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It was snowing the day Futaba arrived at Shujin Academy. It had been so long since she went in person that the uniform felt more like cosplay than a normal outfit. The skirt was too short and the blazer was barely enough to withstand the cold. She hurried inside behind a crowd of giggling girls, stopped by her locker to sort her things, then went to class.
A part of her hated the fear that came with being here. It was just school, after all. Akira and the others went every day with no problem. Even now, when there was no reason to. After all, they were in Maruki’s palace with no intentions of staying.
So, why even go? What was the point?
Research, my dear Watson!
Research on what?, one might ask.
Research on how to be a normal student!
This was her chance to experiment with no fear of punishment or (lasting) embarrassment! Sort of like the tutorial stage of a video game. Once she was comfortable with school, they would have already returned to the real world. Right now, she needed to readjust to the mechanics and remind herself that she was basically working with NPCs.
Anyone could handle a few NPCs, no problem.
Futaba arrived at the door to her classroom and slid it open. A flash of long, red hair glimmering across the room forced Futaba’s heart into her throat.
What was she doing here?
Learning, dummy!
But so soon after her conversation with the Phantom Thieves? Futaba had heard from Akira that he and Akechi had first met Sumire while exploring Maruki’s Palace. That was before the rest of the Phantom Thieves— Futaba included— had come to their senses and realized they were living in a false reality.
At least Sumire looked fine. Er, physically. Or, not fine like that—
“Futaba? You’re also in this class?”
Sumire’s voice brought Futaba back to her senses and she flinched before dropping into a formal bow.
“Oh, um, yes!”
“The seat behind me must belong to you. I wondered whose it was.”
Augh, of course she just had to sit behind the prettiest girl in their whole class! Some people got all the luck even when they didn’t ask for it!
Futaba swallowed the lump in her throat and crossed the room to sit at her desk. She dropped her bag at her feet and slid into the chair, which was cold enough to give her a shudder.
“It’s cold, isn’t it?” Sumire asked.
“Yeah,” Futaba hummed as she dug through her pencil case and fixed her eyes on the cat head topping her pen, which bobbed as it moved across the page.
Ugh, small talk with your crush was the worst! Futaba shouldn’t have even been thinking about a crush, considering the state things were in! Who had the time to fawn over how pretty Sumire’s eyes were in the sunlight streaming in through the window, or how the pink hue of her lipgloss was especially adorable (and hot) on her today?
Definitely not Futaba.
(Which was why she spent that period— and all others, in fact— not thinking about it.)
*
“Are you going straight to Leblanc’s right now?”
Sumire looked over her shoulder, hair cascading down her back as she spoke. Futaba had stood from her seat and was stuffing things into her bag. The last class of the day had just ended and the students around them had come to life, talking about after-school plans, the holiday, etc. etc.
Futaba had indeed been planning to go straight to Leblanc’s. Akira was planning for them to return to the palace for more training, but because Sumire was still having trouble summoning her persona, she hadn’t been included in that conversation. (The unspoken consensus being, of course, that they didn’t want to put her in any unnecessary danger. And it was better for everyone’s mental health if they kept Akechi’s bitching about it to a minimum.)
Still, though, guilt settled at the bottom of Futaba’s stomach.
“Yeah,” she said.
“There was something I wanted to talk to Akira about, so why don’t we go together?”
As Sumire spoke, she pulled a folded-up umbrella out of her bag. Futaba trained her eyes on it, and suddenly there was a noticeable difference in the temperature of her face versus the rest of her body.
“Sure!” Futaba said, perhaps a little too eagerly, though Sumire only smiled and crossed the room to the doorway.
*
“I was a little surprised to see you in class today.”
Sumire spoke with a calm objectivity as they stepped off campus grounds and onto the sidewalk. To Futaba’s joy, due to the high density of foot traffic, she had to stick close to Sumire, “accidentally” bumping against her shoulder once.
“I know. It’s pretty rare for me, huh?” Futaba asked.
Sumire glanced back over at her. Swaddled as she was in her thick scarf, Sumire looked so cute. And good with her hair down. And Futaba was just thinking what a relief it was that someone else in their team also wore glasses. (Which she also looked good in).
“What was different about today?” Sumire asked.
“Hmm, it’s part of a new experiment I’m testing out. Basically, I’m trying to get some practice in going to school before having to do it for real. That way, I won’t have anything to be afraid of if I fuck up around some NPCs.”
Sumire burst into a laugh and Futaba’s cheeks flared. “Wh- what?”
“Sorry,” Sumire said. “I’ve never heard you cuss before.”
“I try to be a responsible example for Akira,” she joked.
Sumire smiled. Then she set her eyes back on the path ahead of them. “Honestly, I’m glad you came. I’ve been feeling so hopeless the way I am now, especially because I can’t summon my persona.”
