Archive of Our Own

“I like you, Teruhashi Kokomi,” Saiki said, and her heart almost fell out of her chest.

Kokomi didn’t expect her first confession to be such a whirlwind, but she didn’t expect it to be so typical, either. It’s not like she wanted Saiki to order a truckload of flowers or bring her to the top of a mountain, but she’s Teruhashi Kokomi! He could’ve afforded to try and sound like he wasn’t in a rush.

The classroom was painted in warm hues, the last of afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows. They were working on a duo project, tables pushed together – though, she has to say she did most of the work – and everything had been going smoothly. They finished their work without so much as a conversation. He left right after they were done.

Well, she thought he left.

When she turned around to pack her things, then turned back around to leave, he’d appeared before her again. She didn’t even hear his footsteps come in, but she had been distracted with a song she’d heard on the radio.

His eyes were shaky, hiding something gentle, something she was too afraid to think more about. And his voice felt different in a way she couldn’t place.

And while she was still holding her phone, her cat phone strap dangling from the case, and not a single flower to be seen, he’d said it. In this very classroom.

Cut to the day after, – today, that is, – he’s said nothing. Not a single acknowledgement of the confession that flipped her world upside down (and her room, but he doesn’t need to know that), not even a glance in her direction. She thought maybe he’d greet her “good morning” to signify their change in relationship, but no.

Okay, well, she didn’t exactly get the chance to respond to his confession. She dropped her phone out of shock and in her scrambling to pick it up, he had disappeared. Like he teleported or something.

She’s beginning to think he’s psychic. That would be a better explanation than him running away before she could accept his confession. 

It’s only natural to get embarrassed, after all, she’s Teruhashi Kokomi. But she didn’t take him for the type to flee the scene like he committed some heinous crime.

Though, he’s certainly done what most men would consider a crime worth a life sentence – making her worry.

She’s sitting at the same desk. He is too, silent as ever. His expression is devoid of any of that something she’d seen yesterday. Just staring down at his textbook as if he’s studying diligently, when she knows he’s not, given he’s stayed at 90th out of 181 students for the entire time she’s known him. 

“Kokomi, do you wanna join?” Chiyo asks.

Her mind clears as she looks up at the girl standing in front of her desk. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Join what? With who?”

Chiyo’s grin flashes into a frown. “Are you okay? You’ve been kinda all over the place today.” She leans closer, glancing at Saiki. “Did something happen with–”

“No!” Kokomi exclaims, waving her hands. “Nothing happened. Everything’s fine! I just forgot to have breakfast this morning.”

“Oh, well, Aiura and I are going to the mall on Friday,” she explains. “And you should get something to eat. I know I can’t study on an empty stomach.”

Kokomi laughs awkwardly. “Um, I’m not sure.” I don’t know if me and Aiura are friends. Though I guess I have nothing to worry about now that I know Saiki likes me… “I’ll have to see.”

Chiyo nods. “Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” she replies. “I’m okay. Just a little hungry.”

For answers. She won’t let her eyes wander to Saiki’s desk, but she desperately wants to know what is wrong with him. Why did he suddenly confess his feelings? Why did he run away? When did he fall for her? Are they a couple now?

Saiki Kusuo, why are you always so confusing?!

Kusuo has no idea who confessed to Teruhashi yesterday, because it sure as hell wasn’t him.

He knows even she isn’t deluded enough to come up with that (plus, if she did, he would’ve sounded cheesier), and she wasn’t asleep when he left, so it wasn’t a dream. He doesn’t remember using hypnosis on a random student who happens to be in love with Teruhashi (so, any of them), and he doesn’t remember producing a clone of himself (and that would mean he himself would like her. Which he doesn’t), so he’s genuinely as confused as she is.

From her recollection of events, a very convincing clone of himself teleported into the classroom he had just left, told her about feelings he doesn’t have, then teleported away. The fact this version of him could teleport is what concerns him. She was approximately two seconds from correctly guessing he’s psychic. Any more of her spiralling and she would’ve been able to name every one of his powers.

He pops open the can of iced coffee as soon as he takes it out of the vending machine. The rest of his nuisances are in the canteen, probably in a deep discussion about the newest Toru Mugami detective show and if they should eat ramen later. They won’t look for him where he is, the school’s central courtyard, in front of the few vending machines that still work. 

He’d usually tough it out and eat with them, but Teruhashi’s active imagination made him overly conscious of every choice he makes today. If he does so much as look in her direction, she might take that as a sign whatever she’d seen was real and their relationship has somehow changed. 

(He doesn’t get that either, because it’s not like Impostor Kusuo asked to be her boyfriend. He just told her he liked her and left. That doesn’t automatically make her his girlfriend.)

So today, he won’t even breathe the same air as her. At least until he figures out how to fix this.

He holds his breath the moment that thought ends, because Teruhashi is now standing before him.

