You’d like to think that everyone is a coward at their core.

Pitiable, scared, alone. Everyone has to be one in some form, in some way. It doesn’t matter how, or why— But you truly want to believe in it.

But it’s because there are others more afraid, more terrified than you are— That you think that you can be that little bit brave.

Just for them.

“Are you—“ A choked sniffle. “Are you… An angel?” Her eyes glimmer with tears, her prayers yearning to be saved finally met with the salvation of the sunlight you’ve brought.

So— Yes.

“If you want me to be.” You can be a fairy, a hero, even the sea breeze that was caressing her tear-streaked cheeks as her watery eyes glimmered up at you.

(Even if you missed the fact that she’s asking you if she had died.)

So you reach out, offer this saving grace as light dances off the tips of your fingers, the smile on your face calm and gentle to appease her unease.

“You don’t have to worry anymore.”

And when she shakily grabs ahold of your hand; grapples it so tightly that it felt as if your skin might lose all its blood circulation— Was when her blue eyes suddenly shot open, her teeth gritting and the tears coming to a halt.

“Uhm, Miss? Is everything—!”

There’s a shift; and all of a sudden your world seems to be— Turning. Quite literally at that as your vision starts to physically lift; the breath knocked out of your middle as you’re flung over her shoulder, the feeling of your bare feet leaving solid ground, the punch to your gut with the corner of her shoulder.

You didn’t think it would be possible, especially with a girl of her size and build; especially when your head feels dizzy with nausea and spit was elbowed out of your poor torso as your vision blinds momentarily.

And when you finally regain your composure, finally able to groan and moan as you nurse your likely bruised stomach, pushing yourself up on dusty elbows as your blurry vision finally lands on the girl that you had saved.

“You scared me to death thinking I was dead!” And you see that she’s panting, crying even harder than she was, faced scrunched up without a care, her nostrils flaring and her nose dribbling down her philtrum and into her wailing mouth.

“Who even says things like that?!” She’s starting to choke as she sobs louder, cries even harder.

(This is… Definitely a new experience…)

“I-I really thought I was—!” A hiccup. “Going to go to heaven without— Without—!” Another hiccup that sounded like a smothered cough with how hoarse her voice had turned.

“Saying goodbye to everyone!”

You suppose everyone has different reactions to situations, but you are in more pain than expected…

“Why’d you have to go and look like that— A-And say those lines?!” She’s still sobbing, endless streams of tears running down her face as she falls to her knees, the adrenaline of the shock finally settling down.

(Your back really hurts…)

“I’m sorry…?”

——

“Are— Are your feet okay?”

And you look down at the bloody, mangled mess that once pristinely sat within the wedges you donned, your skin so bruised and battered and bleeding as you blink down at the sight.

Oh. You forgot about running here on bare feet. It— It does look kind of bad.

“Kind of?!” She’s in utter disbelief now, quick to panic at your lack of reaction. “I-I don’t want to hear that, no I don’t want to hear anything at all! Seriously, what is wrong with today?! W-Why are you so weird?!”

You’re going to worry others the less you care about this.

“It’s okay, it’s okay…!” You’re quick to reassure the poor girl who had turned so incredibly pale, her eyes losing their focus as her hands clutched at her hair in pure stress.

You hope she doesn’t start to rip out those poor strands.

Your fingers quickly tap against your cut, bleeding skin, cursed energy flowing through as your feet lift ever so slightly above ground, enough to no longer be touching the dirty floor beneath.

“There…!” You huff out in exasperated relief, slightly proud at how quickly you managed to pull that off as you lug the empty briefcase to the side, making way to show off your floating, still bloodied skin.

“Now I won’t even need to buy new sandals either!” So don’t be upset with you, okay? She doesn’t have to feel bad, doesn’t have to feel as if she was responsible for your current predicament… Even if she was the sole reason you’re here right now.

With your briefcase still in hand, at that. You must look extremely silly right now, don’t you?

And her eyes seemed to dull in response.

“I’m really nothing but trouble, after all…” It’s muttered so quietly underneath the sharp breaths she was trying to take, her hands on her chest, heaving and breathing as much as she could as she curls in on herself.

“I can’t imagine how mad Kuroi is going to be at all…”

Kuroi? Well that’s a name you haven’t heard of yet.

“Oh. Uhm…” She turns away from you, wiping hurriedly at her face with the back of her sleeve. “Kuroi’s my… caretaker.”

Her guardian, basically. You both should hurry up so that you can get Amanai-san back to her so that she won’t be so worried anymore—

“No! I—“ She grips the railing until her fingers seemed to turn white, fear and anxiousness coursing through her wide eyes. “I don’t— I don’t want her to find me…”

…huh?

“I know it sounds stupid— A-And silly and whatever but—“ She swallows as her grip on your sleeve loosens, her voice softening back into that vulnerable whisper.

“It’s because she’s worried that I… Don’t want to see her.”

The words seem to surprise even her. Her grip loosens slightly, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the ground, using the hair that had fallen out of place from her pretty braids as a shield for her eyes.

“I know she’s probably worried, but…” Her voice shrinks back into a trembling whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to her.”

She falls silent after that, lips pressed tightly together as if afraid that anything else she says might reveal far more than she intended. Realization striking when her shoulders jump and her eyes widen.

Then, almost as if desperate to turn the attention away from herself, her eyes flicker towards your briefcase, your bloodied feet, and the strange way you continued to hover just slightly above the ground.

“You don’t look the sort to come here alone either, you know?! What are you even doing around here— You— You highschooler!”

Oh? And what makes her say that?

“Hmph! Maybe you couldn’t tell, but I, Amanai Riko, am actually an Alpha!” And that makes her frightfully perceptive, you know? She likes to take pride in that fact, likes to revel in how she can throw this title around—

Only when it didn’t seem to matter all that much. Not when the only person she wanted to notice her was someone she was actively hiding from.

And you think you can find it in yourself to understand.

To understand the feeling of having power over someone, over how worried they were for you, over how much they would fret, would jitter in their shoes over the thought of you.

What an oddly comforting thought.

“I’m… A troublesome person too, Amanai-san.” A terrible, cowardly one who always needs someone weaker so that you can seem brave.

(You’re the worst kind.)

You watch her narrowed blue eyes. “How?”

Indeed. How? From her perspective, this saviour of a student had run all this way to save her, had offered her a hand and smiled as if the blood beneath her feet didn’t hurt at all.

“I... Like being needed.” You want to smile; yet it falters as you close your eyes. “I'm not very strong or as capable as the people around me, Amanai-san."

You get so jealous, feel so inferior, so little. You want them to need you, to want you, to be unable to live without you. You want them to do that all because it offers you a little bit more control, a little bit more freedom. Yet, you lie. You lie to save them from sadness, from turmoil; you lie because you can never bear to see them suffer.

(“Kindness lets people keep their pride as humans.”)

And still, some self-centered part of you wants them to accept your fate all the same. To understand when the time comes and forgive you for never telling them. Aren't you selfish? Aren't you prideful? You want to be needed, yet you’re already preparing to leave them behind.

You are the worst kind of coward.

“But… Doesn’t everyone do that kind of thing anyway?” Riko's voice is so soft in her reply, her answer that disrupts your horrid thoughts.

Isn't that a little too easy to say? Is it something that really comes out just like that?

Doesn’t everyone?

It’s a hard thought to stomach. Truly, was it? If it was something everyone did, if wanting to be needed didn’t make her terrible—

Then perhaps it didn’t make you terrible either, right?

(Hah. What a joke of a thought, honestly.)

“Then why are you so hard on yourself for it, Amanai-san?” Your voice softening just slightly as you tilt your head, trying to understand rather than judge. It comes out more carefully than you intended, more harsh than you had initially thought.

And still, you manage to offer her a small, reassuring smile, hoping it doesn’t come across as anything other than gentle curiosity.

(You really are a coward.)

She doesn’t even answer immediately. Instead, her narrowed eyes remain fixed on you, searching your expression with far more care than you would have expected.

“Are you— Like, maybe— No, I shouldn’t ask after all…” She scratches at her scalp, furiously digging her nails in as her eyes squeeze shut in frustration.

“Nothing’s normal anymore so I’ll just say it!”

She whirls towards you, cheeks puffed up with determination.

“Are you unhappy too?”

(Are you?)

“Ahh, the calling of youth, isn’t it?” You smile as you settle in closer next to her, elbows upon the railing as you stare out at flowing ocean waves. “It must be nice to be so young.”

“…you barely look any older than me!”

Oh my. She just complimented you on your youthful appearance.

“You—” Her pout turns increasingly strained as you continue smiling at her. “You’re kind of weird, you know?"

“Hehe.” Your elbow nudges against her own, the smile you kept on your face to reroute her thoughts starting to still.

"Sorry about that, then.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” She's huffy, clearly unimpressed that you chose to not answer her question.

But— If you did that; doesn’t that mean you would get it too? You’re her saviour, albeit a weirdo and someone she didn’t expect at all.

You were still someone who had chosen to stay here. With your bloodied feet and sore back, with that gentle smile and kind eyes and lips that kept offering stupid words she didn’t think that she wanted to hear.

You’ll understand, won’t you? Even if you don’t, you’ll try. You’ll try your hardest, just like how you had saved this poor girl.

Her fingers start to pick at the chipped paint of the railing, nails scraping lightly against its surface as her glassy eyes stay fixed on the deep, dark waters crashing against the rocks below.

“I… Just can’t help but feel like there’s— Y’know…”

Nothing.

She purses her lips, biting on the skin and digging her teeth into them as she nervously plays with her fingers, shoulders rising with every breath she takes as her eyes close.

“My friends are nice, but I— Don’t really have many or any that I’m particularly close to.”

“What about your Kuroi-san?”

She lowers her head, the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her braids slipping forward to hide her face.

“Kuroi is…” There’s a faint glimmer in her eye before it quickly snuffs out. “Kuroi’s only nice to me because she needs to be, you know?”

Her hand lifts to rub hurriedly at her cheek, wiping away the wetness there before another tear can replace it, her breaths turning short as she tries to prevent snot from dripping.

“It’s n-not that I don’t like her or anything, but she was assigned to me after my...” She goes silent momentarily, eyes squeezing shut just as a breeze hurries by.

“My parents died.”

You can hear her try to stifle a sniffle, using her arm to hurriedly wipe at her eyes and to muffle the whimper she wanted to let out.

And you're instinctively reaching into the briefcase, pulling free a tissue before you lean closer. The soft paper presses gently beneath her eye, catching the tears before they can trail any further down her red cheeks.

“Stop… That…”

Her voice is quiet, whining and complaining— Yet lacking any of the bite her words were probably supposed to have. Even then, she doesn’t pull away, merely turning her face slightly as you continue to dab at the dampness beneath her eyes.

“It’s... Weird that I’m even telling you stupid stuff like this…”

The grip she has on the railing tightens again, her knuckles turning pale beneath the force of it.

“I just don’t want Kuroi to look at me and think that I…” She swallows, shoulders trembling. “That I don’t want to see her anymore.”

Her lips press together as she stares down at the water, the tissue held loosely between her fingers as it billows in the wind.

“No.” She looks out at the sea, pale cheeks stained with the colour of sunlight as she sniffles, realization dawning upon her face the more she finds the courage to admit it to herself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see her.”

Her fingers curl around the crumpled tissue, squeezing until it disappears within her palm, until her knuckles matched the shade of the clouds above.

“I just— Don’t know what I want at all since…” A quiet sigh as she folds her arms into a makeshift pillow, resting her forehead against them. “I’m not popular at school, I don’t like studying or sports or art or… Anything. I don’t really know what I like, you know?”

“It might all seem kinda dumb to you… But Kuroi said coming here would clear my head or something.”

The waves keep crashing against the shore, filling in her silence for her when she could no longer think about what to say.

“It’s dumb to say stuff like this out loud— A-and whatever.”

She starts to pull at the damp tissue, tearing its softened edges into smaller and smaller pieces.

“I must sound like such a hopeless person right now.”

Well... Not to you, she doesn’t. If anything, she is braver than you, at the very least, brave enough to tear open all those ugly, frightened parts of herself and hold them out beneath this warm sunlight.

Your fingers reach over to still her own, gently pinching the battered tissue before she can tear it apart any further.

"Don't say that."

Her hands pause beneath yours. She lifts her head just slightly, narrowed blues searching your face as if she expects to find some hint that you are merely trying to comfort her.

“Why?”

Why?