“Just give it some time. You’re still amazing, even without Cendrillon.”
“Thank you.”
This time, Sumire’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. She avoided Futaba’s gaze.
Wait, but that couldn’t be the end of the conversation!
“What about you?” Futaba asked. “Why are you still going to classes?”
“Well, if I want to keep my gymnastics scholarship, then…” Sumire paused as she spoke and chewed on her lip. “That’s part of it, but really, I just needed a distraction from everything. I’m not sure how much of what we’re learning in this reality will be of use to us once things are back to normal, but the thinking helps keep me distracted from other things.”
She left the rest unsaid, floating quietly in the air between them. Futaba nodded solemnly.
“I get what you mean,” Futaba said. “I guess that’s kinda what I’m doing, too. It’s painful waiting at home every day and feeling so useless. If it weren’t for Akira…”
Sumire’s umbrella stilled. She had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and placed a warm hand on Futaba’s shoulder.
“You’re not useless,” Sumire said with a determined set of her brow.
Futaba gawked at her for a second before picking her jaw back up off the floor. She had not felt truly useless since… well, before she had met Akira and he had helped her, that was for sure. She saw how carelessly saying such things could be hurtful, especially to Sumire, whose turn it was to go through an identity crisis of the highest (and literal) order. How do you even begin to respond to a message like that? How do you say, “I’m, sorry, I didn’t mean it that way” in the most empathetic way possible?
“Right back atcha,” Futaba said.
Way to go, Futaba!
She braced for a frown, but instead Sumire smiled and dropped her hand back into her pocket. “It’s already almost dark out. Let’s hurry.”
*
Carrying the world on your shoulders sure can come with some back pain.
For Futaba, though, she chalked it up to sitting at that damn desk. She was supposed to be back home in shrimp pose in front of her monitors, dammit! Not brushing her hair all nice and pushing her cuticles back to end up behind the girl all the efforts were for anyway! What was the point if Sumire couldn’t even see them?
But if Futaba wanted to receive the acknowledgment she so desired, she would have to do something to make it happen— something even scarier than overcoming her agoraphobia or surviving a run-in with the Reaper himself.
She’d have to talk to her crush.
More than just small talk or some skippable dialog. She wanted it to be deeper than that.
For the past three days, Sumire and Futaba sat at their desks. They rarely spoke, despite being… colleagues? Friends? Of a sort.
Futaba had read enough shoujo manga to know the best place to have a conversation at school was on the roof during lunch. That would support her desire to keep talk about the palace situation away from prying ears. It was also the place Akira used to use for Phantom Thief meetings.
But in this weather? Was that even possible?
“Are you having lunch with anyone today?” Sumire asked.
“No,” Futaba said. “I was hoping we could eat together?”
“Sure.”
Sumire turned around in her seat and started sorting through her bag as Futaba blurted out, “I was actually thinking of the roof.”
“Oh?” Sumire hummed. “I’m not sure it’s unlocked, but we can try.”
*
Damn skirts were so uncomfortable to sit in, especially on stairs. Futaba couldn’t get the regretful thought out of her head as they settled onto the steps just below the (locked) door leading onto the roof. This was their backup plan since it was too cold outside (aside from being, of course, inaccessible).
“How’s your day?” Sumire asked. “I feel like we never get to talk when we’re with the rest of the group.”
“I’ve been alright,” Futaba said. “I wanna hear more about you. Is everything okay? I know this place has been an adjustment for everyone, but especially you.”
Sumire’s eyes read clear shock. She’d been holding onto a sandwich that she then brought closer to her lips as she pondered the question. “I’ve been… doing better,” she said. “I’m glad we dispelled some of the illusions of Maruki’s palace. Otherwise I was worried that I’d become too complacent and want to stay.”
“Yeah. Like my mom,” Futaba said, her voice dwindling into an uncertain whisper. “Or… or Morgana becoming a human! Man, what a jumpscare. Thank god he turned back into a cat again.”
“Mmhm,” Sumire hummed.
She took a bite out of her sandwich and Futaba followed suit, the air growing quiet around them. At regular intervals, cold air seeped in from beneath the door at their backs, making Futaba shudder. She’d brought a jacket with her but it wasn’t enough. That was when she saw Sumire out of the corner of her eyes pulling off her scarf.
“You can borrow this if you want,” Sumire said. “I’ll really be okay without it.”
“O- okay,” Futaba said, and slung it around her shoulders. The knit was thicker than she expected and rested with a comfortable heft around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry if this is an insensitive question, and you don’t have to tell me, but since I’m not a part of the Phantom Thieves, there are some things I don’t really know. Is your mom related to the awakening of your persona?” Sumire asked.
