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Toko has found a lovely place for herself. Her life has been filled with misfortune after misfortune, but she has no choice but to consider herself lucky now. The ache in her legs, the smooth fabric beneath her cheek, the warmth of his skin that’s just barely there, and her glasses digging into her face give her euphoria in its purest sense. Even being in the same room as him is exhilarating. Her poor, human heart pounds without mercy.
Kneeling at Byakuya’s feet is truly her greatest joy now. Not just because of the action itself, but also because he allows her to. She can make contact with him like this.
And it’s painfully comforting; as long as she is the best version of herself, as long as she is still and doesn’t bother him, she is allowed to stay here.
He reads and doesn’t pay attention to her, and this, too, doesn’t bother her. She has become such a constant for him that she’s unnoteworthy. It makes her heart flutter, how she’s wormed her way into his life. This is her first time having this kind of casual contact with another person.
She wonders how this feels for him. Can he feel the pressure of her head on his thigh? Her face’s warmth, or the harsh edge of her glasses? Does it fill him with the kind of fond ache it does her? Or does he not care in the slightest? Obviously he doesn’t hate it, or else she would’ve been sent away with harsh words half an hour ago. Her hands twitch in place, and she curses herself for it. If she distracts him, this moment will end. She would give up anything and everything in the world to be able to stay here forever.
She feels like a pet or an accessory like this. If he really viewed her that way, there would be no words to describe her joy.
She knows how the others view them. She knows they think she’s just some kind of masochist and he’s taking advantage of that fact, which isn’t untrue. But it goes far deeper than that! Really, she loves him for such a selfish reason that she would have to degrade herself anyway to make up for it. The fact that they both enjoy it is just a bonus.
Love has never been kind to her. No matter what kind of love — her family never loved her, she never had friends, and any romantic prospects were disgusted by her. Once she discovered writing, throwing herself into a fictional love story became her escape.
Creating an idealized love was her idea of coping. The kind of love where you feel cared for and cherished. The kind of love that was probably possible, but would never happen for her. She accepted that. She used her writing to feed her delusions, but she never projected herself onto her protagonists. Romance heroines were beautiful and kind and definitely didn’t have the cocktail of mental disorders Toko acquired from her upbringing.
It made her feel better, but it didn’t make her better. She continued to fall into her depression and self-hatred. Stagnating.
She didn’t fall for Byakuya immediately. They met, and he felt familiar, but she brushed it off. She fell for him when he brought her back into reality. She fell for him because, while he was harsh about it, he said the quiet part out loud and made her realize just how much she had to improve.
He makes her better, he really does. She loves him because he makes her laugh with how venomously he insults everyone, and because he’s taken to guiding her so naturally, and because, at the very least, it’s easy to love him. It’s easy because of how much he doesn’t respect her. She can improve in the ways he wants and disregard everything else.
She doesn’t have to learn to love herself in order to love him. That’s the real reason for her feelings.
Like she said, selfish and awful. But he’s somehow more selfish than she is, so he would understand. No. He indulges her selfishness.
Because he lets her sit by his feet and rest her head on his lap as he reads when he really should have sent her away to brood in isolation. It makes her feel both seen and utterly unimportant, and the contradiction is intoxicating. Real love isn’t the perfect worlds she constructed in her head. It’s messy and painful. She’s been aching to feel something so real and terrible for her entire life. Those love stories pale in comparison to this.
She sighs, a tiny sound born of pure contentment, and he doesn’t even move. Her heart swells. Really, she doesn’t need that cheesy, unrealistic love. She spent long enough writing those stories and fantasizing about them. All she needs is him, his contempt, and his insults.
That’s the kind of love she’s fallen in love with.
The day that Byakuya realizes he doesn’t mind Toko’s head on his lap is the day that he reconsiders a lot of things.
He let her do it the first time just so she would shut up. For someone so socially inept, she can’t seem to stop herself from talking, and she only says interesting things about half the time. And sending her away never works for more than a few hours. Sometimes, the only way to placate Toko is to indulge her, just a little.
But he wasn’t serious when he said she could sit at his feet. Then she did it enthusiastically, and he regretted his words in an instant. Still, she stayed silent, so it was a slight improvement.
And then it became a habit. He spent a lot of time reading in the library, so she spent a lot of time in his presence. They both got so used to it that he almost forgot he ever disliked it. It simply became a fact of life. She even fell asleep, once, on a particularly late day. The weight of her head on his thigh was… well, he didn’t have words for it at first. He simultaneously hated it and didn’t mind it. The sound of her breathing faded into the background after a while and became mildly pleasant.
That was troubling. But he ignored it, excusing it by saying she just wasn’t worth his thoughts.
(If he continued to think about it for the next few days, that was between him and his own mind.)
Today, though, she isn’t around. The fact he notices her absence more than her presence is aggravating, so he sits down and throws himself into reading more voraciously than usual. He does actually forget that she’s not there. Of course, right as he does, she walks in, and any hope of ignoring her is gone.