Because you're pretty sure the hopeless won't even be able to hold a candle to what she's saying. They don’t tremble and cry and cling so desperately to every little thing, every little sign or cause that might make them lose everything.

Her gaze falls back towards the ruined tissue between your fingers.

“I… I came here because I don’t know if— Ugh, this is stupid to say out loud.” She’s trembling now, fingers barely able to stop the constant shaking as she stares up towards that setting sun.

“Don’t— Don’t judge or—“ She has to bite her tongue mid-sentence. “No, you don’t seem like the type, I guess…”

So she takes a deep breath, taking her time before she turns to look at you, with her tear-stained cheeks and bitten lip, with her cerulean eyes that reflected yourself back at her visage.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to live anymore.”

(Oh.)

“I thought I didn’t want to— Since I followed that curse into the alleyway thinking that was what I wanted.” You can hear her take in another sharp inhale of air, can hear her fear, her insecurity creeping into her words.

“But I— I was so scared.” Her hands start to tremble as the tears began to well up, pressed so close to her heart as she closes her eyes and lets her tears fall.

“I know I sound so dumb and cowardly and useless right now but— I-I really, really don’t know what to do from here…!”

Is it strange? Is it strange for you to be thinking so much right now? Because all you can think about is—

How it’s… Ironic. You’d think you’d laugh at the irony if you could, you know? Fate has let you meet someone who wanted to die but failed because of your intervention, yet you yourself; can’t be saved.

You don’t hold ill will. You won’t, especially not for a girl as sweet as Amanai Riko.

But it seems life doesn’t want you to look back on your regrets at all. No, you probably never want to look back and anguish over this memory.

Ever.

“What’s your favourite colour, Amanai-san?”

“H-Huh? Uh… Green?”

“What kind of food do you like eating best?”

“…pot-au-feu…?”

“Anything that you dislike?”

“Shiitake… Mushrooms…? Y-You’re being really weird—“

“What kind of hobbies do you have, Amanai-san?”

“W-Why are you suddenly asking so many—“ And she purses her lips when you lean in, squeaking in surprise at your odd smile that was shining so brightly that it bordered on frightening her half to death.

“B-Badminton…!”

How wonderful.

“Amanai-san.”

“Y-yes?!” She’s straightening up now, snot still dribbling down her nose but far more focused on trying to appease your weird streak.

“It’s cute that you have so many things you like and dislike.” The sort of person that wasn’t ambiguous, the sort of person that knew.

“You know, someone I look up to always says this to every caller that she gets.” You hum as you pull her close enough so that her head was resting upon your shoulder.

Saya-tan says it to all her fans, both new and old. Everyone deserves to hear it once in their lives, no? Regardless of what type of person they think they are, regardless of who they want to become.

“You’re lovely as you are, Amanai-san.”

And your fingers brush away the many strands of loose black hair that were twirling in the wind, dancing through your fingers as you catch the hot blush across her wet cheeks.

“And now that I know so many things about you, we can be friends now.”

“…huh?”

“Didn’t you say that you didn’t think you had many friends? You can add me to the roster now.” A pat to her head as you feel her stiffen in response, her eyes blinking over and over again.

Oh, but… Is one new friend not that desirable?

“If I’m not enough, then maybe I can introduce you to a few more. I don’t have many either, but I can swear that they’re really— Mostly very nice, Amanai-sa—“

“Riko.”

“You can…” A shy hideaway of her face as she presses her head back into your shoulder, muttering her words as squeezes her her eyes shut. “Just call me Riko.”

How sweet.

“Riko.” And it feels even sweeter on your tongue.

“Maybe, if you kept on living,” There’s another breeze blowing by, forcing stray strands of hair away from her eyes.

“You’ll find a lot more things that you’ll like.”

But it’s easier to say than do, isn’t it?

“How?” It’s cracked, scared. The way she speaks is barely above a murmur, a quiet whisper that’s too easily carried away by the sea breeze.

“There’s a lot I like appreciating.” You can think about so many, after all. The world will continue no matter what choice anyone chooses to make, never waiting for anyone to catch up.

Yet, there is beauty even in the most mundane. The most boring things there are; especially for someone who romanticizes the simplest of things.

“I like the way the bell rings to signal the next period.”

And you can see how taken aback she is. Her brows furrowed and her mouth downturned into a cute frown.

“That’s weird.” And dumb, stupid and kind of meaningless, right?

“Y-You don’t have to finish my sentences like that!”

Hehe.

“But I like it so much because it means there’s a ‘next’, you know?”

She looks even more confused.

“Mm.” Maybe you should go even simpler. “Stuff like what should I eat for dinner? What kind of snack should I have? What will the sky look like today?”

“I like how the people around me react to things around them.” The simplest reactions, the ordinary, prosaic happenings.

“That’s… Weird too…” Her voice grows smaller with every word. It seems she’s running out of insults too; or maybe, she relates to it too?

So why the hesitance? Why the doubt? Isn’t it obvious?

“People around you will care about you more than you think, Riko.”

“That sounds dumb.”

The most arbitrary, the most boring things. The things many take for granted, the smallest things that are overlooked, yet barely ever understood.

“I don’t get it.”

That’s not a surprise, is it?

“Isn’t it okay to,” She breathes in the ocean air, this time clear of dribbling snot and heavy tears. “Not know?”

You suppose that in itself was something you can’t just ‘get’ immediately.

But you’ll be okay with it. You don’t like how uncertain things can be, how the future can be so ambiguous. You’ll struggle, you’ll suffer, you’ll cry and you’ll anguish.

So maybe you’ll be okay with it all the same in the end.

And at that, there’s a soft pounding against your feet. A small, fluffy curse chirps up at you with its singular eyebrow furrowed, as if in annoyance as it grows ever increasingly agitated as it rammed its poor forehead into your ankles. You watch its furry body bounce up and down in place, tail swishing hurriedly behind.

You actually know this cute little guy.

“Menma Shoots.” You even squat down to start petting his head, watching it coo before it turns into an uneventful, hurried squawk.

“What— Even is that?!” Amanai Riko is grabbing you by the shoulders, hands hurriedly switching between pushing you away yet trying to pull you closer, afraid to get closer yet also terrified of the idea of letting you go on ahead.

You have to admit, the tugs are doing little to aid in the already very loose collar of your clothing.

“He’s my fri— Boy… Friend’s cursed spirit.” Oh, it’s weird when you have to sound it out.

But it’s worth it; worth that small amount of blushing pride when you get to have the firsthand experience of watching the poor girl’s face explode into a myriad of pinks and reds.

“You have a boyfriend?!” There’s even awe in her voice, her wide blues pinned onto your form as you stand back up on both feet, the chubby little curse bundled in your arms.

Does it seem strange to have a boyfriend? Is it too soon? Ah, you don’t know—

“I-I mean, I don’t mean anything by that—! It’s just you’re in such a hi-high stakes job and you’re really pretty and nice— Not that you’re NOT pretty and nice but you’re just too good for— Agh, I don’t know!”

Aha.

And she’s burning a red hotter than the pinks and oranges combined in this dusk sky, with the contrast of her narrowed eyes and the remaining rays brushing over her face as she stomps a foot on the ground and turns away.

“Are you laughing at me?!”

No.

“You are! I’m not an idiot!”

“You’re just really cute,” Isn’t she? This girl who wasn’t sure about the brimming flickers of life, this girl who can’t see the smallest sparks of happiness that begged to surround her.

“Riko.”

So you’ll set it alight; you’ll light her darkened sky with the sunshine you want her to see, clear the clouds that threatened to dim her spark.

Life has a lot to give, afterall.

“You don’t have to laugh so much! It—It’s not that funny to make fun of others, you know?!” She huffs as she’s back to slouching over the railing, ignoring how you could barely contain the giggles that you continue to swear were just because Menma Shoots’ fur was ticklish.

“Liar…” She’s muttering it under her breath, eyes drifting off to the side and lingering a little too long on the chirping curse in your arms.

“Is he— Is he handsome?” And she’s back to staring at the wide ocean, at the sky blues slowly descending into oranges and whites in efforts to hide her shy gaze.

“He’s beautiful.”

“Hmph.” Her fingers trace the railings, nail scratching against the smooth white paint. “That must be… Nice.”

It is. Suguru was really pretty— How could you ever ask for more?

“I’m here with another friend too.” Your fingers scratch at Menma’s head as he coos, starting to lessen the suspicious side-eye he was giving poor Riko as she grimaces back in return, puffing her cheeks up when he tries to bite at her curious finger.

“What— About him, then?” Her hand is hesitant as it reaches towards the top of the curse’s head, shaking, trembling as she bites her lip and lands her small hand atop his forehead, right between his furry ears. “Is your friend— You know, uhm…”

And it surprisingly makes successful contact.

“Oh my god— Menma Shoots isn’t biting me…!” The exhale of her relief as she starts to deflate from excitement, her pursed lips biting her barely contained cuteness aggression as she starts to rub with fervour.

Satoru?

“Extremely handsome.”

That’s not a lie, after all. You were sure plenty of girls have described him as such.

“Th-Then can I meet him?!” Her eyes were sparkling now— Especially now that Menma Shoots hadn’t tried to nip at her poor fingers and was simply accepting the somewhat harsh pets he was receiving from her with low, annoyed growls and the occasional soft coo.

Sure she can. But why, exactly? Is it because you’ve talked up their good looks? Surely, everyone wants to see handsome men, no—

Oh my~ You think you have an inkling of a thought on why.

“Riko, do you want a boyfriend?”

Youth truly is beautiful.

“N-No! I-It’s just a popular thing I see a lot in those magazines a-and I—“ She doesn’t even notice the clumps of loose fur stuck to her hands as she hurriedly buries her burning face behind them.

“I-Is it fun for you to bully people younger than you are?!”

She truly is very cute.

“I’m not bullying you.” You even tilt your head when she defensively shoots out one arm as a defensive shield, hiding her red face away.

“You keep calling me cute!”

You had thought that girls her age liked being complimented like that. Maybe—

“Would you prefer beautiful?”

And she explodes into so many different shades of red, not even minding how Menma Shoots was starting to nibble and salivate all over her fingers.

“Stop calling me things!”

Oh. Perhaps she was embarrassed because you had misunderstood her intentions.

“Is it okay if you have Suguru instead?” Your eyes are suddenly serious, your teasing smile disappearing as though this were now a matter of utmost importance.

“He’s kind, responsible and very good-looking.” Unlike the other option.

“Please do not approach the white-haired one.” Or else her hopes and dreams of dreamy guys will be crushed far too quickly.

“He’s dangerous.”

“H-Hah…?!” She’s dazed now; burning red from the embarrassment that was starting to incense itself into her poor brain.

“But I can promise— No, guarantee that—“ You ponder on it a little. There really is no upside to meeting the both of them at once, is there? No, no—

You have to think about their good points! What kind of friend are you if you don’t?!

“…that they’re both extremely handsome?”

Riko’s mouth opens, likely ready to remind you once again that that wasn’t what she meant— Only for her eyes to flicker towards Menma Shoots instead, her fingers slowing where they were buried within his fur.

“…Both of them?”

You nod.

She tries to look indifferent, but the slight tilt of her head betrays her.

“When can we even meet them anyway? Kuroi will probably find me soon, and I don’t know if I’ll get another chance…”

Oh. She doesn’t have to worry about that at all, not when Menma Shoots had already found you.

In fact, she could even meet them right now.

“Now?! Handsome guys— NOW?!”

And there’s already a hand on your head, long fingers weaving through your hair before settling heavily atop your crown. You barely have the chance to register the familiar weight before it slides down, hooking beneath your chin and forcing your gaze upwards.

“Has my warning about charging your phone beforehand not gotten through? Tsk, tsk.” His hand grips at your chin, tilting it up as his fingers squeeze your cheeks until your face is forced into a pout.

His sunglasses sit low upon the bridge of his nose, revealing the narrowed blues staring down at you as his smile stretches just a little too widely.

“Suguru would be sooo mad once he sees your injuries too, ya know?”

His thumb presses into one of your cheeks, squishing it further as he bends closer, the sweetness of his voice doing very little to hide the irritation behind it.

“Have ya decided how you’re going to make it up to me for disappearing?”

A moment of silence passes before Riko leans around your side, her face still flushed as she stares up at the stranger currently manhandling you.

“…who’s this?”

There’s an accusing little finger pointed towards him, Riko’s narrowed eyes travelling from the hand still curled beneath your chin to the amused grin stretched wide across his face.

