#drv3 fluff

Quickly, you fire off a reply confirming both your appearance and the time. You almost can’t believe it—you’re actually going on a date with Shirogane. Today. Now, if whatever gods are watching allow it. The girl in your textiles design course you’ve been crushing on for the better part of a year, the one who takes a seat diligently at the back of class but is always the first to raise her hand when the topic interests her. The one who unabashedly uses the practical time to craft the most intricate cosplays you’ve ever seen, and should someone inquire about them, will engage them in conversations often topping half an hour. You sit on the other side of the class, watching the light sparkle off her glasses, the pretty flush on the apples of her cheeks, her curtain of ink-dark hair sway as she rambles about some manga you’ve never heard of. 

Once, you’d passed her as she was carefully applying a row of train-track stitches with white thread down the side of some sort of cream-coloured waistcoat, shaded with midnight blue and gold accents. You’d only questioned the method, watching her pale, polished fingers work so steadfastly, and you’d somehow gotten roped into help sew the other side for practice whilst she told you all about the character.

“So you see,” Shirogane babbled as she sewed, “because he doesn’t like to show his face in public so much, many people get the idea that he’s a little boring or even just some kind of figurehead. But, if you really look into the lore, you’ll know that he shouldn’t be underestimated—after all, it was him that managed to stabilise the Yashiro Commission and Kamisato Clan, and he couldn’t have done that without a certain degree of cunning, you know?”

You hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that day, really. 

The things you love about Shirogane are the things a majority of the student body seems to find strange or off-putting. Her exuberance, her passion, the way she can talk for hours about something you’ve never heard of without making it seem boring. Sometimes, when you feel lazy, you leave your own coursework untouched and occupy yourself twirling little braids in her long, shiny hair as she rambles to you. 

It’s good. It’s nice.

You were sort of content to keep it as a weirdly touchy friendship—Shirogane is passionate in everything, and it was almost impossible to discern whether her feelings towards you were platonic or not. But the other week, when you’d been sharing lunch under one of the apple blossom trees on the college grounds, she’d been delicately picking at a sandwich. She was doing that thing where she tore chunks off the bread and popped them in her mouth instead of taking bites. One swallow left her with a smear of sauce on the corner of her mouth, and without thinking you’d reached out to wipe it away. Your thumb made the faintest graze over her lower lip as you did, and you watched, frozen, as Shirogane’s whole face darkened with a spectacular blush. 

For once, she stopped talking. You missed the song of her voice immediately, but it seemed she did, indeed, have an off-switch. Your hand on her face.

You asked her out the next day. She agreed. And now here you are, trying to will yourself not to sweat as you hurry off your train into the central city. It’s not too busy, thankfully, and you manage to clamber off and out of the city station with around fifteen minutes to spare. You take a moment to readjust your clothes, press a hand to your cheek and nervously pop another mint before setting off in your intended direction. 

You’re nervous. Man, it’s been a while since you got nervous like this. Shirogane is just so… well, you haven’t wanted something to go right this badly for a while, to put it lightly. Maybe it’s just ‘cause you’re in the same class, and a disaster of a date would make it extremely awkward.

Then again. Maybe it’s the delighted gleam in her dark eyes when she realises you’re listening to her. Maybe it’s the liquid lightning that zips directly to your brain when your fingers brush, hers cool and soft and smelling like the cinnamon-scented moisturiser she uses. Maybe it’s the little squeak she lets out when you greet her with a hug from behind, the way she buries her face in your neck in embarrassment. 

Maybe it’s just her.

She’s waiting at the fountain in the middle of the city square, fiddling with her phone. It’s a bulky thing, its sky-blue case studded with keyrings and stickers and gems, cutesy between her nails. They’re painted, you realise with a throb of affection. Candy-pink. You’ve seen her bite them in school a lot, so there isn’t much to paint, but you think it’s so sweet that she tried. As you approach, she spots you suddenly, flusters, and makes a show of clambering to her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear awkwardly.

