Archive of Our Own

Tonight was supposed to be the biggest night of Senku’s life. Years of research and countless hours (that’s a lie, it was 34,728) of logistical calculations, designing and blueprinting, model building and testing, scrounging together any funds and meager donations he and Chrome could get their hands on, and fine-tuning before submitting their final thesis designs, had all culminated in this very moment.

Dozens of fellow scientists in their field had called their idea redundant. ‘Impossible on a practical scale’ when it came to assembling pieces of a return-trip rocket in space. They were told for years that their research would amount to nothing, wasting resources and lab space before the inevitable collapse of their dreams of ingenuity.

But he and Chrome never listened.

They knew it would ultimately revolutionize space travel on a new-world level. By assembling smaller and lighter pieces of a return ship when in orbit, humanity would no longer be limited by the maximum weight of fuel a single round-trip rocket could feasibly launch with. By launching individual, smaller pieces, the amount of propellant needed upon launch would decrease significantly as well, therefore reducing levels of black carbon, chlorine, and alumina emissions, which all linger after launch, resulting in the eventual weakening of the Earth’s ozone layer.

It was because they never listened, though, that they now stood on stage, in front of hundreds of fellow intellectuals all highly recognized across dozens of fields in science, to receive the prestigious Charles Stark Draper Prize for Engineering.

After tonight, trust fund bros and self-made tech billionaires would be banging down the doors of his and Chrome’s small lab just to throw money at them in the hope of being one of the first with their name on a project this large of scale. Their futures had been assured and the feasibility of their research moving past the theoretical and into the practical was only a matter of time now, success a guarantee in the making.

To say Senku was pleased with himself would be an understatement.

And yet…

“SENKUUU! CHROME!”

Sunku lifted his head just in time to see Taiju barreling toward them from across the other side of the theater’s foyer, Yuzuriha and Byakuya trailing closely behind just as eagerly.

“I’m so happy for you guys!” Taiju cried out, swiftly scooping Senku up into a bear hug as soon as he was within grabbing reach.

Allowing the physical contact for just that one night, Senku sighed fondly. “Thanks, you big oaf.”

“We knew you both could do it,” Yuzuriha affirmed sweetly from Taiju’s left.

“Aww, thanks guys!” Chrome chirped from where he still had two feet connected firmly to the Earth’s crust. “It’s been a long time coming, but I never doubted for a second that Senku and I would make it here!”

“Not even for ten billionth of a second,” Senku affirmed as Taiju finally began to lower him back to the carpeted foyer, a self-confident smirk pulling at the side of his lips.

“Have you spotted your boyfriend yet, Senku?”

“Yeah, was he able to make it tonight?”

And there it was; the single loose thread woven between his sails that allowed the winds to eventually tear them to shreds, only to leave him adrift at sea without a paddle or even a sextant. The ebullient storm swarming around his mind eagerly switched course to pulse through one vein and into the next, contorting and stretching like a dying high-mass star that hadn’t yet decided if it was going to violently collapse into a brilliant but violent supernova or succumb to its own gravity, resulting in a black hole intent on sucking in the light from all loved ones around it.

The smirk instantly disappeared from his lips.

“No,” was Senku’s simple reply.

Yuzuriha and Byakuya’s smiles withered, the pride in their eyes slowly, visibly, draining away as pity took its place.

“What!?” Taiju exclaimed, shock and pity even more obvious across his unrestrained facial features. “But you said he was gonna try really hard to make it! This is such a big deal for you guys…”

Senku refused to acknowledge the heavy feeling bubbling slowly upwards from his stomach, nor the tightness behind his ribcage leaving him defensive.

“Yeah, well, it just didn’t work out. Let’s not focus on it. Tonight is about Chrome and I’s accomplishment.” Senku crossed his arms, feeling an indiscernible twitch in his right eyebrow.

“I know it is, dude,” Chrome said, joining in as if they’d all coordinated some sort of last minute intervention behind his back. “But… We’re just worried about you is all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be. It just… isn’t working out. I don’t want to talk about it right now. Let’s just go to dinner and be done with it, okay?”

