26. Yata's favourite subject was actually art

Again, he wasn't very good at it, but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be enthusiastic. Art was about expression, right? With frustrated movements, he jerked the paint brush across his canvas, splattering red paint haphazardly. He was supposed to be painting a landscape, but someone it had turned into something unrecognisable. The teacher looked on over his shoulder, but she didn't say a word of criticism.

Yata only really liked art because it didn't involve much thinking. Put some paint on the thing and make a thing and you're done. If it looks shit, claim it's an abstract art. Of course, he always painted "abstract art."

Beside the flailing boy, Fushimi tried to use the back of his canvas as a shield against the stray specks of paint sailing towards him. He had some talent for art, but like most things, it bored him. Mindful of Yata's movements, he continued his painting in swift curves, layering his short strokes and crossing them over until it formed something that made sense – a Chinese garden.

"What's that supposed to be?" Yata asked, resting his chin on Fushimi's shoulder and squinting at his painting.

"A Chinese garden," Fushimi replied dully, rolling his eyes and resting his paintbrush neatly on the easel before shoving Yata away from him. "Don't touch me, Misaki. You'll get paint everywhere."

"Hey, what's that supposed to-" Yata stopped short as Fushimi jerked his chin downwards. Looking down at his hand Yata realised he'd placed his palm on the desk to steady himself when he'd been pushed backwards. He lifted his hand now to reveal a red handprint on the desk.

Fushimi cocked an eyebrow, a smug little smirk spreading across his face, but Yata ignored it, going off in search of a wet towel.

27. Fushimi would never tell Yata his first impression of him

They'd been aware of each other for a long time, but they first met the day middle school started. All of the students were excited, bustling at their small desks, clasping and unclasping their hands. Nervous murmurs were tossed about the room, but nobody dared to raise their voice louder than a whisper.

Fushimi's nose was buried in a novel, and for a moment, he didn't even notice that the boy sitting in front of him was leaning on his desk. He looked up, slightly surprised, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Do you want something?" he asked, his voice purposely enveloped in that bored tone that he would later begin to use out of habit.

"You like reading?" the boy asked, angling his head to try and read the book's title. Fushimi tilted the book at an even more awkward angle, deliberately making it difficult for the other boy.

"Yes," he replied snippily.

"Cool. I'm Yata." The boy didn't even pause to consider the conversation might be unwanted. He took it all in his stride. He wore a slightly lopsided smile and his hazel eyes shone with enthusiasm that Fushimi would later learn how to tolerate.

"That's your surname," Fushimi pointed out.

"I don't like my first name," Yata said, grimacing. "So what's your name?"

Fushimi slowly lifted his book up again, blocking out the other boy's face and ignoring his protesting.

The first few classes were a breeze: A few simple introductions and group activities. Fushimi learned the boy's name was Misaki – No wonder he hates his name – and the boy in question proved himself to be one of the rowdiest in the class. Despite his irritating nature, Fushimi found himself constantly glancing at Misaki, wondering if he should have given him a chance earlier.

He casually observed Misaki during the group activities, coming to the conclusion that he was an even bigger idiot than he'd originally thought, but he was amusing and friendly and even though he had a short temper, his energy seemed to be the kind that could make everyone in the room smile whether they wanted to or not. Even Fushimi found himself smiling as the bell rang signalling lunch time. But that might have just been at the prospect of lunch.

Well, he hadn't expected to be beaten up on his first day. But in every school, there were kids who decided it was ok to pick on people's differences. He probably should have expected it. It started with verbal teasing, just a couple of boys yelling immature names at him while he was eating. That was easy enough to brush off. The last thing he wanted to do was waste energy in a fight.

When he stood to go back to class, he was caught by surprise. An arm grabbed him around the middle, his assailant attacking from behind. He was flung sideways into another boy, who tripped him up and sent him tumbling into the ground. The three boys stood over Fushimi, who had a nasty gash along his arm and the wind knocked out of him, laughing for a moment, before a fourth boy showed up.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" An angry voice demanded. He'd heard that raised tone several times that morning, and easily identified the newcomer as none other than Misaki Yata.

Fushimi pulled himself into a sitting position with a soft groan, watching as the bullies scrambled, two of them darting behind the library block. Yata, faster than he looked, caught up to the straggler, landing a solid punch to the face and knocking him down.

"Don't pick on people! What's wrong with you?" Yata yelled down at him, his fists still clenched. He quickly turned and jogged back to Fushimi, who was on his feet now and mostly recovered. "Are you alright?" he asked, his expression odd.

Fushimi examined his arm for a moment, vaguely aware that Misaki's concern for him filled him with a perverse sort of pleasure. "I'm fine," he replied, after having determined that the cut on his arm wasn't bad enough to be at risk of infection. "And...I'm Fushimi."

"Cool," Yata said, grinning. "I guess we should go to class, unless you want to report those guys." Fushimi really couldn't care less. After Yata coming to his defence, he doubted they'd bother him again, but even if they did, he'd be prepared next time.

But he was surprised. It seemed he'd made a friend.

28. Yata took up a lot of room when he slept

Lights out at 10. Their cabin was stuffy and refused to stop creaking even after the gale had died down. Rain pattered down lightly on the roof, blending into the background with the soft croaking of the frogs and the snoring of the first boy who'd fallen asleep. Eight mattresses were spread out on the flour, in two unevenly spaced rows. Six of the boys were from another class, as good as complete strangers. Yata and Fushimi were positioned side by side, closest to the bathroom.

