this is late...i wanted to write this and have it up by the finale but i couldnt think of where i wanted to go...

thanks stephane, for beta work and throwing around ideas! and major major help with the writing oh man really thank you so much!

He opens his eyes twelve minutes before his alarm is set to go off. Arata sighs and reaches for his glasses, shoving them on, blinking away the early morning haze.

There's no point in staying in bed. His stomach is empty and his toes cold where the blanket doesn't quite cover through the tosses and turns of the night. By the time he works himself into a comfortable position it will already be time to rise again.

Mouth set, Arata swings his feet off the side and stands. He grabs today's uniform, clean and crisp, off the hanger on his door and pads into the bathroom. He's lucky to make it in before Lisa, who spends an exceedingly long time in front of the mirror. She doesn't even do anything, just stares at her face, combs fingers through her hair, and sighs occasionally.

When he's brushing his teeth, his father comes in without knocking. Arata frowns. What if he had been changing? Or…using the toilet? His father doesn't seem to care about those things at all, but Arata likes to think he's a bit more refined than that.

Out of nowhere, his dad whaps him on the head with his newspaper.

"What was that for?" Arata asks after he's spit out his toothpaste. His father shrugs and ambles out of the bathroom. Arata stares at his retreating back—there is absolutely no way his father knows what he was thinking, but. Well. He isn't Tokyo's best detective for naught.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. He sits across from his father and munches toast to the sounds of Lisa bustling about in the kitchen in his left ear while listening to his music player in his right. His father sips tea.

"You should read the paper," he says, eyes flicking over yellowed pages.

Arata lifts up his phone. "It's all here." His father grunts, noncommittal. They have this discussion almost every morning.

"Nii-chan," says Lisa, and hands him a bento with a smile too big for the hour. Arata eyes the box, clumsily wrapped in flower print, and remembers Lisa's past attempts at cooking.

"Ah," says Arata.

Lisa's still smiling. He notes with a small amount of irritation that his father is as well...if that sharp curve across his face counts as a smile.

"Well," says Arata. "Thank you."

"But," he says, before Lisa can thrust the bento at him. "I actually eat school at lunch. Usually. I've been doing it lately." He can feel his father's eyes bore into the side of his head. "So you can let Dad have this one."

"I've already made one for him, though!" Lisa says. She then rushes to their father, offering to get water to ease his sudden coughing fit.

"It's fine," he says when she returns to his side of the table. "I'll just take the bento tomorrow." Lisa's whole countenance emits disappointment. He can tell she's trying to hide it-Lisa is probably the worst liar he's ever come across. She shuffles back into the kitchen and looks impossibly small. His dad is making a big show of packing away the bento Lisa made for him. Arata closes his eyes and feels a headache coming on.

"Oh," he says, feigning mild surprise. "I guess I've actually run out of money. I must have," Arata thinks wildly, "spent it on nail files." Arata isn't sure whether to be insulted at how easily Lisa accepts his flimsy lie. "So I can actually take the bento today." He wants to roll his eyes at the excited way she puts it into his backpack for him but he can't quite bring himself to. Shining eyes meet his, sparkling, almost, and—Arata figures it won't be so bad, to eat lunch his little sister made for him, once in a while.

"Arata," calls his father when they're almost out the door. "You forgot your phone."

He makes his way over to where his father is standing, but his father draws back his hand slightly when Arata goes to take the phone.

"Nail files?" he says lowly. Arata snatches the phone out of his dad's hands and marches out the front door.

His phone keeps going off in class. Arata tries to ignore it, but the constant beeping in his pocket is difficult to ignore. He sits up straight, keeps his eyes trained on Sensei, plays songs in his head to distract himself.

The moment the lunch bell rings, Arata slowly swivels backward until he's face to face with a mop of mousy hair.

"Touji," he says. The head lifts up to reveal a mischievous smile. "Stop texting me in class. I'm serious this time."

"Aww, Ara-chan," whines Touji, and Arata squints. Touji only calls him 'Ara-chan' when he's trying to piss him off. It's a foolproof plan. He can feel his blood pressure rising when he checks his phone and Touji's messages turn out to be a stream of various emoticons and faces. He's surprised to see a couple of pictures as well. "When did you take these?"

"I just snap 'em really quick when Sensei faces the board," says Touji, stretching backwards, easy in his movements.

"You can do it that fast?"

"Yeah, can't you?" He actually can't. Arata tried to improve upon his phone's sound system a couple months ago but ended up almost frying the device. It seems to get slower by the day. Touji's still shooting him that infuriating smirk, eyes at half-mast.

"Let's just go eat lunch," he mutters, and Touji jumps up, energetic as ever.

"Oh, my god," says Touji. They're staring at Arata's lunch. "What the hell is that."

"Lunch," says Arata, a twinge regretful. He thinks of warm school bread.