Saiki? 

She lets go of whatever she’s holding, coins clattering against concrete. 

While she’s distracted with picking them all up, he rushes into the school building and shuts his eyes tight. He’ll teleport anywhere but wherever she is, the boys’ washroom, home, just as long as she’s far, far away. He wouldn’t do this normally, but drastic times, right? And she seemed to brush off the Impostor Kusuo’s teleportation well enough.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the courtyard again. 

Except there’s a new discovery. Not only does he have an impostor-him running around wreaking havoc (confessing to a girl), but he’s also colourblind. Everything has lost its vibrant hues, like he’s living an old film – the green grass, the blue sky, the pink of his own hair–

Wait. If he’s standing here, then who is that in front of the vending machine?

The boy with antennae sticking out of his head that looks suspiciously like him pops open a can of iced coffee. Kusuo jumps behind a tree before the noir him meets his eyes. If it was really him, he’d be able to see through the trunk with his X-Ray vision, so he knows the impostor doesn’t have his psychic abilities. Kusuo peeks over his shoulder as the fake him takes a sip.

A girl with blue hair and a golden aura turns the corner. Kusuo presses his back against the tree closer, as though it might absorb him like sunlight. 

Wait, blue hair and a golden aura?

He looks again, and sure enough, Teruhashi is stark in colour against the monochromatic world. Her blue hair, the green fabric of her uniform, and especially her golden light. 

Kusuo doesn’t think he can afford to keep throwing glances, so he jerks his head back forward. He hears the ringing and clattering of coins against concrete, his eyes closing on instinct.

When he opens his eyes, he’s back in the school corridor. The walls are still grey. Is he actually colourblind–

Wait, the doors are green. The walls were always grey.

What on Earth was that? Why is he in the hallway again? How did he see himself, and why was Teruhashi the only one in colour?

Only one way to find out.

Seriously, I get that he’s embarrassed, but what’s with him and running away every time I drop something?

And now here she is, crouched on the floor picking up coins by herself. “This is humiliating,” Kokomi mutters. “Where did he even go?”

She hears footsteps behind her and flattens her lips, praying she didn’t say that first part loud enough for whoever it is to hear. Kokomi gets up, brushing off her skirt and gets up to greet–

“Saiki?!” Her hand slaps over her mouth. “I thought you–” Wait, of course! He felt so guilty for running away that he's come back! How did he come up from behind me if the way inside is the opposite… You know what, whatever! “Um, Saiki, about–”

Kokomi cuts herself off. She can’t be the person to bring up yesterday. It’s his confession, he should be the one saying something! And she doesn’t want him to think she was thinking about it all day. She shakes her head. “Never mind.”

Saiki doesn’t say anything, but his brows furrow ever so slightly, as if he’s surprised she can see him. 

He steps closer. Her eyes flutter closed.

He reaches for her hand and something cold stings the skin of her palm. 

“Oh, thank you,” she replies quietly, seeing a coin in her hand. “Sorry about that. I was a bit flustered when I saw you–” She blinks. “I mean, as in, I didn’t expect anyone to be here! So I was shocked, not that I was–um, yeah.”

He lets go of her hand. A fresh, crimson scratch on the back of his hand makes her grab it again. “Are you okay? What happened?” Was that there before? “You should go to the nurse’s office.”

Saiki nods and walks away, back into the school where she thought he’d gone.

When she’s sure the coast is clear, Kokomi lets out a heavy sigh. Had he lost the courage or something? She didn’t mean to go the moment she said to.

She slots the coin in her hand into the vending machine and presses–

I hit the wrong button! 

A can of warm red bean soup falls into the mouth of the vending machine, and she’s forced to take it. It isn’t nearly cold enough to drink this, but she’s not willing to feed the machine any more coins. God, where are you?! How can you let this happen to your favourite subject?

She settles on the verdict that she used up all her luck getting Saiki’s spontaneous confession yesterday and this red bean soup is a small price to pay. 

Yeah, right. He won’t even talk to you about it.

Kokomi stares down at the can. She sets it on the bench next to the vending machine, hoping someone else will enjoy it more than she would.

It’s time-travel, Kusuo thinks as he gulps down some red bean soup. She was right, the weather isn’t exactly right for this, but he would have hated to see it go to waste.

He’s watched the scene of her dropping her coin pouch about seven times. On his third watch, he tried standing in front of Impostor Kusuo (who, now, would be more accurate to call Past Kusuo) and waving his hand in front of his (own) face, but there was no reaction.

On his fourth, he tried tapping his shoulder, but some kind of barrier rippled under any contact he tried to make. Here, he discovered his other abilities don’t work in this state, as he tried to teleport when he heard Teruhashi’s footsteps. He cut his hand against the bushes as he tried to escape. Thankfully, all it took to return was to close his eyes.