She looks so pretty that it almost stops your heart in your chest. You’ve always thought she was cute, no matter how she protested or insisted on how plain-looking she was, but here in the soft noon light, she’s almost unreal. A soft blue sweater adorned with white clouds drapes itself over her shoulders, falls over a white skirt that hangs to her ankles. Her hair is pinned back from her face for once with white hairclips. The coordination floors you, although really it shouldn’t. What else would you expect from someone who puts as much love and care into their clothes as Shirogane?

“Hey,” you greet her breathlessly as you finally get close enough to be within earshot. She jumps.

“Hello!” she squeaks. “Hi! Um, you look lovely.”

“Ah, thanks.” You pick at your outfit consciously. Are your ears burning? “You, erm… you haven’t been waiting long, have you?”

Shirogane gives an airy laugh. “Well, no, not really. Um. To tell you the truth, I’ve been here since around twelve. I really didn’t want to be late. It’s fine!” she hastens to add, seeing your stricken expression. “I had time to wander around some bookstores, see?” She holds up a plastic bag bulging with volumes. “So it’s—it’s really no trouble.”

“If you’re sure…” You bite your lip. “So—are you hungry?”

Shirogane beams; it lights up her whole face. “Oh, starving!” 

Relief breaks over you as Shirogane loops her arm through yours, as the two of you begin to walk. Why did you think this would be any different from school? It’s Shirogane. She’s Shirogane there and Shirogane here. She still pushes her glasses up when she talks. She still smells like cinnamon and plastic. She still smiles at you all the same. 

When you arrive at your destination, you carefully watch as her eyes glaze over in amazement. She looks from the place, to you for confirmation, and then back again, head shaking wildly. “Oh,” she says, hushed, awed. “Oh, is this…”

You squeeze her arm. “I thought you might like it.”

She turns wide, dark eyes to you, glimmering with the delight of a thousand stars. “A cat cafe?!”

You laugh and lead her inside. She steps over the floorboards like it’s holy ground, eyes round as coins and reverent as she peers around, awestruck. The host checks your name and leads you to a booth by the window; the seats are cushy, candy-pink, and just to your left is a scratching pole occupied by a fat ginger kitten. 

Shirogane sinks into her chair, hands clasped. She can’t stop looking around. 

“Is it okay?” you dare to ask, hesitant to break the spell but starting to get a little unnerved by the silence. Abruptly, Shirogane turns her stunned gaze to you, face breaking out in a sunlit smile. 

She reaches across the varnished-wood table and clasps your hands. “It’s wonderful. It’s just wonderful. I’ve always wanted to come somewhere like this, but I plain forget to make bookings…” She looks at you, touched. “Thank you. It’s… lovely. It’s so lovely.”

You can feel your face beginning to burn; her fingers feel so hot against yours. You’re thankful as a waiter brings over complimentary glasses of water, gulping your share down quickly. The glasses are frosted with cute little cat faces picked out. 

The whole place is almost overwhelmingly cute, actually. Lace doilies act as placemats, and the menus are studded with stylistic kittens with eyes round as coins and pink button noses. Plastic vines and strawberry-shaped fairylights string the ceiling and dangle over you. And—

A soft black cat at your feet stretches and leaps nimbly, landing heavily in Shirogane’s lap. She looks like she’s about to cry.

The waiter laughs as she wanders back over to take your orders. “That’s Jiji,” she tells the dark-haired girl, who is stretching out a shaky hand to stroke over the cat’s soft back. It twitches, curls up against her stomach and appears to go to sleep. “She’s very friendly, but really sleepy, too. Can I get you guys something to drink to start?”

With one last fond look at Shirogane and Blair, you order a red velvet latte; waveringly, Shirogane orders oolong tea. When the waiter leaves again, Shirogane looks up at you slowly.

“This is,” she begins, hushed. “This is the best day ever.”

Something warm and full bubbles in your chest, like a flower giving bloom in spring. “It’s barely even started yet, Shirogane.”