Ah.

This probably wasn’t the best first impression.

Especially when Satoru’s eyes only flicker towards her momentarily before returning to you, his fingers giving your cheeks one final, punishing squeeze.

“This is Riko.” Your words come out muffled beneath his grip, lips forced into an embarrassing pout as you gesture weakly towards the girl clinging onto your side.

“She’s my new friend.”

——

“So we really do have to babysit?” He looks less than amused at that thought, poking at your cheek before his hands push themselves into his pockets.

“She’s my new friend, Satoru.”

“If you wanted a child, I’m sure there were other ways I could’ve given you one.”

His sunglasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose as he peers over them, narrowed blues settling upon the girl still tucked closely against your arm.

“Satoru, please.” You’re trying to dissuade him from any more provocative remarks before either of them gets hurt. “She’s a nice girl.”

And you feel her straighten beside you, the previous apprehension in her expression immediately replaced by a small flash of pride.

Satoru, however, doesn’t look convinced.

His eyes travel over her once more, far too slowly and far too obviously for the poor girl not to notice.

“Just— Just until we find Kuroi-san for her…?” You’re trying to smile as Riko clung to your side, sticking her tongue out at the white-haired boy standing a few steps ahead.

And Amanai Riko doesn’t like how you have to so gently persuade this friend of yours to see your ways, doesn’t like how he was so crude, so rude. Does he have no patience? No chivalry?

Gross.

“I thought you said your friend was handsome.”

And she looks him up and down, cheek twitching in irritation before that stupidly intrusive thought of hers invades her mind.

Because he was— Unfortunately so, in fact. Even with those ridiculous sunglasses perched upon his nose, there was no hiding the bright blues peeking over their rims, nor the unfairly pretty face that seemed to grow increasingly more pleased the longer she stared.

But that wasn’t the point.

Anyone could have a nice face. It didn’t mean anything when he had spent the entirety of their first meeting squishing your cheeks and cooing over you, before complaining about having to help her.

And from the knowing curl starting to form upon his lips, it seemed that she had already looked for far too long.

“You’re staring an awful lot for someone who sounds so disappointed.”

“I’m not staring!” Her face is already burning as she hurriedly turns away, grip tightening around your arm as though you could somehow shield her from the smugness radiating from the white-haired boy. “I was just checking!”

And she looks him up and down, cheek twitching in irritation before a thought crosses her mind.

And that was apparently a very, very wrong thing to say.

Because Satoru’s grin only stretches wider, all sharp teeth and unbearable amusement as his sunglasses slip further down the bridge of his nose.

“Checking, huh?”

There’s something about the way he repeats it— Drawn out and far too pleased, as though he already knew exactly what answer she was trying so desperately not to give him.

“Satoru…” You’re quick to interrupt before the poor girl could grow any redder, reaching out to gently nudge at the arm he had folded across his chest. “Don’t tease her so much.”

It’s meant to be a scolding. Though, from the way his grin only grows wider at the softness of your voice, you don’t think it sounded much like one at all.

And poor Riko really does look as though she’s about to explode, her face burning as her fingers dig even further into your sleeve, narrowed eyes flickering between the two of you.

Handsome or not, he was still obnoxious, rude and nowhere near as charming as he seemed to think he was. And there was no way someone as sweet and pretty as you would willingly—

“I can see why you aren’t her boyfriend!”

There. That ought to wipe that awful, smug look off his stupidly pretty face. She hopes it hurts, it stings and it bites him to know that.

Unfortunately for the poor girl, Satoru looks even more amused, his brows lifting as his eyes flicker towards you before settling back upon the triumph slowly spreading across Riko’s face.

“Who said I wasn’t?”

“…huh?”

“I am her boyfriend.”

There isn’t even the smallest hint of embarrassment upon his face. No hesitation or awkwardness— Just that horribly self-satisfied smile as he pulls one hand free from his pocket and hooks a thumb towards himself.

Riko’s narrowed eyes immediately shoot towards you.

“But— You said your boyfriend was the dark-haired one!”

“Well, duh.” Satoru sounds almost offended that she had somehow taken that to mean anything else, his sunglasses slipping further down his nose as his smile stretches wider. “Doesn’t mean I’m not.”

“Satoru…” You’re already reaching out to tug at the sleeve of his uniform, trying to pull him away from whatever strange misunderstanding he seemed so intent on creating. “Don’t say things like that. Riko might actually believe you.”

“What?” His grin only grows wider as he glances down at the hand curled around his sleeve, far too amused by the worry starting to creep into your voice. “I’m not lying.”

“You are—”

There’s a tinge, a sliver of a feeling tingling down the back of your neck as goosebumps start to prickle at the skin.

“Sugur—?”

It’s all you feel before you’re turned around, shoulders tugged forth as soft lips start pressing against your own, swallowing the remainders of his name from your mouth.

There’s so much tension within his kiss, matured with anxiety and everything that he couldn’t say after your disappearance, holding you closer, safer in his embrace.

Yet, it was hungry, domineering in its taste and feel. It begged you to cooperate, to listen to him, even when you’re trying to drag yourself away for a gasp of air— Just for his needy hands to push against the back of your nape for another tussle.

(You had… Forgotten that his rut was right around the corner.)

So you let him. You sink into his hold, into his arms that held you so tightly, just so that you can help satiate his starvation, his craving for you despite the couple of onlookers not so far away.

“E-Eek!” It’s Riko’s nervous hiccup at the duo of you, her eyes and ears growing ever more red as she just can’t tear her eyes away from the sight.

(Ohmygod—! It looks just like the ones in those dating magazines and—and it’s so—!)

“Stop looking at ‘em, perv.” There’s even a stupidly oversized hand slapped over her eyes.

“H-Hey!” Her hands immediately fly towards his wrist, nails digging into his skin as she tries to pry his palm away from her face. “You’re the ones doing that in front of me!”

“Well, duh.”

His fingers spread just enough to keep her from peeking through them, palm swallowing almost the entirety of her poor face as she reaches up to claw at his wrist.

“Who even wants someone else looking at what’s theirs?”

“Y-Yours?! What do you even mean by that you seedy, snow-goblin looking piece of—“

“Riko…!”

And all the fight within her disappears.

Her hands slip from Satoru’s wrist, her entire body going rigid beneath his palm as that familiar voice carries across the salty breeze.

There’s a dark-haired woman atop one of Suguru’s curses, tears in her reddened eyes and both hands gripping desperately at its feathers as it descends towards the ground.

And you know from the look in her eyes that Amanai Riko was expecting a scolding, a lecture. Some form of punishment for her rebellion, for her outburst.

Her shoulders curl inward, lips parting as though she were already preparing to apologise before Kuroi-san had even reached her.

And you know from the look in her eyes that Amanai Riko was expecting a scolding, a lecture. Some form of punishment for her rebellion, for her outburst.

Who would forgive her for this, right?

(“People around you will care about you more than you think, Riko.”)

“I’m so glad you’re safe…!” Arms wrap tightly around the small girl, pulling her against the woman’s chest before she can force a single excuse from her trembling lips.

And Riko’s arms shake by her side, stuck there when she can’t decide what to do with them. Does she reciprocate? No, does she deserve to? What kind of horrible person was she? How could she have ran away to— Do what she had thought she had wanted?

When did she start crying once more?

“We can return to the hotel,” Kuroi's gentle as she sniffles, using her sleeve to brush off the remaining wetness upon the poor girl's face. “You should rest after everything that happened.”

No. She doesn’t think she deserves such gentleness, such tenderness from someone she had wanted to leave behind in this world.

Yet, the suggestion makes Riko’s expression fall. A slight lowering of her brows, her eyes drifting towards the horizon where the final remnants of sunlight are beginning to sink into the sea.

This isn't what she wants.

“Oh.” It’s all her small voice can barely to muster, all her heart can bare itself to Kuroi.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just…” Riko rubs her thumb against Kuroi-san’s hand, her heart stuttering in her chest and her stomach feeling as if it was going to turn inside out. “We… We came all this way, didn’t we?”

Her gaze shifts towards the you who had just managed to escaped the arms of the clingy dark-haired one; hesitant at first, before settling with a little more certainty.

“And... I think that I’d find more things I like if I… Just kept looking— And stuff.” It’s awkward, it sounds silly, foreign on her tongue. It feels like it would come back and eat her alive.

But she should try, shouldn’t she?

“There’s an aquarium— Like, nearby…” The words leave her quickly, as though she might lose the courage to say them if she pauses for too long.

“I saw it in one of the brochures earlier. It closes late, and they have whale sharks and manta rays and—” She falters, suddenly conscious of how eager she sounds. “I mean, we don’t have to go. It was just a dumb... Idea...”

But it’s an idea all the same as Kuroi Misato’s expression softens.

“Would you like to?”

Would she? Of course. There was no other option she would’ve picked, not when all she wants to do is cry and beg for Kuroi is forgive her as she stares down at their joined hands.

“Please.”

——

“Wait— Suguru—“ As much as his clinginess was cute, this isn’t exactly the best time for him to be acting upon his every whim and desire.

“Won’t you—“ There’s a glow in his amethyst eyes, a look begging you to let him, to grant him the permission to seduce the you who was trying to run away.

“Please let me be selfish?”

It’s unfair, right? How he was using his whims, his wants, his needs against you.

Yet you can’t even fathom the thought of rejecting him.

“They’ll be fine on their own.” Your hand is so delicately intertwined with his, that pretty smile that he donned so convincingly charming that you just can’t bear to say no.

So it’s your fault for this predicament, isn’t it? It definitely is when you bite back a whimper and push lightly at his shoulder, the warmth getting unrelentingly addicting.

It's too much.

“Does it hurt?”

“No...”

“Suguru…” But it feels different. Your arms around his neck as he presses you into the soft compress of the bed, the way his tongue laves over every bite and bruise; every kiss he presses against your heated skin.

Your head might be spinning. Was it always so hot?

“It’s just for a little bit.” The connecting door of your hotel rooms click close, the door slamming to a shut as the noise outside settles into that heavy silence.

“Sorry.” He pulls at the collar of your shirt to expose more of the bitten skin, the bruised flesh looking all too tempting with the knowledge that he was the one behind all of it.

“I couldn’t help it.”

And you won't blame him, will you?

“Shh, shh…” A tender hand glides across your skin, “You’re doing well.”

“It feels kind of— Weird, Suguru…” You can feel the faint scrape of his teeth against the already tender skin near your collar, followed almost immediately by the soothing press of his lips.

He lifts his head enough to look at you, dark strands falling loosely around his face. There is still that strange glow within his eyes, softened now by the concern pulling at his brows.

“Tell me to stop.”

His lips press against yours again before you can decide, an arm curling more firmly around your waist as he pulls you closer. Close enough for you to feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the tension within every breath he takes.

It’s so hot.

“Suguru…”

He hums against your lips, though it sounds far too strained to be an actual answer.

You would’ve, could’ve— If only the door hadn’t slammed open right then and there; nearly unhinged from the force it was thrown open at.

It’s startling enough for you to hurriedly press your hands over your face out of embarrassment— Even as you had caught the annoyed click of Suguru’s tongue.

“Heya.”

There’s something horribly light about the way Satoru says it, the sort of careless greeting that might have fooled you had his narrowed eyes not immediately dragged themselves across the bed, lingering first upon the rumpled sheets, then the hand Suguru still had curled around your waist, and finally the bruising marks he had left blooming across your exposed skin.

Suguru doesn’t even move away from you. If anything, the arm around your middle tightens, drawing you that little bit closer as his head turns towards the doorway, dark hair falling over eyes that had lost whatever soft, hazy warmth they held only moments before.

You’re still hiding the heat of your face behind your hands when the air begins to feel strange, growing dense and heavy enough that every breath seems to settle within your lungs instead of leaving them, cursed energy brushing sharply against your skin as Suguru slowly lifts himself from above you.

Oh. They seem upset. You should... Say something, shouldn't you?

“Satoru,” You slowly lower your hands from your face, the heat within your cheeks fading once you notice how rigidly he holds himself within the doorway, how the hand at his side continues to flex. “Were you worried? I’m sorry, I should’ve charged my phone before we—”

You're not even spared so much of a glance.

Suguru’s arm remains curled tightly around your waist, holding you close enough that you can feel every bit of tension running through him, the subtle tightening of his fingers against your side whenever Satoru’s narrowed eyes dip towards the bruising marks scattered across your exposed skin that you move to cover up.

