#onwards!!

“What?!” There are more heads turning in their direction. Her partner doesn’t seem to notice. “Of course not! It’s just the opposite: we hit the jackpot!” She shows Peko the face of her device, even though Peko is already looking at her own. “The system is built on data points, and we just got a whole year of them right out of the gate! Our profiles are going to have an unbeatable foundation. Isn’t that right, Usami?”

“The system considers all relationships to be valuable experiences,” her device responds, “and they are all weighted appropriately when selecting a participant’s Ultimate Match.”

“Right, but a year! That’s so much time! No matter what happens, it can’t not be useful.”

“That’s right!”

She seems satisfied with that. She sets the device aside, and leans forward on both elbows. “Please,” she says seriously, “tell me everything! I want to know everything there is to know about you. Leave no detail out!”

She smiles, eager and open. Everything about her is like that: she has warm, expressive eyes and animated body language. There’s a bright yellow headband with a flower decoration in her hair, and delicate ruffles on her blouse. Tenko, she said her name was.

Peko tries to think of a detail to share.

She draws a blank.

“Maybe,” she tries instead, “we could start with you?”

*

Tenko enthuses over everything: the food (both the herb-stuffed eggplant for her and the steamed sea bass for Peko), the automated transportation system, the spaciousness of their living quarters. She darts straight into the kitchen when they arrive, and checks through each and every one of the cabinets.

“It’s incredible! Look at this attention to detail! We have everything we could ever possibly need!”

“That’s right!” her device responds from her pocket, to her squealing delight.

Peko sets her purse on the kitchen island, and watches Tenko close all the cabinets again. “The system is comprehensive,” she says.

“Of course!” Tenko rises up on her toes to reach the tallest shelf. “A 99.8 success rate doesn’t come from nowhere. This way, we have so much more time to really connect with each other!”

She is a budding martial artist, trained in Aikido. Her favorite color is green. She loves hot pot and live performances of all kinds, and she doesn’t know how to swim. She is energetic in the extreme, and Peko is already exhausted.

But all the introductory materials had assured her that the system works if you let it. A 99.8 success rate doesn’t come from nowhere. Everything happens for a reason.

“I was thinking about going for a run in the morning,” Peko says. Tenko whirls around, so suddenly and so eagerly that it catches Peko off-guard. “... Would you... like to join me?”

Tenko is enthused about that, too.

*

Their living quarters are far enough west that they can see the towering outer wall around the grounds from their front windows. That had been in the introductory materials, too: an isolated environment reduces the impact of any external confounding variables. Participants are only reintroduced to the outside world after their match has been made.

The wall is tall enough that it throws wide, sprawling shadows across the grounds in the morning. Here, winter and spring are mild at worst, but the early morning chill is universal; she reminds Tenko to bring her ear warmers once while they’re getting dressed, and then again just before they walk out the door.

They run together, side-by-side. Tenko’s energy doesn’t diminish at all, even this early, before the sun has fully risen; Peko has to encourage her down from a breakneck pace to a moderate one.

She’d thought it would be a distraction, running with a partner. She’d thought it would be especially distracting to run with a partner like Tenko, all enthusiasm and little restraint. Instead, Peko finds it improves her focus, having someone matching her step-for-step.

“A record time!” Tenko announces, when they’re finished. “That was amazing!”

“It was our first run,” Peko says.

“Of course! And now we have a time to beat for our second!” Tenko scribbles the time on a scrap of paper, and stretches to tape it above the doorframe. “And I won’t rest until we have. Are you ready?”

Peko looks up at it. 09:23:05 in round, bubbly characters.

“Yes,” she answers. “I think I am.”

10 MONTHS

The weather warms. A stand in the park hands out cold drinks during the afternoon, so they go together; Tenko orders a lemonade, and Peko an iced tea. They sit on a bench and watch the half-grown ducklings chase each other on the water.

“You know,” Tenko says, fidgeting with the lid of her drink, “I didn’t forget.”

Peko has a plastic baggie of flaxseed in her purse; the ducklings hesitate when she tosses it out, but the draw of a free treat eventually bullies out their fear. They toddle toward her, scoop the seed up in their beaks, and then dash back to the waterline.

“Forget what?” she asks.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

Peko does. It’s enough for her to know where the conversation is headed, and her stomach twists.

