Archive of Our Own ^beta

Of course, it was bound to happen, Sakura thinks sullenly. Bad things always happen in threes.

As fate would have it, she has the unfortunate experience of running into Midari Ikishima. It's been less than a week since Sakura gambled with Midari and subsequently embarrassed herself in a disastrous gamble with Mary Saotome that same day. No one ever uses the school library unless it's gambling-related or it's drawing close to exam time. But it's here she finds Midari nonetheless, tipping her chair back on two legs, her feet propped up on the table, staring intently at her phone.

"Oh," Midari says, when she finally notices Sakura standing there after a long minute. Midari's passive smile belies just how delightful she finds this. "Well, if it isn't the Beautification Chairwoman herself."

"I don't have any business with you, Ikishima-san," Sakura says. "I'm only here because I wanted some time to myself. Alone," she adds pointedly, after a minute.

Midari slowly climbs to her feet, tucking her phone into her bag. She kicks her chair back into place, then leans against the table. "I heard you were yesterday's news," she sneers with a grin. "Well." Her grin sharpens. "For your fiancé, anyway."

Midari doesn't know the truth. She can't possibly. And yet she's managed to land a blow, somehow. Sakura feels the awful prickling heat of irritation and embarrassment. But she tempers her response. "That's enough, Ikishima."

Midari presses anyway, a sharp knife into soft skin. "It's a shame that everyone is so besotted with that transfer student, huh?"

"You forget yourself," Sakura snaps, too annoyed now to be worried about being polite. "Do you think that just because we gambled one time, you're free to harass a member of the Student Council as you see fit?"

"Well, then, gamble with me again!" Midari's smile is too wide. Too eager. It's off-putting. "Make me a housepet. And then I'll be your obedient little kitten. That's what you Student Council members get off on, right?" Midari's expression is sly and knowing. "Or perhaps it's you who likes to be the submissive pet. After all, that's what Aoi's made of you. Isn't it?"

If Sakura were Sachiko, Midari surely wouldn't dare be so bold. Sachiko always commands respect; she wears her authority with an ease that Sakura admires — and her slippery, calculated cleverness that Sakura loathes. Her eyes sharp as a knife, her towering stature. And Mikura, always only a few feet away, her chain wrapped around Sachiko's wrist like grotesque jewelry. Students fear Sachiko. Even Aoi would think twice about crossing her.

But Sakura is not Sachiko. She's only herself, and what she is doesn't amount to much.

Midari doesn't need a response; she already knows she's won. Her eyes glint with amusement. She scoops up her bag, brushing past Sakura.

Her pitched laughter echoes down the hallway as she leaves.

;;

Kirari's at her desk in her private office, going over the details for this year's debt settlement game. Sakura observes Kirari working from where she's sitting; the door between the Student Council boardroom and Kirari's office slightly ajar. Between the lingering heat of summer — even with the windows open, the breeze does little good — and the monotonous sounds of Kirari's paper shuffling, it's a hazy, drowsy sort of afternoon.

"You're sulking," Sachiko remarks, sipping her tea. "How very unbecoming."

"I'm doing no such thing," Sakura tells her sullenly, watching the steam rise from her own cup. She crosses her arms, leaning back in her chair at the Student Council table. The meeting doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, but Sakura's arrived early. She always arrives early.

Sachiko's made a rare early appearance today as well. It's the second unfortunate thing to happen to Sakura in as many days. Between now and the events of last week, Sakura's beginning to believe she's paying retribution for some unknown sin. Either that, or like Aoi said, her luck really has run out. Neither idea is particularly pleasant; the thought leaves a sour taste in her mouth, like spoiled milk. She takes a hurried sip of tea to drown it out, nearly scalding her tongue in the process.

Chamomile. One of the President's favorites. Sachiko's certainly brewed this with some kind of calculation in mind. Sakura wonders if this is one of Sachiko's small ways of playing nice with Kirari: I may enjoy seeing you overthrown, but it's nothing personal. Sachiko and Kirari are always playing these types of little games. It's one of the things Sakura finds most frustrating about them.

"You are sulking," Sachiko states firmly. When she sets her cup down, the chipping clink sound of the porcelain makes Sakura's teeth hurt. "Now are you going to tell me what's got you so worked up, or am I going to have to endure your brooding for another ten minutes? Is — "

"What it is, is none of your business," Sakura snaps, chafing.

