Every morning, Kabukimono tripped on his own shoelaces before even reaching the school gate. The boy was practically stitched together with bandages—knees, palms, elbow—like a walking scrapbook of small disasters. His sweater over his uniform was two sizes too big.
He feared everything. Heights. Loud thunder. The sound of buses screeching by. Even the sight of snakes on a biology chart made him pale. He’d get motion sick in cars, seasick on class trips, dizzy on escalators. Yet he still tried to smile through it, soft and awkward.
Then there was Nari
His girlfriend. The school’s doll-faced nightmare.
Pretty didn’t even begin to describe her—she was glossy. Every day she arrived in a pale pink convertible that smelled of expensive perfume and gasoline, hair curled perfectly, lips tinted the color of strawberry cream. She’d fix her makeup during class with a compact mirror shaped like a heart, smiling sweetly even when teachers scolded her.
Everyone adored her from afar, and avoided her up close.
Because she didn’t feel.
There was that time in the cafeteria—someone made fun of Kabukimono’s clumsiness. She just smiled, took a fork, and stabbed the boy’s hand clean through the tray. Another time, she “accidentally” let a stair railing loose, sending a girl tumbling down mid-gossip. And perhaps the strangest of all—her pet bunny. It died weeks ago, but she kept its glass case on her vanity, ribbons tied neatly around the lifeless neck, like it was just sleeping.
Kabukimono never quite knew how to deal with her.
When she wrapped her arm around his, he flinched; when she smiled at him, he forgot how to breathe. Yet, in her strange, porcelain way, she seemed to adore him—the only thing that made her soft. She’d clean his cuts, apply his bandages, then kiss the corner of his wrist as if to mark her property.
He’d tremble, stutter, blush—and she’d giggle like a doll twisting its head too far.
No one could figure them out: the fragile boy wrapped in bandages, and the girl who wore danger like perfume. But every afternoon, they’d still walk home together—him dizzy and nervous, her humming softly, one hand on the wheel of her pink car, the other resting gently on his trembling knee.
Because in their own strange way… he was afraid of everything, and she was afraid of nothing.
The sun hung low over the school gate, washing everything gold—the walls, the chatter, the smell of chalk in the air.
Kabukimono stood there, his bag strap twisted awkwardly around his arm. The sleeves of his oversized sweater drooped like wilted petals, brushing his knees as he tried to laugh off another bruise.
“Yo, Kabu! You tripped again, didn’t you?” Ritsu called, leaning against the vending machine with a grin.
Kabukimono scratched at his neck, chuckling softly. “Only once today. I’m getting better.”
“Better? You look like you just fought gravity and lost,” Ritsu joked.
Kabukimono smiled anyway, eyes squinting slightly behind his bangs. “Well... I think gravity just likes me too much.”
His friends burst into laughter. He joined in—quietly, because that’s just who he was. Always the one who laughed last, softly, like he didn’t want to disturb anyone.
Then came the sound. That low, glossy hum of an engine. The kind that didn’t belong in a school parking lot.
Kabukimono froze mid-sentence. The color drained from his face before the pink car even came into view. His fingers tightened around his bag strap.
“Speak of the devil,” Ritsu murmured under his breath.
The car rolled through the gate, spotless and candy-bright. From it stepped Nari—heels clicking. Her smile was sugar-sweet and utterly hollow.
Kabukimono’s pulse skipped. He took a shallow breath, trying not to stare too obviously as she approached.
He immediately straightened up, “Good morning, Nari,” He smiles fondly. “Did you sleep well?” He asks gently, his eyes soft contrasting to her doll like eyes.
“Oh, no reason of course-” he said quickly, forcing a shaky laugh. “You just, um... look even prettier today.” He said sincerely.