The next day Ayanokōji comes to class, Tsujihara's desk is empty.

It's empty the next day, too.

And the next.

And so forth for the next whole month.

When he asked her about it, her answer was that if the class is going to fall for the school's too good to be true act, she might as well make the most of their stupidity and treat herself to a vacation

She invited him to skip too since he already knows everything, and he was on the fence about it–

"I've never skipped a class before."

"...Is that seriously where you're drawing the line?"

–but then she sent him the picture of a flier for an escape room featured in the middle of the school day, and Ayanokōji knows better, he does, but – "I'll buy you food after" – he was coerced.

They were given two hours to escape, but the shortest recorded time was an hour. Between the two of them, Tsujihara definitely harbors the more competitive spirit, but Ayanokōji won't deny the strong urge he had to cut that time in half.

They finished with a time of 27:54.

He might've had to play stupid to Horikita's suspicious glares the next day, but – worth it.

So worth it that he might have skipped again (to the movies) and again (to max out high scores in the arcade) and again (to win a fireboy and watergirl fundraiser tournament hosted by the computer science club) and again (to a visiting amusement park where he watched Tsujihara take sadistic pleasure in dedicate an hour of her life to repeatedly throwing a tennis ball, hitting a target with deadly accuracy, and dunking a middle-aged man into ice cold water for catcalling all the girls that passed by.)

Tsujihara doesn't even invite him to things anymore, just texts him where she's waiting with a change of clothes – that she shamelessly leaves the tags attached to. He's pretty sure it has something to do with him showing up to the escape room wearing his uniform. On their second outing a bag was slung into his chest, but before he could assess the contents, he was being shoved into the boy's bathroom with an order to "go change". And when he got back to his dorm later that day, several bags were waiting for him outside his door with a note on the back of the receipt.

'The basics, because your closet has cobwebs and hospital gowns aren't in season.'

An utter delight, that one.

Right now, he's on her bed with her earbuds in his ears, clicking through her music library on a prehistoric MP3 player. It's a scuff-scratched black and not-quite white USB stick with three slim buttons on its side (pause/play, skip forward, and skip backward), a three by one centimeter pager screen, and its own battle scars to be proud of. And he does mean battle scars. 

He counted three bullet grazes and one scuffle with an animal, most likely a puppy, using it as a chew toy, but that's just what he can identify. Somehow it still works, and for that alone the fossil has his respect. He won't be surprised if the relic outlives him.

Tsujihara's at her desk updating a ledger for one of her jobs. Every now and then she'll take a sip of her coffee – what she thinks is coffee anyway – and as someone who typically drinks their coffee black, such an assault to one's taste buds is unfathomable.

As she brings the straw to her lips, he speaks up. "That looks like diabetes."

Tsujihara hums, thoughtfully. "After eating five funnel cakes you think your words hold some weight, huh?"

Ayanokōji sighs. He thought he got away with that. "I only ate that many because I might not see a funnel cake again."

"Exactly. Funnel cakes come and go, they're for the streets." She emphatically insists. "Frappés aren't so frivolous. You'd like them too if you ever tried one."

"Frappé is a term that was originally coined for violence to mock the Japanese army." He states, flatly. "It's the contextual equivalent of Kiai."

Tsujihara turns to him with a grin. "I didn't know you were so invested in coffee history."

"I'm not. I just needed to know if you liked that monstrosity. It makes more sense that you like its bloody background."

"Ugh. Psychoanalyzing me again, are you?" She turns back to the computer, rolling her eyes. "Forgive my insolent brain waves for falling short of your expectations, Ayanokōji-sama."

"I'm only watching for the effects of caffeine overdose."

"Tis' unheard of for a man of your station to worry for others. I am deeply honored to be on the receiving end of your compassion, but you need not worry for my well-being. My life is but a mustard seed compared to your paramount existence."

"What existence? My social security number is 3 months old."

Tsujihara chokes on her drink, thrown into a coughing fit, but her shoulders are shaking so hard that Ayanokōji has no doubt she's laughing her ass off.

"P-pardon me, Ayanokōj-sama. I appear to- to have c-come down with something."

