Chapter Text
Futaba crossed the threshold of Leblanc’s entrance on an October afternoon to find all her friends grouped around a table coated in pencil cases and exercise books—at least, all but one. Akira had been hunched over a social studies textbook open between Ryuji and himself, clarifying a concept to his companion while Ann corrected Makoto’s English essay with a glitter gel pen. Morgana had been coiled on Haru’s lap while dozing off, free of the tension and unease that came with being a student. “Exams?” asked Futaba.
“Just homework.” Haru seemed to be the only person who bothered to respond.
Futaba tugged at her fingers and fidgeted. “Oh. From how serious you all looked, I thought…” She couldn’t help but sense a void in their gathering. “Where’s Inari?”
“Not in our school,” grumbled Ryuji, his tongue pressing against the walls of his teeth as he recounted a few technical terms in his mind. “Remember?”
“Right, right. But didn’t he solve his summer vacation home--?”
“Assignments given on holidays are hardly comparable to work due tomorrow,” interjected Makoto, hoping to conclude the conversation before the group’s attention to their tasks dwindled any longer. Fortunately for her, only Ryuji seemed to have left off his assignment.
Alas, Haru still found the opportunity to pursue another question. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Futaba lifted her hands before her, almost defensively. “Just curious.” There was a shift in her tone. “Thank God for that, though.”
“Ditto;” Ryuji chimed in, “you two’d be at each other’s throats and we’d never get any work done.”
“You’re still not getting any work done.” Ann gave Ryuji a sharp kick under the table, then turned to Futaba and added, “You can squeeze in next to Makoto and me if you like.”
“Nah, I think I’ll just play Punch Ouch upstairs.” Before any of the students could object, Futaba scuttled up the creaking steps until the sound of grating wood dissolved. The noise woke Morgana up, and he sensed a smell in the air similar to dust and burnt chemicals—like an old computer lab.
He yawned, before directing a question at Haru: “Futaba?”
“Mm.”
“I’ll keep her company. She was looking forward to seeing you guys, y’ know.” He hopped off Haru’s lap. Akira supposed keeping Morgana at Leblanc for the day had its perks, sometimes. His insightfulness proved to occasionally be advantageous when it was directed elsewhere.
Haru angled her head and scrutinized the vacant stairs. “We invited her to sit with us. She left on her own.”
“Doesn’t sound like her,” mused Morgana. “At least, not these days.”
Futaba had been furiously mashing the 'A' button and nearly slid off the front of her chair before Morgana’s presence in Akira’s room brought her back to reality. She became aware of herself and corrected her posture—which Ann had been nagging at her to remember—before pausing to nod at him in acknowledgment. “What’re you doing here," he asked, "playing games all by yourself?”
“There's a redundant question if I’ve ever heard one.”
“I mean you couldn’t stop prattling about how eager you were to meet up with the group after school.” Morgana stopped by Futaba’s chair as she unpaused the game. “So, what changed?”
“Don’t feel like it anymore. Is that a problem?”
“Just wondering.” For some time after that, only crunchy sound effects indicating strikes and blows could be heard. Futaba’s wooden expression implied she was fixated on the game and Morgana began to consider returning downstairs.
She broke the half-silence. “If Inari attends a different school, does that mean he never joins their study groups?”
“Not necessarily; Yusuke was around to revise for exams before we met you. Though, he spent most of it eating our snacks and self-studying algebra. Might as well have been in his dorm, if you ask me.”
“Oh. When’s Akira’s next set of exams coming up?”
“In a week, maybe two. What difference does it make to you?”
“Nothing.” Futaba couldn’t suppress a small, hopeful smile at this. “Nothing at all.”
“On the topic of Yusuke, since he’s not here, that’s all the more reason for you to join us downstairs. It’s the only chance you’ll get of spending an afternoon with us without getting into a dispute if you ask me.” Morgana grinned as well as any cat could manage.
Futaba had been caught off-guard by this and ended up losing the round. She scowled at Morgana. “Sounds like you’re instigating one yourself.”
“I’d say I’m kidding if it weren’t true.” With what seemed to conclude the conversation, he vanished back down the stairs.
On account of Morgana’s request, Futaba joined her friends about half an hour later. She sat adjacent to Makoto and Ann, facing the three other students struggling to get some Japanese lesson through Ryuji’s thick skull and a portrait by the entrance. Sayuri had a way of keeping Futaba company when the cafe was vacant; even in Morgana and Akira’s absence, she somehow felt the presence of another party member linger. So, there sat Futaba with her cheek in hand, gazing at the portrait while blocking out all the voices that seemed to blend as one incessant, meaningless sound.
The noise drifted in through one of her ears and out the other without leaving an impression on her. They may as well have been speaking double Dutch or pig Latin and she would’ve never noticed. That was especially the case for Ann and Makoto, who were still working out their English essay. At intervals, Futaba would perceive someone waving or snapping their fingers to seize her attention, but she never really saw or heard any of this occur. That was until Haru’s voice stood out loud and clear against the white noise as she said something that redirected Futaba’s awareness back to reality.
