THE DISASTROUS LIFE OF FUJINAGA SAKUYA 𓄴 藤永咲哉
子猫 sakuya didn’t believe in valentine’s day. to him, it was a scam, a mountain made out of the molehill that was romance. he was adamant on not celebrating it—until he was challenged to do that very thing by his friend, riku, who believed the psychic’s scepticism of romance stemmed from the fact that he was simply too chicken to ask you out.
warnings this is actually a pretty light piece for me! one (1) proper swear, mentions of throwing people through walls (our man was going through it), sakuya is emotionally constipated and yearning like hell, daeriyu are menaces who want to make his life difficult, also some typical teenage awkwardness and descriptions of psychic powers
genre romantic comedy, holiday themed, slowburn, highschool au, psychic!sakuya, strangers to lovers
word count 10k
notes happy valentine’s day ncity! as i was absolutely crushed because i would be spending yet another february 14th single and alone, i decided to turn my loneliness into this. it’s a bit different from my usual stuff style-wise, i tried to replicate the way protagonists talk in manga/anime, so it may come off as less professional than my other works? anyways, enjoy!
full sentences/paragraphs in italics are thoughts!
soundtrack
10 FEBRUARY
HMPH. VALENTINE’S DAY. WHILE the fateful, love-filled day had not yet come or passed, Sakuya was already dreading its arrival. He didn’t understand the need for a day dedicated to romantic love, especially when it seemed to be rubbed in his nose every other day. Couples spend their entire lives committing to one another, making sure everyone else knows, yet they still need a whole day—nay, in a capitalistic society, a whole month—dedicated to them and their frivolous… affection? He didn’t understand it.
Perhaps it was because, as a mind reader, he knew the true thoughts people had of their spouses and otherwise lesser committed romantic partners. Behind all the too-public kisses, and the declarations of love and adoration, many people didn’t really like whoever they were with. Whenever he walked past a couple, physically, they’d be holding hands, hugging in the middle of the darn street, yet he could hear their voices as he passed: “God, she’s clingy,” the boyfriend would think to himself. “Cripes, I’ve tied myself down to an emotionally unavailable manchild who can’t even stand to hold my hand properly,” the girlfriend would lament. No quote-unquote ‘taken’ person was really all that taken with their partner, so why make such a fuss over Valentine’s Day?
He made a point to bring this up every February of his adult life—the sheer lack of necessity in having a day dedicated to love when a) every person in a relationship made it their life’s mission to have everyone know how in love they were with their partner anyway, and b) every person in a relationship secretly hated said partner, regardless. His friends never tired of his complaints, at least, not outwardly. No matter how many times he brought it up, they’d find a way to lighten the mood or deflect, most times with a joke or jab directed at him.
Like today, when he was walking home from school with his friend, Riku, who’d joined him about halfway to his house, having finished up his shift at work.
“I think it’s just ‘cause you’re too chicken to ask her to be your Valentine,” the older boy said, hands shoved in his pockets as he strolled leisurely next to Sakuya. The audience would probably need some elaboration on who ‘her’ was—it was you, of course. A girl in his class who he, according to his meddling friends, had been crushing on since age thirteen.
Technically, he was twelve when he started crushing on you, but, semantics.
Riku wasn’t Sakuya’s smartest friend. He had plenty of other wonderful qualities; good fashion sense, a laugh that seemed to light up a room, a relatively upbeat inner voice. But smarts? Not so much. He relied mostly on natural intuition and vibes over logic which, usually, wouldn’t faze Sakuya. Everyone needed that one friend who trusted horoscope readings and overinterpreted body language rather than the musings of a sound mind, but sometimes—usually when it came to you, or Sakuya’s alleged affection for you—it got to be a bit much.
Sakuya glanced at him through the corner of his eye, not necessarily glaring, but certainly making his disapproval clear. A chilly breeze ruffled his hair, a faded shade of pink that looked permanently as if he were on his second week of washing out dye, and he pulled his jacket tighter over his body. “It’s because romantic love is nothing that needs to have a day dedicated to it,” he corrected. “It’s everpresent in our lives. Everyone experiences it, every single baby on Earth was born from it. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’d argue that it is,” Riku countered. Of course he did. Riku, who could fall in love after once chance encounter with a moderately interesting or pretty girl, just to fall out of it the moment someone more worthwhile came into the picture. “I mean, it’s literally keeping the human race alive.”
“A lot of things are keeping the human race alive.” A bad argument, something of a strawman, he supposed, but Sakuya really wasn’t in the mood to debate his opinions at the moment. All he wanted to do was get home and dig into the coffee jelly he’d bought the previous weekend, and had been waiting to devour.
Riku regarded him with a sort of curiosity; not at what he said, but at what he was about to say. Mmm, if I could just convince him…
Convince me of what? He hated that his friends had gotten better at guarding their thoughts since learning of his powers. No amount of physical strain would get him to be able to decipher whatever Riku was thinking up if he didn’t explicitly want him to hear it. His brow creased with effort. He caught the words ask, Valentine, and date.
Oh, good grief.
“Tell you what.” Riku stuck his hands impossibly further into his pockets, delicate, ringed fingers disappearing into the crevices of his bedazzled baggy jeans. “If romance and love and dating are so arbitrary, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal for you to ask her out for Valentine’s Day.”
Sakuya very nearly rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, his face was mostly blank regardless of how he felt. Only a truly outrageous thing would grant anyone the luxury of seeing him express emotion. “That is not the conclusion you should have come to,” he told him.
“All I’m hearing is that you’re too chicken to do it.”
“I cannot be a chicken. I am a psychic human.”
Riku scoffed softly, shaking his head as if he had anticipated such a smart response. “I knew it. You’re chicken.”
“My resistance to asking her out has nothing to do with how courageous I am,” he replied. “Have you ever considered that I don’t like her, and as such, I have no desire to waste my time in trying to date her?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said, the way someone would make clear that they do not at all believe what was said before it. What a coward. Can’t even ask out the girl he likes, and he’s acting all high and mighty about it. Meanwhile, he’s just a wuss.