On his fifth and sixth, he tried going to a different point in time by imagining the coffee jelly he had the night before, but nothing. So he was forced to watch and hear the coins scatter on the ground another two times. 

And on his last, he decided to approach Teruhashi after Past Kusuo left. Somehow, she could see him. He successfully picked up a coin on the floor, and he even tested the physical contact by lifting her hand. It all worked. For some reason, she was the only person he could interact with. 

Time-travel isn’t anything new to him – he’s had to induce his own birth, which is equal parts disgusting and weird to think about, so he tries not to dwell on that – but this, whatever it may be, is. The black and white filter over his vision, his psychic powers not working when he’s in the past, and it having something to do with Teruhashi, is all new.

It’s too new, in fact, that he concluded it was too dangerous to continue the school day as normal. So now he’s hiding in the nurse’s office, afraid that if he tries to teleport he’ll go back to hearing coins scattering on concrete. With a little pyrokinesis and award-winning acting, she believed he had a fever and let him rest in here until dismissal time. (Okay, well, all he did was stay rather quiet and cough once. But surely there are worse actors than him.)

He stares at the cut on his hand, still red against his skin. Weird. It should be healed by now, what with his universal alterations to the average human recovery time. He must’ve sustained the injury due to all the time-travelling.

Whatever, he’ll just–

I’ll just get some bandaids for him, then I’ll leave it on his table. I won’t even talk to him! Teruhashi’s voice fills his head so he leans back on the infirmary bed, eyes screwed shut. The door to the nurse’s office creaks open and footsteps approach him in the back of the room. 

He left the curtains half-drawn. 

Saiki? Is he asleep?

Well, I’m lying down with my eyes closed on a bed. What do you think?

After a few seconds of cabinet doors opening and closing and rummaging through things, Teruhashi makes a pleased hum. I’ll patch him up and go to class. It won’t take long. She moves the stool by the counters next to the bed, squeaking under her weight.

She lifts his hand (and his mind unhelpfully makes the observation that her hands are very soft) and applies some kind of cool gel on the scratch. Why is she doing this? It’s not like he can say “oh wow” while sleeping. What is there to gain by doing this?

“You’re really confusing, Saiki,” she mumbles. “I wonder if you meant what you said.”

She’s not the only one confused, he’d like to reassure. He doesn’t understand why she’s still here, pressing a bandaid onto his skin with gentle fingers. He doesn’t know why she’s talking to someone she thinks is asleep, and he doesn’t know why the room feels so warm, or why the thing in his chest is incessantly reminding him it’s there.

“I like you too.” I really hope he’s asleep.

He’s not.

Finally, she leaves the room and takes her suffocating warmth with her. He sits up, pulling back the curtains like it might help clear the air. 

She had been so gentle. It was almost nice seeing her out of her element – without any pretenses, or excuses to back up her actions. It was almost nice hearing her say those unsavory words. I like you too.

He never imagined he’d be the first one to say it between them. He’d never imagined he’d say it at all, really. Though he hasn’t, technically. At least, not yet.

Yes, the next thing he had deduced is that the Impostor Kusuo she’d seen yesterday was no impostor – it was him, only it was him some time in the future. 

As in, Future Kusuo went back in time to that specific point and thought it was important to tell Teruhashi he likes her. 

There are several things confusing about that. One, how did Future Kusuo do so, if the only moment he’s currently able to go back to is at the vending machine?

Two, why? 

Good grief. He’s giving himself a headache with the many possibilities swimming in his mind. Maybe it was better he had actually gone to sleep.

“I didn’t realise it was a mixer date!” Kokomi exclaims. 

She’s standing by the entrance of a cafe in the mall, phone pressed to her cheek. The cat phone strap swings loosely against her jaw. Aiura’s hair colour is unmistakable in the middle of the room across from three boys. Far in the back, Chiyo is waving at her from the cafe’s washroom.

“Well, if I told you, you wouldn’t have come!” she replies through the phone. “What? Did something really happen between you and Saiki?”

Kokomi plays with the hem of her skirt, unsure of how to respond. Yes? Kind of? Not at all? She shakes her head and hangs up, takes a deep breath and approaches the table with a poised smile. Aiura pats the seat next to her with decorated nails, grinning from ear to ear.

The three boys – all very similar in appearance, so she doesn’t even bother noting anything other than which one is sat where – lean closer the moment she sits down. Chiyo joins them from the washroom, clapping her hands together. “Kokomi, you should introduce yourself!”

They nod excitedly, like dogs being asked if they want to go on a walk. Everyone’s expectant gazes fall on her, and if she wasn’t used to such pressure, she might’ve cracked. Instead, she remembers who she is and greets them with a smile.

The date continues. It’s nothing special – she’s only been on one mixer date before, with Imu and Chiyo, and it ended poorly. Even though the guys seemed rather interested (in her, at least) they bailed. They were doing pretty well, too. But her heart wasn’t really in it, and it isn’t now, either.

