really needed to. I got the same meal every time I visited this place.

"Kisaragi, look."

Igarashi who was sitting directly across from me had his nose buried in the menu. He tilted it for me to see. Albeit confused to what had gotten him so excited, upon seeing what he was pointing at, my mouth fell to my lap.

"No way!"

I yanked it closer.

The exact thing I was going to order—they had a deal for it. Buy two of the same meal and get one half price. Two complementary desserts were included as well.

Now, I didn't have the slightest clue if Igarashi was planning on ordering this very meal I had in mind. Let alone could I fathom why he was confident enough to show it to me.

There was no way he could've read my mind like the alien the was. But, with mere eye contact and swift nods, that was all the communication we needed.

"Thank you for the wait," declared the waitress who'd returned to our table, notepad in hand. "What would you—"

"Two number tens!"

"—like. . ."

Her eyebrows dipped the slightest. Our voices were in sync.

"Would you like to include the—"

"Yes!"

"—desserts."

Our grins were most definitely creepy, proven by the way her complexion paled to a sheet of snow.

The pause was painstaking, but eventually, she scribbled it down.

"Understood. . ."

After we expanded on the desserts we wanted, she disappeared into the back of the restaurant, faster than she had previously arrived.

Igarashi's faux smile vanished in an instant. "Great going, moron. You scared her off with your smile."

"Huh?" I cried, expression morphing to one of disbelief. "Don't you mean you did?"

"As if. My smile charms thousands."

"In what world?"

"I don't expect you to understand. Your head is in the clouds half the time so I'm not surprised you fail to realize my devilishly handsome looks."

"I'm squinting but I still can't see anything. Can you please specify what 'looks' you're talking about?"

"You!"

"Wanna go?"

He sunk into his chair, as if trying to block me out entirely.

I fluttered my eyelids. "What?"

"You're causing a scene."

"You were yelling, too."

He expelled a heavy breath. "Whatever. You started it."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too— Crap!"

Before I could question his sudden yell—and without the slightest hesitation—Igarashi slammed my face onto the table.

"Ow!" I'd exclaimed, shoving his hand. Eyes wider than saucers, brain a little frazzled, I fondled my aching cheek. "What was that for, dumbass?"

Igarashi slapped his index finger over his mouth. Then glared. "Stop talking!"

"Huh—"

He shoved my head back down to silence me. My chin knocked against the wood. Anger drenched me from head to toe.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I hissed, unable to fight the shrill of pain that zapped through me.

But Igarashi's attention was in the distance—specifically, the entrance. His complexion had blanched beyond compare.

"Keiko's here."

"Koshiba?" The pink-haired girl flooded to mind. I pushed against his hand to raise my head for the second time. "What's the big deal, then? Let's invite her over."

Once properly sitting again, I surveyed the area. Keiko Koshiba had indeed entered the restaurant. She was at the front desk, conversing with a waiter who'd most likely asked what kind of table she required.

I promptly rose my hand. "Koshi—"

"Are you crazy?" Igarashi jabbed my abdomen hard enough to have me momentarily gasping for air. "She doesn't know I'm here!"

Once oxygen reentered my lungs, I slapped him senseless. "Boy, if you touch me one more damn time—"

"Ow! Ouch! Okay, I'm sorry! My bad!"

He had to seize my wrists to stop my slap-fest. Panting hard, I glowered daggers into him. His look was too hot either.

I huffed, flattening my hair after he'd gone and messed it up, "Whether you want to see your girlfriend or not doesn't give you the right to slam my face into the goddamn table."

"She's not my girlfriend," he retorted.

"Friend, girlfriend, psychopath, murderer— Whatever you call her, she better have a valid reason for causing you to bruise my jaw!"

"Look, I'm sorry about roughhousing your face, Kisaragi. But trust me." The typical gleam in his sharp green eyes vanished. His complexion grew ashier, as if all that was on his mind was to ensure I remained quiet. "Pretend I'm not here."

All means of rebuttals caught in my throat. I couldn't move my mouth for a good period of time.

The hell? I'd never seen the guy so scared.

Although a huge part of me—the one that had suffered immense humiliation in the past because of his insensitivity—wanted to call out to Koshiba anyway, blow his cover, and make him regret ever injuring me, the other part who clearly understood the terror that was Keiko Koshiba felt a flicker of sympathy for whatever was in store if she did find us lingering here.

And that flicker was enough for me to groan out an agonizing, "Fine."

Igarashi brightened. I extended my index finger to silence him.

"On one condition."

"Anything," he said in a heartbeat.

It was in that exact moment the waitress returned, setting plates of our food onto our table. Seeing it all really opened my eyes. My family continuously mentioned I ate like a pig, but boy was I eating tonight.

My mouth was already watering as I scooped up my utensil. "Food's on you."

"Done."