Senku felt his pulse hasten and his pupils dilate as his system flushed itself with epinephrine and norepinephrine. Any moment now cortisol would be hot on its heels.

“What do you mean, ‘isn’t working out’? Did something happen, Senku? Is that why he didn’t come tonight?” Byakuya placed a hand on Senku’s shoulder. It took years of conveying nothing but indifference to keep himself from flinching at the contact and the additional spike of anxiety that flooded his veins.

“I just said I don’t want to talk about it,” Senku gritted firmly from between his teeth, restraining himself from practically hissing the words out.

“But if something did happen, we can help–” Yuzuriha began, a hand reaching towards him as well before Senku flinched away from the additional contact, beginning to fail at keeping his indifference in check.

“No one can help, that’s just it. It’s done. It didn’t work out. I don’t want to talk about it.” Senku’s breathing pattern was shortening, his gaze no longer steady as it flicked from person to person as if trying to anticipate where the next battle would lie for him.

“You broke up…?” Taiju looked as if he was close to tears on Senku’s behalf.

Senku wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t have a perforated ulcer leaking acid into his abdomen. That would explain the cramping in his gut, right?

“Yes.”

There.

It was done.

Surely, they would get off of his back and let him move forward with his life like the grieving bachelor they would assume he now was.

Except, the people closest to him were rarely so logical.

“Senku… I’m so sorry. I know how much this relationship meant to you. It really did seem like he made you happy.”

The look in Byakuya’s eyes hurt worse than the perceived heartbreak he was going through. Rationally, Senku knew it wasn’t disappointment towards him, but it might as well have been. It squeezed his vital organs in layers of culpability and disgust towards himself just as tightly.

Swallowing past the sudden dryness in his mouth, Senku took a centering breath before lowering his gaze away from his heartbroken father. “We tried. It didn’t work. We just weren’t compatible.”

“Y’know, so far in life I’ve found that more people are compatible than they lead themselves to believe. Maybe…” Senku waited with bated breath as his father’s hand slowly slid from the top of his shoulder to the side, giving it a gentle squeeze in what he probably thought was reassurance, but instead only served to draw his shoulders further up towards his ears. “Maybe all the two of you need is a little bit of intervention. When I came back from the ISS, NASA set me up with a really good counselor to help me mentally readjust to being back on Earth. I could recommend you their office? Just one session. I think it could really help the two of you.”

Wait, what?

Senku’s eyes flew upward, back towards his father’s pleading gaze.

“You want us to go to a couples counselor? As in couples therapy?” Surely, he didn’t–

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Just– just one session. I really think it could help you both. Maybe even get you back on the same page. And if it doesn’t work out, then at least you can say you tried. I just don’t want to see you alone again, bud.”

Logically, Senku knew his organs were all intact, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like it. His heart was bleeding out, his ears were ringing, and his stomach felt like gravity was about to rip it right down and out through his ass.

Everyone was looking at him. He could feel it. He could see it. They all gave him the same pitied, worried look one would give a dog that had just been splattered by a semi.

He would have preferred the feeling of giving up on science for the rest of his life rather than be trapped in that moment in time any longer than he already had been.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, agreeing in whatever way was needed to make the moment end. To make them all stop talking about it. To make them drop the subject and never bring it up again. “I will attend one session. And when it doesn’t work out, I never want to hear about it from any of you again, understood?”

His eyes were hardset, his shoulders squared back. His jaw wobbled, but he refused to lower his chin. He refused to let his bluff be called.

“We just care about you, kiddo. But if that’s what you want, then I’ll email you the office information later tonight. I suppose we should start heading to dinner then, don’t wanna miss our reservation.” His dad’s hand fell from his shoulder.

The warmth lingered, but he still felt cold.

Senku didn’t feel like celebrating anymore.

Senku often prided himself on the vast knowledge he’d spent the better part of 24 years on the planet collecting, learning, and mastering. The edification he’d curated for himself knew few bounds; topics never solely devoted to a single subject of interest.