It was Saiki then, too. She couldn’t stop her mind drifting to him then, and she can’t stop it now.

She knows it’s not really cheating – they’re not together, and they likely never will be – but his confession swirls through her mind like the straw of her iced coffee. Kokomi distantly hears questions from the three, and she thinks she’s answering, but she doesn’t hear herself. 

Could she have been dreaming? Letting her fantasies infiltrate her thoughts – had she been acting weird around Saiki for no reason? 

“Terukoko?” Aiura’s nickname for her echoes through her ears. “You okay?”

Kokomi blinks, olive green eyes staring back at her. “Yes! Yes, I’m…” She exhales softly. “I’m fine. Sorry, I’ll be right back.”

She just needs the washroom. It’ll only be a few minutes, she promises the group. She hears one of the three boys call out for her – or maybe it’s all of them – as she leaves, fiddling with the end of her phone charm.

All she needs is a splash of water to her face, the rest of her coffee and some sense knocked into her head. Then she’ll have to stop thinking about someone who doesn’t even…

Kokomi’s leather flats stop on the gleaming tiles. “Saiki?”

The bandaid is still there? Teruhashi thinks.

Kusuo doesn’t know why it’s there, either. It’s certainly healed by now. He didn’t even need it in the first place.

He’d picked at it over the weekend. Watched the moment in black and white from behind the bed’s curtains, returning to the present as soon as Teruhashi got up to leave the room. He couldn’t escape it. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d find himself in the nurse’s office, listening to Teruhashi talk to him while he was “asleep”.

It seems this time-travelling symptom of his didn’t stop at the vending machine. At least now he knows he can go to other moments – even if he still doesn’t understand why Teruhashi is at the centre of it.

He’s not sure how it works yet, but he has a feeling it’s some stupid thing like fate, which he doesn’t believe in. He’s changed human DNA. Something as measly and weak as the concept of destiny won’t affect his decisions, and it certainly won’t make him want to confess to Teruhashi Kokomi of all things.

She slides a note across his desk, looking over her shoulder to make sure none of her fans notice. He doesn’t intend to, but his eyes lock onto every distinct curve of the ink. She even has perfect writing. Go figure.

Thank you for the flowers. 

…Flowers?

Future Kusuo, what the hell are you doing?

He’ll admit. He’d seen her on her date – he thought he’d come along again to help the guys out, obviously, but he didn’t even approach the cafe they were in. There were too many people around to use his invisibility, so he hung on the edge of a 200-metre radius so he could just hear her thoughts.

They weren’t up-to-par, certainly not for Teruhashi’s standards, but he’s not sure what he expected from Yumehara. She’s got awful taste in men, himself included. (He can’t say he wasn’t a little amused that he was still on her mind, even now.)

By the time he’s read the note, Teruhashi is gone. She’s been avoiding him recently. He should be glad, but it almost feels weird without her thoughts seeping into his head. But that odd, sinking feeling is no excuse for an action so uncharacteristic of him.

On his walk home, he swears a million flower shops have opened on the same street. Of course, he’s not tempted by any. He has no flowers to give. 

A vibrant poster on the window of a cafe beckons him closer, advertising some kind of promotion. Without much thought he pushes open the door, the familiar scent of coffee and pastries combined with something floral. He assumes that’s an air-freshener.

He orders what the poster told him to – an iced coffee that’ll come with a free slice of cake. By the quick scan he does of the place, he has a feeling he’ll quite like it here. There’s no one inside, just excessive flower decor. Framed paintings of them hanging on the walls, small pots of what look to be real flowers adorning every table, there’s even some on the front counter.

Listen, free cake is free cake. He can handle a little floral embellishments as long as they come with really delicious cake. It’s not like they’ll hand him a bouquet of flowers for being here.

“Congratulations, sir, you’ve won a free bouquet of flowers for being here!” 

Honestly, he doesn’t know why he even tries.

The man gently places a bundle of purple flowers wrapped in paper in front of him alongside his slice of cake. “We just opened up, you see. You’re our first customer!”

Right, but what do flowers have to do with cake? 

“What’s with the confused face? This is a florist cafe,” the man spreads his arms, showing off the very, very floral interior. Yeah, Kusuo should’ve expected that. “The first of its kind in Hidariwakibara, actually!”

Yeah, well there’s a good reason for that, isn’t there?

“Anyways, this,” he says, gesturing to the bouquet on the table, “is an arrangement of gladiolus, lilacs and–”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re flowers. Can I eat now?”

He sighs. “Yes, you can.” I didn't think my first customer would be a high-schooler with no respect for flowers!

It’s not that he has no respect for flowers, but the cheesecake next to them is so enticing he’d be surprised anyone could consider listening to some stranger ramble about flowers for long enough not to inhale the whole thing.