“Bingo,” Futaba said. She set the rest of her bento aside and brought her knees to her chest. She buried her nose in Sumire’s scarf, taking in the scent of burnt sugar. “Her death was framed as a suicide even though she’d really died cuz of a mental shutdown. For over a year, I blamed myself for what happened even though it wasn’t my fault. It was all thanks to the Phantom Thieves that they were able to knock some sense into me.”
“That’s terrible,” Sumire said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Futaba said. “What about you? If you’re okay with sharing.”
“I’m not sure I can get the words out right now,” Sumire said. “But I have a conviction to see this through. I was in denial for a long time, but no more. Akira’s shown me that returning to our reality is the right decision, even if there are truths about it that I’ve ignored for a long time.”
Futaba thought to put a gentle hand on Sumire’s shoulder, just as Sumire had done to her a few days before. But when Futaba did, Sumire’s head whipped over to her, shock clear in her eyes. Futaba lowered her hand and tried to decipher the expression as she said, “You’re an amazing person, Sumire. Whatever happened with your sister, I know it’s not your fault.”
Sumire’s eyes welled up with tears and she pulled Futaba into her arms. There was no heavy crying (a win!) although Futaba felt the tension in Sumire’s shoulders as she held her.
“Thank you,” Sumire whispered. “Thank you so much.”
*
After that, “rooftop lunches” with Sumire became routine. It was easy to make friends with Sumire once they moved past the awkward “getting to know each other” phase (which happened to include a dash of trauma).
So, when Sumire pulled a key to the roof from her pocket one day, Futaba was equal parts flabbergasted and overjoyed.
“Where— How—” Futaba uttered incoherently as Sumire led her across the concrete to a small greenhouse on the other side. It was temperature-controlled, with plastic tarps and various pots, soil, and shelving to house countless plants.
“I asked Haru if we could take care of the flowers this week for her,” Sumire said, “even though they’re still mostly pots of dirt.”
As if for emphasis, she glanced down to one of said pots where a single forlorn seedling was trying to sprout.
“Aw man, if only it was sunnier out! Then being on the roof might be tolerable!” Futaba groaned.
“I think Maruki’s palace is still trying to grant our wishes to some degree, so maybe if we wish for it hard enough, it’ll come true.”
As much as Futaba didn’t like the sound of having to stay in this reality any longer than she had to, she also had to admit that there were moments when she wouldn’t mind exploiting it. She clasped her hands and started wishing, chanting aloud for sun as Sumire giggled beside her.
“I actually wanted to bring you out here to talk about something,” Sumire said.
Futaba’s heart thudded against her ribcage, loudly enough to be heard in her eardrums. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I wanted to thank you again for comforting me the other day. I think I’m ready to tell you what happened.”
It felt like something to be sitting down for. But since there were no chairs, Sumire and Futaba went back outside to the fence bordering the perimeter of the building. They stood beside each other as Sumire worked her fingers through holes in the metal fencing.
“I’ve been pretending to be my sister ever since she passed away. There… there was a red light, but I didn’t see it and crossed the street anyway. I’m only alive because she pushed me out of the way.”
For a few seconds, Futaba couldn’t speak. Mom’s own death had left its scars on her, as had all of the other stories she had heard recently about her other friends. She had heard bits and pieces of this story from other places, but to hear it from Sumire herself, to see the scared, despairing expression on the girl’s face with her own eyes, was a different experience entirely.
Futaba wasn’t alone; she had learned that months ago. But she was reminded of that lesson now, when she felt such a powerful kinship blooming in her heart at the realization that, no, she was not the only one who had lost people and blamed herself for it.
“I can only imagine the guilt you must feel,” Futaba whispered. “I didn’t realize how similar our situations were.”
“Yes,” Sumire said. “But I’m Sumire Yoshizawa. And my sister… she was Kasumi Yoshizawa.”
They were only a few syllables, but their significance couldn’t be undersold. Futaba stared at Sumire as she spoke and a thin ray of light shone on a patch of skin beneath her eye.
“It’s nice to meet you, Sumire Yoshizawa,” Futaba said.
She had said the name plenty of times before, but when she said it this time, she felt herself blushing like crazy. She could only hope her delivery was on-point.
Sumire tucked hair behind her ear and cast a bashful glance in the other direction. “Thanks.”
Was she really blushing, though? Was this how friends acted, or had Futaba succeeded in her attempt at flirting? Should she… should she do something else?
Futaba inched a little closer. Despite it being so cold, her ears burned.
“Is there anything you wanted to do here before we returned to our reality?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. Did you have something in mind?”
“Would you like to come over this weekend? To— to study?”
“Oh, sure. I don’t have anything else going on.”
*
“Sojiro, get out of the kitchen! I told you I was gonna have a friend over today!”
