yunanto-kun is tall.

that's the first thing that registers when we're standing next to each other; he's got at least ten centimeters on me, maybe more. the kind of height that makes him stand out even when he looks like he's trying not to.

the second thing i notice is his smile. it's a little crooked, and it does something weird to my chest that i don't want to think about.

"let's go," he says, and i follow him.

the hallway is sparsely populated. it’s lunch time, so most students are probably somewhere eating. yunanto-kun’s got his lunchbox tucked under one arm, and i can smell whatever's inside. something sharp and spicy, but it’s nothing nasty.

"so," he says as we walk. "where are you actually from? you transferred in pretty late." 

"osaka." the lie comes easy. not technically a lie. i am from osaka. just not the whole truth. 

"osaka?" his eyes widen. "that's really far. why fujisawa?"

"family reasons."

"ah." he doesn't push, which i appreciate. "well, welcome to fujisawa. it's pretty boring compared to osaka, probably."

"boring sounds good." 

he laughs at that. it's a nice sound, low and genuine. "fair enough."

we turn a corner and nearly run into a group of what looks like some older students. they give us curious looks; probably wondering why some kid they’ve never seen before is walking around the halls.

i don't look away first. neither do they, but they move aside.

"you didn't have to do that," yunanto-kun says once we're past them. "back there. with itagaki." 

"do what?"

"you know what." he's looking straight ahead, not at me. "standing up for me. acting like you wanted to hang out. you're new. you don't need to make enemies on your first day."

"i wasn't acting."

that makes him look at me. his eyes are dark brown, almost black, and there's something careful in them. like he's trying to figure out if i'm messing with him.

"you actually want me to show you around?" 

"yeah."

"why?"

"you seem cool," i make up.

he blinks. then his eyebrows go up. "i seem…cool?" 

"yeah."

"you don't even know me."

"so? i don't know anyone here." i shrug. "might as well start with someone who seems cool."

he looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head like he can't quite figure me out. "alright. actual tour, then."

we start on the first floor. yunanto-kun points out the faculty office, the nurse's office, the main entrance i walked through this morning. he talks while he walks, explaining things in this easy way that makes it clear he's done this route a thousand times.

i'm barely listening. 

because yunanto-kun is-

-he's very attractive.

not handsome. not cute. attractive. there's something almost unreal about his features even though he's tall and lanky, all long limbs and broad shoulders that haven't quite filled out yet. his eyes do this thing when he smiles where they almost disappear into crescents. his hair falls across his forehead when he tilts his head. and his hands. i keep noticing his hands, long fingers gesturing as he talks, graceful in a way that makes me think about pianists’ hands.

"-and that's the library, but it's pretty small so most people just- hanazono-kun?"

i blink. "yeah?" 

"you good? you zoned out." 

"sorry. just tired."

"right." he doesn't look convinced but doesn't push. "anyway, the art rooms are upstairs. third floor. that's where i spend most of my time."

"are you into that?" 

"into what?"

"art."

he shifts his lunchbox to his other arm. "i paint. i'm here on an art scholarship, actually." 

"that's cool."

"is it?" there's something almost defensive in his tone, like he's waiting for me to laugh or make a joke about it.

"yeah. i can barely draw stick figures."

another small smile. "well, if you ever need someone to draw stick figures for you, i'm your guy."

we climb the stairs. the building is older, kind of worn but clean. sunlight streams through the windows, catching dust motes in the air. yunanto-kun takes the steps two at a time with those long legs of his, and i have to work to keep up.

he shows me the art rooms. big spaces with high ceilings, easels lined up by the windows, the smell of paint and turpentine in the air. there's a canvas in progress on one of the easels, a landscape in oils, half-finished.

“that’s mine,” he says, and i almost jump. i don't know why. “it’s supposed to be enoshima at sunset but it's not quite right yet." he studies it critically. "the light's off."

i look at the painting. it looks pretty good to me, but what do i know. "i think it's good." 

"you said you could barely draw stick figures."

"yeah, so?"

"so you're not exactly an art critic." 

"guess not."

we head back downstairs. yunanto-kun shows me the gym, the music rooms, the courtyard where students hang out between classes. compared to my old school in osaka, fujisawa south is small. then again, i used to go to a two-in-one junior-senior high school, this fancy shmancy academy with a big-deal sports program that also sent kids to elite universities. they had a sleek fitness gym to train olympic athletes (they’ve had forty over the past few years. crazy) and the school grounds probably covered the same area as a small town in a rural prefecture. ridiculous, i know, but my parents were from old money and they wanted a school that could nurture my caveman urge to break things, so there i went. at first, when i came there for first year of junior high, i really loved the place. i got along with everybody, i loved my classes, and i enjoyed being on their karate team. 

but well. we all know how that went.

anyway, back to yunanto-kun. he's relaxed now, more talkative. when he laughs at something (i don't even remember what, something about the school's weird rule about shoes in the gym) the sound makes my chest feel tight.

we're almost to the cafeteria when i hear it. a low growl. yunanto-kun stops walking. his hand goes to his stomach.

"was that you?" i ask.

he gives me this shy smile that makes my insides feel like it’s free-falling. "...yes." 

