I Hate Fruits

“Why do you hang out with me anyways?”

Yuri shrugs. “Why not?” She takes another sizable chunk out of her apple.

You sink back into the base of the tree overlooking the quad. “Aren’t there more interesting people you’d rather talk to?”

Not to be too self-deprecating, but it’s true in a sense. A whole campus full of all kinds of different people, and yet, Yuri’s only friend is you. It’s hard to fathom.

Yuri frowns at you, cheek bulging with apple. You’d laugh at the sight if your mood wasn’t so sour. “What’s with the stinkin’ thinkin’?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I just don’t understand you.”

“Do I need to be understood for us to be friends?”

You ponder for a moment. “I guess not, but—”

“Good.” Yuri always had a way of shutting you up easily. Or, maybe you’re just that much of a pushover.

And so, you can do nothing but think, trying to grasp onto whatever fragile reasoning there could be for why she would befriend someone such as yourself: unambitious, unexciting, unremarkable in every sense of the word. Although, it’s hard to think with all the noise—wind whistling by, the faint chatter of students, all overtaken by the almost violent crunch of Yuri’s apple.

“You eat like a horse,” you chuckle, earning a little slap on your shoulder.

“Jackass,” she huffs.

Maybe she’s right and you don’t need to understand her to be friends. You enjoy her company and she tolerates yours. That’s enough for you. Why overthink things that don’t need to be overthunk? That’s probably how you ended up in this sorry state, with one friend to your name after two decades of existence. Quality over quantity, they say, although it’s hard to judge the actual quality of this friendship with only one reference point.

But whatever. You’re here. She’s here. And that’s all you really need at the end of the day.

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Another late night at your place, snuggled under a blanket with a girl—an ideal Friday night for most college-aged boys like yourself. But remember: this is Yuri you’re talking about. The only action happening is on the TV screen.

“…This guy is so annoying,” she utters, her slender fingers tearing off the skin of her tangerine.

“I know. You’ve made that glaringly obvious.”

“I mean, sure, his girlfriend cheated, but he did too!” She angrily pops a slice into her mouth, but doesn’t chew it, just keeping it stuffed in her cheek like a chipmunk. “And why is he so surprised when he’s been acting like nothing but a dick to her? Ugh!” Yuri flings her arms in outrage, sending orange peel flying everywhere.

“Do you want me to change the movie then?”

“No!” She kicks your hand away as you try to reach for the remote. “We have to finish it. It’s about the principle.” Another tangerine slice disappears into her other cheek as she angrily eyes the TV. Would a quick pinch of her cheek be worth the pain of an elbow to the ribs? Perhaps not, but you can always take joy in imagining the feeling of her marshmallow skin in between your fingers.

Maybe you’re the weird one for not being more impassioned about this film. She’s right—this guys sucks. And not just in a “Oh, he made a mistake, but he’ll get a nice character arc wrapped up in a pretty bow" kind of way, but more of a "Hell is other people" kind of way. Kudos to the writers for making such an unlikable POS watchable for an hour and half.

As the movie goes on and POS guy does more POS things, you feel a gentle nudge against your shoulder. Yuri, with those big eyes that you can never really resist, offers you a whole tangerine, perfectly peeled.

"Oh, no thanks,” you say. Where the hell was she hiding that?

She nudges you again. “It’s healthy.”

“I’m sure it is, but—”

“Eat.”

So, you do. Not like you have a choice in the matter, but you’ll admit, it’s a damn good tangerine. Yuri’s lips stretch into a grin as you pop another slice into your mouth, her eyes squinting as if to make more room on her small face for more smile. Once she’s sure you’re committed to this whole tangerine ordeal, Yuri turns her attention back to the TV, another critique of character already loaded on her tongue.

“Ugh, please shut up already!” she barks (Although, it’s more akin to a chihuahua with anger issues than anything remotely threatening). “She can date whoever she wants! Move on, you ass hat!”

You let out a chuckle. Her emotional tirades aren't that annoying, you suppose. It helps that she has a voice you could listen to for hours without getting tired. Maybe she should be a singer. Or an ASMR Youtuber. Or a podcast host that tells bedtime stories. Then, It hits you—a movie critic. It was right under your nose the whole time.

With a huff, Yuri crosses her arms and leans against you. “This movie is pissing me off.”

You shrug. “It’s not that bad.”

“Whatever.” She shifts, clinging to your arm like a koala to a tree branch. “Just wake me up when this garbage is over.”

You can’t help but smile as she squeezes her eyes shut and forces herself to fall asleep on your shoulder from sheer hatred of the main lead alone. What a strange girl. Out of all the other strange people she could be with, Yuri chose to spend her Friday night with you, on your couch, under your blanket, yelling at your TV, and clinging to your arm.

Quit overthinking. Just enjoy the fact that a pretty girl is falling asleep on your arm. Let your own eyelids grow heavy until the blue screen of your TV fades from view, and all you can feel is Yuri’s warmth seeping into you like light into a dark room.

You breathe in slowly as your body succumbs to gentle slumber—the air smells like the sweetest tangerine.

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“Ow,” you wince.

“Stop moving.”

“It hurts.”

“It’ll hurt less if you stop moving.” Yuri sighs, the warm puff of her breath gracing your cheeks from the closeness.

It’s just your luck—what was supposed to be a regular dinner out with your friend ended up with you getting mugged at “gunpoint”. The “gun”, you would later find out, was nothing more than a stick concealed inside the guys pocket. The cuts and bruises, however, are very real.

After gently dabbing antiseptic at the cut on your cheek, Yuri tops it off with a Hello Kitty band aid from her purse. “There we go. All done,” she says, grinning at her handiwork.

“Thanks,” you sigh.

The embarrassment far outweighs any kind of physical pain. How could you let this happen? You’re supposed to be the man here, puff up your chest and protect the poor girl from the scary knife man—and yet, Yuri was the one who had to step in while you were getting stomped against the concrete. How a woman of her size managed to toss a six foot man into the bushes with ease is beyond you. Maybe she took judo lessons. You’ll have to ask her one of these days.

“Why do you never have any fruit?” Yuri asks as she rummages through your barren fridge.

You shrug. “We just ate, how are you still hungry?”

“I didn’t like the food they served.” Without batting an eye, she plucks a cherry tomato from her purse and pops it into her mouth like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Where did you even—Never mind.” You shake your head. Just business as usual with her, you suppose. “Sorry if I ended up, uh, ruining the night.”

“It’s fine.” She looks up at you, cheeks swelling cutely. “Not the worst date I’ve been on.”