“Inari, you say?” Futaba startled the rest of the table by speaking out of the blue in a voice a little louder than her seatmates’.
Haru was the only one unfazed enough to chuckle. “ Inarizushi. You know, with the fried tofu pockets.” Futaba’s eyebrows knitted. Haru proceeded to clarify, “I was just telling Ann how my classmate turned her bento sushi into a cute mascot from a show we grew up watching—you might be too young to remember it.”
“Sushi... Right, of course.”
“Was saying Inari all it took to perk you up?” Laughed Ann, shooting Futaba a sly smile. Futaba twitched at this and drew herself a bit further away from Ann, who continued, “Sounds like someone’s hungry.” The older girl turned back to her friend. “Anyway, go on, Haru.”
The two were quick to forget Futaba and move on while Futaba herself lingered on the exchange, somewhat unsettled by her own reaction. “Of course that’s what Ann meant,” she reflected. Futaba traced little circles on her thin knee to take her mind off the matter before it could persist like an itch for the rest of the night.
“That’s it, I’m no longer human.” She perched herself at the counter in Leblanc the following day, shuddering and rubbing her upper arms. The tip of her nose had gone pink with cold and her teeth chattered faster than the odd wind-up toy she had since she was ten. A sneeze interrupted Futaba before she sniffed and concluded, “I’m a popsicle with thumbs.”
“No wonder you liked it so much in that desert tomb,” remarked Akira, who had been pottering about the kitchen brewing coffee and preparing snacks, giving Futaba the impression of a mother with guests over. Morgana kept an eye on him from his spot on the countertop, watching him drift to and fro like a tennis ball. “You’re sensitive to the cold, aren’t you?”
“If anything, it’s a bit stuffy in this room,” retorted Yusuke. He had been seated where the group worked on their assignments the previous afternoon with an electric fan perched on the table before him and his face positioned where the cold air would blow. Next to the artist sat the clay model of a bust of a man Yusuke referred to as ‘ Higashisanjō ’, though he refused to clarify who exactly that was. Opposite to him Makoto, Haru, and Ann had squeezed together to study while Ryuji played hooky at an arcade in Shibuya. It didn’t feel empty to Futaba without Ryuji, no doubt because she deemed an afternoon at an arcade well-spent.
Futaba bit her lip with slight indignation. “Only because you were fortunate enough to come in a blazer. I underestimated the weather and showed up in this—” She spread her arms to indicate her unwisely selected shoulderless top and shorts—“consequence of hibernating in my room for so long, I suppose.”
Yusuke held out his hands before him in the shape of a frame, centering on Futaba. “There’s a striking pose;” he said, “hold it.” The artist reached for his sketchbook and box of Conté sticks, not noticing his subject’s face redden slightly before she dropped her arms and turned away. Futaba found herself accustomed to catching him, at times, attempting to sum up her profile with stub pencils on the back of envelopes, but she knew he’d quit if she moved around enough to frustrate him. Holding a pose as she sat face-to-face with him wasn’t half as simple.
“No one’s blaming you,” soothed Akira. “It took me a while to adjust to the climate in the big city; I lived in Nagano prefecture. That’s northwest from here.”
“Jeez, summer must’ve been rough.” Futaba was quick to force her attention from Yusuke onto her older brother figure. Lifting her glasses to rub her eyes, she went on, “I almost feel bad for making you live through Prince Of Egypt.”
“For now, why don’t you sit closer to the door? I’m sure the sunlight will do some good.” He tipped the coffee pot into mugs and bunched them onto a tray. “At least it’s better than icing over in a dark corner.” Akira punctuated the suggestion by handing the tray to Futaba.
Haru peered up from her biology exercise book at Futaba, who had paused in her tracks to suppress a yawn. “It could be drowsiness. I don’t know about you, but I get a bit chilly when I’m tired. Did you get any sleep last night?”
“I may or may have not stayed up to beat Star Forneus,” confessed Futaba. Noticing Makoto’s sigh, she retorted, “What? I was on the last level. Finishing it was worth sacrificing a few hours of shut-eye.”
When she distributed the mugs between the four students, Futaba was about to take a seat by Haru when she realized there wasn’t any space left. Somewhat disappointed, she settled for sitting by Yusuke instead. The warm, sedative sunbeams hitting Futaba surprised her. She leaned back, mindful not to slouch lest Ann told her off, and closed her eyes, her head nodding slowly to the left, then dipping to the right, and back again until finally, it dropped onto someone’s shoulder.
She opened her eyes, only capable of seeing clearly through one because the impact left her glasses askew, to find her cheek pressed against the sleeve of a gray blazer and register she had been leaning against Yusuke’s arm. Futaba was quick to sit up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. Yusuke only slid his mug of coffee towards her and mumbled, “You can have this if you like.”
“I’m good.”
“I’m in no mood for hot drinks. Had it been up to me, I’d prefer iced coffee.” She regarded the mug, watching the aromatic steam it breathed into the air, yet Futaba still didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t drink from it if that makes a difference.”
