A Kiss With a Fist Is Better Than None

It’s a bit funny, in a way, how much the prospect of going to a different high school than your friends used to scare you. The mere thought of living a life without Sasha and Anne made you physically sick. How would you even begin to navigate this new environment? How would you make friends, without Sasha as a buffer, who would put up with your quirks, if not people who have known you for years?

Well. As it turns out: getting into high school is not so different from getting into Newtopia. Some people are kind, others are not. You find people you like to hang out with, and you find others you avoid. You’re still awkward with people, but it’s a lot less scary than… everything else you’ve seen.

High school is fine. Living a state away from Sasha and Anne is fine. Everything is fine!

The only problem, it seems, is you. 

“Mrs Wu.” To his credit, the principal seems unphased by your behavior. He speaks in a soft, calm voice, and refuses to even flinch in your presence. “We are aware of your… circumstances. However, you have to understand that taking it out on your fellow students is not acceptable.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You are rocking your body back and forth, your hands clasped on your upper arms. Maybe if you stim hard enough, you can get this poison out of your head.   

“I will have to give you detention.” He says. This will not prevent you from doing it again. You know it. He knows it. It’s a matter of fairness, you assume. There are plenty of students with sad backstories and issues to match. He can’t let you and you alone get away with it. (It’s a matter of control, control, it’s always about fucking control- showing that no one can defy him, no one is above the law, no one is safe from his fucking judgement- )

You bite your lip and rock your body harder. You need these thoughts out of your head. You need those thoughts out of your head. 

---

You:

You:

You:

*

You:

---

You do your detention with a short kid from another class. He’s Japanese, if you recall correctly. You’ve seen him around a few times. 

“What are you here for?” He asks. He sports a black eye and a bandage across the nose. He doesn’t seem in pain, though. If anything, he’s smiling wide.

You shrug, focusing on your drawing. Eyes upon eyes on the margin of your notes. Everyone you draw feels like one less on the back of your mind. “I beat someone up.” You’ve learned the hard way that here is no point in trying to cover it up. The grapevine is faster than lightning, and way hungrier.

You expect the usual awe-fear you usually get. But to your surprise, he breaks into a smile. There is something odd with his teeth. “Hah! Me too!”

---

You:

You:

You:

---

They’re whispering about you again.

It’s nothing new. They do it anytime you have an episode. She’s so sweet, they say, the scrawny Asian kid. She’s so kind and small and frail, how could she do something like that?

Most have stopped bugging you about it, at least. They know they won’t get any answer from you. Still, sometimes, those you’re somewhat close to dare to ask, “why did you do it, Marcy?”

You shrug, as you always do. “He was being rude. I was angry.”

One of your friend nods. “I’d have done it too if I had the balls. I understand.” She says, not understanding at all.

And how could she? How could she possibly know about the fire that lurks beneath your skin? You have heard a hundred people behind your eyes, a hundred fucking assholes, and anytime you see someone who acts even remotely like one of them, it makes you angry, angry, angry, angry,

You suspect that it’s not all yours. This anger. This desire to punch and bite and hurt. The core is dead in all the ways that matter, but you have yet to bleed all of its binary out. There is violence inside your lungs, an ugly, slimy thing caged inside your ribcage, and the slightest trigger makes it spill out and out and out and out.

But then again, you doubt you can blame it all on this monster. Some of it is yours, too, you are certain of it. The core may worsen you, but the fact remains that you are angry.

You think you have been angry for a very, very long time. 

---

You:

You:

You:

---

You do it again, of course, because goodwill only gets you so far, and you are trying trying trying but these people keep pissing you off.

You slam your hands on the side of the girl’s head. She’s looking at you with wide eyes, terror flashing in them. She knows. She knows who you are and she knows what you can do, she knows who you are and she knows she’s in danger. 

