AnimeFanGirl79

Chapter One: Fractures Beneath the Surface The side of Amaya’s bed sank beneath the weight of something—or someone—interrupting her much-needed sleep. She barely cracked an eye open before groaning and turning her face into the pillow, only to meet a pair of familiar green eyes staring at her expectantly. “Get out, Hiroto,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against the fabric. One hand flailed lazily toward her nightstand until she found the clock. 6:30 a.m. Too damn early. Class didn’t start until eight. Chuckling, Hiroto stood and, without remorse, yanked the blanket off of her. Cold air bit at her exposed skin, earning him a venomous glare and a string of curses. She grabbed a pillow and dragged it over her head like a shield. “Come on, Aya-chan,” he teased, crouching by the edge of the bed and tugging at the pillow she refused to surrender. “We’ve got exams today—last ones before break. Ren already went ahead to save us seats so we’re not scattered across the lecture hall.” “Piss off,” she growled, fingers tightening around the pillow. “There’s no way in hell I’m getting up this early for a damn exam.” Hiroto exhaled dramatically. Then, in one smooth motion, he slipped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder like a sack of rice. “For fuck’s sake!” she yelled, fists pounding half-heartedly on his back. “You two idiots would’ve flunked out first year if I weren’t around.” “Which is exactly why we need you,” he said, grinning as he deposited her back onto the edge of the bed. “This exam’s eighty percent of our final grade. French, remember? You promised to help us pass.” She rubbed her eyes with one hand, the other tangled in her hair. “Fine. But you both owe me big time for this.” She shoved him backward and stood, dragging him by the shirt collar toward the door. “Out.” Hiroto laughed as he stumbled out of the room. Amaya slammed the door shut, twisting the lock, and leaned against it for a moment before crossing to her dresser. She pulled on a slouchy purple sweater that slipped off both shoulders, paired with a black skirt and thigh-high stockings. Her boots thumped softly as she stepped into them, tying her ribbon behind her hair and grabbing her bag in one fluid motion. When she threw the door open, Hiroto was exactly where she expected him—scrolling through his phone. “Where’s Ren?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. Hiroto looked up, hesitated, and she read the answer in his expression before he spoke. “He had to pick Chi up. Said he’ll meet us there.” Of course he did. “Too bad we’re not going with them,” she said sweetly, sarcasm dripping off every syllable. “What a shame. We won’t get to hear about all the useless crap she did this week.” Hiroto snorted, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “This is why I love you,” he said, linking his arm with hers as they walked toward her car. “Your ability to weaponize sarcasm before sunrise is unmatched.” She rolled her eyes and all but shoved him toward the passenger seat. Tossing their bags into the back, she slipped behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. “You’re going to love me even more once we see that bi—I mean, that lovely ray of sunshine.” She faked a smile and forced herself not to gag at the thought. Watching Ren and Chi suck face in public made her feel like throwing herself off the nearest rooftop. It was why she’d started avoiding him altogether. “You planning to insult her in French again?” Hiroto asked with a raised brow. “Knowing full well neither of them understands a word of it?” “Damn right,” she said proudly. “At least one of us is fluent.” Amaya, half-French and half-Japanese, had grown up speaking both. French from her elegant, sharp-tongued mother; Japanese from her calm, tea-sipping father. Her siblings shared her heritage, but only she took joy in weaponizing language as petty vengeance. Ren and Hiroto had chosen to take French in their first year, mostly because of a summer trip they’d planned. But Amaya suspected part of Ren’s motivation had been his paranoia over not knowing what she was saying behind his back. Hiroto howled with laughter. “I love my cousin, but seriously… sometimes I wanna punch them both. He cancels everything for her.” The car fell into a tense silence, broken only by the buzz of Amaya’s phone. The moment she heard the custom ringtone—some obnoxious tune Chi liked—her mood soured even further. “Here we go,” she muttered, answering without looking at the screen. “What the hell do you want?” Ren’s voice came through faintly at first. “That’s rude,” he said, sounding tired. “What did I do this