Sachiko's tone is honey-laced, her smile saccharine. "Come now. Aren't we old friends, you and I? Who else do you have to talk to?"

Sakura chews the inside of her mouth. They've never been friends. Their relationship is more akin to a reluctant camaraderie due to shared experience: they've both been on the Student Council since they were first years in high school. Before Kirari arrived; a lifetime ago.

Truthfully, Sakura finds Sachiko endlessly vexing, and, more than that, an absolute disgrace to the Student Council. The way Sachiko sees fit to parade that Mikura Sado around school like a whipped dog — leash and collar and all; Sakura can only imagine how Sachiko managed it — is so distasteful. The fact that Kirari does nothing to discourage it just makes things worse. Is this really what their prestigious school's been reduced to?

When Kirari so dramatically unseated the previous President a year earlier, Sakura had already secured her seat on the Student Council. Her gut had twisted at the triumphant smirk on Kirari's face. She should have known then, what was to follow. She should have guessed. But Aoi persuaded Sakura to just go along with whatever Kirari wanted; he began scheming to overthrow Kirari from the moment she took power. It wasn't a desire born from concern about the livestock students. No, it was just that Aoi, like Sachiko, was always looking for someone to tear down.

And Sakura, fool that she is, went along with it.

She's never been very good at doing what wasn't expected of her.

"Yes, I've heard of that girl," Sachiko remarks, when Sakura finally relents and explains her earlier encounter with Midari. "She's quite the trouble maker." Her mouth curves around the words in barely concealed amusement.

Sakura bristles, fuming. Sachiko would find someone like Midari amusing.

Sachiko must notice the look on Sakura's face. "Oh. Don't tell me you've actually let her get under your skin."

Sakura frowns. "She hasn't."

"Is that so?" Sachiko shifts, crossing her legs. Her grin is cold and smooth as ice. It's eerie how similar she and the President can be; Sakura's still yet to decide who is imitating who. "You're a terrible liar. I daresay it's your worst trait."

It's a playful accusation with no bite, but Sakura glowers at her anyway, flushing self-consciously. "Shut up, Sachiko."

"Dog of the Student Council you may be," Sachiko continues fluidly, pointing Midari's words at Sakura once again, "but don't think Kirari won't turn you out if it pleases her. She doesn't particularly care for council members who are bested by common students."

Sakura grits her teeth. She glances over towards Kirari's office, certain Kirari is listening "Don't pretend to know what she thinks," she snarls in a hushed tone. She hates Sachiko's pointed smile, her condescending tone. It makes her sick.

But, the worst thing: she knows Sachiko is right.

;;

At home. In her room.

Aoi is here, because he's always here, even when he's not. Because their lives have been intertwined since birth, because Sakura doesn't know how things could ever be any different.

Sitting on their bed, drenched in the midday sunlight, he presses his mouth to her neck. His fingers creep up her skirt like ivy. Sakura feels strangely unfocused; her mind is a million miles away, laser focused on how Aoi so summarily dismissed her from the Full-Bloom Club. She hates her own sad groveling, her horrible, stupid need to have her entire existence validated by his interest in her.

(how pathetic)

Soon enough, they'll graduate from Hyakkaou and the memory of them — and Full-Bloom — will dissolve like fog in the morning heat. She can see herself at a distance, the future that's been so carefully selected for her. It may well be all she has: this perfectly constructed idea of happiness.

The wafting scents of sandalwood, nutmeg, and soap ground her: even now, Aoi still uses the same brand of cologne that Sakura first bought him the Christmas they turned thirteen, Back when the world felt so small, and Aoi was the bright center of it all. There's a kind of comfort in the familiarity. She knows: Aoi has never changed.

He's still all charming smiles and pretty words, her fiance. Always scheming. Sakura knows Aoi fancies himself to be more clever than Kirari herself — there was a time, a few years ago, when Sakura herself may have agreed. Now, she's not so sure. Since the very first day she arrived, Kirari's proven herself to be more capable and cruel than any person Sakura's ever met.

(it would be admirable, if it wasn't entirely terrifying)

"You're a decent gambler, Sakura," Aoi says, unbuttoning his shirt. "But you'll never be more than that. You don't have the nerve to take what you really want." His hands are on her shoulders, pushing her down onto the bed. Against her lips, he says, "Not like Mary Saotome."

Even now, he can still wound her.

If that isn't love, what is?