Perhaps apologising wasn’t enough to ease whatever had followed him through that door.

“We could all calm down first,” You try again, fingers brushing lightly against Suguru’s wrist in hopes that he might loosen his hold, even just a little. “Satoru was worried, and Suguru— Wasn't, uhm, isn’t feeling completely like himself right now, so maybe if we just—”

“Couldn’t wait, you dog?”

Satoru speaks over you as though he hadn’t heard a single word, the smile upon his face widening despite how little amusement it holds as he pushes himself away from the doorway and approaches the bed.

Each step felt purposeful, heavy and daunting in their slow tread towards the couple of you.

Slow enough that you can watch Suguru’s expression change with every step, the softness that had remained in his eyes disappearing as his arm slips away from your waist and he rises to meet him.

You blink. Apparently, none of you will be calming down.

“You were the one who disappeared off with Amanai and Kuroi.” Suguru answers, rolling his shoulders back as he positions himself between you and the boy approaching.

“And you were the one who started without me.”

Suguru’s mouth curls at that, although the expression is far too sharp to resemble anything kind, his head tilting as Satoru stops close enough for the two of them to nearly brush against one another.

“You weren’t invited.”

"Feel like sparing the invitation now, then?"

Only for a moment— Barely long enough for you to notice the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the brief flicker of something ugly within those comet blue eyes before his hand shoots forward and tangles itself within the front of Suguru’s shirt.

"You're insufferable."

The fabric twists tightly around his fist as he drags Suguru closer, the collar digging into his throat; yet Suguru doesn’t stumble, doesn’t even seem particularly surprised when his own hand closes around Satoru’s wrist, fingers pressing down hard enough that the pale skin beneath them begins to redden.

Instead, they remain there, faces far too close and cursed energy prickling unpleasantly against your skin as their narrowed eyes remain locked upon one another, as though they were silently waiting to see which one would lose their patience first.

“Satoru…” You try, shifting closer to the edge of the bed. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Let go.” Suguru murmurs, voice so quiet and low that it somehow sounds far more threatening than if he had raised it. Please, please don't fight. You'll apologize, you'll beg for forgiveness so let's not fight—

Satoru’s fingers only twist further into his shirt.

“Make me.”

Though, perhaps not in the manner you expected, because Suguru's free hand suddenly knots itself within white hair and drags Satoru down at the same moment Satoru yanks him forward, their mouths colliding with enough force that you flinch when you hear the faint knock of teeth between them.

There’s none of the careful tenderness Suguru had shown you, none of the lazy affection Satoru usually hid behind his teasing; only fingers pulling and mouths bruising, every sharp tilt of their heads seemingly made to anger the other further as Suguru drags harshly at Satoru’s hair and Satoru tightens his fist within Suguru’s collar until the fabric strains, tangles between his fingers.

And yet, neither of them stop.

Suguru bites down hard enough to finally tear a muffled sound from Satoru’s throat, something caught between a scoff and a growl, only for Satoru to answer by pressing closer and kissing him with even greater force, as though the two of them were somehow trying to win an argument that had long since abandoned the need for actual words.

(Oh.)

Oh my. You’ve been cheated on already; a week into your ‘official’ relationship at that.

(Yet you really can't bear to tear your eyes away from the view.)

And perhaps the surprise had shown itself a little too clearly across your face, because Satoru’s eyes flicker towards you from beneath pale lashes, the irritation within them dulling into something far more amused when he catches sight of your widened eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Says who?”

(What?)

Suguru’s fingers are still caught within his hair when Satoru twists free, pulling hard enough that several white strands remain trapped between them; and before you can understand why he’s suddenly moving towards you, his hand has already found the back of your neck, long fingers curling into your hair as a pair of lips crash onto your own.

Rough and impatient, still carrying every bit of the anger he had been forcing against Suguru only moments before, enough that the startled breath caught within your throat is swallowed before it can properly escape.

Your hands hover uselessly between the two of you, unsure of what to do.

You’re not entirely sure whether you’re supposed to push him away, hold onto him, or perhaps apologise to Suguru for apparently participating in whatever betrayal had just taken place.

Though Suguru doesn’t seem particularly heartbroken, if anything, he seemed more annoyed at the sight as he crosses his arms and glares at the intruder.

Especially when Satoru draws the kiss out for that little bit longer than necessary, his thumb pressing beneath your chin to keep you there as narrowed violet eyes continue to burn into the side of his face.

And when he finally pulls away, there’s a horribly satisfied curve upon his mouth, the thin string of saliva between the both of you his prize, his breath still warm against your lips as he glances between you and Suguru.

“There we go.” A pleased little hum rumbles within his throat as he loosens his grip upon your hair, though not enough to let you retreat very far.

“Now we’ve all cheated with each other.”

(What…?)

Did you just cheat on Suguru, who had cheated on you with Satoru, only for Satoru to actively cheat on Suguru with you— Who had already been cheated on by Suguru because of Satoru?

But Satoru had kissed Suguru first, which meant he had also cheated on you, unless Suguru kissing him back somehow meant that they had cheated on one another at the exact same time—

Your head hurts.

Perhaps Satoru notices the increasing strain upon your face, because the hand behind your neck suddenly tugs you forward; and with your balance already ruined by the way he had half-climbed onto the bed, you’re pulled down alongside him in an ungraceful mess of tangled limbs and rumpled sheets.

“Satoru—”

“Stop moving.”

It’s spoken directly into your lap, his voice muffled by the skin he had apparently decided to press his face against, both arms wrapping firmly around your waist before you can make another attempt to sit upright.

Oh. He was staying there, then.

You glance towards Suguru for assistance, only to find him seated beside you with his arms folded across his chest, dark hair dishevelled from Satoru’s fingers and his reddened lips pulled into a thoroughly unimpressed line.

He does not appear particularly interested in saving you.

In fact, the small twitch beneath his eye suggests that he might be considering something far less charitable, especially when you catch his eyes roaming over your dishevelled appearance.

“It’s okay if ya wanna break up with ugly over there.” Satoru presses his cheek more firmly against your bare lap, rubbing himself against it as though attempting to erase every trace of Suguru’s presence while his grip around your middle grows ever tighter. “I’m all you need, right?”

And you remain trapped somewhere between them, one hand still hovering uncertainly above his head as you try to determine whether comforting him would worsen the situation or simply prevent another fight.

Your relationships are getting way too messy. This is truly the teenage epitome of youth, isn’t it?

——

Suguru must find it far less amusing, judging by the way his eyes remain narrowed upon the white head buried within your lap, his arms folded across his chest as Satoru continues to cling tighter each time you so much as shift beneath him.

“Are you planning on staying there all night?”

“What's it to you?”

“I don't want you here.”

“Good.”

Your fingers hesitate where they hover above Satoru’s hair, eventually lowering to smooth through the strands that Suguru had tugged out of place earlier. He doesn’t react much beyond pressing his cheek more firmly against you, though the arms around your middle loosen just enough for you to breathe a little easier.

Then he looks at you, and there’s something knowing in the slight softening of his eyes that makes you feel as though you’ve missed an entire conversation occurring directly in front of you.

“I’m going to wash up.”

Satoru scoffs into your lap. “Running away?”

“No.” Suguru rises from the edge of the bed, calmly straightening the wrinkles within his uniform before his hand reaches down to brush against your cheek. “But you can learn to be a little more honest, Satoru. Maybe you can do with a little bit more romance and confess properly."

And the boy on your lap grows rigid. Stiffening as he glares at the retreating Suguru who was uncomfortably shifting in his pants.

"I hope you break your dick jacking off, asshole."

"Yea, you wish." A scoff as he undoes the bun of his hair, shaking his head to loosen the thick strands of black locks upon his head. "Have a nice conversation for me, won't you both?"

And when he leaves, there's a sudden weighted silence within the room, settling uncomfortably even despite your quiet administrations with his hair.

(Should you... Start first?)

“Satoru?”

Nothing.

Your fingers resume their path through his hair, gently separating the tangled strands as his shoulders slowly lose some of their stiffness beneath your touch.

“Are you still upset with Suguru?”

“No.”

“With me?”

“Nope.”

Ah. Both of you, then.

“I really am sorry.” Your fingertips graze carefully along his scalp, pausing whenever you find a spot Suguru might have pulled a little too harshly. “You were worried, and then you came here and saw us together, and I don’t think I properly—”

His arms suddenly pull.

You barely manage a startled sound before the world tilts beneath you, your back meeting the mattress as Satoru follows, pressing you into the sheets with enough of his weight to keep you from immediately sitting back up.

“Satoru…?”

His face hovers above yours, pale hair falling forward as those uncovered blues search your expression with an intensity that feels far too serious for the ridiculous pout beginning to form upon his mouth.

“Whine a bit.” And he’s pressing you into the sheets, using his body weight to hold you in place just so that he has the satisfaction of holding you down.

You blink maybe once. Twice when you had to repeat what he just said to you in your head.

“Why?”

And the look he gives you in return is too smug for your liking.

“It’s cute.” He even emphasizes it with a squeeze of your cheek, poking at the fat of it when you only blank stare up to meet his gaze. Is... That so? You didn't know.

So... How do you go about doing that? Does he want a whimper? A groan? Something more like a squeak?

“Just be needier.” His eyes search yours, digging themselves into the depths of your memory with how unrelenting his gaze was, as though hoping that repeating it once would somehow make it come naturally to you.

Oh. That’s his type? You suppose you’re not one to be judging others’ tastes, but at the same time you can’t exactly be what he demands on command.

You’ll still try, though.

“Don’t get… Off me, Satoru?”

Your hands move somewhat uncertainly before settling against his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his uniform as you peer up at him from where he had you pressed beneath him.

“Would it kill you to be a little cuter?”

You don’t quite know what he considers cute, but perhaps letting your fingers tighten around his uniform while blinking expectantly up at him would do something... Right? Uh, you really don't think any of Shoko's magazine go into detail for such a specific scenario.

“Hm.” He’s smug about it, lowering himself just enough for the tips of his hair to brush against your face while he watches the embarrassment slowly settle across it.

“Better.”

“Is it really okay that I don't look like Soju-san, Satoru?” You’re mildly surprised; especially when you’ve had had the chance to go through the extensive library of her works via Satoru’s bedroom collection.

“Did your tastes change?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, though you can feel the way his face scrunches against you at the question, his fingers pressing into your side as if the idea itself had somehow offended him.

Perhaps change was the wrong word to use.

"Nope."

Satoru doesn’t change his mind so much as he decides that whatever he believed before no longer matters, crushing every old certainty beneath his heel until there is enough space for whatever new thing he has decided to want. It’s an enviable sort of selfishness, really; the confidence of someone who has never had to accept that there might be things in this world even he cannot bend into the shape he desires.

Because to him, there is always another choice.

"I just want to see you be cuter than usual."

Another path he can force open, another rule that can be broken if he pushes against it hard enough. It's not a surprise, is it? For someone like him can do anything.

And you wonder what he would do if he simply... Couldn't. What if he were helpless? What if there was a scenario he can't have control over? Would it bring you some sick satisfaction? To know that he was powerless, to render him useless?

(You think you hate yourself for that very thought.)

If something had already been decided long before he ever had the chance to know about it; if every step he took forward only brought someone else closer towards an ending he could not see.

The briefcase sits where you had left it, silent and untouched in the corner of the room. You're so tired of putting up with pretenses, so tired of lying and fabricating truths that will only ever have one true ending.

You're so tired.

“Satoru, do you believe in fate?”

“No.”

Of course someone like him doesn’t. Because he will—

“Always find a way to change something if I don’t like it.” He presses his nose against the nape of your neck, breathing you in as he lets out a content sigh.

Oh.

Because fate would mean there are things even he has no say in. Endings already waiting for him, choices made long before he ever gets the chance to crush them beneath his heel and replace them with something he likes better.

But perhaps that isn’t what you’re really asking..

“Then do you believe that we have always been destined to be together?”

“…what kind of question is that?” There’s even a tightened grip on your shoulder to emphasize his discontent, as though the question itself has somehow offended him.

But he still hasn’t answered.

“Do you, Satoru?”

So you’ll present him with the illusion of choice. You’ll be more selfish than the one before you, all glittering eyes and patient silence, pretending there is any answer you could bear besides the one you want.

And you like it; you’ll take pride in the uncomfortable furrow of his brow, in the way his lips press together, in the frown that had deepened and shining confusion in his pretty, pretty eyes.