time?” Amaya scoffed, eyes narrowed at the road ahead. “Let’s see… Hiroto woke me up at 6:30 so we could save your ass. Again. And you ditched us. Again.” “I said I was sorry, Amaya,” Ren replied, already exasperated. “Don’t you ‘Amaya’ me,” she snapped, slamming the brakes at a red light. “Ever since you started dating that bimbo, you’ve ditched every plan, ignored every call, and made it really fucking clear where your priorities lie.” There was a beat of silence before Ren answered, his tone sharper now. “First of all, she’s not a bimbo. Second, you and Hiroto could just come hang out with us.” Amaya laughed bitterly. “You really think we want front-row seats to your softcore porn sessions in public? Hell no.” She could hear him inhale sharply. Then, the venom she’d been expecting finally hit. “If you weren’t such a miserable bitch all the time, maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter!” Her grip on the steering wheel turned her knuckles white. “Fuck you, Ren!” she hissed and ended the call. The silence after was deafening. Hiroto didn’t speak—he didn’t need to. She knew he was watching her from the corner of his eye, his hand reaching out to rest on her arm, grounding her. They pulled into the campus parking lot in silence, and as they stepped out of the car, Hiroto’s hand slipped around her shoulders protectively. His gaze narrowed when he spotted Ren’s Jeep, and sure enough, there they were—Ren and Chi, tangled together like the rest of the world didn’t exist. “Kill me now,” Amaya muttered. “Let’s go, Aya,” Hiroto said, jaw clenched. They walked past them, but not without pause. Amaya stopped just long enough to turn to Ren, smile sweetly, and let the venom drip from her tongue. “"J’espère que toi et ta petite chienne êtes heureux ensemble. Tout le monde sait qu’elle baise l’assistant dans votre dos..”* Ren blinked, confused and cautious. Hiroto grabbed her hand, pulling her along as he fought back a laugh. “Please tell me you made that up.” She rested her head on his shoulder, smiling to herself. “Nope. Overheard her bragging about it two days ago in the library.” “They really do deserve each other,” he muttered, holding her tighter. Ren stood frozen, trying to decipher what she’d just said. He didn’t know French well enough to catch every word, but Hiroto’s poorly suppressed laugh and Amaya’s smug expression told him everything he needed to know. Still, he didn’t call after them. Maybe because deep down, he was afraid she wasn’t lying. Amaya and Hiroto walked down the hall in silence for a moment, the tension still lingering between their shoulders. “I swear to god, Aya,” Hiroto muttered, shaking his head with a grin. “You have the sharpest tongue in this whole damn school. I think you just emasculated him in two languages.” “I’d do it in a third if I had time,” she said flatly, flipping her hair off her shoulder as they neared their classroom. The corridors were slowly starting to fill with other students dragging their feet toward class, some with coffee in hand, others still wearing pajama pants. Amaya didn’t miss the stares—half were because of her outfit, the other half probably because of the stunt she just pulled in the parking lot. She didn’t care. Inside the lecture hall, Ren had indeed saved them seats—far in the back, their usual corner. Amaya scoffed and walked right past them, pulling Hiroto to an empty row in the middle instead. “Don’t even say it,” she muttered when she caught him raising an eyebrow. “If I have to stare at the back of her head while they suck face, I’m going to throw my pen like a dart.” They settled into their seats as their professor walked in, carrying a stack of exam papers under his arm and a thermos the size of a small child. He didn’t say a word, just began placing the papers on the podium while the classroom slowly quieted. Amaya leaned toward Hiroto. “Ready to fail?” “I thought you were helping us pass.” “Oh, I will. After I decide if you deserve my help.” “Harsh.” She smirked and pulled a mechanical pencil from her bag, clicking it twice and spinning it between her fingers. “You love me for it.” “Damn right I do,” he replied, flashing a grin. As the professor began distributing the exams row by row, Hiroto whispered out of the side of his mouth, “Hey. After this, wanna grab ramen?” “I’m not speaking to Ren,” she reminded him. “I didn’t say he was invited.” That earned him a genuine laugh. “Then yeah. Ramen sounds good.” The professor passed by their row, placing the test face-down in front of them. Amaya stared at the page a second before flipping it over. Her mind clicked instantly into focus mode, pushing the drama of the morning aside. This was where she thrived—tests, stress, and all. Let Chi bat her lashes. Let Ren pretend like nothing was falling apart. Let them both lie to themselves. Amaya was done playing nice. And for now, she had a language exam to dominate. The exam was a breeze. At least, for Amaya. Her pencil moved effortlessly across the page, translating, conjugating, and filling in the blanks before most of the class had even reached the halfway mark. French was second nature to her—its rhythm, its structure, its subtle sting when used correctly. She could weaponize it like a dagger or let it roll off her tongue like honey. Today, it was definitely a dagger. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hiroto chewing on the end of his pen, brow furrowed as he stared at one of the short response questions like it personally offended him. She reached over with her pencil and gently tapped the answer he was stuck on. He glanced at her, gave a sheepish grin, and mouthed “I owe you.” She rolled her eyes and went back to her paper. When time was called and the last exams were turned in, the energy in the room shifted. The moment the professor left, students began gathering their things, some groaning about how they’d just flunked, others already asking where to eat. Hiroto slung his bag over his shoulder and nudged her. “You coming?” Amaya stood, stretching her arms over her head. “Only if you’re buying.” “I always buy because you always forget your wallet.” They exited the lecture hall and stepped out into the crisp air. The sky had turned overcast while they were inside, the wind picking up just enough to toss Amaya’s hair into her face. She pushed it back and looked across the parking lot. Ren and Chi were still standing beside his jeep. Chi was talking animatedly about something, hands moving while she laughed at whatever joke only she found funny. Ren, however, wasn’t laughing. He was watching Amaya. She met his gaze, expression unreadable. She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. After a long moment, she turned her back on him and walked with Hiroto toward the ramen shop off campus. “Should I be worried?” Hiroto asked casually, digging his hands into his pockets. “About what?” “You burning Ren’s car down later. Or punching Chi in the face.” She snorted. “That’d be too easy. Besides, Chi isn’t worth jail time. And Ren? He’s not worth the bruises on my knuckles.” “Character development,” he teased. “Look at you, showing restraint.” “Don’t get used to it.” They reached the shop, sliding into their usual booth in the back. The familiar smell of broth and fresh noodles instantly softened the edges of Amaya’s mood. They placed their order and sat in silence for a minute, the chaos of the morning finally settling into a dull buzz. Then Hiroto leaned in a bit. “You okay?” The question hit harder than she expected. It wasn’t dramatic. He didn’t sound pitying or judgmental. Just… concerned. And it was that simplicity that made her chest tighten. She looked at him. Really looked at him. Messy hair. Eyes still full of mischief despite the exhaustion. Loyal to a fault. Always there when Ren wasn’t. Always watching her back. “I will be,” she said finally. He nodded once, accepting that answer like only someone who knew her inside and out could. “Then I’ll hold you to that.” Their food arrived, and just like that, the conversation shifted again. They talked about their upcoming trip, how Hiroto still didn’t understand the difference between passé composé and imparfait, and how Amaya was going to strangle him mid-flight if he asked her to translate every sign in France. But beneath all of that, something unspoken hung between them. Because no matter how many times Ren let her down, Hiroto never did. And part of her was starting to realize… maybe that mattered more than she’d allowed herself to admit. *** The ramen shop had always been their place—before Chi, before the fights, before the silence that had slowly started cracking through the trio they’d once been. Amaya slurped her noodles quietly, her thoughts drifting as Hiroto drizzled way too much chili oil into his bowl. Her lips twitched at the sight, but she said nothing. He always did that. Ever since they were kids. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood, gone to the same schools, and—ironically enough—were born on the exact same day. Hiroto had been smug about being born twenty-three minutes earlier ever since they were six. She’d never let him forget that her first word had been “shut up,” directed straight at him. He had laughed so hard he’d fallen off the couch. “Still thinking about Ren?” he asked suddenly, breaking the memory. Amaya’s chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. She gave a noncommittal shrug. “I’m more pissed about being dragged out of bed.” He scoffed. “Liar. You’re still mad.” “I’m always mad,” she muttered, setting her bowl down with a little too much force. He watched her for a second, then leaned back in the booth. “You remember that time in middle school when Ren got into it with that senior, and you threatened to throw a desk at the guy?” Amaya cracked a smile. “Yeah. You egged me on.” “I did,” he said proudly. “Because you were terrifying. Still are.” She laughed under her breath, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. Sadness. Loss. Not in the tragic way—but in the way of someone who’s watching something slowly slip through their fingers and doesn’t know how to stop it. “We were supposed to stick together,” she said softly, eyes on her half-empty bowl. “All three of us. That was the promise.” Hiroto didn’t speak for a moment. Then, gently, “People break promises, Aya.” “I didn’t.” “I know you didn’t.” Her jaw clenched, throat tightening as she forced the rest of her food down just to avoid saying something she’d regret. “I hate how easy it was for him to choose her over us,” she said finally, voice low, bitter. Hiroto’s gaze softened. “He’s an idiot. He doesn’t see what he’s losing. But I do. I always have.” She looked up, met his eyes, and for a second she saw it—the grief he wasn’t saying, the weight of being the one left behind with her, the glue holding them together when everything else was falling apart. “Happy late birthday, by the way,” she said after a beat, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “I forgot to tell you yesterday.” “You were too busy telling Ren to go fuck himself.” “Fair,” she said with a small smirk. “But I meant it.” Hiroto reached across the table, nudging her pinky with his. “Same to you, twin.” They didn’t need big speeches or dramatic declarations. Their bond was older than broken promises and stronger than temporary heartbreak. It was in the silence between conversations. In the way he never left. In the way she always came back. “Thanks for always being here,” she said quietly, not looking at him.  Hiroto smiled. “You kidding? Who else is gonna keep your psycho ass in check?” She laughed, the sound light and real, and for the first time all day, she felt a little more like herself again. He grabbed his drink and stood up. “Come on, we’ve got the rest of the day off. You’re not going home to sulk.” “I wasn’t—” “Nope. Not letting you. Arcade or bookstore?” Amaya raised an eyebrow. “Bookstore. I want to find that poetry collection I told you about.” “Cool,” he said, holding the door open for her. “As long as we stop for ice cream after.” She rolled her eyes. “You are such a child.” “And you love me.” She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. The way she bumped her shoulder against his as they walked out was enough. Because Ren may have been the one who left, but Hiroto was the one who stayed. And that was the kind of loyalty she could never take for granted. *** The bookstore was tucked away on a quiet corner across from campus, half-hidden by ivy and old streetlamps. The kind of place that smelled like aged paper, worn leather, and forgotten stories. Amaya’s safe place. As soon as they walked in, the air shifted. The city noise faded behind the creak of floorboards and the soft rustle of pages. Hiroto was already trailing after her, pretending not to be impressed by how easily she navigated the maze of tall, cramped shelves. “Let me guess,” he said, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Poetry section, back left corner, third shelf down.” She smirked over her shoulder. “You do pay attention.” “Only because you threaten to throw things when I don’t.” Amaya’s fingers ran along the spines of the books until she found the one she was looking for. A slim, charcoal-gray collection titled Ghosts in Honey. She slid it off the shelf like it was something sacred, flipping through the pages until she found the poem that had hooked her the first time. “You’re going to buy it, stare at it for two weeks, and cry over a single line,” Hiroto said, peering over her shoulder. “Then pretend you’re not crying.” “It’s called having taste, you uncultured little goblin.” “I’m literally older than you.” “By twenty-three minutes,” she snapped, slapping the book gently against his chest. “Which makes you twenty-three minutes more annoying.” They wandered through the shop a bit longer. Hiroto picked up a few manga volumes and she teased him about his taste in shoujo, while he reminded her