This was the first school trip they'd ever been on. Judging from the lack of organisation, it was probably the first trip the school had even held. For a few weeks, Yata had been pulling his hair, worrying that he wouldn't have enough money to come along. His pride would never let him ask Fushimi for help. Luckily, he'd worked out a payment schedule with the school.

Fushimi was drifting in and out of a restless sleep, while Yata was already soundly slumbering, his limbs splayed out over both his mattress and Fushimi's, intruding on the taller boy's space. With an elbow dangerously close to his face, Fushimi sighed, not even bothering to try and push him away. Instead, he simply rolled over and hoped beyond hope that he wouldn't awake to find Yata cuddling him.

29. Fushimi couldn't decide whether his favourite hobby was hacking or reading

The first computer he'd ever successfully hacked into was the school principal's. One of the boys in his class had been dragged into a fight and was now at risk of suspension – something he didn't want tarnishing his permanent record. Since he sat a few seats down from Fushimi, he'd spoken to him a few times, but didn't know him all that well. What he did know was that Fushimi was smart, and he figured if anyone could change his record, it would be him.

A small bribe was all it took. Fushimi didn't tell the boy he would have done it for free. He'd been dying for a chance at something like this for quite some time now. During fifth period, when they were supposed to be in Health class, he and the other boy snuck past the receptionist's desk and into the principal's office, quietly closing the door behind them and whispering in the darkness.

With the other boy stationed at the window as a lookout, peeking through the blinds every now and then, Fushimi's fingers began rapidly tapping at the keyboard, his eyes focussed on the dialogue boxes on-screen. His glasses reflected the light of the screen, while his right hand clicked at the mouse, launching the filing system. A small crease of concentration formed between his eyes and the line of his mouth hardened, as he tried several different combinations for the program's password. After several minutes of trying, he finally cracked it, making a mental note to figure out how to develop a hacking program that would make life easier.

"Someone's coming," the other boy notified him, a small whimper edging his tone. Fushimi rolled his eyes, pressing enter to confirm the changes he'd made to the boy's profile. He calmly closed all the windows he'd opened, leaving no trace that the computer had been tampered with. "Saruhiko..." The other boy was looking at him expectantly, waiting for instructions.

Fushimi sighed at the use of his name and gestured for the boy follow him, pushing the wheeled chair away from the desk and crouching in the confined space. The boy, breathing heavily like some kind of axe murderer (well, he had been in a pretty brutal fight), joined Fushimi under the desk just as the door swung open, bathing the room in artificial light.

"That's strange," a voice said, sounding perplexed. "I guess he's out." The door swung shut with a dull thud, and the boy's held their breaths until the footsteps faded into the distance.

They left the office, and the school faculty where none the wiser. Fushimi smiled inwardly at his achievement, and forced himself not to laugh, remembering that the other boy's record now said "This student is incapable of learning anything, ever."

30. Fushimi was surprisingly good at first aid

When his best friend showed up on his doorstep at 3am, clutching a bloodied left shoulder, Fushimi barely thought to question it. Gathering the boy would be weak from blood loss, he draped Yata's uninjured arm over his shoulder with a resigned sigh, taking on most of his weight and dragging him into the lounge room. Yata's breath rattled as he was plonked down on the couch, and he grimaced in pain, his hand immediately flying to his shoulder.

Fushimi left him there for a moment, searching the bathroom cupboards for the first-aid kit. At times like this, he was glad his parents weren't home. When his father went on an important business trip, his mother always had to accompany him for one reason or another, and if it wasn't that, then they were on some extravagant holiday overseas, leaving Fushimi behind. As a result, he often had the house all to himself, for which he was eternally grateful.

"Hold still," he told Yata, his tone flat. He pried Yata's trembling hand away from his wound, cleaning his shoulder with an alcohol swab and ignoring Yata's whimpers. He disinfected the wound and bandaged it deftly. "So what did you do this time?" he asked. Sitting himself on the floor and leaning back on his hands, he gazed up at Yata thoughtfully, watching the boy carefully sink back into the couch cushions.

Yata was about the shrug, but thought better of it. His shoulder wasn't bleeding everywhere anymore, but it was still in near agony. When he jostled it even slightly, it sent a searing pain down his arm and across his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He took shallow breaths to avoid moving his arm much, and hoped his facial expression conveyed something close to a shrug. "Same old," he replied lazily, his eyes slipping closed.

"No, don't fall asleep," Fushimi said, nudging Yata's foot. "How else were you injured? Did you hit your head?" If Yata had a concussion, falling asleep could be dangerous. Even as he was, he probably needed to go to the hospital, but Fushimi knew he'd refuse the suggestion unless it was a life or death situation.

"Are you worried about me?" Yata asked, peering carefully at his expressionless friend from under heavy eyelids. He snorted. "I'm fine. Just my shoulder got hurt." He saw Fushimi roll his eyes, but he could tell that beneath his nonchalant exterior, his friend did care about him, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Ok, fine, you can sleep," Fushimi said, almost snapping. "I'm going to sleep, too." He made a point of rubbing his own tired eyes, before standing and exiting the room without another word or glance at Yata. I hope he doesn't bleed on the couch.