I heard that. Sakuya narrowed his eyes imperceptibly. A pause followed, before he relented, “Fine. I will ask her to be my Valentine, only to show you that romantic relationships hold no real relevance and, thus, should not be taken as seriously as they are.”
Riku bit back a smile, but managed to keep it professional. “And are there any stakes to this game?”
Sakuya seemed to consider. “Hmm. If I can ask her out, you buy me ¥3,000 worth of coffee jelly. If I can’t, I’ll announce how much I love and respect you over the intercom at your work, in front of every employee and customer present.”
“What makes you think I want you to do that?”
“The fact that your brain practically jumped for joy the moment I said the words ‘love’ and ‘respect’.”
“…Alright. Yeah.” He stuck out his hand for Sakuya to shake; he took it, palm flaring up at the touch. Euch. Physical contact. “Deal.”
Sakuya nodded. “Deal.”
Now, all that was left to do was find you, and ask you to be his Valentine. Piece of pink frosting strawberry cake.
11 FEBRUARY
It was, in fact, not a piece of pink frosting strawberry cake. As someone with zero romantic experience, not even from serial dramas, Sakuya wasn’t quite sure how exactly to actually… ask you out. Sure, he had the means and repressed eagerness to, but he had no idea what to say, when to say it, how to say it. He just— he didn’t know. What he did know was that girls typically liked to he asked out in personal ways.
Only problem: he didn’t know you that well.
Only other problem: he’d never even spoken to you.
Sure, the two of you were classmates. You sat in the desk behind him, so distance wasn’t an issue. What was the issue was that, due to the lack of contact he’d had with you (or hadn’t had, he supposed), he had no idea how you’d liked to be asked out. You didn’t seem like the artsy type, so he scratched serenades off his mental list; a good thing, because he cringed at the thought of having to sing for you. Maybe with food? A box of pocky with a note reading, Be my Valentine? attached to it seemed like it would work… it was just a bit cliché. Perhaps Sakuya didn’t care about romantic relationships, but that didn’t mean he’d skimp on asking you out.
Not because he liked you much, or anything of that sort. Just because he wasn’t lazy.
He spent the better part of the morning sitting at his desk, pretending to listen to whatever Mrs Ogawa had to say and thinking about how he’d approach you. You sat behind him, dutifully taking notes. He could hear the scratches of your glittery pen against your workbook as well as he heard your thoughts. Pythagorean theorem… purple highlighter for the hypotenuse… numbers… ninety degrees… black pen for the legs…
He found it cute that you colour-coded your work. He wondered what your handwriting looked like. Probably pretty.
He finally mustered up the courage to turn around and ask you for an rubber about halfway through the lesson. He’d already turned and stared at you for a few moments before you even noticed him, perking up in recognition. You didn’t talk to Sakuya much—or at all, really—but you’d obviously seen him around school.
Your voice was light, crisp, melodic, like manicured nails flicking a crystal glass. It made Sakuya freeze. “Can I help you with anything?”
Now, Sakuya had always been quite the cool, composed teenager. He didn’t need to act blasé, because he always and sincerely was. Except, it seemed, when you spoke, graced him with your summery voice, like birdsong. All he could manage to say was, “I— you… rubber.” He glanced at the cute, cloud-shaped rubber on your desk.
Your eyes flicked down to it, then up to him, then back down the rubber. You nodded, gesturing for him to take it.
He gave you a hushed thanks, taking the stationery and pretending to rub out one of the pictures he’d doodled in the corner of the page. He found his eyes widening in embarrassment, his lips moving in a shocked whisper as if on their own. “What on Earth?” What had gotten into him? Since when did he not know how to talk to someone? He felt sick. Giddy, but sick.
He turned back and placed it on your desk with another soft, rushed thanks, before returning to his work. First attempt officially failed.
His second attempt came soon after the lesson ended, when your class filed out of the room for lunchtime. Sakuya had taken his own lunchbox—a shiny, brightly-coloured contraption with his favourite cartoon character on it—and made his way to the cafeteria. Ryo was waiting for him at their usual table, secluded in the leftmost corner of the room, munching on chocolate-covered pretzels.
Ryo, like most of Sakuya’s friends, didn’t have super powers like he did, though sometimes he was sure he had supersonic hearing, or something. Like right now, when he glanced up and spotted Sakuya walking into the cafeteria only seconds after he came through the door, and waved him over with a smile. When Sakuya took the seat opposite him, Ryo asked, “So, you ask her out yet?”
Sakuya paused. “How did you know about that?”
“Riku called me last night to tell me about your deal.”
“Of course he did.” He sighed, opening up his bento box. He tapped his chopsticks against the tabletop, the sticks shifting into place between his fingers, and picked up a riceball. “I haven’t asked her out yet, no. I got close to asking her in Maths, but…”
Ryo eyed him with polite interest. “But what?”
“It was the craziest thing,” said Sakuya, mystified. “I turned around, the words on the tip of my tongue, and then…” He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his hand, grains of chewy rice flying all over the place. “It was as if all my words disappeared.” He shrugged. “Not sure what happened. I think maybe my speech processors lagged.” At that, he flicked the top of his antennas—small, special-made green spheres that sat on either side of his head. They kept his powers in check, so him calling them speech processors was, perhaps, inaccurate.
“Mm.” Ryo spared him a glance, cheeks full with pretzels and chocolate. Speech processors— lagging. Pfft. He got shy, is what happened.
Sakuya glanced at his friend pointedly. “I did not get shy. The weather’s bad today. It’s interfering with my…” Another indistinct wave of the hand. Everything, he thought.
“Sure, Fujinaga,” Ryo acquiesced. Sakuya didn’t press to convince his friend any further—not because he thought Ryo believed him, but because he simply did not wish to waste time and breath arguing about an objective truth. They continued eating in hospitable silence, exchanging menial chatter in-between bites of food. They discussed their plans for the coming weekend, which was a few days away, discussed club meetings and their future Sailor Moon rewatch marathons.
You walked in around halfway through lunchtime, a book tucked under your arm and one of your friends trailing behind. Despite having his back turned to you, Sakuya could hear the two new unspoken voices approaching from behind. You seemed to take a seat two or three tables away from them, in deep conversation about some sort of English project. You were proficient in English, Sakuya knew from his unbothered observations of you through the years, despite it being your second or third language.
