Chapter Text
A dull buzz rumbled in Yato’s pocket, faint but persistent, bringing his attention back to reality. It was easy- like really easy- to drift off in class when Tenjin was running his mouth about classic literature, and how each word was deliberately placed by the author to mean something. Apparently, authors weren’t allowed to just write anymore.
The senior tapped a light cadence on his desk, attempting to ignore the resolute urge to check his phone. He was trying to work on the whole ‘school’ thing, and even one glance towards the demonic device would send him backwards. Unfortunately, the promise of a new message became even more tantalizing. The weight of his phone was heavy in his pocket, tugging his mind away from the lesson.
Yato let out a weak huff, pushing back into the unwelcome metal of the seat, as if squirming around like a fish on a line would shake the sensation. This seemed to be happening a lot, recently (actually receiving a text, not fish-wriggling), and it was a big thing- a monumental thing in his life, because in the past he had never talked to many people before.
This change was good, because it meant his strategy was working! Recently, in the last month, Yato scrawled his cellphone number all over the school- leaving his presence in a trail of black marker messages anywhere he could reach. To justify this blatant vandalization, Yato made the call that it was ‘art’ and a ‘necessary emergency service’, and not graffiti as Kazuma had believed.
So what he was doing was fine. Just and righteous, meant to benefit the fortune of others.
Because that was his motto now, and if he desecrated these (newly made) values, he would be in a heap of trouble with himself.
He most often wrote just his number and a little, ‘At your service!’ note which (justifiably) got him a few racy texts, but most of them were rather mundane; people asking him for homework help, sometimes test answers, or odd little favors.
But then there were his favorites: conflicts.
Those were the ones where someone really needed him- so much so that they reached out to a stranger who wrote his number on the sides of bathroom stalls.
They would text him long, elaborate messages explaining the most recent drama in their life in minute detail. Problems with family, friends, partners, or even themselves, were all sent to Yato at some point.
Yato’s phone mockingly buzzed again affirming that this was a special case. Screw Tenjin, someone could be facing a problem more serious than the writer’s diction.
Sneaking a glance at the elderly professor, who was conveniently turned towards the board, Yato reached into his pocket. A childish sense of excitement washed hotly down his neck once he gave in, face splitting into a shit-eating grin.
His hands trembled as he rushed to punch in his code, but Yato didn’t mind that he probably looked like a maniac. Let his classmates think what they want, it was exciting as hell to receive a new job.
The first message lit the screen to life,
‘Hello again, stranger! Sorry for texting you so early in the day. Don’t check this until after school! Ahh, otherwise, I hope I’m not bothering you again, but my friends want me to go to this party tonight…’
The second was shorter,
‘I’m sorry, that was so rude! I completely forgot to ask, how are you doing today?’
Oh no, not this again. Not her- anybody but her.
A blush pink enough to rival Kofuku’s hair dappled Yato’s cheeks, and he sank even further into his desk hoping the ground would suck him up where he sat. If he was lucky, it would, but it didn’t- and a choked huff of breath left his lips.
It figured that his moment of classroom rebellion would be when she was texting him: the only one who ever came back, the only one who ever asked him questions about himself, the only one who Yato felt connected to.
Yato’s first encounter with the (mystery) girl had been about a month ago, when he had first started to advertise his number. She had approached him with a problem he couldn’t quite recall, maybe something with an ex-boyfriend, and afterwards- the senior had expected her to lose touch, like the rest of them.
But she didn’t.
She texted him nearly every day, always with proper grammar and a sweetly innocent greeting, her genuine naivety brought a pang to Yato’s chest.
When the day was especially rough, they would text late into the night, fighting sleep to message back and forth constantly. Talking to her was special. An unabashed fire of elation, bright and lively, would flare in Yato when they texted. He thought it was a kind of childlike happiness- that he was only excited because she gave him attention. Nobody else did, so it was all on her.
He also liked to tell himself that if any of his other customers texted more than once, he would feel the same towards them.
Then, about a week ago, Yato realized that- no, it wasn’t like that at all. He had truly developed an utterly hopeless, puppy crush on the stranger.
Yato kept an eye on Tenjin and, when the coast was clear, hastily tapped a response to the girl.
‘waaahh, my fav customer!!! i was wondering when u’d show ur face again! :P im fine. teacher is boring.’
‘tell me all ur problems, i wanna knowwwww’
Yato pushed his phone to the corner of his desk, as if grounding it. A sort of, ‘how dare it make me distract myself. I’m a model student’-type thing.
While waiting with bated breath, Yato fleetingly remembered that his phone was on vibrate. Which, which meant…
VVVBBT! VVVBBT!
He was too late.
In a dramatically loud cacophony, the phone rumbled against the desk, even managing to wake up the kid sleeping behind Yato.
