Chapter Text
you keep changing your fancy, fancy mind.
I.
The tree was crooked this year.
There was a severe lack of discipline in the general set up for the Christmas Ball this year, and whether that was due to the teachers’ attitudes (Tono-sensei had spent the whole day playing cards with some elementary-schoolers in the back of the ballroom), the students’ absent initiative (Natsume and Imai spent most of the set up day seated in a corner, with him snoozing away and her chowing down on some overpriced and ultimately inedible Central Town treat), or the tree’s natural shape was up for debate, but Ruka was there and he knew the tree was crooked because Koko had instigated a game of trying to one up each other in terms of ornaments put on the tree. The group he’d rallied put in a good fight, but nobody could keep up with the middle schooler with super speed, who’d tag-teamed with Kitsuneme to place a whopping three-hundred-and-sixty-two ornaments on the tree (“A world record!” Koko had exclaimed, but Ruka was pretty sure he’d just made that up), particularly along one edge of the tree.
As such, with the ornaments weighing down one side of the tree, it was crooked this year.
Ruka hadn’t noticed too much during the actual set-up, but it was glaringly obvious when the Ball was in full swing, the lights twinkling and exaggerating the lopsided silhouette. While the other kids danced and ate and played, he eyed the tree and sipped daintily at his fizzy lavender-flavored drink.
He wasn’t entirely certain what Christmas was supposed to look like these days. His classmates were all teenagers now, and graduation didn’t feel as far off as it once had. He remembered being a kid, remembered when twenty felt a hundred years away. He knew Natsume had felt that even more, like it would never come, nothing more than a pipe dream. But look at that. Now it was just a couple years off.
Back in the day, when they were all kids, these parties were easier. They were all friends, sort of, and even the attempts to taste romance were--in wise retrospect--sloppy and juvenile. Things were a bit different now, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Half his classmates were in relationships and the other half desperately wanted to be. His best friend was practically married to the girl they’d both liked back in elementary school, and even Koko was finally dating Shouda, although she had denied that fact many times (to his own chagrin, those denials were about as effective as asking Natsume to assist with set-up, since Ruka had just a few months ago had the severe displeasure of walking in on her making out with Koko in the dressing room before the Somatic musical).
No, things were different now. Everyone was grown up, or at least pretending to be, and Ruka felt very far behind, standing on the edges of the dancing crowd, drinking his drink and paying very close attention to the crooked tree because everything else made him a bit uneasy.
He sniffed at the crackly feeling in his throat, telling himself it was from the drink’s carbonation, and bravely cast a glance at the dancefloor.
Dozens of masked kids, holding each other by the hands (some bolder kids by the waists), guiding each other in varying levels of grace and rhythm across the glossy floor. They all seemed to be glowing under the light of the golden chandelier, smiling and blushing and trying to keep their masks secure over their faces.
Ruka’s gaze caught onto Natsume and Mikan, who never bothered with the masks, and let himself smile at how happy and carefree they both seemed, dancing with each other.
He could dance too. He could venture out and immediately find twenty girls willing to be his partner, probably a handful of boys too. But it would feel different from when he was a kid. They would be expecting something from him, more than just a fun sweep across the floor, and he wasn’t really ready for all that. It would feel like pretending. Forced smiles and forced manners and Ruka was a perfect gentleman and he doubted anybody would still want to date him if that slipped even a little bit.
It was easier when they were kids, he decided. He could dance with half the class and his biggest concern would be making sure he didn’t trip. Things were so much more complicated now. So much less fun.
He poked at his tie, trying to make himself busy in some way so it wasn’t painfully obvious how bored and miserable he was. He didn’t want Natsume or Mikan feeling bad for him and inviting him to third-wheel. That had been a total disaster during the dance after the Culture Fest: both of them smiling and pretending like it wasn’t awkward at all for Ruka to be accompanying them on what was clearly supposed to be a romantic date night. Even if they hadn’t been uncomfortable; he sure had been.
The heat was starting to feel stifling, the lights blinding, the laughter deafening, and Ruka suddenly found himself in need of fresh air, even if it was in the subzero temperatures waiting for him outside.
He took his time stepping out, just so it wouldn’t look like he was running away, but once the luxurious french doors shut behind him, he let himself sigh in loud relief.