He turned only when your tête-à-tête simmered to short words exchanged every now and then, watching through the eyes on the back of his head, gauging whether or not you were busy, and what with. Of course, he didn’t actually have eyes on the back of his head. No amount of changing the world would’ve made extra organs commonplace, and as un-squeamish as Sakuya was, he didn’t want it to be. No, instead, these eyes would be referring to a set of metaphorical eyes. Short-range clairvoyance, so to speak. The ones he could see through once his front—or should he say physical?—eyes were crossed.
When he saw that you weren’t, he glanced at Ryo with a quiet sort of determination that made his friend’s eyes widen in question, and stood up to go and talk to you. He approached your table confidently, calmly as he did everything else, yet once again, the moment he looked into your eyes, his entire mind went blank. If you were a mind reader like him, you’d have found nothing going on in his head at that moment.
You smiled—you seemed to smile a lot, but not in an annoying, tryhard sort of way—the gesture soft, almost personal. Was he overthinking this? He was overthinking this. For sure. Was that a glimmer in your eye? Where was that music coming from? Why did you come with glittery sound effects?
“I, uh…” Sakuya trailed off, eyes wide as saucers, both in shock at your face closeup, and himself for acting like such a fool in front of you. If he wasn’t so enamoured with the sight of you, he would’ve noticed your friend, Nana, glancing at him with something akin to amusement. “Would you—? Do you want to be my study partner?”
You frowned, and even that looked pretty. “For what?”
“Oh, you know.” How would you know? “That Science test. It’s… it’s pretty soon.”
“Isn’t it in May?” you asked. Easily three months away.
He actually laughed, nervously! “It… is. But, I mean, it’s never too early to start studying for a test, right?” What was wrong with him? Why did he sound so unsure? Why was he using so many synereses and filler words? What was happening to him?!
You paused, deliberating. He could hear the cogs turn in your head. Mm, he’s got a point, you thought. “…I suppose so,” you agreed. “I’ve been needing to up my average in Science, anyway, so some extra studying wouldn’t hurt.”
No, you didn’t. Sakuya could hear from your thoughts that you hadn’t received lower than eighty in Science since you moved to Japan nine years ago. That could mean something, couldn’t it?
He nodded, the gesture far too eager for his liking. He felt like a caricature of himself, acting outside of his own body. “Great,” he said, managing a small, sincere smile. “How about we get together, say, tomorrow afternoon?”
You nodded. “Sure! See you then. Let me give you my number, and you can text me your address.”
When Sakuya returned to his table, a note with your number crumpled in his hand, Ryo was waiting for him with a shrewd, knowing expression, like a smug cat. “So?” he prodded, when Sakuya had taken a seat and dug back into his food without a word. “Did you ask her out?”
Sakuya shrugged, blasé, slightly annoyed façade restored. “Sort of.”
12 FEBRUARY
Sakuya’s homelife wasn’t particularly normal. Of course, him being a psychic made living a totally insignificant, uninteresting life a bit difficult, but his parents were no help, either. While neither of them had powers, Sakuya wasn’t certain they were fully human. Or, at all, for that matter.
His father was an eccentric househusband who spent too much of his time singing lullabies to his plants, and his mother was a breadwinner with little to no visible working facial muscles. By that, of course, he meant that you’d never know what she was feeling if you were only able to tell by looking at her face.
There was a resounding belief that no one was really normal, that no matter how boring a family may have looked on the surface, everyone had a bit of crazy in them, but Sakuya knew his parents were different from the rest. So-called ‘oddball’ families looked like a walk in the park compared to his. You heard of his parents—don’t even ask about the rest of his family.
He wondered, as he was tidying the house before you came over to study, if you’d be intimidated by them, or if you’d be beyond weirded out by them. Of course he hoped you wouldn’t be, but he couldn’t be sure just how tolerant you’d be of their behaviour. He simply shrugged to himself after a bit of fretting while preparing sandwiches and brewing sweet tea; what will be, will be. If you didn’t like his parents, well, then… there went that dream.
Of staying with his parents, of course. You thought he meant the dream of dating you? Not a chance.
Well, no one can really blame you. You haven’t known Sakuya too long. But it was the truth—he’d much rather risk teenage emancipation than not being able to date you. Screw that!
You arrived mid afternoon, around an hour or two after school ended. You’d gone home to change and collect your study materials before heading over to the Fujinagas’. It had only been a short walk from your host parents’ house, in a smaller, more traditional neighbourhood than you were used to. His home was a mixture of Western and Japanese architecture, with a white-panelled front porch and sliding doors on either side of the house. You pulled off your shoes before heading inside, peeking your head into the living room, where Sakuya had finished setting the low coffee table where you’d be studying.
He turned, surprised, at the sound of your feet padding along the floor. You hadn’t announced your arrival, nor had it been any louder than the soft tread of a fieldmouse. His eyes widened, and he became hyperaware of how he looked—moreso than usual, what with him being psychic. His hair was messy, ruffled too many times by his father, his shirt ratty and old, his pants loose and so wide they made him look small.
You saw him differently. You saw his messy locks and wanted to coo at the fact that they looked soft to the touch, wanted to smile at the homey look his shirt gave him, wanted to tell him how cute he looked in his worn jeans. But, unsurprisingly, Sakuya was too busy freezing like a computer from the eighties on startup to read your thoughts and realise that you thought he looked adorable.
“I… I made food,” he said in lieu of a greeting, pointing blankly at the collection of plates on the table. He’d spread it out nicely, in a way that left space for your textbooks and pencil cases once you’d start studying, sandwiches and crisps and pretzels and sweet tea accompanied by dips and fine china and pudding cups, looking like they’d been made, brewed, or packed by hand.
You smiled. “Thanks. I usually forget to eat when I study, so having this close is great. You’re really smart to have thought of that.”
He would’ve preened at the praise if he wasn’t busy internally losing his shit. “Uh. Thanks. I just— I like food. A lot. So. That’s why I put it out.”