Even still, he’d never been boisterous in said pride—like most assumed he would be upon first meeting him—but more so prideful in the standards he held himself to when assessing a problem, calculating potential solutions, then selecting the most efficient route to pursue based on the expansive knowledge he housed within his own mind backed by studied and supported evidence over time.

The one instance he’d ever failed so blunderously in this regard, though, was the day he’d lied to his friends and family about having romantic relations with a completely fictional paramour.

It hadn’t been his first choice as a solution. In fact, it hadn’t even been in the top three. Any logical individual wouldn’t have considered it in the first place had they known without a doubt that their minds were sane and sound.

But Senku…

At the end of the day, Senku was still a man.

And man would always be prone to mistakes.

Desperation.

Recklessness.

Their words and questions—drenched in empathy, concern, and compassion—had worn him down until he’d felt so backed into a corner, he had no choice but to resolve himself to such a last resort. He’d tried other avenues, he’d tried to meet them halfway, but they just–

At the end of the day, Senku loved them all dearly in the only way he knew how.

In ways like filtering through his forgetful dad’s emails for him on the weekends so he wouldn’t miss an important update from NASA, even going so far as to sync their calendars to ensure he made it to every conference and training simulation on his schedule as he worked towards his second trip to the ISS.

In ways like tracking down the one workshop in India that still wove the specific floral silk Yuzuriha needed just three more yards of to finish a gown for a college fashion course after a particularly devastating torrential rain had ruined her final piece only a week before the due date.

In ways like formulating the perfect protein shake composition to maximize Taiju’s strength after he began volunteering as a self-defense instructor once a week for women and teen girls.

In ways like ensuring Chrome’s recognition for the engineering aspect of their thesis was just as highly regarded as Senku’s own contributions to the project in the form of mathematics, chemical formulas, and theoretical physics work. Senku’s name may have been listed first on all peer reviewed reports, but he firmly believed the order in which names were listed should never dictate the value of one’s meliorated ingenuity.

But when the problems plaguing those closest to him involved him?

Specifically, his ‘happiness’?

Well, that was just something he’d never really known how to best address, let alone resolve.

They’d all expressed worry for him in rapid succession, one after another at different times and on different days, as if it had all been a coordinated coup from the beginning.

And Senku had just…

Buckled.

Which led him to where he was now.

Standing outside the office building housing the therapeutic practice with whom he had an 11 A.M. appointment to address his relationship with said fictional paramour.

And while, yes, the fact that he’d lied about having a romantic companion in the first place was a problem in of itself, the fact that there would be no one attending the session at his side presented itself as its own beast to tackle.

Sure, he could just lie again and say that this mysterious boyfriend had refused an intervention for their ‘relationship’, but the disappointment he’d surely witness in their body language and in their voices would bring him more shame than guilt. Abasement he’d never bounce back from, but would surely believe he deserved wholeheartedly.

The next best option, though, would be to come clean. Admit he’d lied to them for nearly a year about a boyfriend that never actually existed in the first place.

Admitting to such an abuse of their blind trust would ruin him though.

Never had they pushed for more details than Senku had been willing to offer, likely afraid of startling him as if he were a wild deer. They never pushed to see photos, never pushed when Senku said he’d been too busy ‘traveling for work’ to come to movie nights at Chrome and Ruri’s apartment. Never had they even pushed for his boyfriend’s name of all things.

All because they trusted Senku wholeheartedly.

If he admitted to them what he’d done for the last year, abusing that trust and throwing it all back in their faces, there would be no plausible way to rebuild what he would lose. He would understand it, of course, but understanding wouldn't resolve the inevitable feelings of abandonment and isolation he’d surely be left with once his friends turned their backs on him.

So, using the methods in which he best knew how to weigh the pros and cons of potential solutions to a problem, Senku had made his decision.

Except…

If he’d known how to find a ‘partner’—even just a temporary one—in the first place, then he wouldn’t have been in this mess to begin with.