The blistering cold of the snowy night was a welcome respite from the stiff world inside, a world Ruka wasn’t sure he knew his place in.
He shouldn’t have been surprised to find her already outside, half encased in a metallic, pastel-colored silkworm sleeping bag, her hands clutching at a fat sandwich. Imai was the one person he knew who would be even more uncomfortable in this new grown-up world than he was, even more so since she’d spent way too long trapped outside their reality in space-time. Still. He was surprised.
“Hi,” he greeted her politely and she shrugged at him. “It’s hot in there, huh?”
She didn’t answer, busy unhinging her jaw like a snake to take a humongous and unladylike bite of her sandwich. He stared and she stared back, as if daring him to comment. Her tongue darted out to catch some mayonnaise that rubbed onto the side of her mouth and it was not alluring at all.
He exhaled tightly, already about as uncomfortable here with her as he had been inside. At least, with her, there was no chance of someone taking pity on him and ruining their own night in the vain effort of including him. There was no way Imai would ever do that. If nothing else, he could be grateful for that.
With nothing else to do, and preferring to take his chances with her, Ruka wandered a bit closer to her on the balcony, leaning against the marble railing beside her perch on the bench. He drank his soda, she ate her sandwich, and they both soaked in the icy cold in companionable silence.
They were cutting open the pies inside. Ruka could hear the “oohs” and “ahhs” before they turned into blood-curdling shrieks. He’d never fully understood the appeal of that particular event. Like with most things, half the magic in these parties was how enamored Mikan was with every little thing the Alice world could offer. Her joy and wonder was contagious, making even the most mundane or irritating show feel like falling down the rabbit hole. He was sure even Natsume was grinning beside her right now.
But out here, away from the crowd, away from Mikan, away from the heat and everyone’s hungry eyes, with Imai, he could be honest.
“I’ve never liked this Ball,” he confessed. “Or any balls. Any parties. Any dances.”
“The mind boggles as to why,” Imai snarked, her mouth full of bread and meat and cheese.
“I just…” He took another sip of his soda, as if it could center him. It wasn’t even alcoholic. “I don’t like pretending.”
She didn’t ask him to elaborate and he appreciated that too. Any other girl would have fixed a concerned look on her face and asked what was wrong, why he looked so sad, how she could help. Not Imai. Even if she did care, nobody would be able to wrest it out of her. If nothing else, there was no pretense here, no feigned concern. She was just her.
He felt better already. “I know why you hate it.”
“Why is that?”
“You hate that you can’t make money off it.”
She glared at him, clearly insulted. “Yes, I can. I can make money off anything. I just don’t feel like it tonight.”
“Oh, come on. You made a bit of a profit once, years ago, and that was only because Mikan was doing Mr. Bear a favor--”
“--I could easily do it again.”
“Except then you’d have to be inside, with everyone else, enforcing the littering tax.”
Imai frowned. “Like I said, I don’t feel like it.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Neither do I.”
The silence bled out some more, and even though there was no easy conversation or happy bonding, he already felt less bogged down than he had all night. “Aren’t you cold?” and he asked because he was really curious, not to break the quiet. He didn’t really mind the quiet much.
“No,” she said. “I don’t get cold. I don’t get hot either. I always have some invention to keep my body at the perfect temperature.”
“It’s just that it’s really cold out,” he remarked. “And your arms are bare.”
She shook her head. “But the sandwich is warming me, Ruka-kun.” And with that, she took her final bite and swallowed audibly.
Ruka was cold, but because she didn’t care, she didn’t ask, so he didn’t say it out loud. It didn’t matter anyway, because there was no way he was going back inside. Not for anything. Maybe next year, he’d ditch the whole event. Just stay in his dorm and read and drink tea and wander the quiet halls by himself.
Or maybe Imai would ditch next year too. They could play cards or something.
“I don’t think I get it,” he mumbled. “The whole romance thing.”
“What’s to get?” She’d already pulled out more food--a bag of chips that sang in falsetto once she tore it open. It was to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
“It just feels kinda forced. Just a few years ago, Mochu was pulling girls’ hair and now he’s pulling out their chairs for them. Everyone feels so different at these dances.”
“Natsume isn’t,” she pointed out.
