Chapter Text
You're late.
No, it's not a cause of concern. This is what always happens: there are meetings daily. Endou emphasizes this. Daily, he says, every weekday, every week, all year round, the whole school year. Raimon has long accepted your penchant for forgetting. Even better, Raimon has long accepted your ignorance.
You aren’t yourself without it. They would know.
They're against some team you likely never even learned the name of. Natsumi should kill you for that. The clipboard's some heavy load; it's not her job to carry it, that's why. Attendance. Endou, present. Kidou, present. Her eyes go lower, to where they've put the ones who always come late. Even they're here, Domon and the other two he's been influencing, somehow. She leaves the box next to your name blank. All your favorites are here. What a shame.
Gouenji, prese--
Wait.
She blinks. Pulls the tip of the pen away from paper and brings the list right in front of her gaze. Gouenji, present.
Except no, he's clearly not. The field is awfully empty today. Emptier than usual when you’re not there in the corner of everyone’s peripheral, slacking off on the side. You’re not here. They can live a day with that.
But so is someone else.
Natsumi looks up. Scans the room. Asuka, absent. That’s not a cause for concern. However:
Gouenji, absent.
The usual is this: you are unseen but present, you are significantly late, or you are absent altogether. The third is not of anyone's concern anymore, not after all the times you've skipped entirely. Natsumi could care less if you don't help them manage the team right now, but today they've got a different problem to deal with. “You can’t be serious,” she mumbles to herself. There’s only one plausible explanation, a singular reason as to why. Only you could pull this off.
There's a game coming, and Gouenji's gone. But you are, too. She thinks you've taken him with you.
-
"Don't ignore me."
Click. Lower. Grip. The claw clasps onto nothing. Drop! "I'm not."
You raise a brow. "You think you're tough?"
His hands jump away from the joystick, the buttons, the left and the right. He turns your way, unimpressed. "Do you want this plush or what?"
Is that even a question? You don't even have to look towards the glass horizon, into what swims inside the confines of the clear display. Yes. You want an enormous plush doll, larger than your ego, of that ugly, ugly taiyaki Tamagotchi so bad you would rip this arcade and yourself to shreds. You want it so bad the thought tightens your chest, sewing your heart and its valves shut with thread.
"Do you see its eyes, Gouenji? Do you see what hides beneath those beaded, dark depths?"
"No," he says. "I don’t see anything. Do you want--"
"Ignorance… it must be…" you interrupt. "I will make you see… Gouenji, you must understand the glory of this fish. It must be fate that it has come to allow us in its presence today, and I–"
"No," he starts again, louder now because the machine's music– that upbeat rhythm calling for your coins –is a relentless sound, overriding his volume. "I was asking if you wanted to--"
"WHAT I WANT IS TO..."
Genuinely, for the first time in years, a voice forces Gouenji's body to flinch– yours.
The grip of the claw loosens, releases, dies.
The fish graciously falls down, landing atop a pile of more fish, more of itself multiplied. Thud. The drop is unceremonious and awfully anticlimactic. It was on its way to you the moment before, back in the sea the next. The taiyaki Tamagotchi, you realize, is a truth not yours to hold.
Your eyes’ intent is to kill. "Do you want to die, Gouenji?"
Your vigor is, well, by your standards, wholly returned. Albeit rather stoic. He gestures at the claw machine again. You sense some finality in his words. He’s likely going to drag you out of here, dare you refuse now. "Do you want your plush, Asuka?"
"A proposal!” you exclaim, feigning delight. “First you bettay me by letting go of my fish, and now you ask for my hand? Are you serious? Just tell me you want me to kill you."
"I literally had it until you screamed into my ear."
"This is not good." Again, you ignore him in favor of yourself. You'd be stoked to know: not a living soul loves your audacity. "Not good at all. How am I supposed to not break up with you like this?"
“Okay, we’re not even–” but he cuts his reply clean. He hums in place of an answer. Instead, his hands dig in his pockets, and he allows you to watch, wordless.
A few coins surface from his pockets, coming up and out atop his palms.
One, three, five-- seven hundred yen, your eyes count. There's the sound of silver falling down a metal slot. Clink. He doesn't even ask.
You give up. From behind, you begin by resting your head atop his shoulder like the unwelcome weight you want him to know you as. From afar, you’re no better than a stain over his red jacket. He's silent as he plays, the rare hum here and there. There are staff staring at you. Eyes on the prize, you think.
“This is an attempt to curry my favor,” you question, “isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he hums, his focus unwavering, both the hands and the eyes. He doesn’t even look at you. “And?”
Huh. You pause the spontaneous patterns you’ve begun to trace upon the red cloth over his shoulder. Then you grin. You suppose that there is no place for shame when he willingly associates with you.
Blessed taiyaki-creature-plush-thing. The most niche of all niches! Taiyaki Tamagotchi whose name nobody knows! It will be yours…
Gouenji is going to win for you.
"Okay, then. Nevermind." For you, he will tell you later, even if those won’t be his exact words. The thought is what matters. His actions will say the rest. Thus: nevermind, then. You will be with him for longer. You are too happy to care. "We'll break up later."