Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

in another life, maybe you would’ve been one of the pretty kids.
one of the shiny ones. the ones teachers adored and classmates admired and no one ever whispered about behind cupped hands.

but in this life—
you were the child people pitied.

and you weren’t alone.

tendou satori sat next to you on the alphabet rug in elementary school, legs crossed, red hair stuck to his forehead like he’d slept upside down. you remember the first thing someone ever said about him:

“don’t stare too long. he looks weird.”

they said the same thing about you, just quieter. like they didn’t want you to hear it but also didn’t care if you did.

so you sat there, two strange little kids in a classroom full of people who flinched when they looked your way.

at first, he cried. a lot.
tendou was loud and emotional and everything the other kids didn’t know how to deal with. they’d roll their eyes, laugh, mimic him behind his back.

and somehow… he kept standing up again. like the words didn’t slice him open anymore. like he’d rebuilt himself with a smile you couldn’t tell was real or fake.

he’d grin at you with those big bright eyes and say,
“it’s okay, y’know. i’ve got you.”

and you… you wished that was enough.

because to him, you were friends. no— not even friends. you were the person.
the one who sat with him at lunch, the one who didn’t laugh when he talked too much or too fast, the one who didn’t look away from him like everyone else did.

he held onto that like it was a lifeline.

and maybe it should’ve been the same for you.

but in your small, aching chest… something ugly bloomed.
something you hated.

being grouped with tendou—
being put next to him in every cruel joke, every whispered insult, every pitying sigh—

it made you feel smaller. uglier. 

like you were exactly what they said you were:
weird. unwanted. the girl who only had the odd boy because no one else wanted her either.

and you hated yourself for thinking that.
for looking at the one person who understood you and wanting to be anything but what he was.

he’d tug your sleeve during recess, smiling like sunshine only he could make.

“come play!”
“sit with me!”
“i saved you a snack!”

and every time, your smile grew thinner. your replies shorter. your distance wider.

you didn’t mean to ice him out—
but you did. because some part of you believed that if you let go of him, maybe… maybe you could let go of the version of yourself everyone hated too.

he never stopped trying. not once.
not even when your silence hurt him in ways he never said out loud.

“it’s okay,” he told you once, voice bright but eyes not.
“i don’t mind. i like you anyway.”

but even then… you were already drifting.
already slipping away from the only person who knew what it felt like to be looked at like that.

on the last day of grade six, you didn’t say a word.

the room felt too small, too full of memories you wanted to cut out of your skin. tendou kept glancing your way, waiting for something—anything—from you. maybe a joke. maybe a promise to write. maybe just a goodbye.

you gave him a soft smile instead. 

and then you disappeared.

no one knew what middle school you’d chosen. no one knew what bus you were taking home. no one even knew your family was moving.

you wanted it that way.
you begged for it. a fresh start—clean, untangled, untouched by the girl people flinched away from.

even if it meant losing the only person who ever sat beside you without hesitation.

middle school swallowed you whole.

three years of experimenting—
with makeup, with clothes, with ways of speaking, with versions of yourself you didn’t know how to live inside yet.

you learned how to look “naturally pretty.”
soft curls, glossed lips, carefully flushed cheeks. like you just happened to wake up that way. like you had never cried in a bathroom stall over your face.

by the time high school rolled around, you had perfected it.
if any of your old classmates walked past you now, god forbid—
they wouldn’t even blink. they wouldn’t even recognize you.

and that thought, strangely, made you think of him.

you smiled a small, aching smile at your reflection.

i hope he’s okay, you whispered to yourself.
i hope someone out there sits with him the way i should have.

your first day at shiratorizawa academy felt like stepping into someone else’s life.

you walked through the gates with a light bounce in your step, curls brushing your shoulders, the kind of confidence you practiced in the mirror for weeks.

eyes followed you as you passed.
that was new. terrifying. addicting.

you made it to your classroom, setting your bag down, pretending the sudden swarm of girls was normal.