Futaba shouted as she squeezed past her too-large father figure to reach a cabinet and pull out the hot chocolate mix.
“‘Friend?’ It’s Akira, isn’t it?” he asked, having the gall to sound genuinely perplexed.
“No, it’s a friend.”
With a sudden glint in his beady eyes, he turned toward her and frowned. “This ‘friend’ wouldn’t happen to be a crush, would it?”
Something in her eyes gave her away and Sojiro sent her a knowing look. “Should I stick around to meet them in person?”
“You already know her,” Futaba said with enough exasperation to finally ward him off. No need to worry about Sumire.
Nope, not at all.
*
“Your place is so cute! I didn’t realize you were such a big gamer.”
Among other things, Futaba silently tacked on.
“Thanks. I know it’s not your typical girl’s room, but hopefully it’ll be good enough?”
“Oh, definitely.”
The polka dots on Sumire’s dress were pleasantly complementary with the carpet in Futaba’s bedroom. She’d vacuumed and dusted to hell and back to prepare for the visit, but now that she was here, Futaba had no idea what to do. Should she offer her the desk chair? That would probably be for the best; Futaba wasn’t sure her brain would be able to handle it if she offered for Sumire to sit on her—
Before Futaba had finished the sentence, though, Sumire had already perched herself on the edge of her bed.
Jackpot straight to Futaba’s heart! Ugh, it was criminal how cute she looked with one leg tucked underneath the other like that!
“Is everything alright?” Sumire asked.
“Oh, yeah! Of course!” Futaba stuttered. She threw herself into her chair and scrambled for her notebook.
Once she turned around, she found Sumire still looking around the room with a sort of wonder in her eyes.
“I knew you were the Navigator for the Phantom Thieves, yet I’m still a little surprised,” she said. “It’s a very techy room.”
“It definitely wouldn’t be me if it wasn’t,” Futaba said. She glanced back over her shoulder at the snack drawer she left perpetually open. “Want any snacks?”
“Sure!”
*
What a normal study session.
By all means, Futaba was happy about that. She definitely felt like they had some chemistry, if Sumire’s laughs at her jokes were anything to go by. They had opened up to each other over the days and weeks, and now here they were, studying together like no big deal.
Futaba almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure it was all real.
“What are you doing?’
Before Futaba had a chance to register the question, she realized she had literally pinched herself. She lifted her arm up and stifled a cough as spit went down the wrong pipe. Don’t be gross in front of your crush!
“Sorry, I was pinching myself,” Futaba said. “To make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”
Sumire looked at her with a large, doe-eyed sort of curiosity that made her want to pinch her cheek.
“I guess technically it isn’t real, though we’re real,” Sumire said. “I feel like my sister would have been the sort of person interested in pondering philosophical things like that.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t meant to bring up bad memories.”
“It’s okay,” Sumire said. “When I talk with you, they don’t feel like bad memories at all. They’re happy.”
“Damn, that’s great to hear! It’s awesome that you’re feeling well enough to talk about her.”
“Yeah,” Sumire said. “Though I probably wouldn’t have had the courage if you didn’t tell me about your own experience.”
She pressed a hand against her neck, gently stroking the skin just underneath her collar. Looking at it made Futaba’s throat dry.
Futaba’s chair was low enough and her bed high enough that she and Sumire were eye-level as she scooted her chair across the carpet and stopped it just short of her mattress frame. Sumire lifted her head again and fixed her gaze on Futaba. Her eyes wandered down and Futaba’s heart exploded. She was in a tee and cargo shorts; had she dressed too boyish?
“Hey, Futaba?” Sumire whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Did you really invite me over to study?”
God, what a good question.
“Mostly,” Futaba said. “But if I said I had an ‘ulterior motive,’ would that be weird?”
Sumire dropped the tension in her shoulders. “No, not at all. That would be such a relief.”
Futaba held back a snicker. “It’s my pleasure to deliver on your unspoken wishes.”
She couldn’t completely still her hand as she reached out to stroke the curve of Sumire’s jawline, but she felt she did a good enough job to be at least a little swoon-worthy. Sumire’s eyes were closed before Futaba had even finished leaning in, and so she closed her eyes, too, and kissed her.
Whenever Futaba imagined kissing someone, she’d usually put an imaginary [hot person here] sign over some rando’s face and called it a day. But the real thing was so much better, and satisfying, than she could ever imagine.
When Futaba pulled away, Sumire wore the brightest smile she’d seen yet.
“That wasn’t a dream, was it?” Sumire asked.
Futaba wordlessly shook her head.
“Should we try again, just to make sure?” she asked with a mischievous smile.
“So long as you promise this isn’t just a product of the palace.”
There was a seriousness to her tone that made Futaba frown.
“No, I promise it isn’t.”
“Then definitely, let’s test again.”