And pollen has a highly dangerous effect due to interference with his powers (It’s not an allergy). He and flowers don’t exactly get along, so he places it on the side of the table farthest from him.

The man – it turns out he’s the owner of the store – disappears into the back of the building. Off to sniff the roses or whatever, probably. The cake is alright, certainly not worth the time he wasted listening to the guy talk about flower arrangements.

The gladiators or whatever (he knows they’re gladiolus, he simply refuses to accept unnecessary information into his flawless memory) and their frilly spires are wrapped in beige paper along with pale clusters of lilacs and delicate violet flowers, tied together with a ribbon. His eyes travel to his hand holding the fork, then to the finger with a bandaid so lovingly pressed around it.

He rips it off without so much as a wince.

The bandaid, not his finger. Though he can’t say he didn’t think about it.

Scrunching it up, he picks up the bouquet with his other hand and gets up towards the trash can across the cafe. He tosses in the crushed up bandaid first, but he wavers before he can stuff the flowers in the bin as well. To throw it in the guy’s own cafe is a little harsh, isn’t it? He’s not trying to collect bad karma. He’s unlucky enough as it is.

No, Kusuo, don’t be stupid. The sooner you do this, the sooner your future self won’t make dumb decisions.

He hesitates for a moment too long. When he blinks, he’s in a black and white shopping mall. People pass by him – through him – as though he’s invisible, and to them, he probably is. The flowers are still in his hands, hovering over nothing. 

“Saiki?” 

At Teruhashi’s voice, he hides the bouquet behind his back. He won’t give them to her, no matter what. He hasn’t had much opportunity to see her recently, especially not as more than a mass of muscles and bones. Despite her not wanting to be here, she’s made up rather nicely. Rosy cheeks and lips, dark blue hair cascading down her shoulders in natural waves. Or perhaps that’s what she always looks like. 

“How did you know I was…” Her brows furrow subtly, eyes wandering to the very obvious object in his hands. “Are those…” 

“No, they’re not.” After a few seconds of silence, he remembers his telepathy does not work and he’s staring. Great. He points in the cafe’s direction, as if to ask, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

She blinks, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. What did she think he meant? “I was just—um, Chiyo asked me to accompany her, and—“ Then, she says, “I’m on a date.”

Huh.

He didn’t think she’d outright say it.

It’s not that he’s bothered by her going on a date – why would that matter to him? Did she think it would? Is that why she said it?

His nose itches. His grip on the bouquet tightens, the other hand covering his face. Are you kidding? Of course he has to sneeze right now. Why doesn’t he just blow up the entire mall while he’s at it?

It itches again, stronger. He might actually blow up the place.

“Saiki, are you–”

He shoves the flowers towards her and darts as far away from her, from everything, as possible. Teleport back, teleport back, teleport–

He sneezes. 

Nothing happens. No buildings explode (at least, not anywhere near him), no catastrophic disasters that destroy half of Japan, and everyone around him is still casually strolling, shopping bags in hand.

Wait. If his telepathy and X-ray vision don’t work, all his other abilities probably don’t, either.

He glances down at empty hands. He gave the flowers to her. 

I didn’t mean to, Past Kusuo.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s standing in the florist cafe, hand lingering over the trash can, fingers gripping nothing in particular. “Are you doing alright, sir?” The owner asks, poking his head over the counter.

He dusts off his palms, fishing for his wallet. The cake wasn’t worth it. “Just fine.” 

Kokomi takes a sip of tea from her cute, dog-print mug and sets it next to the vase of flowers on her desk. The end of her pen is tapping mindlessly against the textbook splayed open. She has a test tomorrow, but nothing is more distracting than the different types of purple flowers she doesn’t know the name of, and she’s almost sure Saiki doesn’t either. It wasn’t a truckload by any means, but he definitely made up for the whirlwind confession.

He’s so confusing, it’s giving her a migraine. Or maybe that’s the dreadful reminder that she has a test tomorrow, and none of anything she’s been studying for the past hour has actually entered her brain.

Her phone buzzes against the desk. 

It’s Saiki. We need to talk. I’m waiting outside.

She peeks through the window above her desk, and sure enough, a head of bright pink hair is standing outside the gate. Kokomi scrambles to her closet to find something more appropriate to wear in front of her kind-of-mutual crush than her silk pyjamas, shrugging on a cardigan and combs through her hair once for good luck. 

The dim light of the streetlamp flickers down on him as she pushes the gate open. He looks at her, and even through the dark night, she sees none of that gentleness she’d seen merely a few days ago. He doesn’t say anything.

Okay. She’ll have to concede this time. “Saiki, you’ve been, um, acting really weird since… you know.”

He blinks.

“And I know it was probably really embarrassing for you, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to respond, I wasn’t sure if I should be the one to bring it up–” She stops to take a breath, feeling her cheeks warm. “Anyways, what I wanted to say is that I li–”

He finally says, “Forget it.”