“I said I wanted to know everything about you.” Tenko waits, but not for long. She snaps her nail against the lid. “It’s been almost two months and I still feel like I don’t know anything about you at all.”

“I’m sorry,” Peko says, and means it.

“No, no! I understand. It always feels like you’re so…” She grasps Peko’s hand and squeezes, once, in lieu of finding a word. Her fingers are damp with condensation from her cup. “Maybe we could… try again?”

In theory, there’s nothing to be concerned over. They’re simple enough questions about basic enough information. It’s just that none of those details feel important enough to tell, when it comes time to think of them.

“... I don’t mind,” she ventures, carefully. “But I don’t…”

“It’s okay! I’ll help you!” Tenko twists to face her, and pulls both legs up so that she’s kneeling on the bench, one elbow propped on the backrest. “What if I asked specific questions, would that make it easier?”

Peko isn’t sure it will, but Tenko’s face is undeniably earnest, so she says, “... Maybe?”

“Okay! First question.” It takes her a second to think of it, but only a second. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black,” Peko decides.

“Favorite food?”

That one is harder. There isn’t even a range of possibilities that jumps to mind. She flounders, and Tenko notices.

“Okay, okay, wait, how about… what do you like about the food the system picks for you?”

She thinks. “It’s… savory, I suppose,” she answers. It feels silly to say, but Tenko’s smile stays encouraging. “Rich in flavor. Sometimes spicy, but not too much.”

“Do you have a favorite animal?”

Peko looks at the ducklings, who have finished all of the flaxseed she tossed out for them. They waddle closer in nervous, eager circles.

“... do I have to choose?”

“You can say ‘all of them,’ if you want,” Tenko decides. Her smile broadens. “Do you like animals?”

“Well…” She hesitates. “Yes. I enjoy seeing them, and petting them, when I can. I…” Tenko is staring at her, her expression strange. “... What?”

Tenko says, “Um. Just, um, I…” and then she kisses her.

It’s startling, but not because of the kiss. It’s startling because Tenko’s kiss is nothing like her at all: hesitant and fluttering, there one moment and gone the next. Peko barely has a chance to react before Tenko has jerked her chin away, pink straight up to her hairline.

“Sorry,” she whispers in a rush. “I got excited, and- and you were so cute, and—”

Peko squeezes her hand. “It’s fine.”

Tenko’s smile splits her face. She’s still pink when she kisses Peko again, unrestrained and slightly clumsy— but this time there’s all of her behind it.

*

They navigate the menus together. Main, Activity, Consent. There is a Consent All option and a Consent Specific option. Tenko insists on navigating through Consent Specific and marking only the activities that label her the giving partner. “I- I don’t need anything like that,” she says. “I’m fine! This… This is for you!”

It seems like an uneven trade, and Peko tells her so. Tenko doesn’t budge. “Don’t think of it like a trade,” she says. “Think of it like a gift.”

They sit on the bed together, on top of the sheets, with the pillows piled up to support Peko’s shoulders. Tenko kneels in front of her, close enough to touch, her face flushed like she’s been running for hours and only just stopped.

She unties the silk bow at the front of Peko’s pajama bottoms. She bites her lip when she slides her hand inside the elastic. Her fingers are cold, through the thin cotton of Peko’s panties.

“Peko?” she whispers against her temple. Peko touches the back of her head to acknowledge it. She doesn’t trust her voice. “You’re not breathing.”

She’s right. Peko manually pulls a single breath in, and then manually pushes it back out. “I’m sorry.”

“R-Remember your breathing!” Tenko’s fingers are trembling, now. “It’s important! For- for…” Her voice wobbles into a whisper. “Um, for... s-sensation. And so you don’t pass out!”

Peko turns her face down into her shoulder. “I won’t pass out,” she promises.

Tenko swallows. When she whispers, “Well… good!” it’s almost a squeak. She shifts herself into a better position on the bed, up on her knees, her other arm slid around Peko’s back.

Tenko touches her. It’s hesitant, at first, but not slow. The angle is strange to start, and not quite right, but the longer she goes, the more Tenko relaxes. She flexes her wrist, and her fingers trip a spot that pulls sensation back like a hook from Peko’s bellybutton.

She thinks about her breathing. She thinks about keeping it steady. She thinks about keeping it in. She clenches her teeth and swallows each time it feels like it might spill out, for no reason she can think of other than she must.