“you’re so pretty!”
“what skincare do you use?”
“you might even get a chance with ushijima wakatoshi!”

you laughed politely, shook your head, denied it humbly—
until they pointed.

“he’s right there!”

your eyes followed their fingers… but they didn’t land where they were supposed to.

not on ushijima. not on his cold, stoic stare.

they drifted left—
to the boy sitting beside him.

sunshine.

that was the only word your brain offered.
he looked like sunshine.

his hair was still red but styled now—pushed up into messy spikes that somehow suited him perfectly. he looked older but still him. still tendou.

your breath caught.

“…satori,” you whispered, barely audible.

it felt impossible. unfair.
like fate had a cruel sense of humor.

this can’t be happening. not here.
not in the one place you rebuilt yourself from the ground up.

you couldn’t have someone who recognized you. not after everything you did to erase the girl you used to be.

“why are you looking at tendou?” one of the girls laughed.
“he’s just ushijima’s friend. nothing special.”

your eyebrows pulled together slowly.

they still saw him like that. still tossed his name around like it meant nothing. still labeled him as “the weird kid”.

and something inside you burned—

if only you knew, you thought bitterly.
if only you knew what I used to look like,
you wouldn’t be talking to me at all.

you turned your head back toward him.

but this time—
he was already looking.

as if he’d been staring for a while. as if he didn’t need a second guess.

he smiled that unmistakable, lopsided smile of his and raised a hand, waving at you across the room. before your name could even leave his mouth—

you ran.

your feet carried you all the way down the hall, into the bathroom where you locked yourself in a stall, hands shaking.

you pressed your back against the stall door and slid down until you were sitting on the floor, heartbeat in your throat.

how could you smile at me like that?
how did you recognize me so fast?
how could you look at me so kindly
after I left you behind?

your chest caved in.

you wept on your first day of high school.
hot, humiliating tears dripping into your palms.

so utterly, painfully ashamed.

Chapter Text

as the months went by and second term of first year came around, you’d already made your rounds with friends. you’d talked to almost everyone—everyone except him, the one boy you couldn’t bring yourself to approach.

but thanks to your friends and their obnoxious teasing, you’d ended up growing close to ushijima. not in the way people whispered about, not in that romantic “power couple” fantasy your classmates tried to push—but close enough that seeing the two of you talk was enough to set rumors on fire.

you’d smile, laugh it off, pretend you didn’t hear the “ooh, are you guys dating?”
but the truth was simple: you felt nothing. maybe because you knew a guy like that could never like you. not really. not if he saw who you were under the careful, pretty mask.

and maybe because you’d already had someone tolerate the real you once.
tendou satori.

the thought hits like a sting. you shake your head, shutting it down.
no. that can’t matter anymore. not after you shut him out. not after everything. you shouldn’t even dare show yourself to him again.

and just when you thought you had escaped your old life…

a picture emerges. circulates. spreads like wildfire.

an old yearbook photo—elementary school.
a version of you that never felt uglier, never felt smaller. the one you wanted to peel out of, abandon, discard.

everyone is looking at you now. laughing. whispering.
and satori—he’s looking too.

your heart aches.
in that instant, you forgive him. you decide he has every right. maybe this is what you deserve for being mean to him back then. maybe this is karma in the ugliest form.

your chest tightens. your throat locks. and in the middle of the school day, with eyes burning and the world closing in, you run.

out of the classroom. out of the building. out into the pouring rain.

you sprint all the way home, soaked and breathless, disappearing before anyone can reach you. hiding before the humiliation can swallow you whole.

all that effort… all that pretending… and for what?

school is long over when you finally pull yourself together. you shower—no, you scrub—and you sit in your room in your truest form. bare face, wet hair, oversized clothes, no armor.
just you.
the version you never let anyone see.

you breathe for the first time all day.

then—

a doorbell.