What?

“Forget it. All of it,” he continues. “The confession, the flowers. They didn’t happen.”

Kokomi’s lips fall agape. “Is this because of how long I took to answer? If that’s the case, I–”

“I don’t like you, Teruhashi,” Saiki says, and she swears her heart really does fall out of her chest this time. If she looked harder, maybe she’d find its glittering shards scattered across the sidewalk. “Sorry.”

It’s a pathetic apology. And she might point that out if not for the fact that by the time she’s looked up through blurred vision, he’s already walking away. 

She wipes what feels like a tear – a real one, not one she would shed for her convenience – away and steps towards the gate. She can’t cry out here. She can’t have anyone see her like this.

How could she be so stupid? Kokomi always knew those cliche, high-school romances that Chiyo raved about weren’t meant for her. And to look for it in the one person who was hellbent on having nothing to do with her, too. What was she thinking?

The luck from combing her hair apparently fell short. Maybe she should’ve gone through it more than once, or maybe the red-bean soup was a sign that God had forsaken her.

Someone is standing in front of her. She could’ve sworn the street was dead empty. As she tilts her head up, a practiced smile twitches onto her face. 

A boy with pink hair and antennae in a white shirt and pyjama trousers is looking back at her. Underneath his green lenses, the gentle gleam of his eyes has somehow returned, even though half a second ago she was gum on the sole of his shoe. 

Her head shoots in the direction Saiki had been walking. His figure is still there, several metres away. A laugh forces its way from her throat. “I can’t seriously be imagining him now.”

“You’re not imagining me.” What she thought was a delusion reaches out for the hand wiping a tear from her cheek. He sounds different. On the rare occasions Saiki speaks, his voice almost echoes through her head. Now she hears every breath he takes, unsure and shaky as they are. It reminds her of that day. “Go after me–him. Tell him he’s being stupid.”

“What? Who are you?” She jerks backwards, his hand dropping to his side. She can feel herself retreating to safety – her voice softening as she erases any evidence she’s less than perfect from her face with her sleeve.

“Tell him that he’ll regret this and there’s no way of escaping you even if he tried. And trust me, he’ll try,” he says. “I’ve tried. Now go.”

“What–what do you mean go? He’s halfway down the block at this point, he’s not gonna stop for me.”

He shakes his head and glances over at… himself? “No. He’ll hesitate.”

On cue, Saiki’s figure halts in his tracks. She doesn’t know why, or how this guy who looks suspiciously like him knows that, but something flickers alive in her chest. She takes off, shoes padding against the sidewalk.

“Saiki, wait!” She reaches out towards his back.

He turns, watching her catch her breath in what must be the most unflattering view of the perfect pretty girl. She always loses her nerve around him. She’s not sure she cares. But when their eyes meet, her words catch in her throat. What comes out is, “Do–do you have a twin, by any chance?”

His eyes narrow at her. “What did you see?”

Not “are you crazy”, or “why are you following me” or “what’s wrong with you”, but “what did you see”. In between pants, she tries her best to make herself sound less insane. “You… no, someone that looked like you was there. He–”

She whirls around, but the pyjama-wearing Saiki is nowhere to be seen. 

Was I really imagining that this whole time?!

Kokomi shrinks. “Never mind.” She pulls back. “I’m sorry that I misunderstood you. Goodnight.”

The mattress beneath him pokes his spine. He doesn’t remember it being this uncomfortable. He counts every speck on his white ceiling, plain and empty. But it doesn’t help him go to sleep.

It’s been a week. He doesn’t understand why he would ever go back to that moment – why he would be so stupid as to ask her to run after him. It’s like he hates himself or something. What other reason might there be for this self-destructive behaviour – this intrusive, unwarranted act on his peace by none other than his future self?

At the very least, Teruhashi has stayed far away from him. Kusuo knows she’ll be too embarrassed that her first crush ended in the way that it did, that she was rejected so outright, and to spread rumours about him. He knows someone as perfect as her wouldn’t consider such a pastime, anyway.

He’d never been more thankful for X-ray vision in his life. It was a lot easier ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when the girl you made cry looks like a skeleton. (Although, it didn’t stop her thoughts from clinging to his mind like a bad smell. She’s not stupid for wanting romance. She’s stupid because of all people, she picked the one person incapable of it.)

He sits up. Don’t think about her, Kusuo, it can’t be that hard. Why now of all times does he have to second-guess himself? 

Shuffling to his desk, he pulls open the second drawer from the top. Hidden beneath a pile of books is a photo strip he’s kept for longer than he likes to admit. Even though he rarely opens this drawer – for this reason, precisely – he’s always hyper-aware it’s in here, along with the other things he’s ashamed to never have thrown away. 