Turns out, hanging a ‘Wanted: temporary boyfriend for couples therapy’ ad on the activities board in his favorite coffee shop would result in him being banned for ‘dangerous fraudulent behavior’.

Senku had also been banned from three relationship rental agencies because ‘attending couples therapy’ was not an approved nor safe date outing, and word had spread between the agencies by the end of the first day. By the time he’d called the third one and mentioned his name, they politely requested he never reach out to them again before abruptly ending the call then and there.

Which was how he found himself walking through the front doors to check in with the receptionist in the lobby, riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, and selecting a vacant seat in an otherwise empty waiting room all by himself. No paramour to speak of.

If nothing else, at least he could still attend the therapy session by himself. It wasn’t ideal, nor was it the outcome he’d hoped for, but at least his family and the therapist had a likelier chance of understanding and accepting the excuse of his partner not attending alongside him because of the supposed breakup.

Senku had resigned himself to that fate.

Or, at least he had, until the door leading to the office-lined hallway beyond the waiting room opened to reveal a man and a short woman walking out.

“Thank you for your time,” the man said, his split-dyed hair shifting forward as he bowed respectfully toward the shorter woman.

“Of course,” the woman said, smiling politely up at him. “I’ll see you in two weeks, Gen.”

Senku’s mind was working a mile a minute. The man—Gen—that had just entered the waiting area was clearly a patient of the clinic as well, if the promise of meeting again in two weeks meant exactly what it sounded like. He was polite, around Senku’s age (if not just slightly older, perhaps?), and he was kind of pretty.

As the woman disappeared back down the hallway and the door from which they’d appeared shut behind her, Senku’s mouth was opening before he could stop himself from doing something reckless. Or stupid. Definitely both.

“Excuse me,” Senku said firmly, but not too loudly, as he was still at least attempting to be respectful of the empty space.

When the other man’s head whipped in his direction, his eyes widened in mild panic before the crease between his eyebrows smoothed back over in placid compliance.

“Is there omething-say I can help you with?” His smile looked fake. His hands remained folded in the sleeves of his purple knit cardigan in front of him as his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. He looked tired and worn, like he was struggling to put on a show for Senku after having just spent the better part of an hour likely spilling his secrets and fears to a professional.

Senku should have sat his ass back down on the chair he’d chosen in the corner and let the poor man return to his life outside of the office.

But…

Senku had never been rational, nor reasonable, when it came to this whole situation. It would have been considered an outlier point of data if he’d decided to resolve that at this point in time.

“Can I ask you a ridiculous question?” Senku asked, his face remaining rather stoic. He tried to keep his nerves from showing, but he likely wasn’t doing a very good job of it, considering how Gen’s face shifted uncomfortably into more of a grimace than a placating smile.

“I… suppose so.”

“Will you please pretend to be my boyfriend for a session of couples therapy?”

“What?”

The man bluescreened.

Senku watched as multiple emotions flickered behind his eyes, no clue as to what each of them meant other than the fact that this man was likely analyzing the situation and processing it just as quickly, if not possibly quicker, than Senku would have been able to.

The fake smile was back on his face within seconds, though, his head tilting to the left a bit as his eyes squinted closed. “Apologies, I don’t think I quite understand.”

“My old man begged me to sign up for couples therapy to try to salvage a breakup that never even took place because I lied to him and everyone else about having a boyfriend. I can pay you, if you’d like. For your time at least,” Senku rambled, reaching into his back pants pocket to pull out his wallet.

He shifted his attention down to the billfold, worn from certainly too many years of use, but too stubborn to move on to anything new when it had served him just fine for years already. He dug through the cash pocket, pulling out all the money he had before counting it quickly.

“I have ¥20,800, but if that’s not enough I can pay you more afterward if you’d be willing to find an ATM with–”

“Hold on,” Gen interrupted, removing his hands from his cardigan sleeves for the first time to wave them in front of him as if he could shoo away the entire interaction. His eyebrows scrunched back together and the smile disappeared briefly from his lips. “You want to pay me to attend a session of couples therapy with you, as strangers, because your Dad wants you to try to salvage a relationship you made up?”