“No.”

“Satoru,” You want to giggle, to laugh, to cry, to bicker and blush at just how sweet of an answer that was.

Isn’t it unfair? Isn’t it cowardly to ask him these kinds of questions when you’re the only one who knows what they truly mean? He’s so talented, so far above you, so convinced that there is nothing in this world he cannot change—

And yet, look at how easily you can make him bend.

How a few glittering eyes and carefully chosen words can draw that uncomfortable furrow between his brows, can make someone like him stumble over feelings he would sooner crush beneath his heel than admit to having.

You take sick, disgusting and gurgling pride in your repulsiveness.

“You’re terrible.”

He’s someone who won’t confront the most vulnerable of feelings, the squishy ones that crumble at a fingertip’s graze, the ones that are just so, so unbearably tender that they just can’t hold any form.

And it hides behind a coward who will never admit to it.

“Who even cares about such things?”

You care. You care because Gojo Satoru was the worst liar you’ve ever met.

“I do.”

“I care a lot, Satoru.” And you will admit to it over and over again, until your lungs burn and cry and beg for you to stop, until your lips rot off and become stale, until your tongue is cut out and renders you mute.

“So let’s not be so careless about things like that, okay?”

So you're left watching, searching for a reply in his eyes as they stuck upon you, sticking to every corner of your face something you had almost as though there might be something there worth studying, something hidden beneath your skin that even you had failed to notice.

"Sorry."

And you're... Kind of struck speechless. Did he just apologize? Did he really just apologize? For something as simple and meaningless as that, something you had almost expected him to laugh away before burying beneath another joke?

"It's not meaningless if you think so."

Uh... Wow. Perhaps that was even worse, the way he said it so easily, as though caring about the things you cared about was obvious, as though you hadn’t already convinced yourself— Out loud, apparently—That expecting such tenderness from him would be asking for too much.

"Do you really think that little of me?" His eyes narrow as his fingers pull tug farther at your collar, to expose even more of your bitten skin for his shameless inspection, kissing at your neck as you take note of the redness upon his ears.

"I'll bite you."

——

You stand there for a while with the flowers held awkwardly against your chest, wondering where exactly they are supposed to go when there is no grave, no body, nothing left behind that could truly belong to him.

“Komori-kun.” You place the bouquet of sunflowers upon the ground, pressing the stems farther into the grass when the breeze threatens to carry them away, their yellow faces still turned stubbornly towards the sun. There's even that familiar plastic bottle of water right by its side, the sweated droplets clinging to smooth plastic.

His name leaves you quietly, swallowed almost immediately by the breeze, by the croak in your throat. It feels strange to say his name out loud, to address him as if he were right here in front of you.

(Or was it because you felt like you could cry?)

“The weather is nice this time of year just as you described.”

You had never understood why he spoke about Okinawa with so much fondness. Now that you are finally here, standing beneath all that blue he had tried so earnestly to describe, you find yourself wishing you had listened more closely, read his messages with a little more excitement, replied with a little more enthusiasm.

He would have deserved it all and more.

“We… Weren’t all that close.” Is that an awkward thing to say to the dead? Really, is there anything more that you even wish to say now? When all the words you had carried here seem so much smaller beneath these skies, scattered somewhere between your chest and your tongue?

You had thought there would be a lot more.

“I kind of wish we were, though.” There’s a breeze tugging at a strand of your hair, dragging it across your cheek while your hands remain folded uselessly within your lap, with nothing else left for them to hold now that the flowers have been put down.

Perhaps then there would have been more of him for you to remember, something beyond scattered conversations and the way he was so shy, how he would bow and apologize for every action, every word he spoke. Perhaps you would know what he liked to eat, what made him laugh, whether he had anyone waiting for him, his hobbies— And so much more.

“I didn’t want you to die.”

The admission comes out smaller than it had ever sounded inside your head, far too simple for something that had sat within you for so long, rotting beneath every excuse you had made for why you never visited sooner.

But isn't it selfish of you to come here? It is, for you came to admit your weakness, your inadequacy. Would he have understood your feelings? Would he have seen it in black and white? Would he have called you out on your gross hypocrisy?

You're just making more excuses now.

“I’m… A coward myself, Komori-kun.” You are an Omega disguised as a Beta, the Star Plasma Vessel hidden beneath the convenient wording of an escort mission, allowing everyone around you to believe that they are bringing you somewhere you will eventually return from. You have watched your friends plan around a future that does not include you and still found yourself incapable of tearing it apart, because there is something unbearably selfish about being cared for by people who do not yet know they are going to lose you.

You wonder if Komori-kun would be disgusted by your selfishness.

"I hope that if we meet once more," Your eyes lift towards the endless stretch above you, following the clouds as they drift lazily through the same sky Komori had once looked upon, carrying themselves somewhere far beyond where either of you could ever follow.

"It will be under blue skies again."

And at that, there’s a soft pounding against your feet, a small, fluffy curse chirps up at you with its singular eyebrow furrowed, as if in annoyance as it grows ever increasingly agitated. You watch its furry body bounce up and down in place, tail swishing hurriedly behind.

You actually know this cute little guy.

“Menma Shoots.” You even squat down to start petting his head, watching it coo before it turns into an uneventful, hurried squawk.

“What— Even is that?!” She’s grabbing you by the shoulders, hands hurriedly switching between pushing you away yet trying to pull you closer, afraid to get closer yet also terrified of the idea of letting you go on ahead.

You have to admit, the tugs are doing little to aid in the already very loose collar of your clothing.

“He’s my fri— Boy… Friend’s cursed spirit.” Oh, it’s weird when you have to sound it out.

But it’s worth it; worth that small amount of blushing pride when you get to have the firsthand experience of watching the poor girl’s face explode into a myriad of pinks and reds.

“You have a boyfriend?!” There’s even awe in her voice, her wide blues pinned onto your form as you stand back up on both feet, the chubby little curse bundled in your arms.

Does it seem strange to have a boyfriend? Is it too soon? Ah, you don’t know—

“I-I mean, I don’t mean anything by that—! It’s just you’re in such a hi-high stakes job and you’re really pretty and nice— Not that you’re NOT pretty and nice but you’re just too good for— Agh, I don’t know!”

Aha.

“Are you laughing at me?!”

“You’re just really cute,” Isn’t she? This girl who wasn’t sure about the brimming flickers of life, this girl who can’t see the smallest sparks of happiness that begged to surround her.

“Riko.”

So you’ll set it alight; you’ll light her darkened sky with the sunshine you want her to see, clear the clouds that threatened to dim her spark.

“Is he— Is he handsome?” She’s back to staring at the wide ocean, at the sky blues slowly descending into oranges and whites.

“He’s beautiful.”

“Hmph.” Her fingers trace the railings, nail scratching against the smooth white paint. “That must be… Nice.”

Mm… It sounds like you must give her the truest experience of youth.

“I’m here with another friend too.” Your fingers scratch at Menma’s head as he coos, starting to lessen the suspicious side-eye he was giving poor Riko as she grimaces at the sight.

“What— About him, then?” Her hand is hesitant as it reaches towards the top of the curse’s head, shaking, trembling as she bites her lip and lands her small hand atop his forehead, right between his furry ears.

Satoru?

“Extremely handsome.”

That’s not a lie, after all. You were sure plenty of girls have described him as such.

“Th-Then can I meet him?!” Her eyes were sparkling now— Especially now that Menma Shoots hadn’t tried to nip at her poor fingers and was simply accepting the somewhat harsh pets he was receiving from her.

Sure she can. But why, exactly? Is it because you’ve talked up their good looks? Surely, everyone wants to see handsome men, no—

Oh my~ You think you have an inkling of a thought on why.

“Riko, do you want a boyfriend?”

Oh.

“Forgive me. I have no gentler way to say this.” His fists tighten, fingernails starting to dig into his very flesh. “Please do not mistake my composure for acceptance."

The creases beside his mouth seem deeper than they had been moments ago. The shadows beneath his eyes sit heavier, carved into him and moulded by deep seated restraint.

“But your potential and affinity for Tengen-sama… Was too high for them to ignore.”

You’re special.

Aren’t you proud? Aren’t you happy? You’re needed, you’re wanted; you’re important. You’ll be everything you ever doubted yourself in.

Yet the weight of it still hasn’t quite sunk in.

“So what happens to me…” If you accept? What happens if you don’t? Do you honestly even get a choice?

It’s funny that you even think you can defy the orders of the Higher-Ups.

"They call it assimilation."

So Masamichi Yaga goes silent, letting the air marinate in the tension that you can taste on your tongue, on this repressed dread that you’ve been storing up all this while.

“You will assimilate with Master Tengen.”

You will become one with them, with the entirety of Jujutsu Society. You will become Master Tengen, and Master Tengen will become you. In other words—

You will die. You will die, yet live on vicariously through Tengen-sama. Someone entirely new, somebody else.

(You will die.)

You, who have always wondered what type of person you’d grow up to be, always imagined just how you’ll grow into the pretty shoes Mama always kept hidden away in her shoe cabinet, how you’ll mature into someone just as pretty, just as beautiful— Just as kind.

But there’s always more to life than that. There were prettier shoes out there, possibly kinder people, possibly more you’ve ever yet to even learn.

You don’t know many things about the world at all.

But that’s the interesting part, right? Nothing will ever go the way you expected it. Nothing will ever go exactly the way you want it, nothing will ever be set in stone that you can predict what comes next.

Because life was just that ambiguous— And you hate ambiguity.

Of course you don’t think you’re throwing your life away just like this. But would you? Would you do it to save the world? Would you do it to save those who don’t deserve to? And those who did?

Will they be like Komori Isamu? Will they be another Mijou Kana? What kind of people will not live to see another tomorrow should you give up on this?

(What kind of person do you want to be?)

You like to think that you’ve gotten used to being a maggot, gotten used to staying at the bottom— Or maybe even floating along the ‘average’ line. You thought you’d be fine with that, you thought you’d be more than okay.

(“Don’t you think that makes me special?”)

Do you? Do you want to think about giving up your life that way? It’s scary, right? So self-sacrificial… So— Stupid.

You’re stupid. What are you trying to pull here? Are you trying to become some sort of martyr? Do you really take so much pride in this aforementioned ‘kindness’ of yours?

It’s disgusting.

You could’ve chosen to not come here, you know? You could’ve chosen to go to a highschool not too far from your home back in Kyoto, just a stone’s throw away from your home.

It could’ve been that simple.

You never had much of an interest in Jujutsu Society, after all. Sure, it was cool to witness sorcerers in all their glory, to watch cursed spirits be summoned, to watch physical wounds close at a mere touch— To behold Gojo Satoru.

But it wouldn’t mean anything to the you who never had the talent or the potential. You possessed the prerequisites to meet the bare minimum, you possessed the skillset needed to harness your cursed technique.

But it didn’t mean that it was something you were good at.

You could’ve chosen to live a normal life. A life away from them, away from all this chaos, all this noise in your head that keeps you awake at night, away from Nozomi—

(“Does it almost look like yours?”)

And yet, you chose to be here anyway. That has to mean something in the end, didn’t it? All your tears you’ve cried, all the blood you’ve split, all your effort— All the smiles and the gratitude you’ve received and will receive.

(“My first wish— Is to become human!”)

You guess all insects really do have fleeting lifespans.

“You will be escorted by Special Grade sorcerers.”

And you know exactly who he means by that when you see the blood red upon his fingers as they dug into his palm.

“I’ll arrange for different sorcerers if that makes you more—“

“No.” You understand that there was turmoil in his head, yet you don’t even want to second guess this decision. “No… There’s no need for that, Yaga-sensei.”

You have a feeling that you’d want them there, for all your selfish desires and purposes, you’d need them there.

“We just won’t tell them.” You want to say the things you want with a smile on your face, to be able to face the things that threaten to harm the peace of your life.

Yet your shoulders still shake all the same.

You don’t want people to look back and view you with sorrow, with pity. You don’t want to be looked at with sympathy or to be mourned for your sacrifice.

It’s not what you want at all.

“Yaga-sensei.” Your throat feels dry if you were to be honest. Honesty— You need to be honest. You need to be more honest than ever before, because this was your life, wasn’t it?

“I want to live.” Is there truly anyone out there selfless enough to say otherwise? Even if they did— They would have had the luxury of that choice.

You want to live, yet you’re willing to die. Isn’t that so unbearably human?

(“Who can hate what they aren’t? Isn’t that stupid?”)