"Not all laughter is contagious. And even if it were, I'm vaccinated so it's fine."

A muffled wounded sound and more laughter bounces off the dorm walls. Minutes later, Tsujihara tries to continue their conversation, but meets small bursts of laughter at every turn.

"I- hmmm," She tenses, rapidly tapping her nails against the desk, to forcefully calm herself down. "Such ignorance is unfathomable, especially of your predecessor, but your responding resilience provides me with an adequate scale of your magnitude for success compared to the common man. You are very noble."

"I'm really not."

"But you are. You exceeded every limit placed on you until you became one – the one even. It'd be a shame if you tainted yourself too much." She says, turning around and shaking the drink in his direction with an imploring smile. "Your predecessor would be so disappointed if you came back with diabetes."

"I think you broke character."

"It's because my arms getting tired."

Ayanokōji takes the offered drink, sitting up on the bed. Staring into the cup, he sniffs. "It smells like cavities."

"Sorry, was it supposed to smell like sterilizer?"

Ayanokōji doesn't deign that with a response. He moves to- ah- "Do I drink from the straw? Should I pop the lid off?" Is there another method?

Why is he suddenly feeling nervous?

"You're vaccinated." She snickers. "But I don't really care either way."

Oh. "I'll use the straw then?"

"You don't sound very sure." That's because he's not.

Still, he puts the straw in his mouth, on his tongue, feeling like he's just accomplished some great feat in his life.

...It's largely anticlimactic though. He doesn't know what he expected. To taste her on it maybe? Bacteria wise she might be there, but the straw tastes like any other straw – like plastic.

Then he sips – and promptly concedes defeat. The horrifyingly sweet drink gracing his taste buds absolutely makes up for the loss. It does taste like cavities, but that's a small price to pay for bliss. His gratefulness for this glimpse of heaven will know no bounds. He might even consider repent–

A camera shutters.

Against his will, Ayanokōji's cast out of the firmament and back down to earth.

He doesn't quite glare at Tsujihara's smiling face for ruining his daydream, but it's a close thing.

"Welcome back."

"Delete it." He says around the straw.

"Look." Tsujihara shows him the picture. "It's an Ayanokōji in its natural habitat."

"Delete it."

"Have you no heart? This is an endangered species. Poachers would salivate–"

"Delete it."

There's no build to the argument. Not really anyway. He's too comfortable to aggress any further or give chase, and he doesn't think either would end in his favor anyway – thus the laziest argument in existence.

"–but I guess your career in child advertisement was under a private contract–

"Delete it."

"–a shame. You know, you probably would've made a really cute infomercial kid–"

"Delete it.

"–not game systems. You peg me as more of a "hands on" kid. Maybe leg–"

A loud raucous sound cuts her off. It sounds almost distinctly like the noise annoying children make slurping stray juice droplets through a straw. The resemblance is so unmistakable it's uncanny.

It stopped when he stopped.

Because there's no child here and the only straw-cup combo is in his hands.

And it's not his.

Out of the corner of his eye Ayanokōji sees Tsujihara move, and he decides in his last spare half a second to – stupidly or bravely – use Tsujihara's giant stuffed plague doctor as a shield.

A wise choice since she looks pissed enough to kill him.

Ayanokōji curls up tighter behind his squishy saving grace.

It leaves them both at a standstill; her glaring and him hiding.

"...If you come out, I'll strangle you for three seconds less than I originally planned to."

"I'm sorry."

"I won't even use the cord. See? It's on the floor now."

"I'm sorry."

"White room or not, being scrunched up like that will put pressure on your bladder."

"I'm sorry."

Tsujihara moves him, the plushy, and her whole entire bed in front of the door to her room for a barricade, uses the secondary dorm key to lock the bathroom door, pulls up her fluffy foldable chair, sits... and waits.

"...I'm sorry."

"If you were sorry, you'd stop hiding behind that shitty medieval penguin and let me strangle you."

"I'm sorry."

Thus, the cycle continues. (And Ayanokōji internally laments that an MP3 player old enough to be an Egyptian artifact is definitely going to outlive him.)