“[name]! it’s for you!” your mom calls.

your heart stops. then races.

are they here to shame you? to laugh? to chase you out even in this storm?

you swallow hard.

fine. whatever.
you’ll convince your mom to transfer you again. you’re good at running away.

you stand.
your feet are trembling.
the rain drums against the windows.

and down at the door… someone waits.

you slip on your slippers, heart still raw, and head for the door. the hallway feels too quiet. too tight. you open the door and step outside, closing it behind you before your mom can peek.

the rain hits the pavement in little silver taps, soft enough to sound like a lullaby if you weren’t shaking so badly. you clutch your pajama sleeve, staring at the figure under the umbrella on your doorstep.

“what is it.” you snap, but your voice is already trembling. you’re tired— emotionally, mentally. tired of pretending, tired of hiding, tired of being found.

the figure lifts their head. the hood falls back.

your breath disappears.

“…y-you…”

tendou satori smiles like he’s greeting the sun after a week of rain, not the girl who ran from him twice in one lifetime. “hey there.”

you take a tiny step back, ready to escape inside again, but his fingers wrap gently around your arm. just enough to stop you.

“it wasn’t me who sent those pictures, you know,” he says. his tone is light, airy… almost sing-song. the same way he talked when you were kids.

your chest twists.

“you remember mayumi? from elementary?” he continues casually. “yeah, she goes to shiratorizawa too. you probably didn’t notice her. like how you didn’t notice me either. you know— with your new look.”

a joke. another joke. he laughs softly, like he’s trying to cushion the truth. but underneath there’s something small and sore.

your heart aches so terribly you almost fold.

“so it… it wasn’t you,” you whisper. and your voice cracks like thin glass.
he shakes his head. “told you. wasn’t me.”

you swallow, eyes burning. “satori… how could i ever not notice you?”

does he still… pit himself down?
even now? is that because of you?

he lets out a breathy laugh. “i thought you ran away on the first day  ’cause looking at someone like me made you puke.”

why… why does he keep joking at a time like this?

your hands move before you even think. you grab his—both of yours holding his tightly—your head bowing as tears spill.

“i thought—” your voice breaks, shoulders curling inward as tears spill over. “i thought you hated me. i thought you were mad at me. i thought— after what i did— after i just left—”

the words burst out like they’ve been waiting years beneath your ribs.

“i’m sorry, satori,” you sob. “i was ashamed. of myself. of how everyone saw me. of how i treated you. i— i couldn’t look at you because i didn’t deserve to. how could i ever forget you? how could i ever—”

you look up at him through blurry eyes.

and his funny, crooked smile… falls. softens. becomes something real and painfully gentle.

then, suddenly—
he laughs.

not a cruel laugh. not mocking. a warm little huff like a surprised exhale.

you stare at him, baffled. “why are you laughing?”

he steps closer. 

“because,” he murmurs, eyes bright with something soft and fond, “even after all this time, you’re still… so… pretty.”
he boops your nose on every beat.

you flinch, eyes wide, caught off guard—

and then, despite yourself, a tiny giggle escapes.

“please,” you mutter, wiping your face. “i was never pretty.”

he shrugs lightly, stuffing his hand into his hoodie pocket.
“not to me you weren’t.”

something warm blooms in your chest—
and then you tilt your head—and smile.

before your thoughts catch up, you throw yourself forward, arms looped around his neck.

“oof—!” his umbrella clatters to the ground, forgotten. he wraps his arms around your waist instantly, laughing breathlessly into your shoulder. 

“i’m glad you think so,” you breathe, muffled against him.

the rain soaks both of you but you don’t care. you hold on tighter. he squeezes back, chin digging lightly into your shoulder like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

you try to pull back after a moment—
but he shifts, rubbing his damp hair against your cheek like a cat marking its favorite person.

“stop! haha— that tickles!” you squeal, wiggling and trying to squirm away.

he laughs at your struggling, tightening his arms just enough to keep you close.

and there, in the rain, in your pajamas, in the mess of everything—
you keep hugging him, laughter spilling into the storm.

not strangers.
not anymore.