Your smile widened. He wondered if you knew your eyes crinkled at the sides and turned into pretty crescents when you smiled wider. He’s really cute. I wonder if he can tell I think he’s cute.
Well, that’s a new one.
Sakuya urged to you sit down while he ran to fetch his books. He swore repeatedly under his breath as he searched for his Science textbook, wanting to scream and jump for joy and cry and maybe puke a little bit. You thought he was cute. You actually thought he was cute. And not in, like, a belittling way, the way a bully would call the loser cute as an insult. You thought he was cute in, like, an attractive way, the way pretty girls said pretty boys were cute as a sincere compliment. You thought he was cute, even when he was wearing his loose, raggedy houseclothes. Who would’ve guessed? Maybe you had a thing for the domestic look.
All was going well until he went back to the living room.
He’d finally found everything he needed, plus a few almost-dry highlighters he wanted to use to impress you (he didn’t usually colour-code his things, but you didn’t need to know that), when he made his way through the hall that led from his room to the living room. His father was in his study, door open as he worked on the family’s taxes and hummed to the cactus sitting on his desk. He passed him by after popping in and greeting him, and went on his jolly way back to you.
When he came back, he found you, seated cross-legged on a pillow on the floor, your books open in front of you. That wasn’t the issue. What was the issue was the boy next to you, and the boy next to him, and the boy next to him. Ryo, Riku, and Yushi, all staring at him like cats who’d done something terribly wrong and were terribly smug about it.
Hi! Yushi’s subconscious seemed to sing as he raised his hand, wriggling his wiry fingers in greeting. Come to pay you and your girlfriend a visit.
She’s not my girlfriend, Sakuya replied telepathically, an action that would’ve scared anyone but one of his three friends to death. All Yushi did was smirk.
Ryo turned, darling, but no less guilty. “We heard you guys were having a study date, and we wanted in.”
Riku popped a crisp in his mouth, the loud crunching grating enough to make a pacifist want to punch a wall. He smiled through a full mouth, and something told him that, after Ryo had tattled to him about the previous days’ events, he’d had the genius idea to come and interrupt (read: ruin) your study session.
“…Right.” Sakuya’s hold on his books tightened impossibly. It was taking everything in him not to raise his friends into the air and throw them out a window without lifting a finger, an ability which he very much possessed. He narrowed his eyes at Yushi and Riku. “Aren’t you two in university? What’ve you got to study Science for?”
“Oh, I had to take a second class,” Riku said smartly. “Electives, amiright?” No matter that I’m a Dance major, and this is Japan.
Yushi raised his hand. Like Riku, he was one of Sakuya’s older friends, a boy who’d tutored him in middle school and just didn’t feel the need to leave him alone after that. “I just came to cause trouble,” he announced. And cause trouble, I will.
“And, obviously, I came to study,” said Ryo innocently. “But, of course, I’m still in highschool, so I didn’t need to answer your question.” He turned discreetly to you, as if sharing a secret. “I felt left out.”
You nodded sagely, and despite his rage, Sakuya adored the fact that you were so understanding, even if it was towards one of his no-good, meddlesome best friends.
“Why don’t we get to studying?” you asked Sakuya, voice raising in pitch at the end; an indication of question. Your eyes looked big and beautiful and hopeful. It’s kind of weird that his two older friends are here, but he invited me over, and I’m going to follow through after accepting. It’s just good manners. Besides, they seem… nice enough.
Oh, she’s wonderful. Sakuya found his heart—his cold, dead, rock-hard, all-knowing psychic heart—softening at the sound of your thoughts. He nodded, traipsing through the room to sit across from you, next to Ryo, who seemed to be the least infuriating of his friends at present, and opened up his textbook.
You’d skimmed through most of the material that you’d write about by the time the sun started to set, and several pages of your workbooks had been filled with colourful notes and doodles over the hours you spent poring over the pages. The lights that had been left off were now turned on, substituting what little sunlight was left with a warm overhead glow; the table was nearly empty, only your books and stacked plates left on the polished surface; Sakuya’s patience seemed to be at its very end, frayed at the edges like the sleeves of the old jumper you wore.
Riku, Yushi, and Ryo had spent the better part of the afternoon making his life more difficult than it already was, apparently trying their very hardest to get a rise out of him. Most of their jabs revolved around Valentine’s Day, how he’d never “seen the need” for one—which, in their eyes, was a desperate cry for help—though there was one joke about his hair and how it looked like cotton candy; wispy, too light, too pink. He’d heard how you’d thought to yourself just how bad that could be, considering the fact that cotton candy was soft, and sweet, and he felt a little bit better.
At one point, at the tail end of the afternoon, just before his mother was due home, he got up to put away the dirty dishes. You rose with him, already halfway through an offer to help him, when he shook his head an assured you that you should sit and start packing up your own things. Instead, he was accompanied by Yushi, who slunk into the kitchen with his hands wringing like some sort of socially awkward supervillain.
“Before you start,” Sakuya began, “I want to know why you three are really here.”
Yushi shrugged. “Like I said. I wanted to cause trouble.”
“I know that. But why now? Why here? Why in front of her?”
“Don’t you remember? You made a deal with Riku. You’d ask her to be your Valentine. It’s the twelfth, and nothing’s happened.”
Sakuya frowned. “I asked her to come over to my house, didn’t I? It’d have been a date if you three hadn’t shown up.”
“Studying Science does not count as a date,” Yushi scoffed. “Inviting a girl over for sweet tea and coffee jelly does not count as a date.”
“Hey! That coffee jelly was limited edition, and you seemed to enjoy it enough.”
“I did. It was delicious. But still, not a date, Fujinaga.”
The younger boy rolled his eyes. “Why do you even care? Haven’t you got adults things to do? Taxes to pay?”
His older friend nodded, smiling. “I do, but meddling in your romantic life is way more fun.”
13 FEBRUARY
Sakuya’s third attempt to ask you out was probably the worst.
Since the trainwreck which had been the previous afternoon, he’d become knee-deep in research on how to approach a romantic relationship. How to ask girls out, how to properly converse with them, how to know what they liked without having to put your dignity on the line and actually asking them. He scrolled through article upon article, tried to read as many first-person accounts from girls all over the world to gain a deeper understanding into what they liked. And the result, overwhelmingly and predictably, was Sakuya discovering that every girl liked different things…
But every girl liked chocolate.