The photo is by no means any good. It’s awkward, and he hadn’t been ready when the first picture snapped, not that he really cared how it turned out. In the first two images there’s a gap between where they’re standing since she was too scared to move closer. In the last, she finally scooted closer. 

He can’t hear her thoughts through the picture, but he remembers how fast her heart was beating when their shoulders touched.

Kusuo blinks and doesn’t find himself in his bedroom, but in a large area with air-conditioning way too high for him to be in his pyjamas. Crowds of people peruse the storefront windows with paper bags in their hands, phasing through him. He knows exactly where he is.

“Don’t let him get away! After him!” 

He hears the grating voice of Teruhashi’s brother, so he jumps behind a pillar.

From a distance, he sees himself reach for Teruhashi’s hand and pull her towards an enclosed photobooth. Like always, she’s the only one in colour. Blue hair, green uniform, rosy cheeks and shimmering aura. Her lips fall open, staring down at their hands. 

Kusuo glances down at his own. He doesn’t remember squeezing so hard. 

Briefly, he wonders if he can go back to bowling. Or the arcade. Or darts. He chuckles softly remembering how competitive she was, though no match for someone who could manipulate anything to his favour. She was pretty decent at the fighting game, especially, having dropped her persona to mash buttons in an attempt to defeat him. 

He blinks and he’s back in his room, looking down at the photo strip.

Good grief. He called her stupid, but look what he’s doing. He should throw this away.

There’s plenty of things he should toss while he’s at it. He rummages through the drawer and finds an embarrassing number of items he’s kept, sitting cross-legged on the ground. 

An empty box of store-bought Valentine’s chocolates he was too afraid to throw away in the shared kitchen trash can (perhaps disappointed it wasn’t handmade). A photo they took with Yuuta at the amusement park (she forced one of those dumb headbands on him, then laughed at how it looked with his antennae). A receipt for a dog-print mug he’d kept to apport the money from her brother (but never did, and considered it his gift for the year). They all need to go.

And yet, as he looks at all the things scattered across his floor, he doesn’t get up for the bin. Doesn’t bring it closer with telekinesis, either.

Kusuo spends so much time in the past it makes him sick. He watches himself save Teruhashi from L. Ginger from the crowd. He watches himself drag three undeserving boys out of a karaoke bar from behind a hallway corner, then three girls come out wondering where they’ve gone. He listens to her reject Saiko for him, someone with millions less in the bank, from the outside of the girls’ – err, now boys’ washroom. He listens to her admit she likes him too from behind the infirmary bed curtains.

His bedroom is significantly less warm than the nurse’s office when he returns, but just as suffocating. (Perhaps even more so, without her around.)

He closes his eyes again, willing himself to where he knows he should be. His own figure paces further into the monochrome night.

A blue head of hair turns around and this time, he sees a pearly tear roll down her cheek. 

“I can’t seriously be imagining him now,” she chokes out, an unfamiliarly sad smile across her face. 

 “You’re not imagining me.” He forces his voice out, wiping the stray tear. It’s uncharacteristic. It’s nothing like him, and yet he feels like it’s the most him he’s been in a long time. “Go after me–him. Tell him he’s being stupid.”

“What? Who are you?”

“Tell him that he’ll regret this and there’s no way of escaping you even if he tried. And trust me, he’ll try,” he says, exasperated. “I’ve tried. Now go.”

“What–what do you mean go? He’s halfway down the block at this point, he’s not gonna stop for me.”

He shakes his head and glances over at himself. “No. He’ll hesitate.”

Because he knows he did. He knows better than anyone that he heard Teruhashi’s thoughts and his legs stopped. He knows he felt stupid for it. For hesitating.

And he knows when he does, he looks down at his finger and the bandaid that isn’t there anymore.

Kusuo watches her run after him, and he remembers exactly what she’d asked. The moment she asked if he had a twin, he heard her thoughts and knew what his future self – or rather, what he himself – had done. 

The same version of himself he’d cursed out for coming back.

Sorry, Past Kusuo. It turns out we like her, after all.

Kokomi takes a long sip of her iced coffee. No time like right now to have a hit of caffeine – after all, she’ll need it to deal with the fact she’s sitting in front of Saiki, tucked away in the back of a florist cafe. She didn’t even know they had these in town.

She recognises the purple flowers on the counter as the ones she has at home. She said she was going to throw them away a week ago, and yet the vase is still sitting on her desk. She even changed the water before coming here.

“I owe you an explanation,” Saiki says, as straight-lipped as ever. Now that she thinks of it, has she ever seen his lips move? “No, you haven’t.” 

Wait, did she say that out loud?

“No, you didn’t,” he replies. She stops mid-sip. “You might want to swallow that. I don’t think you’ll be very happy if you spit it out all over me.”

She gulps down the coffee. Not because he asked, but because she needs the caffeine.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m psychic.”

Kokomi presses her lips together. “That’s…” I would’ve definitely spit out my drink. “That’s not very funny.”

