Akashi Haruchiyo.*

In second year everyone knew that Haruchiyo Sanzu was weird.

He didn't talk to anyone, slept in class, skipped tests, got into fights, and didn't show a shred of remorse.
But you looked at it differently.
And one day, without really understanding how, they started dating.

—Do you want to be my girlfriend or not? —he said to you with his eyes half closed, as if he were talking about the weather.

And you… said yes.
Because you thought you were going to discover it, understand it, cure it.
That beneath that dead stare was someone who needed love.

But from day one, it was clear: Sanzu didn't need you.

I didn't text you.
I didn't walk you home.
I didn't even remember your birthday.

In the school hallways, I barely spoke to you.
And when you looked for him, he responded as if it cost him energy:

—I'm busy.
—Don't fuck with me.
—What do you want now?

Your friends asked you if you were fighting.
You smiled, pretending everything was okay.
But deep down you knew something was wrong from the start.

One afternoon, on the roof of the school building, you confronted him:

—Why are you with me if you don't care about me?

Sanzu didn't even look up from the lighter twirling between his fingers.

—Because you said yes. And I have nothing better to do.