When he’d started the endeavour of asking you to be his Valentine, he’d wished to steer clear of any food-related avenues. What if you were a picky eater, and didn’t like what he’d assumed you liked? What if you had an allergy, and he killed you? Death by hazelnut praline did not sound appealing in the least.
He spent most of his day glued to Ryo’s side, the two discussing amongst themselves the best way to ask you out, and Sakuya started to feel, if only fleetingly, that maybe this had gone further than his deal with Riku. As they walked to lunch, bento boxes and trays balanced in their arms, Ryo turned to his friend with a frown and a question on his tongue, something that seemed to have been on his mind for a while judging by his confusion.
“Why don’t you just read her mind?” he asked. “Can’t you, I don’t know, learn everything about a person just by doing a quick scan of their brains? You could learn what she likes and how she’d like to be asked out without even talking to her.”
Sakuya sat down with a sigh. This escapade had drained him of all his usual monotony, making way for a much more expressive, albeit exhausted, Fujinaga Sakuya. “I could,” he relented, “but… I don’t want to.”
Why did he not want to? That’s a question he’d been asking himself since the first passed up the opportunity to. It would’ve made asking you out significantly easier, knowing you inside and out without even having to talk to you. He could’ve used it to his advantage, could’ve lied and told you that he felt a connection, that he just knew what you’d like. But he didn’t. Not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to.
He wanted to learn these things from you, wanted to find out slowly, over the course of several months, years, the sort of person you were. He wanted to remember things about you through observation; what music you liked, how you sat, which side of a café you’d sit facing on dates. He wanted you to learn of him the same way, remember things only he liked, while he remembered things only you liked. He wanted to take his time getting to know you. Dating you. Loving you.
The love would only come later. What festered in his heart at present was merely affection, perhaps a bit of infatuation with the idea of you. But he wanted to love you, and that was what mattered. He wanted to learn the ins and outs and ups and downs and rights and wrongs of your personality. Wanted to be exposed to the good, the bad, and the ugly. Wanted to be there for your best moments, to comfort you through your worst. That’s why he didn’t wish to simply “read your mind”.
Ryo hummed. He didn’t prod further, accepted the answer he was given. “Alright. We’ve got to take a different approach, then.” He shifted in his seat, not unlike a therapist guiding a mentally unstable patient. “You see, this dating thing— you go in blind half the time. You won’t know what she likes in the beginning. You won’t know if she even likes you back. But I guess that’s what makes it wonderful, you know? It’s all a leap of faith.”
A beat of silence passed between the boys, wherein the psychic gave his friend a very careful, contemplative look.
“Where did that come from?” Sakuya asked.
Ryo shrugged, shoving a riceball into his mouth. “Heard it in a drama once. Pretty touching stuff, huh?”
“Yeah.” Sakuya paused, nodding slowly. “I guess so.” He glanced a few tables behind him, where you were sitting with your friend, Nana. It seemed that had become your new spot in the cafeteria. He didn’t mind it in the least. “I’ll probably get her a chocolate, or something.”
He made a sound of approval. “Mm. Smart. Not too risky. Everyone likes chocolate. And if she doesn’t, well… don’t date her.”
“Why would I not date her just because she doesn’t like chocolate?” he asked with a frown, perplexed. The idea seemed inane, asinine if he were to be archaic. He liked you too much to drop his pursuit of you in the impossible scenario that you didn’t like chocolate.
Ryo’s eyes widened. “Because you can’t trust anyone who doesn’t like chocolate! I mean, imagine if she didn’t like coffee jelly.”
“But she does.”
“Well, imagine if she didn’t.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Y—” Ryo cut himself off with a sigh. “Whatever. Just get her the chocolate and get back to me on the outcome.”
After school and the, quite frankly, useless meeting at lunchtime, Sakuya journeyed to a convenience store near his house in search of a chocolate worthy of your consumption. This particular shop was renowned for its favourable selection of sweets (confirmed by Yushi, who considered himself quite the candy connoisseur), so Sakuya hoped it would have something even close to good enough for you. Jaunty city pop drifted from the speakers as he perused the candy aisle, eyes roving over what the shop had to offer.
He could easily tell, with psychometry and a few well-placed guesses, which of the chocolates were objectively the best according to taste, popularity, and sometimes even just packaging. He was able to narrow it down to five sweets; first, a Black Thunder chocolate bar, coconut-flavoured; second, two chocolate lollipops of Peko and Poko-chan, though something told him giving you candy shaped like a child’s head would perhaps not be the best idea; third, a bag of Look chocolate, the fancy Nuts A La Mode version; fourth, Kabaya sebon chocolate with magical girl charms; lastly, and certainly not least, a bar of KitKat from its Sanrio collaboration. To Sakuya, he would’ve easily chosen the latter for himself, though he was quickly reminded that he wasn’t there to get himself a Valentine’s gift.
Which would you have liked? He weighed the options of each of the five snacks before him, thumb brushing over the fancy packaging of one of the more distinguished chocolates. He wouldn’t read your mind for all the riches in the world, but gosh, did he wish he knew if you were a chocolate-covered nuts or a caramel-filled chocolate sort of girl!
Out of all the sweets, his eyes drifted most frequently to the sebon chocolate and charms. Something about it just seemed right, be it the bright packaging, or the fact that it boasted magical girl charms.
“You lookin’ for anything in particular?”
He jumped (though he wasn’t sure why, because he’d heard the girl approaching) with fright, animated shivers running up his spine. He gritted his teeth to swallow a ridiculous yelp, and turned to face the girl who’d popped up behind him—the cashier, he assumed, though she could’ve easily been mistaken as a dollish mascot for the shop. Bright orange hair touched just below her round chin, brown eyes turned inquisitively to the shelf of sweets, as if she were choosing gifts for you with him.
Sakuya shrugged, composing himself. “Not really,” he replied. “I’m simply looking for something to get a girl for Valentine’s Day. Do you have any recommendations?”