;;

Sakura's always thought that time moves differently at Hyakkaou. Hours can feel like days. Weeks can pass by in a blur. She supposes it's just the structure of the school; the very nature of gambling itself. A student can go from the very top down to the very bottom, then right back up again, all in a matter of a single afternoon. Staggering debts can be accrued with a snap of one's fingers.

An entire month has passed since Sakura was so unceremoniously expelled from Full-Bloom. It feels like an eternity. She hates to see Aoi in the halls, surrounded by his friends. Laughing — always laughing. Aoi never worries; he is always in perfect control. Meanwhile, Sakura awakes every morning with her stomach bound up in a tight knot of anxiety, her head throbbing dully. She can't forget the way he looked at her, his eyes burning with derision.

The worst, Sakura thinks, is knowing the truth. That she means nothing. That she is nothing.

"The President's asked me to keep an eye on you," Sakura lies smoothly, standing in the doorway to Midari's main gambling room that afternoon.

Usually Sakura doesn't have to go herself to collect dues; she typically delegates that task to one of her senior club members, like her Vice President. But after last month, she knows that Midari won't listen to anyone else, especially not someone as sweet and rule-bound as Naoe. And Sakura knows, too, that mentioning the President will give her words more weight. It's not entirely untrue: Kirari's always interested in students who are lacksidasial about paying their Student Council dues. It's just that she doesn't have a particular interest in Midari. Not yet, at any rate.

Midari shares a look with her friends, laughing. "The Student Council is very interested in me these days," she remarks, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her splayed knees. "You guys don't know when to quit, huh?"

;;

"Sakura," Sachiko chirps, when Sakura arrives for that afternoon's meeting. Sachiko's fixing her tie as she watches the fish dart about in Kirari's enormous aquarium. "You're later than usual."

"I was detained; I needed to collect some club dues. Some of us actually bother do our Student Council jobs."

"Oh. That girl again?" Sachiko ignores the jab, quirking an eyebrow. Her smile is sly. "Isn't it rather pedestrian of you to run the Committee's errands? This is the second time now. You might start developing a habit."

Sakura rolls her eyes, dropping her bag to the ground and easing herself into her Student Council seat. "I'm hardly the one who's obsessed with an unruly second-year, " she counters evenly. "Don't think I haven't noticed how desperately you're trying to make Saotome-san your new housepet."

Sachiko laughs, temporarily charmed, shrugging her shoulders as if to say, What's to be done?

Sakura huffs pointedly. She checks her phone; no new messages. Aoi's barely talked to her these past weeks. Not that Sakura has any expectations when it comes to him anymore, but, well — she's just not used to him treating her like how he usually treats everyone else. She stares at the screen for a few more hopeful seconds before tucking it away with a sigh, blinking away the sting of traitorous tears in her eyes.

Sachiko is watching her with an expression Sakura can't entirely read.

Sakura feels like a trapped bird being eyed by a ravenous cat. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "What?"

"That look in your eyes just now," Sachiko muses, toying with a button on her blazer. "I was just imagining a collar around that pretty neck of yours." Her hand drifts to her own throat, as if to illustrate her point.

The tips of Sakura's ears grow hot with embarrassment. She glares at Sachiko. "I'd never give you the satisfaction."

"Well —"

They're suddenly interrupted by the door to the President's office swinging open.

Kirari saunters into the room, flanked by the Student Council secretary and the Vice President. Her very own twin shadows; Sakura doesn't believe she's ever said more than three words to either of them in her whole life. She typically makes it a point to stay out of Kirari's way — Sakura doesn't trust her at all. There's an icy depth to Kirari's gaze, her expression always unnervingly placid. Sakura can only guess what lurks beneath.

"Hello Kirari," Sachiko says, in a fake, syrupy voice, and then immediately launches into a discussion about the upcoming debt settlement game.

With Kirari otherwise engaged, Sakura's able to relax. Sinking back into her Student Council chair, she allows her mind to drift. Her eyes settle on Sayaka Igarashi. The President's right-hand woman, Sachiko's referred to Sayaka before, in a sarcastic, sneering way.

Sakura remembers Sayaka's first few days as Kirari's new personal secretary. Blushing and stuttering, with her nerdy glasses and little-kid braids. Sakura doesn't have the faintest idea how Sayaka ever made an impression on Kirari; Sakura doesn't think there's anything particularly remarkable about Sayaka at all. She's just an ordinary girl.

