Work Text:
Ayano was never one for dancing.
As a matter of fact, Ayano was never one for anything.
Yet somehow, she ended up here, in the gym at Akademi High, washed in low, color changing lights and dolled up in a baby pink gown. Pink was not her first choice, usually she'd gravitate towards black--stealthy, simple, and practical. But since Midori Gurin had forced asked to go dress shopping with her and gave her two cents on just about every dress they passed, she ended up with the pink dress. "It would look so pretty on you!"
Midori was right. It's not like it looked bad on her, on the contrary, she looked...nice. Not good, and definitely not bad, but nice. Bearable. Tolerable. Low-profile. Just as she liked it.
Dress aside, attending this dance tonight was not her plan for this particular Friday night. If Taro planned on going, she would've gone with a smile and coincidentally run into him there or try to go with him; however, having listened in to his conversations with Osana, she learned that he was much too busy to go--or at least, he said he was. Ayano knew that there was nothing in his life of extreme importance that was worth missing this dance. Ayano knew that he just didn't want to go, and that's probably what she likes most about him. Plain, simple, and practical. He doesn't waste his time on high school folly, and usually, she wouldn't either.
So why is she here tonight? Why would she waste all her time to come and hug the wall and look like a total loser when she could be thinking of ways to make Taro hers? Why would she stand perfectly still and unbothered while it seemed like the entire Akademi student body danced as if their lives depended on it?
That, she doesn't know.
To feign normalcy, would be her first answer, but even then that doesn't feel sufficient. Ayano knows she's not normal, and while she doesn't want the entire world knowing that she's a freak, she usually keeps to herself rather than be a part of all the frenzy that surrounds her. Her next answer would likely be to gather intel: after all, so much can happen at a high school dance. For all she knows, Amai Odayaka poisoned the cup of punch in her hand. Or maybe, when Kizana goes on stage to claim her crown as queen for the night (which everyone knows is bound to happen, because of course it will), water will come pouring down on her and she'll be humiliated for life (a brilliant plan...why didn't Ayano think of that?).
That's the answer she'll go with tonight. She's here to (potentially) ruin the lives of her romantic rivals.
"Aishi!" A voice shouts over the upbeat music bumping in the gym. Ayano recognizes that tone: confident, boisterous, and in all honesty a little annoying.
"Masuta," She replies. "What do you want?"
"You look pretty tonight," He says, finally walking up towards her. He's been dancing. He looks a little sweaty, and it seems like he's discarded his suit jacket. Wisps of hair fall in his face, though, there's already more than enough hair obscuring his face. Out of place. Disheveled. A little unnatural for someone like him. "You came alone?"
"Yes." She says flatly. "Who else could I have gone with?"
"I dunno," He shrugs. "A lot of people would've loved to go with you."
"Right."
The music switches to an American pop song. It's been trending on social media. Ayano recognizes it; Midori played it in her bedroom today as the two of them got ready for the dance. She hates the sound of it--it's much too loud for her tastes. Ayano doesn't like music all that much.
"You like this song?" Budo asks, smiling. His head bobs in time to the rhythm.
"No."
His face falls a bit. People who lack the observation skills Ayano has would've missed it. "It's overplayed anyways."
Though the two of them remained quiet, the gym only got louder. Teenagers screaming the lyrics to a song they didn't understand. Repeating words they barely knew how to pronounce. Ayano would laugh if she could. The lights flash with the music, changing colors, forming different shapes.
"Are you alone, too, Masuta?"
He sucks his teeth.
"For tonight, yeah. No one wanted to go with little old me."
Ayano knows that tone of voice, and it disgusts her. It's when he tries to make a joke that he really wants to land. It never works. Despite his popularity at school, Budo really has the worst sense of humor out of all of everybody. And that's saying something. Ayano knows her sense of humor is bad because the only thing that makes her laugh is the idea of killing people.
"You don't have to joke about it," She deadpans. "If you're upset about it, you're allowed to be upset about it."
For a moment Budo makes a face that's completely unreadable. Even Ayano struggles to parse it.
"I never said I was upset. I just said no one wanted to go with me." He folds his arms over his chest. "You don't like parties?"
"Not at all."
"Then why'd you come?"
Ah.
How would I explain this to him?
"Gurin made me."
He smiles.
There's another thing about Budo that disgusts Ayano. That smile. It's so smarmy and put-together, picture perfect. Of course, his smile could never beat Taro's, but there's something about it that drew Ayano in. His smile drew in about half of the student body. She's not weird for this!
The gym gets louder. And louder, and louder, and the song ends. Silence. It switches to a slower song, but the volume hasn't changed. If anything, it's gotten louder; Ayano silently thanks the DJ for helping her silence her own heartbeat in her head.
"Do you wanna dance with me?" He shouts over the cacophony.
"What?" Ayano spits back.
Out of all the students at Akademi, Budo Masuta was the hardest to understand fully. Ayano knew the basis of who he was: athletic, well-liked, kindhearted, energetic. Yet there were always subtle hints that revealed things that would contradict that. Sometimes he'd make an off-kiltered joke, like tonight, where he would reveal what he was really thinking, or he'd do something that showed that yes, he did think that way, or yes, he really does think you're pretty, or yes, he's not lying when he says something just to please the eager masses. Behind it all, there's something genuine about him. Something lively, something colorful. But he could never outshine Taro. That's an impossibility.
"I said, do you wanna dance with me?"
Taro is kind. Taro is sweet. Taro cares.
Taro would never, ever look Ayano's way. Taro hasn't. Taro would never ask her to this dance, no matter how much she wishes he would. He would never dance with her, he would never give her his time of day, he would never accept her. Especially not for who she is. Not boring Ayano: blank slate, sharp-tongued Ayano. He wouldn't keep trying, he wouldn't find genuine reasons to love her, he probably wouldn't even talked to her if they passed in the hallway.
But--
"I don't dance."
"Well, you're in luck, because this song is really easy to dance to," He only smiles back at her. Of course he does. "So! May I?"
He outstretches a hand to Ayano, looking at her with patience. Genuine patience. Take your time, Ayano. I'll be here, Ayano. Would Taro do that?
Taro isn't here. Ayano could confess to Taro tomorrow, and he would never know that she danced the night away with Budo. He would never know that the two of them talked, he would never know that maybe, maybe in another lifetime, Ayano wouldn't even say anything to him or let him live in her mind the way he does now.
Small talk.
That's all this is. And nothing more. He's just doing this to be nice.
That's what Ayano hates most about him. While Ayano does nice things for others to stay off peoples' radars (or maybe, even have a chance of being liked), Budo seems to do it...just to do it. He's too kind for his own good, it bothers Ayano to her core. What's the point in doing anything good for such terrible people when they already worship the ground you walk on? Why would you waste your time to dance with Ayano Aishi--dirty, creepy, greasy-haired Ayano Aishi. Ayano Aishi, who smells like blood and frustration. Ayano Aishi, who always walks alone. Ayano Aishi, whose only friends are the kids who are known to make friends with people they pity. She doesn't need Masuta to patronize her.
What an odd boy.
"Fine."
Budo's face lights up as Ayano reluctantly throws away her punch and takes his hand.
"Actually?"
"Don't make me regret it."