She chuckled, as if his formal tone contrasted humorously with his age and stature, pink-haired and only a bit taller than she was, though eventually provided him with a helpful answer. “It sort of depends what kind of girl you’re buying for, but I think the sebon chocos are an overall crowd pleaser. I’ve had kids come in here, buy them, and come back with a girlfriend, so I’d say they have a 100% success rate!”
Sakuya frowned. There were quite a few data points missing from that hypothesis. First of all, the hundred percent success rate was easily achieved if one only had a handful of test subjects. Secondly, how would she know the boys had been single before they bought the chocolate? There was not one structurally sound reasoning to be found within her statement, but he didn’t concern himself with that. Questionable research methods be damned, Sakuya needed something he knew would guarantee good results, and he’d been given the best option on a silver platter— nay, a golden platter.
“Mm…” He grabbed a pack of the sebon sweets, and a box of chocopies for good measure, giving the cashier a definitive nod. “Thanks, orushi-ya. Do you take debit cards?”
“Sure do!”
Once the chocolates were purchased, all that was left for Sakuya was to find you and give them to you. He didn’t, surprisingly enough, know where you lived, despite you knowing where he lived, and that left him wandering around the neighbourhoods surrounding Wishful High for a while, much longer than he’d have liked to wander. He passed by a basketball court somewhere between the way to his house and the school, and found your friend, Nana, shooting a few hoops with an unfamiliar boy. You weren’t anywhere to be found, but perhaps Nana would know where you were.
She didn’t. He’d approached her with the question on his tongue, and he’d received nothing more than a shrug and an I’m not sure in response. He took the answer in stride, following up with a question of where you may be. Another shrug, though a significantly more helpful response followed.
“She’s probably at the school library. She spends most afternoons studying there. Not sure if she’ll be there today, but you’ve got a seventy percent chance of catching her there,” said Nana. She’d tucked the basketball under her arm, while the boy she’d been playing with waited for her to finish her chat with Sakuya.
He gave her a thankful nod, bowing shortly. “Thanks, Kawasaki. I owe you one.”
Mm. That was odd. Sakuya didn’t usually tell people he owed them anything. Not out of lack of respect, but simply because he wasn’t the modest sort of person who felt indebted to people. He often said thank you, but he never said he owed someone one. It was as if he were starting to lose control over his speech patterns—and, if the past few days were any indication, everything else he may have had control over in the past. Gestures. Facial expressions. Body temperature. It was all up to his emotions, these days, and he wasn’t quite sure how he could change his body back. If he even could, that was.
That was a horrifying thought. What if Sakuya could never change his body and personality back to the way it had been before Riku took him up on his deal? Or had he taken Riku up on his deal? The details had become murky in such a small amount of time. Was he even in this to prove Riku wrong, anymore? The fact that he had to deliberate made him briefly think not.
He dismissed his worries, thanking Nana for her services and making his way to the school library. It felt odd, walking back into school when only the students who played sports or stayed after school for club activities were present. Well, them, and the select few bookworms who used the school’s library instead of a public library nearby, including you. The hallways were empty as he walked through them, made his way to the separate building a little ways into the area.
The library consisted of two storeys, the first of which was for the junior students, and was stocked mostly with books and a few colourful desks, the second of which consisted of more study space and tech—old computers and tablets, and the like. The place smelt of books, that old, dusty, comforting smell one would only find in the yellowed pages of a book decades older than you yourself.
His eyes swept over the place, taking in the warm, colourful decor, the welcoming silence. He knew enough about the library to know that the students who studied could usually be found on the second storey, what with its abundance of resources, even though he rarely visited. He preferred the public library near his house; there were more adults and significantly less talking, and he could read his favourite comics without getting teased or asked about it. Adults always minded their business.
You minded your business, too, from what Sakuya could tell. You seemed like a quiet girl who kept to herself. He liked that. Found it cute. But he wasn’t sure if you were quiet because that was how you were as a person or because you felt uncomfortable around him. God, there were so many things he wasn’t sure of. He wanted to be sure of them. He wanted to know what you liked. He wanted to know what you thought of him. He wanted to know why you acted the way you did around him.
As he preambled through the upper level, trainers silent against the carpeted floors, Sakuya felt a sharp, stinging pain in his heart that made him stop for a moment. What on Earth…?
The feeling wasn’t unbearable, didn’t make him worry that it could’ve been something lethal. A quick internal scan of his body could prove the same. But then, what was it, if he couldn’t identify it with his self-scan? It was rare that Fujinaga Sakuya had feelings that he couldn’t explain, if ever. It couldn’t have been too bad, because he wasn’t presently doubled over in pain, but the feeling certainly wasn’t pleasant.
Where had it come from? All he’d been doing was thinking about you, and then his heart clenched like it had been punched in the eye. He didn’t understand.
So, like any well-meaning, mentally healthy young man who didn’t understand what he was experiencing, he ignored the pain and pushed through.
He found you browsing through a collection of books in the fantasy section. You were still dressed in your school clothes, like he’d been, though you wore a jumper that clearly wasn’t part of the uniform. Your eyes scanned the titles collected on the large bookcases in front of you, until you reached up to take out what looked to be a thick book—elaborately designed, A Magical Girl Retires. Fantasy fiction, magical realism, and urban fantasy. Fitting for a girl like you, he thought, though he didn’t really know you all that well.
Then an odd thing happened.
As soon as he went to approach you, wanted to move one foot in front of the other, he found, terrifyingly, that he couldn’t. He’d lost the ability to walk.
He glanced down at his legs incredulously, as if telepathically asking them, What on Earth are you doing?! would make them work again. When he looked up, he found that you’d moved closer, only a tiny bit so, though you clearly hadn’t taken notice of him yet. Good. He still had time to recover, to save what was left of his dignity.
He tried again to move his left leg, put one foot in front of the other. This second attempt proved successful—just barely. He’d moved perhaps a few centimetres.
When he risked another glance at you, he realised with a lurch that he’d been spotted. You were making your way over to him that very moment, as he was absolutely losing his mind. You were smiling, pretty and darling and delightful and perfectly terrifying to Sakuya, whose panic grew by the second. Move, move! Come on, man! Heave!