she still hadn’t finished My Hero Academia and thus had no right to judge. By the time they checked out, her hands were full of paperbacks and his arms were full of snacks he definitely didn’t find in the manga section but from a corner stand by the register. “Ready for part two of our healing journey?” he asked as they stepped out into the street. She raised an eyebrow. “You mean ice cream?” “Exactly.” *** They ended up at a tiny stand tucked beside the park, where the air was filled with the smell of sugar cones and the sound of kids screaming over the last scoop of matcha. Hiroto ordered two scoops of cookies and cream on a waffle cone. Amaya went for dark chocolate with caramel drizzle in a cup. “You really do have main character energy,” he said as they sat on a nearby bench, watching the afternoon sun settle in behind the trees. “What, because I eat my ice cream like a civilized person and don’t get it all over my hands?” He turned his wrist to show her the drip running down his arm. “This is the experience, Aya.” She rolled her eyes but handed him a napkin anyway. “You’re impossible.” “And yet, you keep me around.” She didn’t answer right away. She just scooped a bite of her ice cream and looked out at the street, watching strangers pass, couples holding hands, the sound of the world moving on. “Because I’d lose my mind without you,” she said quietly. Hiroto didn’t say anything, just nudged her foot with his. “I know things are different with Ren now,” he said after a moment. “And maybe they don’t go back to how they were. But I’ll be here. Even if everything else changes.” Amaya looked down at her melting ice cream, her chest aching just a little—but in a way that was warm, not painful. “I know,” she said. “And that’s enough.” They sat in silence for a while longer, letting the sugar soothe their tempers and the city fade into the background. And for once, Amaya didn’t think about Ren. She didn’t think about Chi, or how everything had fractured. She just sat with her twin—the one person who never left. And that was more than enough. As they walked past the bookstore, Hiroto slowed his steps and glanced at her. “You ever think he’ll go back to the way he was?” he asked quietly. Amaya didn’t answer right away. She stared ahead, watching the people pass by, the familiar buzz of city life moving around them like static. Then she let out a long sigh and murmured, “He hasn’t been the same since the accident.” Hiroto stopped walking. “The one you and Ren were in?” She nodded slowly. “Three years ago. Car hit us crossing the street near the south end of campus. Ren walked away with a broken wrist and a mild concussion, but me…” Her voice trailed off. “I was in the hospital for almost a week. Internal bleeding. Broken ribs. The doctors said if I’d hit the pavement just a second later, I might not have made it.” Hiroto’s jaw clenched. He remembered that week. The frantic phone call in the middle of the night. The blood on REN’s clothes. The way he hadn’t let anyone else sit beside Amaya’s bed. “He didn’t talk much after that,” she continued. “When I got out, it was like a switch flipped. Like he stopped giving a damn about everything. His grades dropped, he bailed on everything he used to care about—including us, and then Chi showed up, and it was like… she gave him something to focus on. Or maybe just something to hide behind.” “You never told me it was that bad.” “I didn’t want to make excuses for him,” she said softly. “But that accident… it broke something in him and I think he’s still trying to pretend it didn’t.” Hiroto didn’t say anything, just reached over and took her hand in his. She gave him a faint smile, grateful, then gently pulled away. “Let’s head back,” she said. “I need to mentally prepare myself before seeing his face again. *** Ren leaned against the side of his jeep, arms crossed and brows drawn together, his jaw tight. Chi was rambling beside him about some influencer’s skincare routine, but he barely registered her words. His mind was stuck on what Amaya had said. That sharp tone. The anger behind her voice. The way she’d ended the call like she couldn’t stand to hear him anymore. And then those words in French—he didn’t know what they meant, but he felt the venom in them like a slap. Chi nudged his arm. “You okay, baby?” Ren didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the doors of the university building, waiting for Amaya and Hiroto to reappear. “She hates me,” he muttered finally. Chi blinked. “What?” “Amaya,” he said, his voice low. “She hates me now.” Chi rolled her eyes. “So what? She’s always had something to say about me. Maybe she should worry