Before her eyes, the teaspoon in her cup swirls without her holding it, clinking against the walls of the glass. If that wasn’t proof enough, it ascends into the air and impossibly folds into itself, tying a knot. 

“Will you believe me now?” he asks. “I can untie it for you, if you want.”

She shakes her head rapidly. “No, no thank you.” Wait, so that means–

The silver knot unties anyway, bent metal somehow straightening back out into a spoon and dropping into her glass. “Yes, I can hear you right now.”

Her hands slap over her mouth. So he’s known I’ve liked him all this time?!

“You weren’t exactly subtle, you know?” For someone with such a blank expression, he’s rather smug. “Is that all you care about?”

She thinks over the past year with him, months, then weeks. “Did you conjure some kind of–” She leans closer, her voice a mere hush. “Did you conjure some kind of illusion of yourself that confessed to me to make fun of me?”

Saiki is quiet, and for a second she thinks that means she was right. “Is… that what you think I would do?”

Well, no, but it’s not like there’s any other more plausible reason. The psychic thing was hard enough to believe. What’s next, he can clone himself? Time-travel?

“Technically I can do both.” He exhales in what she thinks is meant to be a laugh, then breathes in. “I’m sorry. About that night.”

If she thought he gave her a migraine before, she certainly is getting one now. She finishes the rest of her coffee, hoping it might wake her up from this nightmare. Kokomi doesn’t need any more reminders of how harshly she was rejected.

“You saw me, right?” he questions, careful. “Two of me. One told you to chase after the other.”

Don’t tell her it was a clone of him or something, she seriously thinks she might pass out.

“No, they… were both me,” he answers her thoughts. To think that he could hear her this entire time. “Except the one that told you to chase after me was me from last night.”

 She repeats, “You from last night.” It doesn’t help her understand.

“In other words, I’ve been travelling backwards in time,” he explains. “The version of me that you’ve been meeting was my future self. At the time, at least.”

Her brows knit together. “Since when?”

“When you dropped all your change at the vending machine.”

In her mind, dots and lines connect as she draws up a picture. It explains the weird teleporting – how he walked one direction and appeared from another, why he never brought up anything he’d done or was even aware he’d done them. Because at that point, he never did those things. “Like the flowers,” she concludes aloud.

“As expected, you pick up things fast.” He almost sounds impressed – proud, even. “You’re taking it a lot easier than I thought.”

“I mean, it explains a lot,” she replies honestly. “The weird things were starting to add up. I always assumed your hairpins were a fashion statement, but I’m guessing that has something to do with it.”

He nods.

She gasps. “And you’d always pass out when they were taken out!” She snaps her fingers, having made a discovery. She always chalked it up to strange coincidences like other things in this world – how she was born with blue hair, or how Nendo’s face turned out the way it did.

He huffs a laugh.

“Oh, you heard that…” She smiles awkwardly. “It must be difficult hearing people’s thoughts.” She can admit, she’s not very humble in her own head. Up until now there was no worry about intruders. But it’s hard to be humble when you’re Teruhashi Kokomi.

“It is,” he responds. “Yours especially.”

Kokomi twirls her phone charm around her finger. That explains why he doesn’t like me, I guess. But then, what about–

“I haven’t done that yet,” Saiki says. “I haven’t gone back to confess to you.”

The black cat on the end of the charm looks up at her. Maybe it’s the reason for all her misfortune lately. She bought it in a pair – the white one reminded her of someone she knew, but she was too afraid to use it in case someone would point it out. How silly. Like anyone else would see Saiki in everything like she does.

“I’ve concluded that I’m in some sort of loop, and once I do, I’ll stop time-travelling by accident,” he continues.

Then why wait until now? Why didn’t he just get it over with? Why bother telling her he’s psychic when he could’ve avoided this entire conversation and her for the rest of their lives?

“Because I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

And just like that, he disappears, leaving the seat across from her empty.

The classroom is black and white, the last of afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows. It’s empty apart from the blue-haired girl in a green-accented uniform, golden aura sparkling against the dull backdrop.

Kusuo’s past self left the room a while ago, leaving Teruhashi to pack up her things alone. She’s humming a melody under her breath, collecting her stationery from the desk. Then she stops, as though she can sense his presence. 

When she whirls around, her eyes widen. The monochrome classroom bursts into vibrant colours when their gazes meet, tangerine rays casting a haze across the desks they’d pushed together. It’s not so much suffocating as it is warm – but that likely has nothing to do with the sun, and more with the girl in front of him.

Teruhashi was right about a lot of things, but she was wrong about one. Even if he wanted to come to this moment to get the loop over with, he couldn’t have. Because he didn’t want to. His powers probably knew that too, somehow.

And while she’s still holding her phone, cat phone strap dangling from its case, not a single flower to be seen, he says it. 

“I like you, Teruhashi Kokomi.”