Tenko’s kisses get clumsier. The rhythm of her fingers gets less distinct, if not slower. The twisting key at the base of Peko’s spine winds, and winds, and winds…

And stops.

There’s somewhere more to go, she can feel it, like water crashing against a pane of glass or wind straining the edges of a tarp. Reaching for it is like straining to pull herself over a ledge, tipping at the top, seeing the other side, and slipping back down the face.

For once, Tenko is steady. For once, she’s calm. “It’s okay,” she whispers into Peko’s neck, beneath her ear. “You can let go. Just feel.”

Peko tries. She focuses on that thrumming coil of tension, and tries to imagine it snapping, letting all that energy out to vibrate through her, toe to tip. She tries to make herself feel it, only that, and nothing else.

Her fingers clench against Tenko’s hip. She thinks she must make a sound, a gasp or groan of frustration, because her throat suddenly feels rough, and Tenko suddenly lifts her head. She doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed or ashamed; in the next moment, Tenko’s mouth is on hers, deep and messy and desperate. She swirls her thumb in a quick, rough circle.

Finally, finally— it snaps.

6 MONTHS

Summer slides into fall. The grounds are picturesque, transitioning from lush greens to vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows over the course of a few weeks.

The system invites them to a pairing day. She’s never met the couple before, and neither has Tenko, but knowing them personally isn’t a prerequisite to be invited, as she understands it. “The pairing day is a celebration of the work the entire community has put in to helping participants find their Ultimate Match,” the device tells her. “It’s a party for everyone!”

They go. Tenko wears a pretty yellow dress that flares out from her hips like flower petals; Peko opts for something less eye-catching, a pencil dress in dark blue. The venue is a lodge deep in the woods on the northern side of the grounds, with roaring fireplaces to keep the cold out and wide bay windows to let the autumn colors in. There is a grand piano at the back of the ballroom, where a young woman plays a slow, delicate waltz.

It’s beautiful.

It’s also overwhelming.

Peko had known that the system's participant pool was large by design, but she's never seen so many people outside the central hub before now. There's food and drinks and dancing. The hum of idle conversation rises to a dull roar in her ears, too significant to tune out.

Even Tenko is intimidated. The piano transitions into a speedier, cheerful rhythm, and she hovers at the edge of the dance floor, fingers twisted in her skirt. Other guests twirl by her, hands intertwined, and she rolls back on her heels.

“Would you like to dance?” Peko asks.

Tenko balks, with both hands up. “N-No! No, it’s fine. I’m... not graceful like you.” She bites her lip, and looks back out across the dance floor. “... But you definitely should! You would be amazing.”

“Even if that were true,” Peko says, and she suspects it isn’t, having seen the way Tenko runs, “why does it matter?”

“What’re you talking about? Why doesn’t it matter?” Tenko splays her feet out and hikes her skirt to her knees, like forcing Peko to look at her legs will change her mind. “Me and my monster feet would just drag you down!”

“I don’t think so,” Peko says. “But even if you did… it would be fun anyway. Wouldn’t it?”

Tenko’s eyes are round. She looks at the dance floor again, and back. Out, and back. “R-Really?”

Peko holds out her hand, and Tenko steps into her chest, the plume of her skirt swirling around her calves.

*

The reception spills into the evening, and then into the night. The crowd never thins, at least not as far as Peko can ever tell. If anything, the room gets more crowded as the night wears on and guests retreat inside from the cold.

Tenko is riding the high of the evening. She gushes about the music and the decorations the entire ride back, and Peko’s head is throbbing.

“That was amazing!” Tenko hoists herself out of the cart one-handed when they arrive, and twirls on the pavement. “Ooh, I hope my pairing day is half as cute as that was!” Peko slides down the seat to pull herself out of the cart, too, and Tenko bounces toward her. “Here, let me help!”

She reaches for Peko’s hand, where it’s braced against the backrest of the seat.

Peko twists her wrist away.

Tenko’s expression flickers. She steps back to give Peko room to step out of the cart herself. “Is something wrong?”

Peko answers, “No,” and it’s true; objectively, the night has been fine. It’s been wonderful, even, as picturesque as anything inside Hope’s Peak.

“It’s alright if you’re upset!” Tenko says, reaching again for her elbow. “It’s okay to be frustrated after a long day. I understand! You just need to let it out. If you want, I can—”

“I would like space,” Peko says, sharper than she means.