“Say that again,” you growl, teeth bared, “say that again, I dare you.” If she does it, if she doubles down, you think you might actually kill her. You want her to double down. You want to feel her bones break under your fist and  make bruises blossom against her skin and pull her guts out with your bare hands, you want to make her scream and beg and cry, you want to ruin ruin ruin destroy her-

A hand closes against your forearm. You whip your head to the side. Who dares, who dares, they can come at you, 

It’s the kid. The kid from detention. Here he stands, a full head shorter than you. He looks healthy now. You’re about to snarl at his face, to tell him to stay out of it, but he speaks first.

“Fight me.”

The words are so unexpected they manage to stun even your rage. “What?”

“ Fight me!” He repeats, rearing his fist, and you see Andrias the toads the barbariants danger danger they want to use you hurt you they want to take everything from you and you throw the first punch.

Everything is blurry after that.

Both your bodies land on the floor at some point. Pain blossoms at various points of your body. You respond with fists and teeth. You grab his head and slam it against the locker; he twists your finger with a sickening crack. You hurl insults at his face, bodily threats and swears and a few choice Taigi words that would make your mother cringe, and he-

Laughs.

That’s the third thing you’re aware of, when they finally pry the two of you apart. The first is the taste of copper on your lips. The second is the crushing guilt of again, again, I did it again. 

The third is his laugh. Loud. Joyful. Red is smeared all over his face, his lower lip is clearly split, they have to hold him up least his legs give under him, 

And in spite of all of this, (because of all of this?) he is laughing.

---

You:

You:

You:

---

You get detention again. Without the guy, obviously. In all frankness, you don’t expect to see him ever again- but barely two days after the incident, you find him waiting outside your classroom.

“Hey! Hello there! You remember me, right?” Of course you do. Of course. Of course. “My name is Tomoki. Tomoki Himi. What’s yours?”

You do not know how to react to this. All your previous unfortunate… victims, had made an active effort to avoid you like the plague. What kind of script should you even run in this situation?? A sorry script? A let’s ignore what happened script??

“Uh. Marcy.” You answer dumbly. “Marcy Wu.”

He nods. “Nice, nice! Tell me, Marcy, would you like to fistfight sometimes?”

---

You:

You:

p>

---

You meet up by the park two blocks over. It’s a big thing. It’s easy to find a corner no one would find you in.

“Clearly we’re not fighting before your finger heals.” He says, jotting some things down on a notepad. “Sorry about that, by the way. I got a little too into it.”

“It’s fine.” This is, by far, the most bizarre situation you’ve ever been it. Was it a mistake to come? It probably was. Who even take up random invitations to battle? (You, you do, because you do want to fight, because you keep lashing out at impromptu times and it needs to stop you need to stop but you hold so much violence in you.) “I did a number on you too.”

“Haha, yeah, you did.” He does not sound bothered by that fact at all. “We should also avoid hitting each other’s face, if we can help it. Also no long-lasting damages, the broken bones can’t happen again. Anything else?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Well, much as I’d love to go all out in a brawl, it’s not really safe.” 

“No, I meant,” you shake your head, “why do you want to fight me? Why ask at all, actually?”

This gives him pause. When his voice rises again, it’s small. Quiet.

“You went somewhere, didn’t you?”

There is something implied in that somewhere, though you cannot for the life of you figure it out. “I go lot of places, yes.”

He shakes his head. “No, I meant. You went to another world, didn’t you?”

For a second, you forget to breathe.

“You googled me. Didn’t you.” It comes off as accusatory. Good.

“I didn’t,” he replies, and you’re surprised that he sounds genuine. “But you… no one can come back from such a place the same way they came in. They carry a bit of that world inside of them, everywhere they go. You just… gave me this vibe.”

It’s- accurate, as a description, relatable, even. You certainly came back with something inside of you- not something physical like the core, but memories, habits, an entire piece of Amphibia living through your viscera. You know it’s the same for Anne. You know it’s the same for Sasha.

You know it’s not something anyone but the three of you can understand.

