#iwrotethisinsteadofsleeping

LISTEN.

John being comfortable with the fact he is attracted to Bob.

John flirting and teasing Bob for WEEKS.

Fleeting touches, passing glances. Winking.

Just being a little teasing bitch.

Baiting and torturing Bob.

At the beginning Bob was not sure. Then he started to play along.

BUT.

A shiny new prediction market appeared, before the mods removed it at 11:11pm.

In a bathroom, an Avery stared at their face, marking it with eyeliner. “Will this Avery East-Asian pass? YES: 33% NO: 67%. 23 votes” appeared on the mirror. They smeared the word NO with cherry lipstick. Dissociation in progress.

The Chinese are too familiar with dimorphic facial characteristics; Long hair alone is insufficient to pass.

The Avery of ancient Lin’an was a court debater, dying of suffocation when the emperor spoonfed hot coal down his throat. The Avery of Shinjuku was a nameless immigrant from Kathmandu, known only in a post about violent public suicide near a train station.

Avery yearned to be seen; They wished not to be found. Averies typically do not agree.

In an alley, an elderly Avery knelt besides cages. Birds of yellow, leaf-green and white. Living in extremely confined ways. Not bright; Not tragic. The gray parrot’s cage has a QR code. Old Avery scanned it with his son’s phone. The market loaded: “Will this bird speak again?” YES: 94%. He misclicks “YES”.

The mathematical Avery was peeling an orange. A Seville, bitter, chosen on purpose. The sunlight vectors petitioned the room and settled neatly on the floor. He sections the orange, methodically, into a flower. He moved sequentially, placing each segment on a plate beside: a printout of Grothendieck’s Esquisse d’un Programme, a worn paperback of Intercourse, a photograph of Badwater Basin printed on the back of a Finnegans Wake index card… And a terminal with yet another prediction market. P(Avery deletes source code) = 0.50000. He nudges one segment. The display ticks to 0.49999. This Avery existed in abstraction, theory, academia. In closed systems.

Averies agreeing: 2/10.

An Avery was bankrupt in Hong Kong, spent their last money in an arcade, alone in a booth. Every missed note pushed the candle bar toward “YES, delete”. The rhythm game paused at INSERT COIN, staring. It was a question with a single acceptable input. An Avery in a black hoodie walked in, cyberpunk, holding a Monster can. She clocked him instantly.

“Hey… Aren’t you the guy who made a market about deleting himself?”

“Yes,” Avery said, didn’t blink. “It resolved N/A.”

The prediction stalled at 49%. Hoodie-girl laughed, sharp. “L. Skill issue. Can’t even hold 50%.” She tapped on her phone. Vote: “YES”.

Averies in consensus: 3/10.

Breakfast, Avery’s place, 6:51 AM.

The cooking robot blared. “Good morning :D Would you like today’s relationship forecast? P(Avery is girl) = 0.5 +/- 0.000. Updated every 5 minutes.” “Thank you for the unsolicited information.” Avery said, retrieved a marker and scribbled on a sticky note: Humans are not—The marker dried. They opened the browser; an kinetic of a hetero, normative, couple blocked the viewport. The sticky note slid, covering the last trailing 0.

Time: 00:17 AM. Location: Twitter DMs.

An Avery opened their DMs. Overcaffeinated. He wrote like a 2010s wordpress comment, unhurried and slightly out of time.

“Hey. I knew you from the forums. This conversation is due ten years ago.” Silence. “haha you never replied.” He sent two memes, one about Sasha Gusev, the other about people sea attacks. He squinted at a question. Couldn’t understand it. Clicked “no”.

Averies agreeing: still 3/10. Stale.

Somewhere in Asia. A high school. An Avery soft-forked himself into a feral node, roaming the metro stations. The glass door displayed: “Will Avery self-delete by 2030? BID 0.97 ASK 0.98.” The door slid open before the trade executes. Avery stepped in.

New Year’s Eve. Rooftop. City fireworks blast. Drones overhead began forming ‘2030’. “Will Avery self-delete/be here?” a market hovered. Avery leaned against the railing. Drones overhead rearranged.

“Humans are not—” Someone yelled in the distance.

He input: NO.

Market resolved.

All available Averies have voted.

Humans are not—

-----

“Aichi, that’s not Kai.” was the first thing he heard walking into Card Capital that weekend.

He spied a head of brown hair. He tried to get a look, but, “Aichi. Kai is not here.”

“Huh?” The boy turned. The face was not Kai. Aichi walked in disappointment to greet Misaki. His head was bowed, eyes pinned to the counter. Or slightly below or above her chest area at all times. Misaki doesn’t know what to make of this, but this just makes the kid look gayer.

Shin just looks at her strangely each time she volunteers to take his place at the counter. Truthfully, she can relate in more ways than the man is fully aware of. 

They both need a friend.

Shin entered at that moment. He asked the gay why he wants to see Kai so bad, and the boy responded by saying that he wants Kai to take him seriously--to not hold back.

Misaki sighed. She already asked him that the other day, and the boy gave the exact same answer. She countered with, “You’re so gay, Aichi. I’m jealous.” 

Reasonably, he looked mildly insulted. If she were him, she would look mad while questioning whether that was an insult or a compliment. 

Shin invited Aichi over tomorrow after school for a surprise. Looking at the deck, she could imagine an idea at to what he’s scheming. 