There is no life lived without guilt. There is no other way you are aware of other than this— This is the best choice is it not?

You are selfish, you are childish. You still don’t know many things, you still stumble over algebra, your tongue still slips when you recite textbook excerpts and you still pout when the convenience store doesn’t sell your favourite sandwich.

You are nothing but immature.

“Yaga-sensei, please allow me the pride to say that I chose to accept.”

Please let this lowly insect that you are take pride in the kindness you have, no matter how misplaced, no matter how unworthy.

Please. Please. Please.

There’s no better way to heal your own melancholy and save the world at the same time, is there?

“I will become Tengen-sama’s vessel.” You don’t know how to look him in the eyes, you don’t know how to hide your trembling hands or your shaking voice.

“Would you please permit that, Yaga-sensei?” No matter how selfish it may seem in his eyes. Or— Was it, really?

Because it just means more than that to you. It means more than just sacrificing your life for such a cause, for something like this.

“Yaga-sensei, may I also ask… What you think?”

And you wonder, wonder why he was so hesitant, wonder why he chose to say nothing as you stare at your knuckles that were starting to turn white, at the droplets of your tears that had landed upon your cold skin.

And you finally think you understand.

If he says it, if he tells you what he truly thinks, then this will no longer be an order delivered by your teacher.

It will stretch itself, will wrangle from his throat and crawl out as grief, as desperation, as a plea that so harshly demanded that you have more anger.

But you don't know what meaning there is to that.

So it’s your call, isn’t it? Ultimately, you wish to think so. For you are an insect, an insignificant existence to the bigger picture, to the wider world.

So you’ll be that meaningful pawn, you’ll be that unnamed, unsung sacrifice.

Even when the rain keeps pouring, there will be an end; and this will be yours.

(That’s what being a hero means, isn’t it?)

——

“It’s been a while since you called.” Your mother’s voice is soft, gentle in your ears. “I read your letter, is everything alright?”

“Mother.” Obviously, you want to cry. You want to run into her lap and sob and apologize and tell her over and over again that you’re sorry, that you won’t have enough time to spend with her, that you’re trying to save the world, trying to become stronger, trying your best—

“You trust me, don’t you?” You’re willing yourself to be calm, to be as steady as your voice could possibly make itself. Even if it made it no louder than a whisper, so small and fragile.

This was harder than you thought it’d be.

“Of course, my dear?”

Please don’t agree so easily.

“No matter what I choose to do?”

“No matter what.”

Please don’t be so gentle.

“Okay.” Okay. You’re okay. You will be when it comes, you will be when you have to be face to face with your fate.

You’ll be okay, won’t you?

“Dearest, what’s wrong? If this is about a test or exam it’s perfectly fine to be upset.“

It’s perfectly fine to be upset. Yes— It is, isn’t it?

“No, no. It’s— Not about that.” It’s not about anything that has to do with the arbitrary days you long to go back to. So—

How do you tell your own mother that you had already started counting the days she didn’t know she was losing?

You were only 16, after all.

“Is… Everything alright, my darling? You don’t sound well. Have you been eating well? Getting enough sleep? I can come visit if it’s—“

You taste iron in your mouth, lip torn open from how you’ve been chewing mindlessly on it all this time. You swallow it down, because that is all you seem to know how to do now.

You hope you choke.

“No, no… I just missed you, Mama.” You missed her cooking, her voice, her touch, her presence. You missed being small enough to hide behind her, missed being young enough to think that your mother could fix everything if you cried hard enough, if you clung to her sleeves and apologised enough.

You missed being her child.

Were you still allowed to be? Even now? Even like this?

“I’m just calling to tell you that I’m coming to visit soon.”

——

“Did something good happen?”

You’re blinking— Once, twice. Maybe a few more times on top of that as your vision slowly comes back into focus, blurred colours in front of you slowly sharpen back into the movie playing on the lounge TV.

The only thing illuminating the room is the restless flicker of the television, washing the couch, the low table, and the side of Suguru’s face in shifting shades of blue and white.

You think that movie has been playing all this time. How long have you been mindlessly staring at nothing?

“Not long at all.”

Is he saying that to comfort you or were you actually out of it for too long?

“Is it okay for me to not answer that?” There’s even a chuckle when you pout, shifting your eyes away out of a mix of embarrassment and mock irritation— Before your gaze drifts back to the movie you both were meant to be watching.

…you can’t focus at all.

“What were you thinking about?” He’s asking because he’s worried, you think. And it's because he is that you need to be more careful than ever.

“Suguru,” It feels weird to be so, so highly aware of what you were saying. Even the way his name leaves your lips felt a bit foreign despite the familiarity.

You suppose it’s how you know you were doing something selfish.

“Do I cry a lot?”

“I wouldn’t say so.” There’s his hand squeezing your shoulder as you shift ever closer to face him, peering up at his pretty eyes as he blinks curiously.

“Why do you ask?”

You don’t have an answer to that, not as you choose to hide away by resting your head against his chest, the shift slow and quiet as you sink a little further into him.

“Just curious.”

And you are. You truly, truly are. It’s not weird, right? He does this for Satoru too, no? He likes everyone. Geto Suguru is caring, the epitome of an adoring friend.

“Why do you always take care of me like this?” Like this— As in, his hand in your hair before it slowly drags down the side of your face to hold your cheek.

A quiet hum as his eyes shift from the glowing blue screen of the television— The once loud and present voices from the movie seemingly turning into blank murmurs as those violets you adored stuck to your gaze, hypnotizing you with that gentle, deep tone.

“Because I love you.”

Oh. You love him too.

“Mm…” You watch him contemplate, watch as his eyes look away briefly before they’re back on your own, how his brows furrow as that little bit of a frown forms— And that easygoing smile takes over once more. “Not in that way.”

“You know it, don’t you?” His thumb slowly grazes over your lip, carefully tracing his way as your heart stutters that little bit. It’s so unfairly— Seductive, the way Suguru touches you.

It’s so slow and contemplative— Edging on a feeling that stirs a heat in your stomach and a yearning to be held tighter in his embrace.

“What I mean.”

“I…” You don’t quite understand love. You don’t understand, yet you know that he’s offering you a choice right now.

You’ve been taking too long, after all. Don’t you owe him a reply? Don’t you owe him closure?

Yet you don’t quite want to disappoint him. You love the boy named Geto Suguru. You love him too much to leave him wanting, yearning for an answer he might never receive.

Was he not handsome enough? Of course not. Too unloving? Too impatient? Too aggressive? Too obsessi— No. Then what was so undesirable about him that you’re hesitating?

Or are you just finding excuses just to not make the decision?

“How about me?” Purple eyes are peering at you. Stare pinned so, so hard that you’re afraid you might be stuck by his side, cuddled together under this heavy blanket forever.

And you think 10 is a bit too young to be stuck forever.

“I fit all your Mama’s requirements, no?”

But insects like you don’t deserve love.

Your lifespans are short; and you are offering him nothing but your cold corpse to hold at the very end. One without life, without warmth— You are only dooming him to the disappointment, to the sadness that you prayed you’d never have to share.

But you’re selfish, aren’t you? You’ll allow yourself to be— Because it’s now. Because this is what you choose to do with this finite time of yours. Kindness is prideful, yet you don’t want to choose it.

You want to swallow your pride so that you can have every last bit of happiness this world has to offer you in these last moments.

Right?

So you can learn— If it was him. Gentle, patient Suguru. The lovely Suguru who will always wait for you. It’s selfish to take advantage of that, isn’t it?

If it’s selfish, then you will swallow it all the same.

“Suguru.”

How do you tell someone that you want to officially agree to be their relationship partner? Is it like… Some sort of verbal confirmation? Do you shake his hand?

Oh— It’s a lot harder to say it out loud. Internal monologues in all those books seemed to flow so naturally, so easily in those gossip magazines and movies.

“It’s just— Um— Suguru, I—“ Your face is starting to feel so hot— Was it always this hard to say something like this? You don’t even want to look at him when you say it.

You can feel him looking at you, though. Patiently, quietly, with his shoulder still close enough for yours to brush against.

So you bury your face into your hands.

“I believe that we can, uh— Start dating with the intention of marriage in mind…?” Wow. That is so embarrassing to say when it’s not just a scenario in your head.

And you pray, pray that this silence doesn't become so loud. Your ears burn. Your fingers press harder into your face, as if you could hide the whole of yourself behind your palms, as if the dim lounge and the flickering television could somehow make you disappear.

And he so gently pries your desperate hands away from your crying face, so softly lifts your chin to see your near teary-eyed expression.

“You’re cute.”

And you watch him laugh— So handsome even as he does it, so carefree and… Pretty.

“It’s enough to tell me that you agree.”

“So if you’ll have me,” He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, the softness of his lips against your skin doing little to cool your rampaging head.

His thumb stays over your knuckles after, warm and steady and holding the answer you were too embarrassed to give properly.

“I’ll gladly be yours.”

——

“You look happier.”

Maybe it’s love.

“Shoko.” And love makes you want to address people with all your being, to tell them that you love them before you can’t.

“You’re cute for noticing that.”

You can hear the roll of her tongue over the treat when it clacks against her teeth.

“Cuter than Satoru?”

“Mm…” That’s quite a tough matchup. But it is cute that Shoko cares so much about you till this point.

“For now.”

And, you just happen to be the type to want to leave no regrets behind. When the wind whispers into your ear and brushes your hair, when the night air kisses your cheeks and wills you to close your eyes. You don’t like lying, you don’t like unsaid words that get stuck too far inside of you.

You want to be honest.

“You’re always so unconcerned.” You smile through it, your chin resting on her shoulder as your arms wrap around her waist from behind.

“You really do have a terrible personality.”

“Is that so?” Her shoulders slump, a hand reaching up to twirl a strand of her short brown hair as the other rests upon your arm around her waist. “How do I take that?”

And you smile, nodding into the bend of her shoulder as you hug her tighter, the scent of her minty hair mixing with the sour smoke that clung to her clothes.

“As my confession of love to you.”

You can hear a huff as her shoulders slump. “How unromantic.”

Is it? You don’t think you can get anymore romantic than this; a loved one in your arms as you both stand upon a balcony, with the moon and the city’s lights as your witness.

Maybe you need more confessions?

“Shoko.” You let her go to lean over the railing beside her as you watch those unmoving stars so brightly twinkling into her eyes through your half-lidded gaze.

“I don’t like it when you do smoke.”

And she shifts the lollipop in her mouth.

“I don’t like it when you scold me for smoking.”

Touché.

“Then I don’t like it when you’re tardy on purpose.” You want to hide the smile starting to twitch onto your lips, lest she starts thinking you’re joking.

“Huh. Then I,” She stresses the emphasis as her head lolls onto the top of yours, strands of her hair beginning to unwittingly intertwine together with your own. “Don’t like it when you wake up late but scold me for doing the same.”

A pause, and her eyes flicker to the you who squeezed her hand even tighter, your eyes watching the shimmer of your reflection in her gaze.

“Pfft— Shoko.” You close your eyes as you laugh, the sound spilling generously from your lips as the night wind steals every last breath, your hands growing ever warmer with her touch. “You really are so precious.”

A lovely, lovely girl.

“I love you, Shoko.”

“Mm.” You can feel her lean towards you, so, so gently warm, so

“I love you too.”

And you want it to stay this way forever. Is that a little too much to ask for?

“Shoko,” You can hear the ‘pop’ of her lollipop as she finally pulls it out, can just imagine the grimace on her face from the sweetness of the treat that she had probably forced herself to try.

Imagine. Because you don’t think you can bear to look at her as these horrid words leave your lips.

“What do you think will happen if I die?”

A pause as you hear the crack of her lollipop’s stick, followed by a slight choke as she hurls her head to the side towards you.

“Are you sick in the head?”

“Am I?” You nudge her elbow with your own; laughing when she repels the same action back at you— Giggling even more as you both began to exchange these soft blows.

“Shoko.”

“What?”

You let out a hum at her response, choosing to stare up into the night sky instead of her eyes. It’s not wrong to ask, right? Or maybe it is. But—

You just feel like it.

“Do you like me?”

“You’re being really clingy today.”

“Do you?”

You hope she answers honestly.

“I love you.”

“Mhm.” You can feel the press of her shoulder against your own now. “That’s the best Shoko response, isn’t it?”

You don’t think there’s anything else you would’ve accepted.

“Were you expecting something else?”

“Do you want me to?”