“Sakuya?” The sound of your gentle voice dragged him from his frantic reverie, made his head rise to meet your gaze. You smiled, confusion quirking at the edge of your lips, brows furrowing in what he read as sympathy. “Are you alright?”
“Me?” he wanted to say, except it just came out as a pathetic, unintelligible noise of question. He waved you off, smiling unstably. “Pfft. Yeah. I’m…”
The nonchalant sweeping gesture he made didn’t put either of you at ease.
Your frown deepened, and so did the growing pit in his stomach. You were unsure. Silent. Didn’t say anything to make the situation better or worse, didn’t look at him with anything other than confusion and— God, was that pity? He hoped it wasn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of you viewing him as some sort of poor creature.
I wonder what’s up with him. You didn’t know what to say, what would better the situation you’d found yourself in. You felt bad for catching him off guard, but then again, it wasn’t exactly as if you’d expected him, either. Maybe he wants to tell me something, you hoped. Or maybe he wanted to study, like every other person would, and he wasn’t there to confess to you. Confessions only happened in dramas, in the middle of the night in the rain, or in the morning by the beach. Not in libraries, between two teenagers who’d only ever hung out once to study for a Science test that was months away.
Sakuya couldn’t bear the silence, mostly because it wasn’t silent at all. His heartbeat thumped in his ears; there was a ringing coming from… somewhere, so far away yet so close it drove him completely insane. What was he supposed to say? There was nothing to say that wasn’t, “I like you,” or, “I want to be your boyfriend,” or, “I have NO idea what I’m doing!”
When nothing was said or done, when Sakuya’s brain had been blank and running on empty for too long, he did the only thing he could think of and reached into his pocket for the chocolates. Only, they weren’t cool and sturdy as they should’ve been, as they were when he bought them. They’d been warmed by the uncharacteristic heat, softened to what he knew without looking was a saucy, chocolatey liquid.
His cheeks warmed, growing the same shade of pink as his faded hair. This was not how this was supposed to go. The chocolates weren’t supposed to melt. I wasn’t supposed to freeze. Is this what that orushi calls a 100% success rate?!
He wasn’t sure when he moved, or how he moved, considering the fact that he’d been frozen for the past how long. But he did. He pulled his hand from his pocket, the limp, depressing bar of melted chocolate in his palm, and held it out to you.
You took it with a confused look that broke his heart. Except, it didn’t feel as if it were truly breaking. It felt as if it were still in one piece, staying stubbornly in place, each beat more agonising than the next. The buzzing in his ears had grown so loud he was sure he had some sort of ear infection.
He turned on his heel and left, making a beeline for the exit, eyes trained on the ground. It was warm when he swung open the doors of the library, the summer heat matching the hot tears that gathered in his eyes.
14 FEBRUARY
Sakuya couldn’t sleep.
Unsurprising, of course, given the fact that he had mortally embarrassed himself in front of you mere hours ago, in a painfully public space, as you watched his every movement in confusion and pity.
The moonlight shone irritatingly from behind his bedroom window, illuminating the spot he’d curled up in as if he were some sort of slighted protagonist which, for everyone’s information, he very much felt like at the moment. Small, shy, practically worthless. What sort of an all-powerful psychic am I? I can’t even ask a girl out. It’s been three straight days of me trying, and I can’t even ask a girl out!
Little did he know that everyone faced embarrassment like this. His friends did, and would, his parents had, once, before they found each other. Even casanova extraordinaire Maeda Riku had his fair share of romantic fumbles, would have them until he finally found the girl who was right for him. But Sakuya knew, even though he’d only known you properly for less than a week, that you were the one who was right for him. He didn’t care if it was teenage hormones, or plain old human folly talking. No one would make him stumble, or stutter, or lose his goddamn mind the way you did.
The analogue clock on his bedside table read 5.53. In a little less than an hour he’d have to get up out of bed, and get ready for the day. As a psychic, he could wake up whenever he wanted and simply teleport to school, bags packed and clothes crisp, but he enjoyed the lighthearted monotony of his morning stretches. It was a relatively useless ritual, but it was one of the few things his father instilled in him before the Fujinaga family discovered their newest addition had powers unknown to humanity. Small, simple movements to soothe his aching joints. An action that didn’t require his powers, because he decided it didn’t.
That’s how he felt about you. He could’ve read your mind and gone into the future to see how your relationship would turn out, if you’d end up getting married and having kids and teaching them their morning stretches, but he decided he didn’t want to. Didn’t need to. He wanted to take agency of his present, and carve a relationship with you out of nothing. He could’ve made you fall head over heels in love with him and made himself appear cooler than he actually was to win you over, but he decided that he’d rather risk embarrassing himself knowing you liked him for the lovable dumbass idiot he was.
Tick!
Sakuya frowned. Gentle sunlight had begun to filter through his windows, a lighter shade of pink and purple against the ever-lifting blue haze that hung in the sky. Birds twittered, cicadas hummed, but that’s not what he’d heard. A rock, or something like it, being tossed against his window. He propped himself up on his elbows, squinting as if it would make him see better. Nothing.
Wah, I must be seriously delusional, or something.
I mean, you’d put up with his friends. His nosey, immature, insufferable friends— oh, and Ryo, he guessed, who wasn’t too bad on a normal day. Nonetheless, you’d put up with them, you’d smiled at them, been nice to them. That had to mean something, right? Something besides the typical womanly urge to fawn in uncomfortable moments? You’d thought to yourself that he was cute, even in washed out jeans and his dad’s T-shirt from university. That counted for something, he knew. People didn’t think insincere thoughts. They only said insincere things.
You hadn’t said much to one another. Most of your conversations—if he could even call them that—had centred around school, or related topics. He’d asked you for an eraser. You’d talked about Science. And food. His food. And you’d said his hair was nice. Thought his hair was nice. That was definitely something.
Tick!
He sighed irritably, dragging a tired hand over his face. “Okay, this has to be—” He cut himself off, tumbling out of his bed, ripping the warm pink and green sheets from his body, and marching to his window. He lifted it, a cool morning breeze drifting through the open space, and braced his hands on the sill, looking around for the assailant. Oh, he’d give them a piece of his damn mind. Throwing rocks at someone’s window in a traditional neighbourhood before six in the morning on a Friday, well, that just had to be a—
“Morning!”
