Chapter Text
Fushiguro Megumi is exactly who he thinks he is.
Satoru came to school early, but he wasn't the only person with that thought process.
Their classes are small, with fifteen to twenty students per class. Fushiguro Megumi is in class 3-D, second row from the entrance, third seat from the teacher's podium.
It's covered with homemade and store-bought chocolate. The gift decorations are cute, the notes are plentiful, and the presents are abundant. Pink and red ribbons, hearts and bows, stuffed bears and plushes.
Fushiguro Megumi doesn't like sweets.
He stands on the door's threshold and casts a surreptitious glance down the hall, and then looks the other way.
Fushiguro Megumi likes Digimon.
He enters the classroom, picks up the rubbish bin, and contemplates dumping their offerings into the trash. That would be mean, but they are in competition.
Are they really?
Aren't they all silent admirers of Fushiguro Megumi?
He wonders what his desk looks like. He receives chocolate on Valentine's Day and White Day. Both holidays cater to a single binary and fail to address the broader nomenclature.
No matter.
He picks up a perfume-covered note and wrinkles his nose; the artificial scent of strawberry and what he assumes is omega pheromones.
It's jarring.
This is what they think they smell like? He's surprised they haven't cracked the code. Captured the essence that makes omega scents irresistible, but then again, they are still trying to imitate the gene that makes alphas superior.
He reads the note and snorts.
Fushiguro Megumi's eyes are green. Why do they compare them to grass?
There are so many words they could use if they want to compare them to flora or vegetation: lush, verdant, bloom, blossom, spring. Hell, they could have included description of his scent: untilled earth, petrichor, sharp and crisp pine.
He wipes the desk clean and dumps their gifts into the trash where they belong.
Oops.
More will come, but his will stand out.
He carefully places a gift bag on the desk.
A Digimon Adventure Digivice, a rare Digimon card, five vouchers to his favorite restaurant, and the exception, hard ginger candy.
He wants to be here when he sees it. Will he smile? His smiles are so rare and dearly coveted. Will he blush? That seems far-fetched, but he wonders. Will he know it's him?
Probably not.
Definitely not.
Today is the day of confessions.
He left a note designating the time and place.
Today, Satoru will be brave.
He ties the trash bag into a neat bow, exits the classroom and whistles.
He has a delivery to make.