Now, though, looking at Sayaka, Sakura can't help but consider how much Sayaka's changed in the past year. There's the physical things, of course: Sayaka's hair is longer and styled differently, and she's replaced her glasses with contacts. She's grown a few centimeters taller. Dressed smartly in her new high school uniform, she looks like an entirely different person now. But it's more than that. Sakura's always noticed Sayaka's starry-eyed admiration Kirari —

(anyone would)

— but, somehow, Kirari's managed to hone that admiration into something sharper. Something much more potent.

A plague, Sakura thinks, with sudden, startling clarity. That's what Kirari is to this school. Everyone's been infected. No one's been left unscathed.

Not even her.

;;

Sakura's not quite sure how they got here.

Well, she understands it, from a logistical standpoint: she's distracted and late, rushing to class. At the landing, she collides with someone; it sends her belongings flying. She kneels to pick them up, her face hot with embarrassment, stammering out an apology.

Then —

"You again," a familiar voice says.

Sakura looks up, one hand on her bag.

It's Midari, wearing an expression halfway between annoyance and bemusement.

And, somehow, they ended up Midari's gambling club room on the first floor. Sakura's still not sure why she accepted Midari's invitation — "Come on, even the Beautification Chairwoman must skip class now and then, right?" — but she had. Because it seemed like the only good option at the time. Because it was better than going to class and seeing Aoi, smugness dripping off every word he says to her. Because now, sitting once again on the plush sofa, it's really the only place Sakura can imagine being.

(she's right back where she started)

It feels very strange to actually be spending time with Midari. Maybe Sachiko's right about Midari becoming habit-forming, though it certainly wouldn't be the worst mistake Sakura's made lately.

The thing is, Sakura's starting to like the attention. No one else is very interested in her these days. And if Midari has any hidden ulterior motives, besides being a nuisance, Sakura hasn't been able to root them out. Midari isn't the greatest company, but it's shockingly nice to be able to spend time with someone who doesn't expect anything from her.

Sakura looks up, turning a page. Midari's staring at her intently across the table. No, Sakura corrects herself. It's more like Midari is looking through her. Midari's gaze is unfocused; there's an unexpected softness to her expression that catches Sakura off guard.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Midari says, blinking and looking away. "I was just thinkin' — you remind me of someone."

There's a wistfulness to Midari's tone that piques Sakura's interest. "Oh? Who?"

But Midari is lost in thought again, her gaze fixed on the windows, at the world outside the club room. Her grip on her phone is knuckle-white. Her voice is small and tight, like she's trying very hard to sound impassive. "No one important. Just a girl from my class."

;;

In the courtyard in front of the school, Sakura tugs on her jacket. It's nearly evening, and the air's grown cool. The sky's cloudy overhead, threatening rain. She's halfway down the steps when suddenly Midari catches her arm.

Sakura turns, then flushes. Midari's a step above her, but there's hardly a centimeter between their bodies. Midari mouth hovers just above Sakura's; just out of reach. Sakura can feel Midari's warm breath on her lips. Midari's fingers linger on Sakura's arm. The press of them filters through the layers of Sakura's coat and blazer, strong and insistent.

"If you want something," Midari says, her eyes dark as night, "you should take it."

Sakura swallows hard, words lodged in her throat. The space between them is electric tense. Sakura imagines their mouths meeting. The sudden spark. The rush of heat.

She can kiss Midari right now, she tells herself. Right here and now, she can do something that isn't expected of her. Just this once.

And no one can stop her.

She can lean forward and crush their lips together, her hands gripping the front of Midari's sweater. She feels it now, in her mind's eye: a phantom sensation; the cotton material bunching in her hands, its soft fabric, the way it stretches, pulled taunt. Can feel the tensing of her calves as she arches up onto her toes to bridge the gap between them. Midari's hands in her hair, or on the small of her back. Drawing her in closer.

Sakura's heart bangs against her chest.

A centimeter. Miles and miles.

(she could —)

"Go home, Sakura," Midari laughs, and steps away.

The moment slips away like a dream in the morning.

;;

A day later.

Aoi finds her in the gardens during lunch. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" he says, and his smile is only a little off. Her fingers remember threading themselves through his hair. The heady scent of sandalwood fills her nostrils. He leans in and kisses her. He tastes like chamomile.

She loves him. She despises him. She wants to tear him down to nothing.

(if you want something, take it)

In Sachiko's office later, hands clenched into fists, Sakura says: "I want revenge."

She's never seen Sachiko look so delighted.