Junpei reacted to such a comment like he had been slapped in the face, letting out a small choked sound and drawing back, eyes wide as he hesitantly turned to stare at the other teen who had spoken. What this person said, a tip on onions and the crying it induced, implied he needed the advice. Implied, he saw the falseness of his face. This hadn’t happened before, and he always sort of dreaded it, even when he made plans just in case such a thing were to happen, but seeing the face of this individual…it actually felt so much worse. His hands trembled as he tried to get up, but once he slammed his hand on the table surface and forced himself up, what felt like a long stretch of time was spent trembling and staring.

A face. Was the expression friendliness? Pity? Disgust? Thousands of possibilities surged into his mind, but what did Junpei know? What did he understand of the facial expressions of others? All he did was observe and make conclusions of what sort of emotions they supposedly tried to make, but what did he really know? He couldn’t smile when he was happy, or frown when he was mad…no, he wasn’t like them. The idea that he couldn’t reach them, even with his efforts, that there was more he could never understand…it was nothing new, but such a rough reminder like this, it was terrifying.

A face was, could only be to him…a mask to mock his very predicament. Bitter jealously he had to choke down into his throat, that person better than him could easily say something so easily, like when Marie Antoinette was rumoured to ignorantly suggested her starving people gorge themselves on sweet bread. Always, he always admired the carefree faces of teens his own age…but was it worth it, attending school only to encounter moments like these?

The bitter taste in his mouth…it was the hard taste of iron. Without realising it, he had bit down hard on his tongue. The faceless boy had wanted to yell at the other teen, tell him to go away, to leave him alone…now, he just needed to leave. A small voice in the back of his head told him he couldn’t leave without his damn stew and rice, but his body acted quicker than what he willed of it. Pushing past the boy with light trembles to his body, Junpei reached for the metal pot still on the low setting stove.

Grabbing the side of the pot, not even the handles, not even noticing the scorching heat of the cooked metal—the boy pulled the pot off the stove and threw it all onto the ground by the far wall. The loud clang of the metal hitting the ground rang through the room, and even as he was the only one to feel some of the hot stew splash against the leg of his pants, Junpei didn’t flinch. In fact, his face was truly the blankest anyone had ever seen. Going over and swiping the rice cooker off the counter, the teen stepped over it all and left the area, slamming the door closed behind him.

Junpei didn’t know when he finally got back to his dorm, or when he started to feel the scalding burns of his hands and leg. Triple bolting his dorm room with his painful, shaking hands, he trudged over to his bed and just lay down. The faceless boy, who could only wear the cheapest imitation of what he could never have, just trembled under his blanket like a small child. He knew, he even knew that his reaction was like that of the most cowardly, foolish child. Still, he couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop wishing he were just safe at home.

-----

(Ash post to be decided...)