“Shit…!” he hissed lowly, hands scrambling to grab it so he could chuck it as far across the room as possible. There would be no evidence that way, it could’ve been anyone’s phone, if he could just-
“Oh, Yato,” Fuck, “We’ve been over such a thing before. This isn’t your first warning…” Tenjin lectured, “So I have no choice. You know where to go.” the elderly man sighed, pitying the teenager.
Great. Just fucking great. If only I had impulse control. Yato internally scolded himself, his own words carrying a sourness even sharper than his teacher’s. It meant more to be disappointed in yourself, he supposed.
He decided to play it off, grabbing his phone with a sigh and standing up, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go.”
Tenjin just nodded, his stupidly gravity-defying beard bouncing with it, and Yato felt the sudden urge to reach out and yank it. Would it even hurt?
With a lot of willpower, the senior repressed the urge, shoving his hands into his pockets and exiting the class. Technically speaking, he could leave right now, and head home. It was the last period of the day and he didn’t really have to be here, but…
Instead of continuing straight through the school’s double doors, Yato made a stubborn right towards the principal’s office.
Then he remembered the familiar weight of his phone, which vibrated another time to remind him he had a message. Well, if he was going to get in trouble for it anyway, there'd be no harm in checking it. Another smirk, this one was softer than before, lined Yato’s lips as he woke up the screen.
'Hmm, you didn’t listen! You checked your phone. Guess I can’t let you know, now.’
Followed by,
'Kidding! Ahaha, I’ll text you soon. Okay? Thank you.’
The grin he sported stretched into a cheshire-like crescent, the same joy dangerously tingling within him again. He was just outside the door to the office, leaning comfortably against the wall, and it would be easy to slip in and get things over with, but…
‘yay! nice to know u trust me ;) ttyl stranger !!’
Yato’s fingers paused over that last word. Were they really strangers? They had been talking for a month now.
Their conversations felt comfortable, and perfectly real, despite never having one tangibly, in person. At least, they did to him. Whenever Yato met others, especially other ‘clients’, their exchanges were fleeting and sparse: a cloudburst of a conversation. Brilliantly fast and powerfully present one second, then gone the next.
But talking to this stranger… talking to her was like the flow of honey-- golden and indulgent, moving at its own pace. And sweet, oh so sweet.
The heavy dusting of pink on Yato’s cheeks brought him back, and he was acutely aware of how hot his face was growing. Again. Trying to settle down, the senior ran his hand lazily through his hair, getting himself tangled in knots he neglected to brush out.
No matter how natural it felt, he still hadn’t met the girl.
Sighing humorously loud, almost like a toddler who wasn’t given what they wanted, Yato pushed himself off the wall and walked away. Screw the principal’s office, he could just visit in the morning. If he felt like it.
It’s not like I have a parent who cares if I get in trouble.
The invasive thought was quickly pushed to the back of the boy’s mind as he headed down the hall. He refused to let his day be further sullied by the idea of his ‘father’. Nope. Not today.
Yato’s eyes followed the unchanging walls of lockers. Why on earth did the school even paint them grey? They were made of metal. Wasn’t metal usually grey?
Outside the cafeteria, a soda vending machine broke the chain. Shrugging his shoulders, the senior made his way over, weighing the value of the quarters in his pocket. There was a lucky number in there- four- just enough to make a dollar.
He turned the ridged coins into the heat of his palm, playing with them a little before sliding them into the machine.
Great, I’m broke again. I should work on my impulse control.
After paying and selecting a drink, Yato impatiently waited for the thing to spit up his purchase. But it wasn’t, and he was starting to get the feeling that… it had stolen his money.
“Wait, no-!” was the immediate response, “You’ve got to be kidding me… no!” he whined, slamming his forehead against the plastic face. This really wasn’t his day. Maybe he should just accept defeat now, and go home…
But maybe I could…
A (not so) brilliant idea lit Yato’s face, and the teenager dropped straight to his knees. Inspecting the slot that was supposed to give him his soda, he peered through, judging the width. It looked just big enough for him to fit his arm through.
Hopefully.
Without giving himself another moment to second guess, the senior plunged his hand into the opening. Obnoxiously loud grunts filled the empty hallway as he dug his arm upwards, tongue stuck out.
Holy shit, this was a lot harder than he had anticipated, and pain began to tear directly to his shoulder. Luckily, after a pathetic struggle, Yato felt the smooth bottles at his fingertips. One more reach upwards and he would-
His muscles spasmed, jerking his arm just a millimeter back from where it was before. But, fuck, did it hurt like hell.
“SWEET SON OF A BITCH!”
Yato realized he was stuck. Like, really stuck. So stuck that even flexing his fingers brought searing pain to his arm.
I should’ve seen this coming. What the fuck am I going to do, he inwardly panicked, the hall is gonna flood soon and I’m gonna be sitting here like a jackass with my arm in a vending mach--.
“What happened!?” someone interrupted, footsteps bringing them near Yato.
Well, shit. Isn’t that great.