“I don’t care,” she insists, legs kicking at the booth chair as though in example of her obstinacy. “Oh, I plain don’t care. Nothing could ruin it. I—I mean, this place, and Jiji, and you…” She trails off, going pink, but bravely doesn’t break eye contact. You feel like you’re melting. “It’s just perfect. It’s—it’s everything I ever wanted. I thought you’d be plain sick of me, by now…”

Her free hand—the one that isn’t occupied stroking Jiji—drums anxiously on the table. You don’t think, really, because if you think about it for too long you’ll get cold feet. You just move; your fingers thread themselves through hers, conscious of how much rougher they seem. Shirogane stares down at your interlocked hands, mouth agape, eyes perfect circles.

You clear your throat, face burning. “I don’t,” you start, then swallow. “I wouldn’t want to be here with anyone but you. I’m… God, I don’t think I could ever get sick of you, Shirogane.”

Her lip wobbles. “Oh,” she cheeps out, a little bit like a baby bird. “Oh, I… I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you either.”

And that—that feels like a confession, of sorts. Shirogane is blushing like it was one, and your face is certainly on fire, and your hand is still holding hers, after all. When the waiter comes back with your drinks, you see that the foam on yours has been powdered with a decorative cinnamon heart. Shirogane only goes redder when she sees it, quickly bringing her steaming tea to her mouth and taking a generous gulp.

Those mocking words were constantly on your mind; the same words announcing a peer’s corpse being discovered. Not only did the words crush your mentality, so did the scenes of the horrific causes of death of those whose turn was the victim. The pink blood drooling over the bodies and the floor, very similar to a lake of bloodshed made you muffle waterfalls staining your pillows.

One by one, the beginning number of 16 began declining and soon the number will be chewed out until the last remaining stand. It was anybody’s guess who would be the ones taking the stride to freedom and those who will never leave the school.

Although you couldn't fear the concept of death anymore when death roams everywhere near you; the morality in yourself lingered to never murder someone in an attempt to save yourself. It was foolish and rather than giving the grim reaper a head-start, you decided that the reaper should decide what to do with you.

However, this doesn’t change the fact that you couldn’t grief whenever you discover another being brutally murder from a person who possibly could be someone you know well.

An empty night struck and the whole campus fell in silence other than the quiet whimpers and sobs you let out at the darkness of your considered cellar. But, the boy who gave out small whispers of shushes to your whimpers and a hand on your back felt like the cellar bars were free to escape.

He gave a sense of hospitality and consolation in your room as his ears were the only pair to hear the cries of his sweetheart. How you sniffled and grasped at his striped shirt so tightly made his chest hurt at the touch and the sounds you make as you let out your emotions and vulnerability to him.

His arms only tighten around your form when you release a wail of his name along with words that he wishes he would never experience. For your sake, he couldn’t let that happen and for his sake as well, to be together with you until the end.

“Rantaro, please don’t die on me,” You wail and the tears streaming down your cheeks stained his clothes instead of your pillowcase this night.

Rantaro lifted his chin off the top of your head and looked at your melancholy facial features that were illuminated solely by the natural light of the moon shimmering down upon the two of you. The moon exposed your tears easily falling down your cheeks and your watery eyes looking up at him with a touch of drainage and anticipation.

A sad smile made it across his face before fading away to a sullen look. He brings his sleeve up softly on your eye, rubbing away your tears with the fabric of his sleeve before moving on to the next eye on the other sleeve. At the same moment of this, he gave out words with care.

“I don’t know the future, but I do know that while I’m here, I will give you the most unconditional love I can give to you as my last moments.” His voice coated in white sugar, felt sweet to you that the salty tears were no longer there. Candied kisses were caressing your face tenderly, from your cheeks to your forehead all around.

He lifts you off his lap which you hesitated to do, but his words still covered in honey made you reluctantly do what he said. Rantaro rested his head on the bed frame, and motioned with his arms wide open to lay on top of him.

You move up with him on the bed, covering your torsos with the blankets as he brings your head close to his chest, letting your ears meet his loud heartbeat.

“You hear my heartbeat, right? Hah, this heart you hear, is just for you.” He brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, the cold metal of his rings stroking as well.