Amiss

Watanuki disappears. A Furoshiki (fabric used to wrap bento), the persistent sense that something is missing, and forgotten thoughts. Doumeki and Kunogi walk to school together wondering what it is that's amiss. Original OTP.

There was a cloth.

It was only a cloth, innocently patterned in thick, dark stripes in soothing earth tones divided by a few pin stripes of a blue he really liked. Its dimensions and stitching proclaimed it to be a furoshiki and his mother had put it back in his room along with the rest of the laundry she'd collected from his basket yesterday morning.

She'd patted him on the shoulder as they'd passed each other in the hall, him heading into his room and her out of it, "Be sure you return that lovely cloth to its owner, ne?" She smiled, "Unless it was a gift, of course."

And so there was a cloth.

Shizuka traced his fingers over it as he considered how it felt rather familiar, still possessed that faint touch of another detergent not the one his mother always used. It had the sort of pattern to it that made it memorable if for nothing other than every bento he'd ever had offered to him at school –where else would he have acquired it?— had been wrapped in girlishly bright and cute material. None of them had ever been like this cloth, so much more suited to him, a man.

A man.

Yes. Now that he thought about it, the cloth was rather masculine. Yet, the idea that someone could be so considerate as to offer bento with a furoshiki to suit him seemed so absurd he couldn't take the idea seriously. It had to have come from someone male. He did not have many male friends, however, and those he did spend time with bought lunch from the cafeteria like he did. Yet… he did not remember what he had for lunch all week. He remembered what the lessons and what else happened yesterday and the day before, and all other days this week.

But not what he ate for lunch.

He considered that as he dressed and got ready for school, that he could recall the names and faces of the girls who had stopped to speak with him, that his team captain has asked him to put in some extra practice hours he'd for some reason or other turned down the week earlier, what he had done at school, and all the things he'd been working on as class representative… but he could not recall what happened once the bell rang and he turned in his seat to look over at…

The seat.

The seat one aisle over and three rows ahead. It was an empty seat. No one sat there. No one had ever sat there ...but maybe he should check who once had...?

It was still early, he realised, as he stood on the footwell step of his home. Puzzled by his own behaviour and inconsistent thoughts he stared at the door wondering why he had the urge to leave now instead of in another half hour. There wasn't any point in going to school so early when hardly anyone would be there when he arrived.

"Ohh, Shizuka," his father called. "If you're going to hang around, come and join us."

So he did. He quietly ate his breakfast, poking at his omelette and wondering why the sauce didn't run and wasn't as flavourful as it could be, picking at the rice thinking it had been just a touch over-seasoned with rice vinegar, and chewing the fish just a tad longer because it didn't crumble in his mouth. It made no sense to think all those things because this was how his mother had always cooked, precisely to his father's tastes, and he hadn't really minded before.

But he minded today and had no idea why.

He went to school, considering the persistent sensation of loss that nagged at him like something missing or forgotten. He had no idea why or what it might be. He ignored the main roads where most students from his school passed, chattering and getting detoured by shops, buying things and talking. Instead he used the back alleys, the quiet ways, waved to the old lady who came out to sweep her front step right as he passed. He walked along the oddly familiar route feeling not the least bit alone and that, too—

"Ohayo, Doumeki-kun," called a familiar and very feminine voice.

Shizuka felt his heart thump a moment in his throat, the reaction startling him. It usually only ever happened when he first laid eyes on his Kyuudo target or when—

When was it again? He didn't know, wasn't sure, but there was another instance somewhere in his life he got this same reaction but he couldn't remember when it might be. He moved only his eyes to the source of the voice and found his fellow class rep Kunogi Himawari just coming down the road perpendicular to his path, her small smile kind and friendly in a way he was certain he'd seen so rarely before yet felt so very familiar.

"Ohh," he acknowledged belatedly, pausing and instinctively adjusting his pace to suit her, a need to be by her side compelling him so naturally he had no idea where it came from. He would have blinked at himself in surprise had it not felt so innate, and had the feeling of familiarity to it as he'd felt with this morning's furoshiki. He resisted the grossly inappropriate urge to touch the tip of her curling ponytail and politely returned, "Ohayo."

"Doumeki-kun is as brief as always," Kunogi smiled, both hands clasped over the handle of her book bag in front of her as she half leaned sideways toward him. But then she blinked suddenly, turning with slight surprise and wide eyes up to him, "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. But it felt easy to talk to you just now, like we've been walking to school together for a long time. Like… like we've been friends for a long time. Doesn't that sound strange?" She gave a small laugh as though to brush it off but a wrinkle appeared between her brows, a little furrow there Shizuka felt sure he shouldn't be catching so easily. And now that he'd seen it, he didn't like it. For some reason, that furrow and whatever had caused it displeased him when she had enough to worry about since—

…since what?

Feeling a little more off balance, he tried to reassure her, "No. I feel the same way."

"Hm," She appeared unaffected by his abrupt manner, curling a long finger over her chin as she distantly contemplated that thought, eyes large and thoughtful. "I can't think why it would be." She hesitated then dropped her hand, smiling up at him again, "Well, I can't think why it is but it feels very nice for us to be friends." Something seemed to catch at her smile, and Shizuka hated that doubt with such instant passion he had to speak up;

"Himawa—" he froze, startled to realise he'd almost called her by her first name.

She blinked at him as well, expression softening and she murmured, "I had that same instinct when I called out to you when I saw you walking." Misery –so easy to spot on her lovely face—flashed briefly over her features. "I wanted to call you Shizuka-san and I was so startled I purposely called you by your surname." She sighed, puzzled, "Something feels good to say it, though. Shizuka-san. But don't you think…"

"Something is missing," he finished when she trailed off. He struggled with his thoughts before saying, "I feel that I need to be with you, that we should be here together. I have a feeling you are safe with me and I have this thought that I know I can touch you—" her eyes popped wide and startled at that, "—but I also feel…" the words drifted away.

"Sad," she finished quietly. Her fingers twitched and she reached to fumble with something pink sticking out the corner of her book bag.

"Do you think it's—"

"No, not strange at all," she quickly spoke up, eyes clear and earnest, and Shizuka wondered how she'd known what he was going to say. She wilted, still toying with that pink thing which he realised was a furoshiki of her own. "I felt something strange this morning when my mother packed my lunch for me today. I feel the same way now. Just… so very, terribly sad."

Yes. That's right. "I felt something like that as I ate breakfast."

He realised only then that they had begun to walk slowly, pace falling though they still walked side by side and glanced hesitantly at each other. He also noticed how she walked just that half pace closer than anyone ever did. He had this idle distant thought that he would be allowed to move even closer but right now he had a greater compulsion to check over his shoulder between them, so maybe—

"I think someone is supposed to walk with us," he said suddenly, quickly checking behind himself to make sure. There was no one there. But he had checked over his shoulder so the point where the person he felt they'd expected to join them had probably already passed –but where was that?

Something pressed in his chest, made it heavy and tight. It felt like a warning and an end all at the same time. Suddenly he wanted to make sure and he stopped in his tracks, not quite surprised when Kunogi did at the same time, too.

"Oh," Kunogi whispered, a note of faint surprise in her voice when she noticed these things a scant heartbeat after he did.

Together they turned to look back, angled toward each other, still and uncertain. He wondered what she felt at the sight of the deserted street behind them. Or maybe, he thought, as he noticed her reach up to curl a hand at her chest, face going tight and pale, that she felt the same sharp twist of loss as he did.

Fin.