Her hair is down, and he notices that it’s wet. Strange of her to shower at this time, but whatever. It’s an improvement. When their eyes meet, she smiles. He rolls his eyes. This does not deter her in the slightest. She kneels next to the chair. “I-I’m sorry for being late.”
“Tch. I don’t care.”
“But I do,” she says, giggling for some strange reason. “I m-missed you.”
He sighs and looks away. Obviously, telling her he doesn’t care won’t do anything. She takes this as an invitation, and rubs her head against his leg like a cat. Not only is it annoying and weird, but the water gets on his pants. He glares at her. “Your hair is still wet.”
“Ah! Right!”
She places her hands on his thigh, right next to his knee, and rests her head on those. Then she looks at him for approval.
Truly, truly, that girl is a pest. He doesn’t give her the dignity of responding. He simply goes back to his book as if focusing is easy. Which it is not, for the record, but he would never let her know that in a million years. She really should not be as distracting as she is. It’s just that the weight and feeling of both her hands and her head is a strange sensation. Very strange. He has honestly never felt this before, which is not something he’s happy about.
It takes him all of two minutes to realize the sensation he’s trying to name is “comfortable,” and he nearly stands up and walks out of the room. He should not be putting any positive descriptions on her. Especially not “comfortable.” It’s something close to vulnerability, close physical contact, and vulnerability is dangerous. Weak.
But now that he’s thought it, he can’t take it back. This position is comfortable, and that’s why he’s been allowing it. Well, it’s not like shutting her up was no longer a reason, it just fell by the wayside.
His chest grows tight. A kind of shame he thought he had conquered is creeping back into him. There is no reason he should be feeling this way.
And for Toko Fukawa?
Either this is a deliberate ploy on her part, or he has gone insane all on his own. The words on the page are blending together as his mind races. Damn her. Damn her and every time she hasn’t taken the hint, because now she’s gotten under his skin. Her and her ridiculous words and emotions.
She shifts forward, pressing more of her body against him. She’s surprisingly warm. He has to suppress a reaction, and he goes back to cursing himself. She’s an idiot for entertaining something as unhelpful as crushes — or god forbid, love, as she calls it — in this situation. But no matter how much he hated it, it had potential to be to his benefit. What he should’ve done is continue to shut it down, but he gave up and decided to exploit her emotions. Now she has poisoned him with her idiocy. His face is hot. This is terrible.
Subconsciously picking at his fingers, he thinks about what to do. He should tell her to never be in his presence again. To leave him in peace so that he’s no longer distracted and can focus on something productive.
Instead, he looks down at her. Intending for it to be just a glance, but his gaze is caught on her face. Her eyes have closed. A small, genuine, almost soft smile is painted across her lips, and her cheeks are pink. As opposed to his best interests, and as opposed to how looking at her should make him feel, he cannot help but think she’s cute in this moment.
Her eyes open slightly, and he immediately looks away.
He hates her so much.
The habit continues after they escape the school, although they don’t see each other nearly as often. It puts Toko in quite a sour mood.
And then there’s a… debacle in Towa City. She gets through it, but she spends a lot of time not doing much afterward, processing and recovering. The idea of being around anyone is horrible. Even Byakuya.
She’s grown to believe in herself, despite how cheesy that sounds. So she doesn’t feel like she needs him quite as much. But she still misses him most of the time. Terribly so. She falls asleep many times remembering how it felt to sit by his legs and lay on his lap. She’s eventually giddy with the idea of seeing him again. Of course, when she does, there’s a lot to go over, and they’re both very busy.
But the day does come when they can relax, thank god. He calls her in. She stays. Awkwardly, she sits on the ground and asks the question, and he just gestures for her to come forward. Her heart jumps in her chest. She scrambles to do it, and he scoffs quietly. It doesn’t phase her.
The fabric of this suit is slightly thinner, so she can feel his warmth better. She almost immediately feels at peace as her cheek rests on his thigh.
Maybe it’s childish of her, but love really is magical. She relaxes the instant she touches him; what other explanation is there? Well, obviously she knows it’s love hormones, but that’s not really different from magic. She’s unable to keep a smile off her face as she nuzzles closer. She wants to just repeat how much she missed him and never let him go. She told Komaru as much before, and the other girl just grimaced lightly. That’s okay. Nobody has to understand. And at least Komaru is relatively supportive… mainly because Toko is so stubborn and she couldn’t convince her to give up on him.
Toko even told her about this. She had said how much she felt like his dog (she pointedly chose that word over the one she was going to say because Komaru didn’t need to hear that), and Komaru’s reply startled her:
“You say that, but it… kinda feels like he’s treating you like his girlfriend.”
She rushed to deny it, because no matter how much she wished that was true, it would never happen. And then she thought. Emotionally unavailable is an understatement when it comes to Byakuya, so she never even considered it. And she’s never been able to hide her feelings about others, romantic or not. He is obviously the opposite. Maybe—
Maybe she isn’t being delusional. Maybe he does actually treat her differently than everyone else and she didn’t truly notice before.