But he was too. Natsume had never stopped teasing Mikan, of course, but every part of him was softer now. He was romantic. By all accounts (mainly Mikan’s, of course) he was a perfect boyfriend, taking her on spontaneous dates and getting her thoughtful presents and pecking her on the cheek between classes. Maybe Imai just didn’t notice things like that.
“I know you don’t get it either,” he said. “Don’t pretend.”
“I could dance with anyone I’d like in there,” she argued.
“So could I. Isn’t that half the problem?”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. There was a reason she was out here. She might not feel the cold, but that wasn’t why she’d been sitting out here all night.
“I took all the good pieces of cake already,” she said quietly. “You’d be hard-pressed to find any good luck tonight.”
“Wasn’t looking for it,” he retorted, finishing his drink. “I’m not going back inside.”
“Suit yourself. I just have no reason to.”
“It was all so much easier when we were kids. We could just have fun. You’re probably the only person at this school I could dance with now who wouldn’t expect more than a dance after.”
She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I don’t want to dance with you.”
“I don’t want to dance with you either! I was just--ugh, forget it.” At least his defensive blush was warming him.
“Mikan wouldn’t mind, anyway. She wouldn’t expect anything from either of us.”
Ruka sighed. Yes. But she’d thought about it once. They all had. And it had been confusing and overwhelming and even ugly at times. Still, it had been the only moment where it had all made sense--cheek kisses and dancing and broad grins and blush and daydreaming about innocent dates and hand-holding. It’d been a long time since he liked her like that.
Looking back, it felt like a whole lot of effort for nothing. Being friends with her felt much more rewarding anyway. Easier. Jealousy was a heavy cross to bear and he didn’t really want to bear it anymore. Could Imai understand that too?
Looking at her now, it was hard to imagine any of it bothered her. Her face right now could have been carved from stone, picturesque and flawless, no pinch between her brows or pout in her lip. If he didn’t know better, gazing at her nonchalant expression as she munched on her singing chips, he could easily assume nothing ever got to her.
Of course, he did know better. Much better.
He’d seen her at her lowest before, with tears staining her face and pain etched in her eyes, moments in time that had almost been lost for good. But he’d held on tight, and here she was.
He wondered often if she ever heard him calling out to her. He knew she’d called out to Mikan. Mikan had told him so, practically squealed it. “Isn’t it lovely, Ruka-pyon? She loves me!” He’d smiled, but kept to himself that she hadn’t been the only one.
He’d heard her voice--crystalline and sweet and feminine in stark contrast to everything he knew about her--calling out to him too, in the middle of the night, when he was alone in his room on the precipice of sleep.
“Ruka-kun.” A reminder. A plea. A ghost’s desperate grip on the mortal coil. He was her pillar, her life-vest, her last hope. How could he ignore that? He’d called back, calling for her, afraid to ask how he could pull her back. All he could muster was two syllables at a time, and even those felt too heavy to utter louder than a whisper.
“Imai.”
Had she ever heard him? Maybe not. He’d been quiet, after all. She might not have heard.
He was lost in thought, and almost didn’t notice when the chips’ song was shoved towards him, louder and higher than before. Imai was holding out the bag, offering him a snack, though her gaze was pointedly away from him.
He smiled gratefully even though she couldn’t see and took a handful of chips.
Usually, the more extravagant and unique Central Town treats unnerved him. He was a vegetarian, and generally uncomfortable with the idea of consuming something that seemed to have feelings, and so much of Central Town’s culinary fare had a tendency to talk and dance and ask questions.
He’d once had the misfortune of buying a particularly talkative ice cream cone, who had babbled happily to him for a long time. He couldn’t bring himself to take a single bite, instead just watching as it melted down his hand, dissolving into a silent and sticky puddle of vanilla cream at his feet. Was it charming? Maybe for a minute. But the whimsy and magic of these Alice creations did not make for appetizing food. He preferred his snacks as far from sentient as possible, thanks.
But he knew it meant something that Imai had offered. Sharing was not something she liked to do, and it felt like an olive branch, as close to dancing as he’d ever get with someone like her. Besides, the chips stopped their singing as soon as they settled into his palm and since they had no mouths, they were like any other chip now.