“Yes.”

Senku’s hands faltered slightly in embarrassment.

This.

This was why he’d chosen to remain single for the entirety of his life until then.

Senku just didn’t… get people.

He wasn’t good at talking to them. Not in the way most people were.

It was a wonder at all that he’d been able to retain so many friendships over the years. But in all honesty, it had always felt more like they were maintaining him, rather than the other way around.

This man’s discomfort and confusion from Senku’s absurdity was living proof and realtime evidence of that ineptness he’s never quite been able to overcome.

The man returned his hands to the sleeves of his cardigan, visibly and metaphorically closing himself off once more. That same composed mask of propitiated appeasement fell back over his face, sealing away that single moment of realness brought on by surprise from seconds ago.

“I don’t think tha–”

The door behind Gen opened once more, revealing a younger woman this time, taller than the last.

“Ishigami Senku?” she called into the waiting room, looking between the two men.

Gen looked between the therapist and Senku, his brows back to that same pinched-in look. For only a brief moment, the thought of using his thumb to smooth down the crease crossed Senku’s mind before the reality of what time it was hit him.

His shoulders tensed up towards his ears as he felt his heart begin beating erratically behind his ribs.

He’d only agreed to do this for Byakuya’s sake.

The thought of speaking to someone about feelings and emotions he knew nothing about, let alone how to properly formulate into words, left him considering just turning around and leaving the office entirely. He’d find another way to achieve the forgiveness of everyone in his life. It may just take some time, but if he–

“Asagiri Gen, Senku’s boyfriend~”

Wait, what?

Gen reached his hand out towards the therapist, shaking hers in turn both charismatically and confidently.

“Excellent,” the therapist commented, smiling before turning back towards the hallway behind her. “You can both follow me. We’ll be in the third room on the right.”

Senku, as if being tugged along by invisible strings attached to the joints of his limbs, followed along dutifully as Gen took the lead behind the therapist.

Just as promised, they settled into the third room on the right, Senku sinking as far to the left of the couch as possible once Gen settled into the cushion on the right. The therapist took a seat in the single chair across from them, taking a sip from a mug of coffee she’d left on the table between them.

Senku had done brief research to mentally prepare himself for what to expect, and the therapist, true to her profession, did not deter from the anticipated path. She introduced herself as Hayashi Shiori, set brief expectations of the session, and reiterated the confidentiality promise of the office.

Senku nodded along as he listened, the buzzing from before increasing tenfold as soon as she shifted her focus to taking a pad of paper into her lap, pen at the ready.

“I’d like to start by hearing how the two of you met. It’s not often someone in your field meets someone outside of it in this regard, Asagiri-san.”

Senku shifted uncomfortably, somehow managing to scoot even further to the left. Any further, though, and he would be sitting on the arm of the couch.

His eyes shifted slightly towards Gen in curiosity, confused about what ‘field’ he could have been in, and how she already recognized him from it, but immediately flung his attention towards the clock above the door when he caught a slightly concerned crinkle in Gen’s returned gaze.

“It was certainly a providential meeting,” Gen started slowly. Senku swore he could still feel his gaze on him, but he refused to return it. The prickling under his skin was reaching his heart, the hastening beats growing nearly unbearable as they slammed against the backside of his ribcage haphazardly.

“Yeah,” Senku agreed simply after a moment too long of silence following Gen’s only slightly less simplistic answer.

When it was clear Senku would be offering no more information than that, Gen cleared his throat and finally pulled his eyes from Senku, shifting his body towards the therapist instead. The energy instantly shifted in the room, as if the curtains opened on a particularly extravagant show that could enrapture any and all. It certainly succeeded in finally pulling Senku’s attention fully back to the stranger sitting next to him.

“It was after one of my shows last Fall. I’d planned to go out with some friends to a bar near the theater, but one thing led to another and things came up, leaving me all by my lonesome.” Gen pouted dramatically, sighing as if the very thought of being stood up by his friends was breaking his heart all over again in real time.