…blessing in disguise.
Or, more accurately, in a bright knitted jumper.
Sakuya would’ve lost his footing if he weren’t safely on the second storey, staring down at you from where you stood in front of his house, a small pile of rocks collected in your hands.
You weren’t in school clothes yet, clearly, the jumper and jeans being a dead giveaway—as was the discarded bicycle, laying on its side like a resting steed. A bag was slung over your front, different from the similarly-fitting one you took to school. Bright wrapping glimmered from underneath the opened flap.
Sakuya wasn’t sure whether he should frown, or smile, or laugh, so he did all three at once. “What are you doing here?” He tried to have his voice match your volume; soft, though carrying. He didn’t want to wake his parents. God knew they’d whip out the video camera and keep it to play at your wedding.
You held a finger to your lips. “Shh! Don’t talk! I have a whole speech prepared.”
He froze, perplexed. If you were a mind reader like him, you’d have found nothing going on in his head at that moment.
You simply took that as your queue to start. “Okay. So. I don’t know you too well. In fact, I’ve only really made proper conversation with you three days ago when you asked to borrow my rubber. Since then, you’ve asked me to study for a Science test with you, introduced me to your friends, and given me two melted chocolates that I am now pretty sure were supposed to be Valentine’s offerings.”
Sakuya wanted to cringe. He wished and hoped you’d forget that day, that awful 13 February, though he couldn’t help the warmth that crept into his heart when he heard your voice.
“It’s clear to me now that you’re not normal. Like, at all. But you’re also the coolest person I’ve ever met and you don’t even have to try. You’re smart, and fashionable, and really into junk food, which is kind of cute. You look pretty in really old jeans, and you make me forget how to speak properly when you look at me like I’m a long division problem. And I think you like me, too. I think you like me a lot, because I’ve seen you over the years, and you wouldn’t buy just anyone chocolate. You wouldn’t ask just anyone over to your house to study for a test that isn’t until May, and you wouldn’t be as embarrassed as you are around me with just anyone.
You like me. I know that now. And I know that when you like someone, it’s like they’re not a real person. That’s kind of how I felt with you until yesterday. And it’s still a bit weird, trying to stand here and talk to you like it’s nothing, which is why I chose such a long distance to confess from. But don’t forget. I’m also just a girl, standing two storeys below a boy, asking him to be her Valentine.”
You paused, before taking something out of your bag, and lifting it for him to see. In one hand, a neatly-wrapped chocolate—a Sanrio KitKat, he noticed with his excellent sight and a shudder of his jaded psychic heart—and in the other, a small Discman, that you pressed play on once you’d lifted the items to him like a pet owner delivering offerings to their cat.
Confessing to someone is an odd experience. Sakuya would know, he tried to do it once. Awful stuff. Would not recommend. But being confessed to, that was probably even weirder. You’d have to stand there—sit there, lay there, whatever—and wait for this person to finish pouring their heart out to you before accepting or rejecting their love. And as you stand there, no matter what you think about the person outside of the confession, you wonder how anyone is supposed to turn someone down when they are baring their soul to them like this.
Luckily for Sakuya, he wanted nothing more than your love, your unmelted chocolates and your cutesy pop rock songs.
He stayed silent for a moment, that moment in which he realised he really did like you, and if he hadn’t properly before, he certainly did now. Then, against his will, to his and your and everyone’s surprise, broke into a massive, lovesick smile.
He couldn’t help the squeal that bubbled in his throat just as much as he couldn’t help the sudden pop! that took him from his room to the street where you stood, appearing in little more than a blip before your shocked form.
His arms wrapped around you in an uncharacteristic show of affection—or was it truly uncharacteristic, when it came so easily to him with you?
The hug was short and sweet, as was the press of his lips against yours, giddy and childish and full of love, his smile crashing against your own. He held you further, your own arms coming to wrap around his form once you’d put down your CD player.
“So… you’re weirder than I thought,” you said. He could hear you thinking, Teleportation. I didn’t imagine that, right? I didn’t disassociate, or anything? He just did that?
I did, he told you.
…You can talk to my mind.
Pretty much.
Oh. Cool.
You released him with a smile, your beautiful eyes expectant. “So?”
He’d forgotten all about your question. “So what?”
You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly. “Do you want to be my Valentine, or not?”
He laughed breathlessly. “Oh. Yeah. I do. Totally.”
If your smile could widen even further, it did. You smelled like chocolate and sweet bread. Wonderful combination. “Groovy. So, does this mean your agreement with Riku is fulfilled?”
His eyes widened. “How do you know about that?” he asked, face blank with shock.
You shrugged. “Your friends are easy to interrogate. Besides, I don’t think Riku was much planning on keeping it a secret.”
Sakuya’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment, with anger. Not at you. Never at you. Of course Riku had to go on and blab about their agreement the moment someone applied even the littlest bit of pressure. And Sakuya was supposed to be chicken? Please.
But something occurred to him. His arms dropped from your shoulders. “Wait, you asked about me? You went to my friends?”
“Yeah. After you ran off yesterday, I tried to find you, but you’d disappeared. So, I went to find Ryo, and Riku happened to be there with him. He told me everything in, like, a few minutes.” You frowned. “I think you should get friends that are better at keeping secrets.”
He scoffed softly. “You and me both.” Then, with a slow smile, “But… his slip-up did bring you here.”
You tilted your head. “It did, I guess. But I would’ve come here, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
Well, consider me lucky.
Sakuya enveloped you into his arms for a second time that Valentine’s morning, cheeks warm with affection and the chill that ran through the air. You felt comfortable, comforting, your front pressed into him, his nose buried in the neck of your fuzzy jumper.
Although, I’m not sure how much this counts as me asking her out.
You squeezed him tighter, your cheek squishing against him. He squinted happily, like the cat that got the damn cream.
Whatever. Screw him and his rules. I’ve got a girlfriend, and ¥3,000 worth of coffee jelly coming soon.
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