And she narrows her eyes at you, furiously prodding at your cheek as you take the onslaught of her mild irritation.

“Ahh— Shoko that hurts…”

“It’s to make sure you don’t grow up to become weird like the other 2.” She’s still prodding viciously, your cheeks getting abused on both ends as her fingers angrily push into the softness, her furrowing brows and scrutinizing eyes all you can see before your own eyes are forced to retreat.

“You won’t, right?”

“Shoko—!”

——

“Anything for my cute underclassmen.”

“Woahhhhh!” There are practically sparkles in his eyes as Haibara Yu’s hands close into excited fists, pumping the air with excitement, with joy— Anticipation.

It’s not everyday your senior offers you a free ‘wish’.

“T-Then I want a hug, (last name)-senpai!” His ears are tipped red, the colour having overtaken most of his face as he stares at you head-on; eyes practically dizzy with anticipation, confusion— And excitement.

“I want to have the teenage experience of hugging a pretty girl at least once in my life!”

How determined. You’d like to honour that spirit of youth.

(It must be really nice to be so young.)

“Please don’t openly be a pervert in front of our upperclassmen.” Nanami Kento has to fight back the embarrassment starting to twitch onto his features, finger trying to soothe the stitch in his furrowed brows as he hides his face.

“It’s okay, Nanami-san. I don’t mind at all.” You really don’t.

Especially because Haibara Yu resembles a puppy far too well. An oversized, just as eager and cute puppy that had practically jumped you the moment your arms opened, inviting him into your embrace.

So you just can’t help but pat his head as he clings to you, his arms gentle around your back and careful to rest respectfully on your upper back.

There’s even a suppressed squeal before he stops.

“Eh?” There’s a shift in your arms as Haibara twitches, pulling back to curiously peer at you, his eyebrows scrunching up momentarily as his nose flared slightly, taking a whiff of the air.

Hm?

“(last name)-senpai, you really don’t have a scent at all!”

Indeed, you do get told that a lot. Is it that strange or weird to him because he’s an Alpha? Or maybe you just smell bad…?

“No, no!” His arms circle around you tighter. “(last name)-senpai, I swear you smell really, really good!” His face scrunches up in thought, eyes squeezing shut before they blink open, alight with an answer.

“I just never imagined you would smell like this, y’know?”

Oh, that’s a relief to hear. So you go back to patting his head as you nod to yourself— Even the smile on his face as he leans down is cute.

Even if he has been hugging you for the past 3 minutes. Or no— Is it better to describe it as him going back for seconds and thirds?

“O-Oh, sorry!” There’s a sheepish chuckle as his face is alight with that blushing redness, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head. “I think I got a little carried away there— I-It didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, right?!”

He’s so quick to reassure you. What a pleasant child.

“Eheh… You’re making me really shy, (last name)-senpai…!” His shoulders sag as he turns away, bashfully trying to hide the embarrassment setting him aglow with the likeness of the strawberries you saw atop the whole cake Satoru had bought recently.

But he isn’t the only one who was offered a free wish.

“Nanami-san, what about you?” Your gaze lands on the neutral expression of Nanami Kento, the stern gaze kind of reminding you of Yaga-sensei.

He really does feel quite mature for his age.

“Is there anything you would like from me?” And you smile, letting it settle gracefully onto your face as you await his reply.

“I—I don’t think I would be comfortable with that, (last name)-senpai.” His eyes shift away, deep browns awkward and unsure. “But thank you.”

“Eh?! Nanamin, you said you also thought (last name)-senpai was “exceptionally beau—“!”

“What’s with the sudden offer anyway, (last name)-senpai?” It’s Nanami Kento who’s choosing to cut the chattering, secret spilling Haibara off, quickly turning to you now, arms crossed and face deadpanned into that stoicalness to hide the growing red upon his cheeks.

Is it really that weird to dote on your juniors just a little bit?

“For lack of better words, yes.” His eyebrows are stitched together so harshly, coughing into his fist as he recovers quickly. “And, to be honest, going around and offering anything just because you know us is dangerous, (last name)-senpai.”

(Ah. He’s lecturing you.)

And you watch as he stiffens; watch as he scratches at the back of his neck as he lets out a sigh.

You suppose that that stems from how you’ve been acting as of recently. It must be weird, right? To have an upperclassman who had avoided you until now suddenly approach with intentions you can’t put a finger on.

But his last comment rubs you the wrong way. You know he doesn’t mean anything bad, know that he doesn’t want to cause any harm. But… Didn’t that come out a little too easily?

“Why is that so, Nanami-san?” You’re smiling through it again— Can feel the corners of your mouth lift as your gaze sharpens that little bit to meet with the blond.

Why is it that he sees it that way? Why is it that he feels that he’s taking advantage of you? Why is it that— He feels as if he was holding himself back in front of you?

And you see the answer.

“Nanami-san.” So you keep it; this smile upon your face that has met many who have ever doubted you. “I don’t fault you for saying that.”

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

It’s not odd anymore, isn’t it? To be condescended upon for the way that you are. It must not be hard for them to notice, after all.

You’d like to think secondary genders don’t mean anything in the Jujutsu world, you’d like to think that being an Omega meant nothing in the very end.

But do you have that mentality just because you’re from a side that can’t compare? Maybe Alphas like Nanami and Haibara just don’t see your point of view.

Or maybe, you already know what they think of you.

You’re only Grade 3, and a ‘Beta’ to boot. Compared to your classmates, their other extraordinary seniors— You must look severely lacking. How embarrassing, isn’t it?

They pity you.

“Senpai, say— Uhm, how do I put this? Nanamin doesn’t mean any harm, but we just— Uhm—!” There’s an awkward scratching at his neck as he throws a glance towards a glaring Nanami who chooses to elbow him in the gut.

“Ack— S-So I shouldn’t ask it?!”

Another elbow straight to his middle as the cuter of the pair starts to recoil back in pain.

“So I should?! Nanamin, I can’t tell if you just hit me!”

“It’s a rude question that shouldn’t be entertained, Haibara.”

“B-But you said you were curious too—“

“I don’t mind.” You cut in just before they break into another squabble, letting the dread you’ve been trying to hide bloom into a practiced smile upon your face— You hope they don’t mistake it for you encouraging violence in their relationship.

“So I— I can ask it, right?!” Haibara Yu is far too confused after getting pummeled and affirmed all in one go. And probably nearly out of commission, from the way he was so fervently rubbing at his tummy to soothe the pain.

Yet, you're so sure you already know the question.

“Please do, Haibara-san.”

And you watch. Watch as he turns to Nanami again for support as the blond just glares back, watch as the brunet gulps and release his hands from his stomach in favour of wiping gathering sweat on his uniform pants.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, senpai! We really, really do respect you and admire you and think that you’re super pretty and smart and very very pretty and—“

“Get to the point, Haibara.” There’s a grit in his teeth as Nanami tries to swallow down the awkwardness that was starting to form around the trio of you.

“It’s just that—“ He’s speaking through panting breaths and clammed words . “We can’t really help wanting to protect you— Sometimes? Uhm— It’s really— Like, uhm— That… (last name)-senpai really reminds us of—“

“An Omega?” The voice that completes the sentence is by your ear, arms going around your waist as you feel cool breath against your ear, a popsicle prodding at your lips as a chin rests atop your head.

“Tsk, tsk. You really shouldn’t be sayin’ stuff like that out loud, Haibara-kyun.”

Ah. It’s just Satoru.

“Just Satoru?” It’s said with a huff, enough for you to feel the icy breath fan over the curve of your ear.

But with the way he said that… He must be offended, right? You should apologize—

“If you apologize it means you were trying to offend me, ya know?”

He makes a good point. So good, that you choose to ignore him for now.

“Haibara-san, Nanami-san.” You gently push the slow melting popsicle away, remnants of its icy sweetness lingering on your lips as you feel a shrug from behind you; followed by the crunch of the cool treat.

“Being seen as an Omega isn’t bad.” Your voice is steady, yet your fingers thread together as your gaze slowly trails from the floor to meet anxious browns.

“So I don’t see any issue even if I remind you of one.”

“And so what if others see her as an Omega?” A quick swallow. “If I spend enough time around you, you’ll be able to smell like the bessssst Alpha possible, hm? How’s that sound?” His cheek nudges against your own, offering you another bite of his popsicle— Only for you to gently reject it once more.

“I don’t like the way you smell, Satoru.”

And it’s silent for a moment. A moment, because you don’t even get much time to react before—

“I know this.” He pinches your nose, ignoring your nasally whines and how you were lightly tugging at his arm, trying to pull away the offending limb before he permanently takes away your already weak sense of smell.

“Doesn’t work.” He lets go to tap a finger against your nose, the sore appendage stinging lightly as you hurriedly rub at it in effort to soothe.

“It’s not good to tell lies, cutie.”

Satoru can be such a bully at times.

“Say, senpais…” Haibara Yu is watching the both of you bicker, mouth agape in realization as he has to come to terms with the fact that he could potentially be in trouble for touching someone that wasn’t—

“Are you both dating?”

“No.”

“Yep!”

And you hear the brunet hiccup in response as the blond lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching his eyebrows as he turns around, grabbing a hyperventilating Haibara by the collar as he starts to drag him off.

“We’ll be taking our leave first, senpais. Please don’t let us hold up your conversation.” A polite bow as he takes his leave.

“Nanamin—! I just— Gojo-senpai or Geto-senpai or Ieiri-senpai mi—might kill me!”

“If we get involved with them any further we’ll die from stress first.”

And you can hear the cracking of the wooden popsicle stick as your waist is grabbed to gently turn you right around to be met with glaring blues.

“What? You won’t date me?”

Well it’s not that— It’s just that you would be betraying Suguru’s trust like that, wouldn’t you? Should you distance yourself a little more from Satoru? Is that how it works?

…eh? But it’s just Satoru, isn’t it? But at the same time, what if Suguru got jealous?

(And what if Satoru himself got jealous at the fact that Suguru got jealous?)

Gojo Satoru is hard to please, after all.

“I would date you Satoru.” You even pat at his shoulder, getting up on your tip toes and petting his head.

“Yeah? Then why don’t we—“

“But I already have a boyfriend.” You even pat at his chest as you say it, as if trying to soften the blow of your words. Unnecessary, because his hands had immediately slackened, jaw dropping as you tilt your head curiously to the side.

“…huh?”

——

You’re not one to tell lies; or so you’d like to think.

Your heart might even pound out of your chest as you sit here, their shoulders pressed against your own on either side as you try to ignore the side-eyes you were getting throughout this entire mission briefing.

(You truly wish to dig yourself into a hole right now.)

“So? Any questions?”

A polite raise of his hand— And you hope, pray that he doesn’t pry too much. Suguru is annoyingly perceptive; almost suffocatingly good at nothing the underwhelming, the overlooked.

He’s so disgustingly meticulous.

“Suguru-kun.”

“I’d like to ask,” His voice is as put-together, as smooth and soft as usual.

“Why is a Grade 3 accompanying us on this mission?”

Oh— That’s fine. You like that question; just because that base has long been covered, after all. Isn’t it funny that your self-deprecation demanded to be addressed? Haha.

You’re pathetic.

“The briefcase is sensitive to cursed energy and its outputs. The Higher-Ups requested specifically for gravity-based curse techniques to handle it with care.”

Masamichi Yaga’s stern gaze shifts as his arms cross, turning his body from the blackboard to face you all.

“And by extension, protect (last name) (name) at all costs.”

It’s a straightforward command, a simple one. Simple enough that it almost sounds insulting when paired with the names Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

Yet you can’t help but feel the ever growing dread in your chest.

“This is also a chance for (name)-kun to get promoted to Grade 2.” Masamichi Yaga glances towards you, his gaze lingering for only a moment before it returns to the others.

“Do well enough, and perhaps even Semi-Grade 1.”

It really does sound convincing. So terrifyingly so that you could only pray that this was true, you know?

“Like how Mei Mei was guiding Utahime ‘round, huh?” Satoru’s hand is on his chin as he whistles at the thought, content with the imagination cycling through his head as he changes his tune to a hum.

So, please act convincingly.

“I can’t wait…?”

And you’re horrible even at acting. So you fight the urge to smack yourself silly as you swallow, letting out a nervous laugh to supplement the enthusiasm you were meant to feel in this moment.

It’s silent for a moment before you feel a hand against your back, sliding up spine as you freeze up, shoulders stiffening as you feel an elbow rest upon your shoulder.