Touji looks at him for a moment. His eyes crease up, mouth tugging to the side.

"Don't laugh," warns Arata. "My younger sister made it." Touji laughs.

"Are dumplings supposed to be that color? Shouldn't the meat stay inside the dough?"

"Shut up," says Arata. He hesitantly pokes around. "The rice is like a rock." Touji snatches it before Arata can say anything and tosses it in the air. It returns to his palm, every grain still intact. This only fuel's Touji's mirth.

Arata takes a breath and starts eating the rest of the lunch. The curry slides down his throat unpleasantly, messily, a chunky mixture of what seems to be everything in their cabinets.

"How is it?" asks Touji. Arata eyes his pocket with slight alarm—Touji's hidden Lisa's rice-rock in his school slacks. He can only wonder what Touji plans on doing with it.

"Disgusting," says Arata. He dutifully takes another bite.

"Hey, hey, give me a dumpling," says Touji, already reaching with his chopsticks, his own perfect lunch dangerously close to sliding off his lap. Arata jerks the bento out of the way.

"No way, this is my lunch," he says. Touji scowls.

"You said yourself it was gross! Let me try it!"

"My sister made it for me, not you," says Arata, nose in the air. "I already gave you the rice, anyway."

"Arata," says Touji, sounding serious.

"What," he snaps back, mildly irritated.

"Could it be…you have a sister complex?" Dammit. He can hear the smirk in Touji's voice.

"Would you shut up?"

"No, no, hear me out," says his friend, palms forward, teeth glinting. "You totally do! Why else would you eat her crap bento? When can I meet her? It's not fair, I've met Haru-chan when she used to pick you up from the park, and whenever we decide to go to your house Lisa-chan's not even there! Invite me over! She sounds cute!" Arata briefly entertains a vision of Lisa and Touji, hands clasped together, riding off into the sunset on Touji's shitty bike. He shakes his head to clear away the offending thought and fixes his stare on the boy beside him.

"You are not coming over," he says. "And I can't help it if Lisa's not around when we show up." He's known Touji since the first day of middle school, but he lives on the other side of Tokyo. They usually hang out together in the city, in a place that's convenient for both of them to commute to. Arata can count on both hands the number of times Touji's visited his house or he his.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You wanna hang out after school?" asks Touji, going back to his food with gusto. There's rice stuck to his cheek. Sometimes, Arata wonders about himself, about his past decisions-about what made him say yes, this person seems enjoyable to be around. This will be my best friend.

"Yeah, sure," he says to a grin of pickled fish and squash.

"Check it out," says Touji. They're standing in cramped parking lot of a Lawson 100, huddled behind some shrubberies. Arata feels like a fool, a feeling that grows exponentially when he catches sight of what Touji's holding out to him.

"You cannot be serious."

"What? It's funny, my cousin gave it to me when she visited in the summer and I've been meaning to try it out. With you, Ara-chan!" Touji widens his eyes, bats his lashes. Arata wants to punch him.

"I'm not going to stand around at seven in the night and put fake vomit on people's cars!" hisses Arata. "Do you want me to get arrested? My father works for the Tokyo Metropolitan-"

"Police department, I know, I know, calm down. People don't go to jail for this!" says Touji in what he probably thinks is a reassuring manner. Arata is instantly on high alert. "Besides, jail isn't that big of a threat for delinquent types." Arata snorts. He's known Touji for years and the most trouble he's ever gotten into was when he attempted to steal a pack of gum from a 100 yen shop when they were twelve years old. The owner caught him before he even exited the store and Touji had burst into tears instantly. He feels his lips ease up in fond nostalgia.

"What's that creepy look on your face for?"

The smile slides off. "Shut up. It's nothing. Let's just get this over with." He crouches down and watches while Touji darts through cars, flings the gag onto a random hood, and throws himself back next to Arata.

"Now what?" he asks, already bored.

"Now, we wait," says Touji. Arata peers closely at his face—he looks calm, but his eyes are glinting dangerously.

They wait for while-navy melts across the sky, darker and darker with each passing minute. Arata is reading his literature assignment on his phone when Touji taps him on the arm and points forward. A middle aged man is walking towards the car, overflowing with bags. Touji's teeth are almost blue, their sheen so bright. He's getting way too much amusement out of this.

They can tell the exact moment the prank is spotted. The man sets his purchases down, leans close into the offending gag, a stupid move, and reels back with a shout. He stumbles slightly. Even with just the parking lot lights, Arata can see the red creep up his face. Beside him, Touji huffs a quiet laugh as he watches their unfortunate victim swear and swivel around for the offender. Why is this his life.

Touji shoots up the second the man disappears inside the store, presumably to track down a manager. "C'mon, c'mon, hurry!" and they both race towards the car to retrieve Touji's puke. They gaze down at it, bright against the dark finish of the car. Arata can appreciate the realistic appeal of such a gag...but perhaps its a little too well-made. He feels a bit like throwing up himself.

