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It’s almost pathetic, if it wasn’t funny, the moment Maki clocks his intention.
As student body president, she’s used to rules and regimen. Keeping on top of her grades and extracurriculars came as easy to her as breathing. As a Zen’in, however, fighting both tooth and nail for what she wants has long been ingrained in her it might as well be part of her bloodstream.
And so when Okkotsu Yuuta strolls in, varsity letterman jacket in tow and an easy smile on his face as he greets just about everyone in the goddamn room, Maki is rightfully on guard. She doesn’t trust student athletes. Toji was the men’s volleyball coach for years, and last she heard from Megumi, Yuji was still in therapy to get over all his needless verbal assaults that followed him all throughout highschool.
Yuuta being on the college baseball team under Getou—possibly nicest human being on campus bar none—was a far better predicament.
But still unpredictable.
So when his eyes go over the corners of the room, so clearly seeking out something, she is even more on guard. They lock eyes then. Then she feels the hairs at the back of her neck go up when she realizes, belatedly, exactly what he was looking for when she makes the mistake of flicking her eyes towards the last left-handed seat in the room.
She makes a run for it. He has longer legs.
“Mine!” she yells out, rushing to plant a palm on the desk at the same time Yuuta shoves his bag into its seat and says, a little breathless, “Mine.”
They eye each other warily.
She’d be stupid not to hear about him, campus crush and common friends and all. The question is, was he stupid enough to not even recognize their year representative? Maki’s eyes flicker to the chalkboard scribbles on the board, AP History, an advanced class she’s surprised he was even qualified for. So maybe he’s not stupid, but just stupid enough to think he was actually getting his way with her.
Maki coughs. “I—”
“I-I got here first,” Yuuta rattles off almost instinctively, a flush to his face and voice surprisingly shy.
Maki blinks. “No,” she plants another palm, leaning in assertively. “I did.”
Was it just her imagination, or were the tips of his ears turning red? Yuuta recovers fast enough, stifling a cough as he grits out, “I-Inumaki.”
Maki lifts a brow. What?
That’s when she notices the other figure beside them, who had so far been an impassive audience to their tug of war, looking bored and maybe five lifetimes done with everything. Maki internally peruses her rolodex of information on the student body until she lands on: Inumaki Toge.
Silent as a ghost. She’s not sure she’s even heard him speak a single word aside from their homeroom introductions during first year. Goodluck with that, she thought. She didn’t even know they were friends.
Yuuta nods at him. “Y-you saw, right?” he says. “My — I got my bag here first.”
“Please,” Maki scoffs. “If we’re going by that logic, my damn pinky got here before you.”
Yuuta seems to be steeling himself a little, standing up a little straighter. Damn him and his athletic height, Maki curses. “That’s — that’s not true,” he manages to say, gesturing to Inumaki. “Right?”
Inumaki looks back and forth between them both, the boredom so clearly etched in his face at being included. He seems to let his gaze linger longer on Yuuta, a silent conversation playing out between their eyes.
“What,” Maki demands, moving in closer to get in between them and annoyed they were leaving her out. “What is it.”
Yuuta all but leaned all the way backward, an awkward hand still sprawled to keep his bag in place but was apparently determined enough to keep a foot distance away from her.
“N-nothing,” he stammers. “Nothing.”
“I’m willing to die for this,” Maki hisses, gesturing to the last left handed desk in the room. “Can you say the same?"
“I—” Yuuta starts, obviously startled at her sudden vitriol. “I don’t—”
“That’s a no,” Maki decides for him, stepping up to the desk and heaving his bag to push it back into his chest. “Better luck next time then.”
Yuuta could only stare helplessly at her starting to set up camp on the desk, humming impassively and getting her books out before he decided to lord that athlete's strength over her. “I’ll trade you for it.”
“Ha,” Maki scoffs, not even bothering to look up at him. “There’s nothing you can offer me.”
“Front row seats to the next baseball game.”
“I don’t like sports.”
“Getou’s signature.”
“Already his family friend.”
Yuuta blinks. “Then,” he pauses, and then: “How about a date?”
This time Maki does look up at him. Finding him barely able to look at her, ears fully tinged like a tomato, and an almost shy gait to his posture. “What.”
Yuuta flushes even further. “A date,” he repeats, still a little weakly but with more conviction. “With me.”
Maki rejects him right then and there for the entire second year class to see.
“What’s this I hear about you getting into it with our golden boy this morning?” is the first words out of Panda’s mouth as soon as they settle in the cafeteria. “Care to elaborate?”
Maki drops five tons worth of books in their table. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a small school,” Panda explains, frowning down at her choice of food. “We all knew by the second period.”
“All knew what?” Maki asks distractedly, already getting out her notebooks and pens. “Get on it with, ya furry. Some of us are busy.”
Panda’s amused eyes slant to a glare. “This is exactly why no one talks to you. You’re too intimidating, Maki. It's a wonder you let someone live after they asked you out.”
“Yuuta?” Maki scoffs in amusement. “If you call that asking me out.”
“What would you call it then?” Panda urges.
Maki thinks on it. “A pathetic attempt at flattery.”
“What the hell does he need to flatter you for?” Panda hisses. “You’re already the student president. And top honors. And a Zen’in.”
Maki nods along, confident. “Right, well,” she surmises. “He needed a left desk. I got the last one.”
Panda’s face morphs into confusion. “A left handed desk is what you guys got into this morning?”
"He’s a leftie,” Maki supplies.
“No,” says Panda, urgently and suddenly serious. “No, he’s not.”
“Yes,” insists Maki, frowning up at him. “Yes, he is. He tried trading me for it.”
“For the date,” Panda gushes, eyes wide. “Oh my god, Maki,” he pauses, barely concealed excitement thawing. “You don’t understand. I’ve been to most of his games. I’ve seen him play.”
Maki gestures impatiently for him to continue. “And?”
Panda’s shit-eating grin was unmistakable. “He throws with his right hand, you fool.”