Now, she takes a chance and looks at him. Just a glance. She got so used to seeing him through a screen that he feels almost too real now. Her chest tightens, and she grins. She’s so lucky. To be here, touching him, allowed to be in his space, his presence. He’s a blessing in this dismal world.
He visibly swallows. His pen slows down. Even after all this time, she hangs on to every change in his mood or mannerisms. Then she realizes it’s been longer than a glance and quickly turns her gaze to the floor. Of course, he’s observant, he would notice. Sometimes the idea of pissing him off doesn’t scare her — it excites her most of the time — but now is not one of those times. This moment is so precious, if she were to waste it…
But she just can’t help herself. She looks back. And he’s looking at her.
Jolting, she buries her face into his lap. Nervous energy bubbles up inside her, and it’s kind of exhilarating. She exhales. Did he miss her, too? The idea of someone like him missing someone like her has the same kind of appeal as the novels she wrote (and might start writing again.) Unrealistic.
“Toko.”
“Y-yes?!” She winces at the sound of her own voice.
His brows furrow, and then he sighs. “You are one of the most distracting human beings alive.” Just as she’s trying to piece together what this means — and comes to the conclusion that he’s criticizing her, and she has to apologize and then leave —, he says, “get up.”
She nods and does so. He studies her face. She feels like a bug about to be crushed and put under a microscope, which isn’t too far off. “I’m s—”
Before she can react, he takes her wrists and pulls her forward. She squeaks. Completely blindsided. She’s overcome with vertigo for a moment, but she’s being steadied. The moment she realizes what’s happening, he lets go of her. Her hands come to the back of the chair. He’s too close. Far too close, and her heart nearly explodes. She’s on his lap. She’s on his lap. He pulled her on his lap.
She lets out a whimper. “W-what…?” He keeps looking at her, which is almost worse than the knowledge of the situation or the sensation of it. Her knees knock against his hips. Their chests are almost touching.
Toko begins planning her will, although the only things she owns are some scissors and… no, that’s it. She lost her hair ties, too. Because this is definitely going to kill her. It’s weird; her fantasies have been way crazier than this, but her body is being thrown into disarray from something so simple.
“You look like you’re going to run.”
She’s tempted. She’s had enough adrenaline for a lifetime. She’s dizzy. She never wants to leave this position. He shifts slightly, and her soul nearly leaves her body. Teetering in place, she realizes she’s going to fall backwards at this rate.
That wouldn’t be too bad. She would just hit the desk.
But before she can, he grabs her waist. Electricity zings up her spine. Her face heats up rapidly, and she can barely breathe. His hands are warm — she can feel that much even through her clothes. Every centimeter of sensation radiates throughout her entire body. She blinks rapidly, so their eye contact is constantly interrupted, but they’re looking at each other. She feels naked under his gaze, figuratively but also a bit literally. Her shirt is bunching up slightly. Just a little more, and her skin would be exposed. Her breath wavers; so does his.
Oh, they’re close enough that she can hear that.
Dear god.
She brushes her bangs out of her face to get a better look at him. He’s blushing, as well, and it’s a very good look on him. His expression is rather unreadable. It looks like uncertainty, anticipation, a bit of frustration, although toward who, she really doesn’t know. She wants to paint this moment with words. She’s never been an overly descriptive or flowery writer, but the urge strikes her now.
She swallows it and tentatively touches his face. He flinches almost imperceptively, yet he doesn’t tell her to stop. It feels like time has stopped. There’s some kind of magic between them. But she can’t help herself when she whispers, “Your skin is s-so soft…”
He blinks, the bubble having burst. She panics for a brief moment. Her hands settle on his shoulders as she tries to steady herself again.
Then, quietly, he starts to laugh. A genuine, amused laugh. Something soft and gentle. Something she’s never heard. Her heart throbs, this time less in anxiety or sensuality and more in affection.
“W-what are you laughing about?” she asks, a little giddy.
He exhales. His smile is so beautiful she can barely stand it. “You really do need to learn how to shut up.” He’s practically choking on fondness, and — for some reason — Toko’s first thought is that Komaru really did have a point. He presses their foreheads together. She leans into it, letting her eyes flutter closed and savoring it.
Tenderness coming from him is strange, intimidating, and almost terrifying. Their relationship was predicated on a very specific dynamic; he was awful to her, she enjoyed it, she was shameless about her feelings, he was disgusted.
But they’ve done a lot of growing.
She can see it in how he’s less quick to snap, and the lack of bite to some of his insults now, and… well, this. And she’s more sure of herself. She’ll still take on and carry out any order he gives her, that hasn’t changed, and there will probably always be some part of her that’s a hated, downtrodden little girl. But when she really imagines, not fantasizes but imagines, something marginally healthy between them, it’s nice.
Maybe he’s come to the same conclusion. She hopes he has. She might crawl in a hole and die if she’s wrong about this.
“Yes, this is very comfortable,” he murmurs, his grip on her waist tightening.
A dizzying amount of emotion spreads across her chest. She nods. “Very.”