Chapter Text
As Kusuo watched Kokomi wash the vegetables and place them in her cooking bowl, Kusuo, once again, realized how much the divine had to be on her side.
Because here she was, smiling as she prepared meals for the other residents on their apartment floor (even though her clinical internship and grad school should’ve kept her occupied), and, as indicated by the ring resting on the counter, she was married.
To him.
He hardly knew how she’d managed it. In high school, he had convinced himself he was utterly disinterested in romance and marriage. The entire world would be, if they could hear the thoughts-- the honest thoughts--the populace had regarding marriage, its failures, and the types of partnerships likely to end in divorce.
(Although, even as he thought as much, that incident in the library came to mind. That day when he had lost interest in reading those mystery novels in favor of tracing what exactly had happened to the couple who had handled the books).
And he should have known the excuse he gave for his concern for and desire to protect Kokomi from unwanted male advances --that even if Kokomi had been a major obstacle in achieving the dull life he yearned for, he still had a conscience that bothered him incessantly, telling him no woman deserved to be harassed--would eventually no longer serve as the only reason why he looked out for her, especially compared to the other girls/women he knew. But either way, he had assumed he would never see her after high school.
But then she had matured, and had proven even more than capable to take care of herself (it was impressive how she managed to brutally crush men’s hopes with a sweet smile when needed). And naturally, because the world spun for her, they’d ended up at the same university.
Kokomi had decided to major in Nutritional Science, intending to become a physical therapist after school. Perhaps something had happened there. The classes she’d taken in her undergrad program were difficult, even for someone as ambitious, hardworking, and talented as her. She’d had to work far harder than she had in high school to do well in her classes. No one was going to hand her a degree (or at least, she knew being handed a degree would do no good for her future patients), and some of her luck had fizzled out as she’d worked and studied long hours as she’d advanced through the program.
Then again, perhaps her luck hadn’t fizzled out because against his better judgment, he had allowed her to grow closer to him. They always seemed to meet in the university’s food court, and when he worked at an on-campus grocery store, she always seemed to appear during his shifts when he was wiping tables or restocking shelves.
Her luck had doubled when it came to him, even as it had diminished slightly when it came to the ease of her studies. He hadn’t bothered making extensive efforts to avoid her, partially because doing so never seemed to work, and perhaps he wasn’t as anti-social as he had been before (largely because she was within the group that he’d revealed his powers to halfway through his senior year, largely in part to Airua’s cajoling). Besides, his parents insisted on calling him every Sunday, asking about his week, and saying he spent time with someone from high school was preferable than saying “nothing.”
And he’d insisted to himself that it wasn’t like was making an exception for her. Almost everyone who’d he’d revealed his powers to ended up either going to the same or a nearby university, or working around the same general area. Kusuo had allowed himself to be dragged to meet-ups, outings, and video chats. He’d even privately admitted to himself that socializing with them--the closest people he could call friends--was… fun. And them knowing his greatest secret had probably drawn them together.
But she had--it must have been gradually, otherwise he probably wouldn’t have let it happen--begun to spend more and more time with him, and they’d made a habit of meeting up for dinner, and she’d invited him to events on campus, and he’d started just planning meetings with her into his schedule (they would’ve happened anyways), and picked her up at her dorm.
Until his friends--at first, starting with Yumehara--had smirkingly called them an item. And he’d wanted to deny it, because they weren’t. Of course not. They were just friends.
But somehow, the denial had died in his throat.
Maybe he just didn’t want to fight the inevitable, and maybe he’d consulted with his mother about his newfound emotions he’d sworn years ago he’d never feel, or divine intervention, or something Kusuke had done to manipulate some timeline somewhere, or whatever thing even an all-powerful physic couldn’t fight, but he had found himself one day shopping for a diamond ring, and….well.
Their wedding hadn’t been a grand event. He didn’t want it to be, but he had been surprised when Kokomi had echoed his thoughts (in spite of Saiko telling them multiple times that with just a hundredth of his family’s wealth, he could give them a wedding fit for the emperors of old, what with the venue he could book and the food his chefs could prepare).
Kokomi had wisely and likely accurately said that if she was loud and public about becoming married, the happiness of the men of Japan would be rather negatively affected, and she hardly wanted to cause such a crisis.
(She had also silently thought to herself that she had no desire for her brother to attend. Kusuo was in full agreement. The less anyone saw of that vermin, the better).
Their wedding had been a small, private affair. Only their friends and Kusuo’s family had attended. And here they were now.
Kokomi was his wife, and he watched her from the couch prepare meals to deliver to their neighbors. Good social standing was still of great importance to her.
They had a lot of neighbors, and, unlike him, who had been content with just earning a simple four-year degree and worked in a low-stress job, she was still in her grad program, involved in an internship, and preparing for residency. It’d be rather unfair of him not to offer assistance to her meal prep.
He joined his wife in the kitchen.
He had, for several years, assumed if he tried hard enough, he could keep himself firmly encased in a bubble of antisocial behavior.
And yet, now, he had friends and a wife.
Even a psychic as powerful as him evidently had faults and inaccuracies in his predictions.