“In that case…” She lifted the piping hot cup close to her face, enjoying the warmth despite the mist beclouding her glasses. Futaba’s first few sips delivered a surge of energy that bolted her awake—a transition Haru found similar to watching an inflatable toy blow up. Downing a mouthful, she rested the mug on the table and wiped her glasses to make out an illustration on Yusuke’s drawing pad. Futaba recognized that serpent crown and kalasiris anywhere.
“Coffee thawed you out, I presume?” As he worked, his leg shifted slightly and brushed hers. Futaba withdrew and gathered her knees to her chest, trying not to notice his elbow occasionally pressing against her arm while Yusuke made broad strokes.
“Never mind that. You’re still trying to sketch me in that ridiculous pose?”
“If I can’t have you as my model, I’ll have to recreate you from memory.” He tapped his forehead. “The sight of you in those linen wraps is still here.”
“That’s—that’s creepy…” Futaba found it difficult to gather her thoughts when she sat close enough to Yusuke to detect from him the earthy aroma of clay and the sweet, woody fragrance of charcoal pencils. Feeling light-headed and dizzy, she held her breath as well as she could. “I didn’t give you permission t—”
“Everything I do is creepy to you.”
“That’s because you are a creep.”
“They’re at it again,” whispered Haru as she watched them continue. Playing peacekeeper was a wearying role when she had to deal with a headstrong pair.
Ann reasoned, “Calling him a creep isn’t all that far-fetched.”
“You’re not helping.” Makoto scowled at Ann, hardly audible over the yelling pair. It was the first time she had spoken during the past hour, as she had been previously absorbed in a compendium. Whatever disturbed her studies, however, was worth her broken silence.
Ann exchanged a knowing look with Akira and Morgana, then the three grinned as if they had been a part of an inside joke. At Makoto, she shrugged. “Am I wrong?”
“To be fair, Futaba ought to give him a break,” asserted Haru. “Sometimes she seems to pick an argument with him out of the blue for the sake of it.”
“I heard kids do that for attention,” observed Ann, "though I don’t see what motive she might have.”
“In any case,” Futaba’s voice rose over the other girls’ murmurs, “is it just me, or is it hot in here? I’m feeling light-headed.”
“The room’s fine. Although your face is red.” Haru stirred the cream in her coffee with a teaspoon.
Ann chimed in, "That’s what happens when you get into a heated quarrel about nothing."
"Well..." Futaba held the back of a hand to her cheek, feeling the tropical burn from it. “What— Whatever! Quit hogging the fan.” She redirected the electric fan towards her, drawing herself up a few inches to reach the cold air's path.
“You’re the one hogging it.” Yusuke leaned in closer to Futaba and placed his hand on hers to angle the fan towards him.
Her hand shot away and pressed onto his face to shove him off. “Don’t lean in so close!”
“Then stop pushing, I nearly knocked over Higashisanjō!”
“There they go,” Akira sighed, listening in with his back to them as Morgana watched without answer.
Futaba and Akira stayed up playing his recently bought Featherman R game late into the night, both aware of their own drowsiness yet mistakenly assuming their companion was wide awake. The room was tar-black save for the light from the CRT TV, which reflected in the glasses of both teenagers and masked their eyes from each other. At this point, the two had been mashing buttons on instinct without a second thought in silence. Morgana had been sprawled on his side in Akira’s bed, listening to the clicks from the remote and trying not to doze off before Akira.
Finally, Futaba spoke up: “I’ve been wondering…”
“Mm?”
“Ever disliked someone so much you couldn’t stop thinking about them?”
“Can’t say I have.”
Morgana flopped onto his stomach and lifted his head to fixate his drowsy stare on Futaba’s back and say, “I’ve liked someone so much I couldn’t stop thinking about them.”
Akira looked away for a fleeting moment to search Futaba’s face. There, he found no trace of any emotion indicative of her thoughts. “Is there someone like that in your life?”
“Which do you mean?”
“Either work.”
“I…” Futaba's voice vanished. The image of Yusuke’s expression as he concentrated on her face flickered in her mind. It was difficult to forget the way she saw the reflection of herself in his eyes peering into her own. “It’s funny.”
“Hm?”
“That never occurred to me.” Futaba paused the game and tucked her knees under her chin. “Now that it has, I can’t say I don’t regret bringing up the subject.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Some things are better left unknown.” Akira opened his mouth to retort as she rose from her chair before Futaba cut him off, “I think I’m going to call it a night.”
“Wait, forget that.” He looked from the petite silhouette of her making her way toward the stairs of the attic to the muted TV. “We haven’t even reached a save point.”
“Morgana can do it for me.” The girl vanished down the steps. Akira waited until he heard a distant door open and close, along with the chime of a bell announcing his playmate's departure. He pouted a bit at her untimely mood swing.
Akira looked to Morgana for clarification. “What was that about?”
“Late bloomer if I’ve ever seen one.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“We can’t all be mature, Akira. Overreactions are part of growing up.” He watched Akira turn Futaba’s controller over in his hands and inspect it. “What’re you doing?”
“Do you think one would need thumbs to use this?”
“Ugh.” Morgana flopped back over onto his side. “Just go to bed.”