less about our relationship and more about hers.” Ren didn’t even look at her. He was still seeing Amaya’s face in his head—flushed with frustration, her eyes bright with disappointment. He’d messed up. Worse, he didn’t even know when things had started slipping out of his control. *** They didn’t make it two full steps past the bookstore before Ren’s voice rang out behind them. “Amaya!” She stopped walking but didn’t turn around right away. Hiroto groaned, muttering under his breath, “Here we go.” Ren caught up fast, cutting in front of them and blocking the sidewalk. His eyes were wild, his jaw clenched. “What the hell did you say to Chi?” Amaya tilted her head, her face unreadable. “Something in French. You wouldn’t have understood.” “I don’t have to speak French to know it wasn’t nice,” Ren snapped. “She’s upset. And I don’t appreciate you going out of your way to humiliate her.” “Humiliate her?” Amaya scoffed. “Oh, sweetheart, if I wanted to humiliate her, she’d be crying in the parking lot.” “Amaya,” Hiroto said lowly, placing a hand on her elbow, but she was already too far gone. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” she went on, eyes locked on Ren. “Your girlfriend talks shit about me behind my back, flirts with guys in your class, and I’m the problem because I said it to her face?” “That’s not true,” Ren said, almost too fast. “Chi wouldn’t do that.” Amaya arched a brow. “Really? Because I heard her myself. She bragged about it to someone in the art department—how she liked the attention. How you’re so ‘wrapped around her finger,’ she could get away with anything.” Ren’s face turned red, whether from embarrassment or fury, she couldn’t tell. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, I do. I just wish you did.” “You always do this!” Ren shouted, voice rising. “You twist things, you push people away, and now you’re going after Chi because what? You don’t like that I moved on?” That hit her harder than she expected. Hiroto stepped between them, holding a hand out toward Ren. “Back off.” But Amaya didn’t move. Her voice, when it came, was cold. “Moved on from what, Ren? You act like there was something to move on from.” There was a pause, thick and uneasy. “She doesn’t deserve that,” Ren finally said, softer now. “Chi didn’t do anything to you.” Amaya looked at him like she was seeing a stranger. “That’s the problem. You don’t see the version of her the rest of us do.” Ren didn’t leave. Not right away. Instead, his eyes darkened as he stared at Amaya, his breath shallow with anger. “You know what?” he muttered. “I’m tired of your mouth.” Then, before anyone could process it, his hand lashed out—open palm connecting hard with Amaya’s cheek. The sound cracked through the air like a whip. Hiroto lunged forward instantly, grabbing Ren by the collar, but Amaya stopped him with a single raised hand. Her head had turned with the force of the slap, her cheek stinging hot, but when she looked back at Ren, her eyes were full of fire. “You really wanna do this?” she said, voice low, trembling not with fear, but fury. “If you want to fight, then we can fight — back at the house." “Amaya—” Hiroto tried again, but she ignored him, eyes locked on Ren like a challenge. Ren looked shaken, just for a second. The moment he’d hit her, something shifted. He took a small step back, but pride kept him from backing down completely. “You’ve been asking for it since the beginning.” “Then bring it,” she said sharply, her fist connecting with his jaw before shoving past him and heading toward her car. “But don’t think I’m holding back.”  Hiroto stood there in stunned silence for a beat, then glared hard at Ren. “You hit her? Are you insane?” “I—she was pushing me—” Ren started, but Hiroto shoved him. “No excuse. You touch her again like that, and you’ll be answering to me before she even gets the chance.” Without waiting for Ren’s reply, Hiroto turned and jogged after Amaya. He found her already in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused, lips pressed into a hard line. “Let me drive,” Hiroto said softly, opening the passenger door. She didn’t argue. Just moved out of the seat and climbed into the other side silently. The whole ride back to the house was heavy with unspoken rage and heartbreak and when they pulled into the driveway, Amaya finally said, “He thinks I won’t fight back just because we were close once.” Hiroto looked at her, and for once, didn’t joke. “Then show him exactly who the hell he’s dealing with.” *Translation of what Amaya said that morning: "I hope you and your little bitch are happy together. Everyone knows she’s screwing the TA behind your back."