The rhythmic pounding of Akira’s shoes against the track lulled him into a trance. That was why it took him longer than it should’ve to register the high-pitched wailing. He slowed, glanced over his shoulder in confusion, and found a kid stumbling after him with a tear-streaked face.

To any bystander, it must’ve looked like Akira was being chased by a little, sniffling monster.

“Hey, hi, what’s wrong?” He crouched, starting to use his sleeve to clean the kid’s cheeks, while a tiny hand clenched a fistful of his shorts. “Are you okay?”

He was totally out of his depth here. Should he call the authorities? He should probably call them. He just didn’t know exactly who the authorities were. He assumed from the shirt that this kid had been playing soccer earlier, but the adjacent field was empty now.

“Are your parents running late?” He patted the kid’s head as comfortingly as he could, glancing around with growing panic. “You’re waiting for someone, right? We can wait together.”

After a few more awkward pats, he persuaded the kid to play soccer with him. Nugget, whose name was as peculiar as it was adorable, tried to teach him some tricks, but he was awfully clumsy. Every time the ball lifted, he reflexively caught it in his hands, earning himself a scolding. He liked to dive dramatically for the ball, though, missing it by a mile so that Nugget scored.

A voice called across the field. "Hey, Nugget."

Akira startled, almost face-planting over the ball. Both he and Nugget turned to find a lean, older student striding toward them. His face was smudged with ink and charcoal, and with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his forearms weren’t much better. Thick rings decorated his fingers, and woven leather bracelets circled his wrists.

There was a harsh beauty about him, but he had a foreboding presence. He had to be an artist, but he looked like he smoked in clubs and beat people up as a hobby. So his approach was rather frightening, quickening Akira’s pulse, despite how he looked close to death with exhaustion.

“Nugget, I’m so sorry.” He lifted the tearful kid into his arms. “I didn’t mean to be so late.”

“You forgot me again,” Nugget accused, pulling off the perfect pout.

“Oh, I’d never dare.”

A heavy gaze settled on Akira over Nugget’s shoulder, and he nervously came forward to introduce himself. “H-hi, I’m Akira. A first-year. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Daichi,” he replied without much feeling.

He exuded a cold, guarded air that made Akira shrink away from him. Strands of his inky hair fell against his cheekbones in a way that seemed almost careless, but could very well be as deliberate as his silver earrings.

Akira hoped he’d leave soon. He didn’t think he could take him in a fight, let alone bear the guilt of traumatising Nugget.

However, Nugget clearly hadn’t forgiven Daichi, because he twisted around in his arms and launched himself at Akira. With a gasp, Akira just barely managed to catch him, and felt pretty impressed with himself until he realised his predicament. He must have appeared as incredibly confused as he felt, because Daichi seemed to soften a little.

“Are we adopting?” Daichi wondered.

Akira smiled as best as he could. He wished he was a little funnier or he could think of something to say, but his brain was short-circuiting again.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Nugget told him. Then explained, “Akira taught me that.”

“Did he now?” Daichi glanced at him, and he was relieved to see some amusement.

“I don’t know why we’re burning that bridge, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. I just want more dots, which we can get from the shop, I think.”

“Dots?” Daichi echoed, eyebrows rising.

Akira could feel his cheeks burning bright red, and he pressed his free hand against them, hoping they’d chill.

“Sorry, I sort of sowed the seeds for something I didn’t think I’d have to address again,” he said. He shook out his empty packet of raisins. “I told him that these sometimes make you super energetic, so energetic that you won’t sleep for hours.”

“I told him I was fine with it,” Nugget boasted.

“You’re very brave,” he said, wanting to dissolve when Daichi’s mouth curved into a grin. This shouldn’t be so embarrassing, but he felt like Daichi was laughing at him.

“I want to play more,” Nugget told them.

It took a moment before Daichi tore his eyes away to look at him. “Sorry, buddy, it’s getting late. Your dad will complain lots if I keep you up past your bedtime.”

“It’s your fault that I’m still here. I want to kick the ball around!”

“Me, too,” Akira chipped in, “but gosh, look how dark it’s getting. Aren’t you hungry for something other than dots?”

Nugget reluctantly muttered, “Maybe.”

“I have a bunch of snacks in the car,” Daichi said.

“Woah, not just one, but a whole bunch? That’s so lucky!” He moved closer to Daichi, ready to pass him Nugget. When Nugget’s grip tightened, he blew a raspberry on his shoulder to distract him. “Is that your stomach grumbling?”

“No,” Nugget giggled. “That tickles!”

“You’re so hungry your stomach’s tickling you?” he gasped.

Nugget laughed even harder. “That’s not it!”

“I think the hunger’s really getting to him,” he told Daichi, his voice grave. “Giving him snacks is the only way to save him.”

Nugget reached between them to grab the lapels of Daichi’s shirt, which brought Akira’s face way too close to Daichi’s chest. “Quickly, quickly, you have to feed me!”

Akira quickly stepped away from them, while Daichi secured Nugget against his chest. He shot a small smile toward Akira as he turned away, which stunned Akira into thinking that maybe he wasn’t all that scary.