“I’d resigned myself to a night of oking-stray my own ego when Senku–” Gen turned his body back towards Senku on the couch. “–somehow managed to trip in the crowd and ill-spay my drink all down my front. He was so apologetic, and clearly a little tipsy.” Gen giggled sweetly, bringing the sleeve of his cardigan up to cover his mouth as if he was feeling bashful.

“He offered to replace it after shoving two handfuls of napkins towards me. Between the embarrassed blush on his cheeks and the fact that he refused to meet my eyes, either out of mortification or something else, I was completely smitten.” Gen smiled fondly, his shoulders sagging as he reminisced.

Except, it wasn’t a memory at all. It was a lie. A superbly crafted, easily woven lie that flowed from his lips as if truly recounting a memorable evening he’d had with someone he cared deeply for.

Senku was both surprised and mildly intimidated, his lips parting ever so slightly in awe.

“I was surprised by how quickly our relationship spiraled from there. His presence truly enraptured me, heart, body, and mind. It would have been impossible for me not to all-fay for him.” Gen finally turned his attention back to the therapist.

Senku released a breath he hadn’t known was trapped in his lungs in the first place. Bewilderment wouldn’t even begin to describe the stalled processing his mind was facing in the wake of Asagiri Gen. The words that spilled effortlessly from his lips were an anomaly in regards to what Senku had prepared himself for with this session. The variance in data points weren’t computing; outliers all over the place, leaving his parameters completely out of whack.

Shiori scrawled a couple quick notes on her pad before looking back up in Senku’s direction. He felt his shoulders tense backwards in response, as if preparing his body for a physical attack.

“Ishigami-san, what were your thoughts when you first met? What drew you to Gen?”

Senku floundered. Lying had never been his specialty, I mean just look at where he’d ended up. He was, and had always been, a man of facts. Truth. Anything else had never warranted more than minimal effort in his mind.

Breathe, Senku steeled himself, taking a deep steadying breath. Just tell the truth. At least, part of it.

“He was convenient,” Senku said shakily, his hands folded while his fingers fought with each other in his lap. He could feel Gen cringe nearly imperceptively on the other side of the couch. Dammit.

Senku turned his head away from the other, coughing into his fist to hide his face as he tried to continue. “I’m not really good with people. They’re emotional, unpredictable, reactive. I’ve never been in a relationship before–at least not until Gen. There’s no tried and true formula to understanding people like there is with the laws of science. But… I guess it was his wit that really drew me in. It’s frightening. Enrapturing. Fascinating.”

His words grew softer the longer he kept talking. He wasn’t sure if the last few words had even been heard by the others, but when he finally managed to pull his focus back to the session at hand, Shiori was noting his words on her pad and Gen looked… surprised?

There was a red hue at the apples of his cheeks, his eyes widened and lips parted ever so slightly. Senku noted the pinkish tint to their plushness, as if Gen had a habit of biting his bottom lip in privacy.

“Well,” Shiori started lifting her eyes from the pad to address the both of them. “it’s clear to me you both care deeply for the other. What brings you both here today? Is there something specific you’d like to address or work on?”

“We broke up,” Senku answered bluntly.

There was no reason to beat around the bush. It was the one lie he’d prepared for, and he’d be damned if this thing went any further off the rails than it already had. He had to regain control of how this thing progressed or he’d be left dangling from the edge of the unknown even more than he already was, which would end well for no one in that room.

“A-ahh… yes,” Gen corroborated, his voice strained. The sweet smile that had been on his lips minutes ago was long gone now as his mask seemed to shift in response to Senku’s lie.

Unfazed, Shiori pushed onward. “What brought about the breakup? Was it a gradual collapse, or a sudden end that neither of you had planned for?”

Goddamn this woman and her probing questions. Who the hell did she think she was, their therapist?

Oh, wait–

“It, um… was gradual, I suppose,” Gen answered with less assurance in his voice than before.

“There was a catalyst, as well,” Senku tacked on, unhelpfully.

“Oh? Tell me about it, Ishigami-san.”