“Sure ya can’t! Cause your promoter’s gonna be me.”

He says it like it’s already decided, like your promotion was just another inevitable thing waiting to happen beneath his guidance, because Gojo Satoru would never speak such words with cruelty— Never stopped to learn to doubt himself first.

Because he could guarantee you that.

“Ah— Thanks, Satoru…”

“Soooo~ How about breaking up with your boyfriend to be with—“

“Okinawa then Kyoto and then back to Tokyo? Is this some sort of holiday trip?” Suguru immediately cuts him off, flipping through the mission brief with a quiet rustle of paper, his brows drawing together the longer he looked.

“There’s interference so far in Tokyo.” Yaga taps a finger against the edge of the mission brief, his expression set into its usual severity. “The Higher-Ups have requested you all to lay low.”

A short silence follows before he continues, each word delivered with careful finality.

“Escort the briefcase to its final destination.”

Suguru’s gaze shifts, not fully toward you, but close enough that you feel the weight of it pressing at the side of your face. He is not suspicious, you think. Not truly. Merely curious, maybe about how you feel, or how nervous you were as his hand squeezes your own.

“Yaga-sensei,” He says, polite as ever, which somehow makes it worse. “With all due respect, if the object is sensitive to cursed energy output, would Satoru not be the worst possible person to assign to it?”

“Oi.”

“He has a point,” Shoko’s cutting in from the chemistry lab’s side windows, her head tilted curiously as she forces herself into this conversation.

“And I don’t even have to go on this mission to know that.”

“I’m incredibly delicate when I wanna be, ya know?”

“Yea, tell that to the times you forget about the veil.”

“Suguru forgets too!”

You should laugh. You should laugh because it is funny, because they are acting like themselves, because this is exactly how a normal mission briefing with them should sound.

So why does it make you want to cry?

“The briefcase is to remain under (name)-kun’s handling,” Yaga-sensei has to cut in with a stern warning and his hands angrily at his hips. “All of you need to keep in mind that keeping the objectives and each other safe is the top priority.”

There is no use in a spoiled vessel, is there?

“So basically babysitting.”

Your fingers subconsciously twitch. There it is— You should’ve expected at least that, huh?

Maybe to him, to them, this really was nothing more than babysitting. A Grade 3 being escorted around by 2 Special Grades, a fragile little thing with a fragile little technique and a fragile little promotion waiting at the end of it if you behaved well enough.

You wish it was as humiliating and as simple as being babysat.

“It is an escort mission,” Yaga-sensei says, voice even and on the brink of churning into frustration.

“Yea, with a briefcase.”

“That’s right, now plea—“

“Yaga-sensei, didya not type this up yourself? It’s not like your usual stuff.” Satoru tilts his head, looking far too comfortable for someone who was supposedly being briefed on an important mission; even going as far as to be mindlessly twirling a strand of your hair as he skims through the printout. “Soooo many fancy words, not enough actual info— That’s probably how the Higher-Ups like it too.”

“Those old fogeys should allll~ get fired for making this the most vague and useless brief ever~!”

Ouch. You think your heart is starting to sting a little as you sweat, your fingers curling tighter around the fabric of your uniform.

Maybe you and Yaga-sensei both need to improve on faking official missions better…

“But a vacation does sound rather nice this time of year, Satoru.” Suguru chimes in from your side, folding the mission brief back into place with a small, thoughtful smile.

“Okinawa’s beaches are popular.”

“Right?!” Satoru lights up almost immediately, the earlier complaint forgotten as quickly as it had come. “I wanna get shaved ice by the beachside!”

You blink at the thought. It would, wouldn’t it? A place full of boundless sunlight and a blue sky that stretched further than your eyes could see. The tropical paradise for getaways— And the final resting place of a boy you hope to pay your respects to.

So your head turns toward the chemistry lab’s side windows almost hopefully. This would be a nice opportunity to make up for lost time with the ones that were still here, no?

“Shoko, are you comin—“

“Shoko-kun.” Yaga’s voice cuts in before she can answer, his gaze narrowing toward the window. “What happened to the medical license exam you were studying for?”

“Ugh… So troublesome...” Shoko clicks her tongue, leaning heavier against the window frame. “I know, I know. The exam comes first.”

Then her eyes drift back to you, a little softer this time.

“But when you make it to Kyoto, I might be able to catch a break.” Her lollipop shifts against her teeth. “I wanted to see your mom again anyway.”

“Then let’s get going already.” Satoru stretches his arms over his head, the mission brief crumpling slightly in his hand before Yaga’s glare makes him straighten it out again, the hurried crinkles filling the air momentarily.

Suguru folds his copy neatly, tucking it beneath his arm as he rises from his seat. “We should prepare before leaving. Okinawa is still quite a distance away.”

“Eh? Why bother?” Satoru grins, far too pleased with himself as he leans closer to your side. “I can just fly us there.”

Would it be too much to say that you're scared of flying?

“You’re no fun.” Satoru clicks his tongue, though the grin on his face says otherwise as he flicks a strand of your hair out of your face.

Suguru only lets out a quiet sigh, his hand brushing lightly against your back as he guides you toward the door. “Then we’ll take the normal route.”

Ah— The plane. You’re fine with that. You may have the utmost trust in Satoru and may have a lot more trust in Suguru’s curses— But a plane is very safe too.

“Satoru, if you run in the lab you’ll break something.”

“Can’t hear ya! I wanna go pack some of my holiday shirts!”

Pack— What do you pack? Do you go light because you aren’t exactly going to make it back? Heavy because you don’t want to miss wearing something?

Yaga’s voice reaches you just before you can step out to even make that decision.

“(name)-kun.”

When you turn, he does not speak right away. His gaze settles on you with something too difficult for you to name, something seemingly ambiguous.

Yet you feel it all the same.

“Know that I am, and have always been proud to have had you as my student.”

(“Aww, Yaga-sen! Ya getting sentimental now that our Grade 3 is finally getting a promotion?”)

——

“It won’t be too hard, right?” Satoru has his head on your shoulder as you stir lightly from your nap, his voice muffled slightly by the fabric of your shirt.

The low hum of the plane fills the silence between you, broken only by the occasional chime of the seatbelt sign and the soft rustle of passengers shifting in their seats.

Your arm is awkwardly pressed against the armrest, knees tucked close in the narrow space, with Suguru sitting on your other side by the window. Sunlight spills through the small oval pane, catching on the curve of his cheek as he glances over at the both of you.

“My girlfriend can handle it,” Suguru's quiet reply, putting just enough emphasis on the word to make your face warm despite your sudden awakening. "Wouldn't you agree, Satoru?"

It’s kind of embarrassing doing this kind of thing in front of him.

‘Thing’ as in how Suguru was taking advantage of every moment to hold onto your hand— Threading his fingers through your own at every moment that allowed him to.

It would’ve been fine; cute even. But you do worry about how he’s kissed you so often that your lips seem to be permanently stained with the flavour of his honey chapstick.

Not that you’re complaining— But you don’t know if Satoru was okay with the sudden amount of PDA.

“Do it again.” You’re pulling at his shirt, tugging him closer to you as you glower, eyebrows stitched so harshly that your expression was much too akin to an angry glare.

(It’s not fair that that kiss was too one-sided! You’ll make it fair for him! Even if you were sat in the middle section of this trio of plane seats.)

Hours later, beneath a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at, you're still thinking about it.

There’s wind in your hair and sun on your cheeks, there’s the warm, salty scent of the sea curling through the air, there’s the distant chatter of tourists and children and shopkeepers calling out from their stalls.

Summer has truly begun.

“Oiii! I found a spot by the water over here!” Satoru is wrestling with a beach umbrella that refuses to cooperate, nearly getting smacked in the face every time a gust of wind catches it. Suguru, meanwhile, has somehow ended up doing most of the actual work. Towels are spread neatly across the sand, bags tucked out of the way, sandals lined up where they won't be swallowed by the tide.

“Stop standing there and help!” Satoru shouts as the umbrella nearly takes flight.

“I'm helping by supervising,” Suguru replies without looking up, humming as he turns another page of The Ito Saya Travel Journal: Okinawa Edition, his attention seemingly far more invested in the magazine than the beach setup.

You suppose you should make yourself useful. Some sodas can’t hurt, can it?

…you think that horrible pun book Satoru was reciting on the plane is starting to rub off on you.

And it’s surprisingly easy to slip away, given how distracted they were with the setup— So you’re accompanied only by the trudge of your sandals and the way the fabric of your looser, more relaxed clothes catching against the briefcase in your hold.

It’s peaceful here in Okinawa. So much so that it felt almost unsettling. You’re surrounded by the hustle and bustle of tourists and locals alike, enveloped by the wordless conversations you can’t quite catch.

The air is clear, carrying little more than the scent of salt and sunshine.

But you know better, you know better when your senses just start to tingle, that chilling creep entangling your spine as you physically lurch towards the sound of that distant scream.

“No! Get away from me!”

You’re a bit frantic now— Especially because no one in this large crowd reacted to it, no one in this swallowing mass of people even offered a second glance towards the distressing noise.

“Save me! Anyone!”

And you’re already hurriedly muttering apologies, yelling ‘excuse mes’!’ and trying your hardest to not trip on the strappy sandals that were becoming far too much of a bother.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“I’m sorry!”

You don’t know when you broke into a run, eyes hurriedly scanning everything your gaze could possibly touch, every surface your eyes could take over. The sun beating its rays against the

“Miss? Are you lost? You look frantic.”

No. No— You’re fine. You’re fine— But you’re in a hurry so you can’t explain at all. You can’t explain anything, not when those sobs for help were starting to churn into disembodied cries.

“I never asked to be able to see— I never wanted this…!”

And you come to a stop just before a dark alleyway, your bare feet covered in cuts and bruises, stained with the nicks of your blood as you pant, sandals long gone as you stare into the endless black.

You have to save her. You have to save this girl who was crying her heart out, this girl who was begging to be saved.

So you have no time to be scared. It’s not something to break a sweat over, not as you walk into the darkness, letting it cloak you with its chill, greeting you with a low hum when you’ve been completely engulfed.

“Please… Please…!”

You stretch out your hand, grasping onto the walls of black as you feel the pulsating breaths of the curse. It’s… Surprisingly warm. Uncannily so.

Perhaps that was how this poor girl was lured in. Truly, a dirty trick that you hold much disdain for.

So you focus. Channeling every bit of this feeling into your palm as your eyes flutter to a close. You imagine the summer wind in your hair, the glow of the sunlight against your skin. You imagine the laughter thrown to the sky, the clouds clearing to welcome the blue sky.

And the darkness dissipates with the glowing sunlight.

“Kuroi…! I won’t run away ever again, so please— Anyone…!”

In the sunlight’s wake, you find a girl. So terrified was she that she had curled into a ball, too horrified to even lift her head to face the glowing rays that were eagerly waiting to greet her with their warm embrace.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

“Senpai, say— Uhm, how do I put this?” There’s an awkward scratching at his neck as he throws a glance towards a glaring Nanami who chooses to elbow him in the gut.

“Ack— S-So I shouldn’t ask it?!”

Another elbow straight to his middle as the cuter of the pair starts to recoil back in pain.

“So I should?! Nanamin, I can’t tell if you just hit me!”

“It’s a rude question that shouldn’t be entertained, Haibara.”

“B-But you said you were curious too—“

“I don’t mind.” You cut in just before they break into another squabble, letting the smile you’ve been trying to hide bloom upon your face— You hope they don’t mistake it for you encouraging violence in their relationship.

“So I— I can ask it, right?!” Haibara Yu is far too confused after getting pummeled and affirmed all in one go. And probably nearly out of commission.

Yet, you're so sure you already know what they were wanted to ask.

“Please do, Haibara-san.”

And you watch. Watch as he turns to Nanami again for support as the blond just glares back, watch as the brunet gulps and release his hands from his stomach in favour of wiping gathering sweat on his uniform pants.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, senpai! We really, really do respect you and admire you and think that you’re super pretty and smart and very very pretty and—“

“Get to the point, Haibara.” There’s a grit in his teeth as Nanami tries to swallow down the awkwardness that was starting to form around the trio of you.

“It’s just that—“ He’s speaking through panting breaths and clammed words . “We can’t really help wanting to protect you, you know? Sometimes, (last name)-senpai really reminds us of—“

“An Omega?” The voice that completes the sentence is by your ear, arms going around your waist as you feel cool breath against your ear, a popsicle prodding at your lips as a chin rests atop your head.