Love/Hate (Lemon GarouxReader 🍋)

Lost in Translation

On Monday morning, everything seems to be back to normal. It's a glorious summer day, the air rich with the season, almost dreamy. There's a month or so until the long break but you and your classmates can't contain your excitement, talking, fantasising about, longing for all the great things you're going to do. Except for Ichirou and Ryoma, who will probably be taking catchup classes.
A light, balmy summer wind drifts through the window by your desk and gently plays with your hair.
Even Mr. Yukimura seems to have mellowed a little, the sunshine doing him some good, as his fingers run over his keyboard, not in the usual furious stabbing fashion but calmer, more measured. As if writing a thoughtful and polite email to someone you don't mind so much.
Homeroom is almost over and Garou still isn't here. This doesn't really trouble you as he has a tendency to come and go as he pleases, regarding the bell times as optional for him, if still compulsory for everyone else. You don't like this, of course, but it's better than him not showing up at all.
Mr. Yukimura doesn't really care because that's less time he has to deal with him. As long as he shows up at some point during homeroom he'll mark him present. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement where they see each other as little as possible.
He finally struts through the door as everyone is packing up to go to biology a minute or so before the first period bell.
You look up and shake your head at him. Tsk, tsk. Late again.
He gives you a grinning, innocent shrug. What are ya gonna do?
"I'm here," he growls as he passes Mr. Yukimura's desk just as the bell goes then turns right around and is about to head back out with the rest of you.
Mr. Yukimura doesn't reply with his usual acerbic wit.
"Wait here," he says and the heavy tone of his voice worries you as you watch the two of them, Garou's eyes growing suddenly suspicious.
When Mr. Yukimura is condescending, sarcastic, insulting even, you know everything's alright. That's the normal, the level to measure everything by. When he scowls and pretends to be shocked you know everything is good. When he baits and tricks you by innocently asking "Are you sure?" when you answer one of his questions you know everything is fine. But it's when he's serious that you know things are about to go downhill and fast.
You want to wait outside the classroom but you promised Yumi you'd help her set up in the lab and you can't possibly break a promise and shirk your responsibilities like that. You give one one last glance through the little glass panel in the closed door before hurrying after your classmates, growing increasingly apprehensive.

Your apprehension only grows when Garou doesn't make it to first period, continues to build when he doesn't show up to second period either and is practically eating away at you by lunch time.
Where did he disappear to?
"That's so weird," Tsukiko says as she picks at her bento as you sit under your usual tree. "I wonder what Yukimura said to him."
"But why did he disappear?" You ask, knowing full well your friend doesn't know the answer. But you're completely dismayed. And you can't even call him. Why does he need a phone anyway? Ain't got anyone to be calling in the first place.
You asked him about this once.
"What about emergencies?" You had said, exasperated.
"What emergencies?" He just looked back at you, genuinely wondering what you could possibly be referring to. In most cases he himself has been the emergency, so...
"Go and ask him," Tsukiko suggests, taking a gulp of her cherry soda. "After school, of course!" She adds, all responsible like.
"Way ahead of you," you sigh, taking an uninspired bite of your onigiri.

You drop a protesting Ryo off at your aunt's house after school, trying your best to appease your little brother, promising to let him stay late tomorrow and head out into the street, taking the shortest route to Garou's place. You have no idea if he's even going to be there but it's the most logical place to go.