Misaki reminded Aichi to give her one of whatever’s in the lunchbag. It was a mix of flavors of muffin. She picked the chocolate chip one and sent the boy on his way. 

She asked Shin about the “surprise,” he tripped and fell, and from the floor he said that she was going to train him in the Grade 3. 

Misaki thought back to her parent’s deck, the one she searched for and found shortly after meeting Emi. 

My parents would be proud, and Aichi would be my friend--although I’m sure he already considers us friends. She smiled fondly at the thought of the matriarch-in-training. 

Yes, he is a good confidante. I’d I’ll return the favor.

Misaki made a noise of approval to the shop manager. 

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Misaki put up a front of not knowing anything. As soon as she spoke, Aichi caught on and played along--gasping with the idiots when she said she never played.

Even Aichi can get bored. He would lean at the counter, and they’d whisper at undetectable decibels--the appearance of mouthing rather than conversation if you were more than two inches away. She even gave him her number in case he wanted to talk--and vice-versa.

Well, she also got his house number, but those calls are always and will always awkward. Emi is an awful little s**t, to be frank. 

It is not like they have regular communication, though. 

Misaki decided to use the new deck that Shin made.

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Miwa entered the shop, making noise, Kai not with him.

Aichi frowned, looked about to water when he didn’t hear a second set of footsteps. Misaki sighed and put on a hand on the bluenet’s shoulder. She squeezed it, sending vibes of her own worry and comfort to the boy. It’s ok. You will always have the simp vibes.  

Aichi lightened up a bit, never letting his eyes leave the placemat. 

Misaki elected to ignore the three morons in favor of sympathizing with her maybe-friend. He looked like he wanted to snicker and giggle, but today is not a day for that. 

Misaki has a better handle on the cards than in canon, truth be told. She watched Aichi cardfight more during her free-time, especially interested in watching Aichi making non-shota faces and twitches and movements and posturing. 

The free food also helped.

Back to the fight, she could tell that Aichi decided to not go easy on her. It would hurt both her pride and his. And, again, she has a nice, standard grip on the cards. 

...

“Lowzenge Mahjus.”

“Lozenge Maygus.” Aichi hissed not a millisecond later. 

A brief staring contest, then Misaki caved.

“Lozenge Magus.”

...

“I ride Little Sage Marron.” He called impassioned. Nobody else noticed. 

They saw Aichi in Marron’s garb, and he honestly looks adorable in that. He did say that he wants to impress Kai with that...

“Aichi, where’s the passion?” she whispered almost inaudibly.

He closes his eyes when attacking her with the Vanguard. But why?

They didn’t discuss or bring up any Vanguard stuff--they didn’t have to--in favor of the more comforting topic of shared secrets. Sometimes, if within reach, he would automatically move to help, never seeming to notice. It could be a symptom of his training, or arguing with his sibling, or a characteristic he developed as an immature waifu. So he had to be taught new functions of the game, like that there are cards you can’t guard against.

“Draw!” Aichi smirked almost villainously. It must be...

“Arise, my avatar!” He shouted in an attempt to mimic his senpai (Morikawa protested). “Blaster Blade!”

“Gaaaaay!” She whispered to themselves. Aichi briefly leered. 

...

“CEO Amaterasu!”

“CEO Amaterasu...” he repeated in reverence.

Indeed, they both recognize the importance of that figure. 

Luckily, Aichi quickly recognized the importance and implications of placing a card at the top or bottom of the deck.

He briefly forgot that the Heal Trigger only activates if your Damage Zone has an equal or greater number of cards than your opponent’s. 

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Aichi’s eyes darkened, hardened, desperate when she placed a card on top of the deck. He knows it could be a critical trigger.

Oh yes, the pranks, the creepy laughter, the maniacal cackling calling Morikawa a loser as he lost to his criticals. Aichi managed to keep the volume down to Astham-Attack Parseltongue. From a book he read in its Japanese translation.

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“If you don’t have any Grade 3s, you’re done for!”

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“If you ever need any help with Vanguard,  I’d be happy to teach you!”

“No, I will.” Misaki hissed to the man, eyes narrowed. Scared as s**t, he acquiesced. Aichi sweatdropped. He’s built up a tolerance to a female’s anger while acquiring it himself.  

Misaki could see the gay sparkling in his eyes, bright as Aurora Borealis, as inevitable as Polaris. He must be thinking about Kai now. Misaki let her lips upturn, satisfied that her friend is on the right track to getting stronger, better, happier to meet his crush and idol. “Misaki, you’re smiling!”

She bonked them on the head, acting the tsundere. So far, only Aichi has earned the honor of her positivity. 

She discreetly waved Aichi over, leaning in to draw him to whisper-range. Once there, in a position that looks like they might be kissing, eyes locked like vaults, she whispered, “Why do you look away from my boobs?”

Aichi’s eyes widened. Then settled down again, pleading. “I-I don’t like boobs. Never have. Only my mother’s and sister’s. I can only hope that she never--em, matures--or I’ll never be able to look at her completely straight again.”

Her breath hitches, stops for a moment, trying to adjust. A momentary silence, Aichi looking more scared--scared of losing his friend, losing Misaki, scaredofbeingabnormaldespitehisshamelesssexuality--and Misaki does the right, the lightest, the best thing for anyone imaginable. “It’s ok, Aichi. I’m fine with it--besides, it just makes you gayer!”

Aichi blushed, Misaki giggled, and once more they have no need to speak their minds. 

The eyes are the windows to the soul, they say.