“Oh.” Tenko looks down at her hands. She snaps them back to her side, and tucks them into the folds of her skirt. “Okay,” she says, only now her smile is strained. “Yeah! I- I can do that, too.”

The timer on the cart clicks over. Its electric motor revs and whirrs as it drives away.

“I’m sorry,” Peko says. “... I should go to bed.”

Tenko’s eyes soften. She nods. “It’s okay. I’ll be right behind you.”

*

It’s another hour or so before Tenko comes to bed. Peko feels her slide under the blanket, and then feels her stretching moment of hesitation before she nips close, one arm curled around her waist.

4 MONTHS

Peko mentions that she’s never had a crepe before.

There is a cart that sells them in the park, even during the winter. Tenko likes the craftsmanship that goes into them, with delicate whipped-cream flowers and swirls of chocolate syrup. They’ve always looked too sweet for Peko’s tastes.

“But they aren’t all sweet!” Tenko insists. “There are savory ones, too. You’d really like those, I bet!” She slams her hands on the table, and both their devices jump. “I’ll go and get one for you right now! Wait right here!”

“No, that’s not—”

It’s too late. Tenko springs up from her chair and takes off down the hill. She nearly clips another girl on the way, and it throws a splash of dark purple smoothie down the girl’s shirt and into the grass.

“Hey!” The girl’s voice carries up the hill. “Watch where you’re going, bitch!”

Peko makes to stand up, but the situation doesn’t escalate beyond that. The girl moves on with her companion, and Tenko races back from the crepe stand.

“Here!” She presses it into Peko’s hands. It’s cheese, mushroom, and spinach. “I have to go,” she says. “I need to apologize! Wait here, I’ll be right back!”

The girl with the spilled smoothie is gone, as far as Peko can tell, but Tenko skids down the hill again regardless. Peko stands to follow; the park is not small, and it would be worse to leave her to search alone.

Her device lights up when she picks it up off the table. The time remaining blinks up at her: four months.

It’s more a passing thought than a revelation: she thinks she’ll be relieved, once this is over.

She doesn’t crush it fast enough. Even when Tenko turns back to find her (“Did you see where she went?” she calls “Blonde hair, cute face, but like, cute-mean?”), the guilt that spills in doesn’t drown it. It wedges itself behind her sternum, deep and painful, and stays there.

2 MONTHS

“There’s not much time left,” Tenko says one night, while they’re curled together on the porch swing. It’s too cold, almost, winter tendrils creeping back in, but not so much to drive them inside, just yet. She has her device balanced on her knees.

“Two months,” Peko answers.

“Less than that,” Tenko says. She taps her device, and it lights up: fifty-seven days. “But it’s okay. A whole year of data points! We’ll be right on our way to our Ultimate Matches!” She drags her thumb over the bottom curve of the 5. “But… It- It’ll be sad, a little. Right?”

It will be. Peko’s chest constricts, thinking about it. It throws her relief over the expiration into sharper focus: once it’s over, she’ll be able to move on.

“Peko?”

It was always going to end. They’ve been expecting it, from the very first night they met. But it would be cruel to say so, so she doesn’t say anything.

“It’s okay for you to let your feelings out,” Tenko murmurs eventually. “Especially with- with me.” She wipes the corner of her eye with her thumb. “... I hope you know that.”

She gets up from the swing. Peko watches her retreat inside.

She thinks Tenko must be tired, too.

6 WEEKS

The days go faster at the end than they did at the beginning.

17 DAYS

It can’t be fixed. Maybe it isn’t supposed to be fixed.

“Everything happens for a reason,” the device tells her.

1 DAY

Tenko has always been a restless sleeper. She fidgets and sighs and tosses all night, not counting the time it takes for her to fall asleep in the first place.

Peko has slept under more trying conditions than that. She’d adjusted.

They both sleep poorly, that final night.

*

They spend their last few minutes out on the porch swing. It’s almost too cold, the last bit of winter fading out from early spring mornings, but together, it’s warm enough. Tenko has her device cupped in her hands. She watches the blinking timer count down.

“Peko,” she blurts. Her voice is trembling and too loud; she overcorrects, and cuts her volume to a whisper. “Could- Could I hold your hand? Just until the end. … If it’s alright with you?”

Their devices begin to beep steadily. Less than a minute remaining.

Peko picks off her gloves, and laces their fingers together.