His building is almost identical to yours, most of the buildings in this part of town are, the courtyard littered with kids playing in the after school sun, running around just like Ryo and Tareo do in your own courtyard and playground.
You make your way inside and push the button for the elevator but it feels dead. There isn't that usual little resistance you feel upon pressing your finger against it. You push it again. Nothing. A little harder. Nothing. This is getting frustrating.
You kick at the twin elevator doors, scrunching up your fists. Figures. These buildings have been here for how long...?
It doesn't really matter in your building since you're only on the second floor. But no. He just has to live on the ninth, right at the top, doesn't he? You frown and begin the ascent up the concrete steps.
By the time you've reached the top you've come up with a selection of very choice words for him, none of them safe for work at all, and your displeasure is written all over your face.
You walk to his door and push on the door handle. You know that the fact that it's open tells you nothing.
"Hey!" You walk inside. There is no answer. This also tells you nothing. "Hey!" You call out again, taking off your shoes and making your way down the short hallway to his room.
"Stop ignor-" you fling his bedroom door open to be greeted with a complete lack of Garou. Oh. So he really isn't here.
You cast your eye around. Well there's his uniform crumpled on the floor, discarded hastily as if he couldn't wait to get it off, school bag thrown carelessly under the desk, the few books spilling out.
You sit on his bed and think. Where could he be? You fear the worst. He's not out, left again to...? He wouldn't just snap like that. Would he? Well... Having no clues to go on you realise there's nothing for you to do here. You stand up, your face in total gloom and brush down your skirt before going to slip your shoes on again.
You walk out the front door and close it carefully and quietly behind you.
You've just taken the first few steps down when Garou suddenly appears from the flight of stairs below. You both stop in surprise, him looking up at you, you looking down at him.
"Still breaking and entering, eh?" He raises an eyebrow. You can tell he's trying to remain his usual cocky self but there's something seething under the surface.
"Where did you go?" You ask, unable to conceal your relief and ignoring his jibe as you descend a couple more steps and he comes up to meet you.
"Home," he says flatly.
You can tell he's furious and you can tell he's trying not to let it show. He doesn't want you to think it's you. He doesn't want to make it all a mess again
"Well...nooo...." you can't bite the sarcasm back this time. "Why weren't you in school? What happened?" You reformulate your question to avoid any more vague answers.
"Suspended," he says in such an annoyingly offhanded way and tries to make it past you but you're quicker for once and manage to block the stairs.
"What?!" You almost yell before bringing your voice down a measure. "What? How? Why? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anythin'," he scowls as if at some invisible enemy. He really doesn't want you to get involved in this. Doesn't want you to know about any of this. That old anger, the injustice of it all is rising to the surface and he doesn't want to catch you up in it.
"Then why are you suspended?!" You're exasperated, completely unaware of your dangerously rising voice, echoing in the concrete stairwell. "You're not making any sense!"
He tries to make it past you again but you won't budge.
Fine. Don't blame him.
He picks you up quickly but carefully over his shoulder.
"Hey!" You hit at his back as he carries you up the steps. "Hey! That's not fair! Put me down! You can't just throw me over your shoulder every time!"
He sets you down on the landing once you've reached the top of the stairs.
"What happened?!" You question loudly. Usually you'd be more self-conscious in public like this, not that anyone is around right now, but this situation is just infuriating you.
"You never give up do you?" he rolls his eyes.
"No, I don't," you retort. "Not my style."
"Apparently, I fucked up some first years from that other place on Friday," he jerks his head in a random direction but you know exactly the school he's talking about. The school a couple of suburbs over. Nicer suburbs too.
You grow quiet for a moment. You don't quite know what to do with this information or how you should process it. On the one hand, you believe he wouldn't do that. Not now, anyway. What is the point of beating up some school kids? It doesn't line up with what you've been able to glean of his thoughts, his philosophy. On the other hand, the recent past rears its head. You never thought he'd be capable of that either and yet there you were that night... You would like to give him the benefit of the doubt. You really would.
"Did you do it?" You ask, your voice soft but serious now, looking him straight in the eyes.
Four little words. Four syllables. And yet he's surprised to find they sting when coming from your mouth.
He hadn't realised but somewhere deep in his mind he had hoped that you... This strange new pain mixes with the anger creating something tumultuous, defiant. Before he can stop himself he hears his own jeering voice, as if disconnected from it for a second.
"You too, eh?"
You feel accused even though you have nothing to feel guilty for and you don't like it.
"Well, I'm sorry!" you exclaim, not sorry at all. "Can you blame me?"
No. Shit. He can't blame you. Doesn't want to. It's just, he thought that maybe... He had dared to hope that-
"I want to believe you! And for the most part I do! Ninety nine percent I do! But after..." you pause, you don't like talking about it, "...everything...you'll have to forgive my doubts!"
"I-"
You ignore his interjection.
"I'm trying to forget. I really am! But it's hard! I can't just click my fingers and do it, as much as I would love to!" Your voice has risen again, impassioned and frustrated.
He's a little stunned.
Forget? Why would you want to forget? If you're doing it for him, you don't have to. He doesn't want you to. He doesn't merit that after all you witnessed.
But if you mean you'd like to forget for yourself, for your own peace of mind, he wishes he could erase it all for you. You didn't deserve to see all that. To be part of it.
He can see the upset in your body, the way you hold yourself, the tension in your hands as they clench subconsciously into fists by your sides.
"You don't have to forget," he says, his own voice calm now, more concerned for you as he takes one of your hands, slowly uncurling your fingers. "You don't need to forget it if you don't want." He can't undo it. If he could he would, that one night. But he can't. And he wishes you wouldn't do so much for him.
The feeling of his hands on yours, settles you down somewhat, your shoulders relaxing.
"I want to believe you, Garou," you say. "So just tell me, honestly, did you do it or not?"
"No," he says, low and clear.
And you believe him.
"I just wanted to hear it from you," you explain.
He gives you a melancholy sort of smile. Glad, ecstatic, that you're on his side, but at the same time knowing that no one else is. Not a single fucking person.
You don't like this smile and try to move the conversation on.
"Well, if you didn't do it, why are they saying you did?" You ask, still confused.
"I have no fucking idea," you can see the smile change into a frown, the anger starting to become a little uncontainable as his thoughts are redirected back to the injustice of it all. "I guess because I'm fucked up," he grins but it's cold and humourless.
This is what it's like to be looked down upon all your life. Always blamed for everything. Never being listened to. Never being able to defend yourself. This! This is exactly the kind of bullshit that he wants to put an end to. It's fucked up. For so long he had been on the receiving end and yet still made out to be the bad guy. No. No fucking more. He'd learned...he'd learned to be strong, to not let anyone take advantage of him. And yet here he is again...
"Because I'm fucked up," he repeats bitterly, "and it's always easier to blame the fuck up. Who'd wanna listen, eh?"
You can tell he's delving into the past here and you think you're starting to understand a little. It's painful. You know what it's like to not be heard, though probably not as much as him from what you can gather.
"We'll fix this," you say, full of determination, your hands now on his face, warm and concerned. "I have to go because I promised my aunt I'd help her with something today but we'll fix this."
"No, fuck-," he starts but you're already rushing down the stairs, energized by a sort of righteous anger on his part at this blatant unfairness.
Shit. No. You don't need to do anything. This situation is fucked up but it's not your problem. It's his and his alone. You don't need to take any of it on.
He doesn't give a shit about that school if he were really honest with you. He'd be glad to see the back of it.
Suspended? Expelled? Excellent. Just all the more reason to get back to work on his goals. It's just the fucking discrimination, the prejudice. The fucking story of his life. And he's supposed to be the monster? Fuck everyone. He'd be happy to never see that place again. Maybe it's better he doesn't or he might just...
But you really don't ever give up.
He listens to your light footsteps resound through the stairwell. He shakes his head and grins as he heads inside.
You two have more in common than he initially thought.