Once he’d polished off the chips, he turned to her, emboldened by her shocking kindness. “Dance with me.”
She turned to eye him. “Didn’t I just say--”
“I want tonight to be fun. And I’m cold. I think you’re the only person who would get it. Come on.” He held his hand out to her and grinned.
Her expression did not change from its stony apathy. “Neither of us has a mask.” It almost sounded like a warning.
“So? I know you don’t believe in silly superstitions like that anyway.”
A conniving smirk spread over her face. “There’s one I like. If you use the girls’ restroom off the ballroom, specifically the last stall, and you do a number two, a ghost of a girl who drowned in the toilet comes up from the bowl and makes fun of you--”
“Where do you get this stuff?” He rolled his eyes and waved his hand to remind her of where they were and what he was asking. “Do you want to dance or not?”
“I do not,” she said, turning away and carefully folding up the empty chip bag, quiet now that the choir had been devoured. For as messy as she’d been a minute ago, she was prim and proper now. “But since you keep harassing me--”
“I am not harassing you. If you don’t want to, then I’ll drop it--”
“You keep harassing me. I know you’re desperate to dance, so I’ll take pity on you.” With that, she slid out of the silkworm casing and stood up, ignoring his outstretched hand.
He watched her as she stretched, sleepy and catlike. Her bare knees looked a bit knobby and weak and he wondered if she ever exercised. Probably not. She only walked places if the destination was less than one hundred paces away. She’d said that herself. Otherwise, she flew on her goose scooter or her giraffe wagon or that new whale boat she’d invented for the swimming pool.
He jolted when her hand smacked into his. “Pay attention,” she said and he mumbled an apology, placing his other hand on her waist as she gripped his shoulder with disinterest. “I’m doing you a favor. I don’t do this often.”
No, she didn’t. Imai danced with Mikan almost exclusively. He’d glimpsed her dance with Ogosawara and Umenomiya a few times, but never a single boy. He couldn’t blame her either. Even if she did harbor some interest for boys, her feverish fan club would never allow a dance to just be a dance. All those skeevy old men and lecherous upperclassmen over the years… salivating openly over her pretty eyes and brilliant mind, insisting they be the ones to own her. It was the same reason he didn’t like dancing with most people. He didn’t think it was exactly the same objectifying gaze Imai was subjected to, but there was a hope in their eyes he didn’t really like. He’d see the hope glimmer right before they’d open their mouths and confess shyly, “You know, Nogi-kun, I really like you. Would you ever want to--”
God, why couldn’t a dance just be a dance?
Like this, moving to the jovial music creeping out from inside, warm and bright. Ruka smiled and they glided from side to side, steps upbeat and happy. There was nothing slow, nothing hovering over them, expecting something neither really wanted to give at the moment.
One song slid into two, then three, and it didn’t escape Ruka’s notice that Imai hadn’t mentioned her favor stretching out like this. No, she seemed just as comfortable swaying with him as he did with her. He felt like he was a kid again, dancing because it was fun to dance, and not for any other reason. For a moment he even forgot that it was blistering cold out here, because Imai’s hands were warm, and her waist was warm, and the little not-quite-a-smile on her lips was warm.
It was nice.
But the fourth song started and it was different, more of an ooze than a playful dribble, a little too slow, melancholic, even seductive. They made the mistake of looking into each other’s eyes at the same time as the music swelled with a romantic violin solo, and they recoiled from each other.
“That should be good enough,” Imai quipped coldly.
“Thank you for the dance,” Ruka returned politely.
Neither of them looked at each other for a long moment.
Ruka only caught his breath when the horrible violin song ended and something more silly-sounding started up, a lot more fitting of the general vibe of these parties. He could pretend that awkward moment had never happened, that the violins had never happened, and looking at Imai felt safer.
“But seriously, thanks. It was nice to feel like a normal kid again.”
Imai had recovered, it seemed, nonchalance settled back in her violet gaze, a perfect slice of cake on a plate in her lap manifested out of nowhere. “Uh huh,” she replied, taking a forkful of frosting and spongecake into her mouth. “No problem.”
With a shrug, Ruka sat beside her on the bench. For the rest of the night, they didn’t utter a single word. They only sat and listened as the party stretched on, the only sound outside the soft whistle of the wind.