"Awesome, right?" says Touji, rolling up the plastic easily and slipping it into his pocket.

"That certainly is a word for it," Arata says. "Are we done? Or did you want to wait around for another half hour and ruin another person's night?"

"Nah, I'm good," Touji grins. "That guy is actually—"

"Hey!" calls a voice, cutting off Touji. Arata whips backward, eyes widening as the man from earlier with who he assumes is the store's very tall, very muscular manager head toward them. "You again!"

"You again?" Arata repeats, panic rising high and fast in his chest.

"You know that kid?" asks the manager, frown deepening.

"He's been bothering me for weeks now!" cries the man. He aims a fat finger in Touji's direction. "Always with these little tricks! Not this time, you rascal! Get over here!"

When he and Touji don't move—he actually can't move, frozen in his spot—the manager starts making his way over. The minute he crosses under the flood of the closest parking lot light, his friend turns and sprints away. Arata's feet are pounding against the pavement before he can even think, automatic—Touji's just ahead of him, his panicked laughter slicing through the air.

Fingers grasp against the back of his shirt, grazing his body. Arata lets out a strangled scream, suddenly frightened, trying to twist away. The hand tightens a bit, but before it can get a firm hold, the manager lets out a sharp cry and lets go. Touji's arm is still in the air—Arata realizes with horror that he's thrown Lisa's rice behind him, and it seems to have met its target. Arata doesn't want to think of the consequences of that particular move, now or ever. Adrenaline pumping, he urges his legs to move faster, faster, leaving his pursuer behind at a speed he didn't know he was capable of. The yells of both men echo behind him.

Arata's glasses are slipping down his face, but he's too scared to do anything about it—what if he trips, or fumbles, and is caught—for real this time? He and Touji are sprinting as hard as they can, down the street, into a side alley way, and Jesus Christ why won't he stop chasing them.

This is all Touji's fault. "I hate you!" he manages to wheeze out.

"Learn to live a little!" calls Touji, who is clearly terrified. Arata briefly considers tripping him and saving his own skin. In the wild, prey doesn't have to be the fastest—just faster than the animal next to them.

They're still running, but thankfully, thankfully, the manager is now far behind them. When they finally stop, all the way at the station, Arata doubles over, bracing himself on his knees. It hurts to draw even one breath. Touji slumps his body all over a bench, loose and limber, knees dangling over the edge.

"Holy shit, holy shit," he keeps repeating, breathless giggles softening his voice. Arata straightens up and kicks him in the shin.

"You fucking idiot," he says. "I'm never—that was—my father would murder me alive if that manager managed to catch us." Touji doesn't answer. "We are never going to that store again under any circumstance." Touji nods. "How do you even know that guy? Are you harassing him?"

"I wouldn't call it harassing," defends Touji, but his mouth is twisting, pleased. "He's usually alone, which is why it's entertaining. Especially because he gets really mad, but can't run for shit. He's always alone, though. That manager was scary as fuck!" He laughs. Arata wonders about Touji's mental stability, sometimes.

"But why him?"

"Once a couple weeks ago, I was in the store, and that guy bought the last packet of mochi ice cream, and you know the green tea flavor is my favorite! Then, he held up the line for so long, and I had to use the bathroom, and I became late to my piano class. I had to run through rain! Sensei made me run Hanon drills until I got carpal tunnel!"

Arata stares. "So you targeted this guy for weeks because of that?"

"Well," says Touji. "I was really only going to prank him one time, but his reaction was so funny that I kept doing it. It's not like it actually hurts him or anything, so it's fine!" Arata doesn't have time to ponder Touji's obviously skewed sense of morals as their respective trains arrive.

"It was scary today, sure, but it was kinda fun too, right?"

Arata can see what he means. After the excitement has worn off-it was a little bit fun, running from the law. "Maybe. I can almost see the appeal. But I'm going to stay a law-abiding citizen from now on, if that's okay with you." Touji laughs.

"Why are you so dirty?" asks Lisa the minute he steps inside. "And late?"

"I went for a run," he says.

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter." Does she have to look so hurt at his response?

"Dinner's in the fridge," his dad calls from somewhere upstairs. He eats in his room, finishes the last bit of homework assigned for the day, and retires to bed. His phone chimes right as he crawls under the covers.

Touji: i had a lot of fun today ara-chan! ←～（o )oΨ

fuck off, he types back, and powers his phone off.

did...did it sound like nine? please tell me!

and twelve HOLY SHIT GUYS did i have trouble writing him...was he in character?

also, WHO ELSE LOVED THE FINALE! i loved it so much you guys! i thought it was beautiful-the music, the animation, the characters, everything. ive replayed 12 and 9's death SO MANY TIMES NOW. his scream haunts me. truly an amazing show.

didsw on tumblr-feel free to drop in! :)