"we should probably eat."

"i agree," he admits.

we reach the cafeteria. it's crowded and loud, students everywhere. yunanto-kun shifts his lunchbox.

 "are you eating?" he asks.

"my dad packed me something but-" i pause. "i forgot it in the classroom."

"oh." he glances back toward the stairs, then at the lunch line. "you wanna go grab it? i can wait."

"nah, it's fine." 

"are you sure?"

my stomach is kind of twisting but not because i’m hungry. from nerves, maybe. from standing here with him in this crowded cafeteria where everyone can see us. "yeah."

"well." he digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. "i'm buying you something then." 

"no, you don't-"

"i know." he's already heading toward the counter. "but i'm going to anyway. what do you want?"

i follow him. the cafeteria has various things on display. curry rice, yakisoba, different kinds of bread. nothing looks particularly appealing, which is all the more reason i'm not about to let him spend his money on me.

"seriously, i'm fine."

"hanazono-kun." he looks at me, and his eyes are pure stubbornness. "just pick something." 

"why?"

"because you helped me out and i want to buy you lunch. is that okay?" the way he says it, like it matters to him, like he's not just being polite-

"curry rice," i say. "if you're sure."

"i'm sure."

he orders a curry rice plate and pays before i can argue again or change my mind or say no. we find an empty spot at the end of one of the long tables, away from most of the crowd. yunanto-kun sets down his lunchbox and i put down the tray.

"thanks."

"don't mention it." he opens his lunchbox. there’s rice, some kind of stir-fried meat, vegetables, and some spicy-looking vegetables. he picks up his chopsticks and pauses.

“ah, sorry about the smell.” he smiles at me like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t. i want to tell him to wipe it off his face. “they’re called ‘stink beans’ for a reason

"it's fine." i pick up my spoon. “i know how stink beans smell. i’ve eaten them.” 

he blinks at me. once, twice. then he asks, "you have?"

"yeah. my mom likes cooking with all sorts of ingredients." not a lie. mom’s big on getting us to try different flavors. says it ‘diversifies the palate’ or whatever. “but stink beans are a little hard to cook. my mom had to try a lot of times to get them to taste right.”

yunanto-kun smiles. "yeah, it can be a tricky process. my mom usually fries them first or soaks them in salt water before cooking to lessen the smell. and then you can put them in anything. fried rice, stir fries, hot relish, paired with seafood…”

"sounds nice."

"it is.” he takes a bite of his stink bean, chews thoughtfully. "not everyone can appreciate it, though. i guess i can understand why.”

"fuck their opinions."

he stops chewing. "i'm sorry?"

"i said fuck their opinions." i meet his eyes. "it's just food. they're assholes for making it into something else."

yunanto-kun stares at me for a long moment. then he laughs, and the sound makes my heart squeeze so hard i might as well be going into cardiac arrest.

"okay," he says once he settles. "yeah. screw their opinions."

we eat without saying anything for a while. around us the cafeteria is noisy, but it feels distant. like we're in our own bubble.

in osaka, being loud was normal. being funny was social currency. you filled silence with something. a joke, a jab, a story. you don’t just let silence sit there like a wet blanket. the silence here is different. people here let it stretch out and don't think that it's weird.

i don't know how to be quiet like a kanto person. 

yunanto-kun talks first, and i’m glad he does. i was starting to miss his voice, which makes me feel dumb as hell. “so where in osaka are you from?”

"minoh."

"oh, i heard that’s a nice area."

"i guess."

"you don't sound very enthusiastic about it."

"it’s just a town." another non-answer, but he seems to accept it.

"well," he says, "fujisawa's definitely different from osaka. more chill, maybe? beach town vibes, and all that."

"you like it here?"

"it's home for now." he shrugs. "my family moved here when i was eight."

"where’d you move from?"

"indonesia. there’s a city there called semarang. we’re from there," he says it matter-of-factly, like he's used to explaining. "we moved because my dad took a transfer here.”

"that's cool."

"what’s cool?"

“your family. you guys moved all the way here from a different country. that couldn’t have been easy.”

“we manage,” he remarks, though his words sound clipped. “what about you? what do your parents do?” 

"my mom's a physiotherapist. my dad…" i pause. "used to teach. university."

"used to?"

shit. "he quit. we moved here for a change of scenery." 

he hums. “i can see that. osaka’s pretty intense.” 

the warning bell rings. lunch is almost over.

"we should probably head back," he says, closing his lunchbox. "are you ready to leave?" 

"yeah.” i push my empty plate away. “thanks for the food.”

“i told you, it’s fine,” he says, and i can hear that he really means it. “let’s go.”

when we get back to our seats, yunanto-kun settles into his chair and pulls out his notes. i catch a glimpse of what he was drawing earlier. cherry blossoms, really detailed ones, scattered across the edges of his page like they're falling.

i sit down behind him and stare at the back of his head. his hair is dark and a little long, touching the collar of his uniform. there's a small mole on the back of his neck, somewhere off to the side, just visible above the white fabric.

i shouldn't be noticing things like this.

i shouldn't be feeling whatever this is.