“… You went Somewhere too, didn’t you?” You don’t dare to believe it. But he- his words- that’s the only way it makes sense. “That’s how you know what’s it like. That’s how you knew for me. You’re like me. ”

He nods again, smiling. “I was the north wind, once. I held the winter itself in my chest. I was ice in all its forms, beautiful and deadly, calming and sharp. I was made for war. I have never felt more at home, more at ease, than in the middle of a battle.” He sighs. “It’s tough, to remember how to be human again after all that. I like to fight. I want to fight. I need to fight. Do you understand?”

No. Not literally, at least. Fighting does not bring you any joy in itself. You have never, strictly speaking, been anything more than Marcy.

But.

“I had a god in my head, once. It was a terrible thing. I got it out, but some of it still remains. My body is full of horrible urges. When I fight, it bleeds out, and it gets quieter and easier to deal with."

No, you do not understand. But it’s close enough.

---

You:

You:

---

“I went there by train.” Tomoki tells you, taking a swing out of his water bottle. “Back in Japan. I wanted to go to Shibuya, and I ended up somewhere completely different.”

An accident, then, a slip between the cracks. You wonder if such a crack exists between your world and Amphibia. Perhaps near LA.

“I went there on purpose,” you reply. You’re both sweaty and exhausted. You’ve been wrestling for the better part of an hour. You feel hot. Tomoki’s skin is cold, though. He’s always cold. “I found this one music box, and this book about how it was meant for travels between worlds? I put two and two together, and decided to take my shot. It worked.” For the better and for the worse.

He nods in understanding. For a few seconds neither of you speak. You listen to the birds chirping afar. It’s so peaceful, in contrast to your earlier activities.

“Would you go back?” Tomoki asks suddenly. “If you could?”

He’s the only one you speak of Amphibia to, aside from Sasha and Anne. Your parents get visibly uncomfortable when you mention it, and you’ve been trying to keep it under wrap at schools. You don’t need to add anything more to your reputation.

“No.” You do not even have to think about. “Amphibia was… there were some very good things there. I have good memories of the place. But what I liked the most about it is that it was not here. That I was more than a little kid at the mercy of this world, that I had agency and power for once in my life.” You shake your head. “Not worth the risk of getting possessed by an elder god again. Not anymore.”

“I see.” 

“What about you?” You ask, turning to look at him. “Would you go back, if you could?”

“… it was a dangerous world,” he says. “I had more near-death experiences than I could count. The first time I summoned the winter, it took hold of me, and turned me into something lesser than a beast. I witnessed the world end and begin again with my own eyes.”

“But would you?”

A pause. A heartbeat. 

“Yes.” And his voice is heavy with yearning. “Without a second thought.”

---

You:

You:

You:

---

It goes on for three years. The meetings, the fights, the baring your heart to one another. It goes on for three years, this odd friendship of yours, and not once do you feel again the need to hurt someone. 

And then you graduate, of course.

“I’ll miss you, man.” You came to tell him goodbye at the train station. His college is all the way to Oregon. You’re not seeing each other in a while.

“I’ll miss you too, Marcy.” The two of you quickly hug, then he goes to board in. “Don’t forget to send me your webcomic when you launch it!”

It hurts, to say goodbye. It hurt when it was Amphibia, and it hurt when it was Anne and Sasha, and it hurts now, as Tomoki waves from behind the glass, your partner in violence for the past three years. But life goes on, still. Life always goes on.

---

You:

[message could not be delivered]

[message could not be delivered]

[message could not be delivered]

---

On your third day of frantic googling, you find his missing poster.

Tomoki Himi. Age: 18. Last seen on a train to Oregon.

“… You bastard.” You feel tears swelling up your eyes. You will never see him again. You know he would never be happier than there. “You bastard, you slipped right back there, didn’t you?”

You glance outside. The wind is blowing.

When the winter comes, maybe it will sound like his voice.

Comments