“Uhh…” Senku floundered, unsure of where to even begin. Gen made it look so easy earlier, words and emotion flowing smoothly like a song and dance one knew by heart.

Then, like a spark of inspiration that could only have been the result of divine intervention (not that Senku believed in any of that stuff), an idea flashed through his mind. His lie suddenly flowing much easier, backed by a grain of truth behind every word.

“It was a couple weeks ago. My partner, Chrome, and I were awarded the Charles Stark Draper Prize for Engineering for the return-trip rocket design we’ve spent years perfecting. It was a big night, and.. I had intended for my friends and family to finally meet Gen that evening after the award ceremony, but he didn’t come. He couldn’t make it. It left me alone at the whims of their pity when they were more focused on him standing me up than the award I was supposed to be celebrating. It’s why my dad urged me to sign us up for this. He hoped it would salvage the relationship, but…”

And that was where the easy lie came to a conclusion. The rest was left to the unknown. Senku refused to believe the painful twinge on his left side had anything to do with the beachfront worth of truth granules behind his words.

“Yes,” Gen started, deflating slowly beside him. His acting was truly remarkable. He turned his gaze away from Senku and back to Shiori as he continued.

“My schedule makes it ard-hay to make commitments. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m constantly traveling and touring. My manager sets my schedule, often leaving no wiggle room between shows on tour. I was in America the evening of the award ceremony. I felt awful about not being able to be there in person to elebrate-cay Senku’s accomplishment, but I had no say in the matter. It… it makes compromising on situations like that nearly impossible.”

“Has this been a point of conflict other times between the two of you?”

Gen rolled with it easier after that, or at least he made it look easy. “Yes. I’ve truly felt guilty about not being able to lock down a good time to make a first impression with the people closest to Senku. I understand his frustration in the matter. I feel worse, though, about leaving him hanging in having to continue making excuses for my absence.”

Without ever having to say so, Senku knew Gen was throwing him a bone. A clear topic to respond to by drawing in the reality of the situation based on the limited information he’d gathered thus far. It was truly exhilarating how easily he’d begun laying the groundwork for him with so little to work off of.

“My friends and family try to be understanding and respectful of my privacy, but they’ve been more persistent lately in asking to meet him. To be honest, I never wanted to be in a relationship in the first place. They kept asking me when I would meet someone, though. Whether they could set me up with someone they knew on a blind date. Offering to sign me up for dating apps even.” Senku sighed, frustration mounting in the cut of his words.

“I just wanted to focus on my work. Chrome and I had just made a breakthrough in our design, preparing to finalize our papers for review, when I caved. I figured if I finally agreed to find a romantic partner, then they would stop worrying about me. I guess that’s when I ran into Gen–”

“Literally,” Gen interrupted with a graceless chuckle.

“Right.” Senku nodded in affirmation. “I thought that if I gave in and had a boyfriend, then maybe they would finally back off. But then, they were so excited for me. They never really pushed for details, which I was grateful for, because I just wanted privacy in the matter. I’ve never done anything like this before, it was new and… weird. But when time passed and there had never been an opportunity for them to meet Gen, they began to bring it up more and more. And at the award ceremony, they looked at me with so much pity and concern, and they just wouldn’t drop it so we could focus on the fruits of Chrome and I’s labor, and I was so frustrated and it felt like–”

Silence filled the space heavily after Senku abruptly cut himself off. Shiori and Gen gave him time and space to breathe, the absence of further questioning bringing Senku’s attention to the fact that his hands had begun shaking at some point. Adrenaline licked the edges of his mind like a terrible accident you couldn’t quite tear your eyes from.

Except, he was the accident. The crash. The spectacle.

Something to be gawked at.

His eyes began to unfocus as his breathing hastened. The silence in the room was pulsing against his eardrums, somehow the absence of vibrations reaching his ossicles more deafening than when Taiji would scream about something exciting right next to him.

“I just–” Senku began again, discomfited beyond comprehension in the vulnerable silence. “I don’t understand why they couldn’t just be happy about my accomplishment. Why that wasn’t enough for them to be happy for me. Why there needed to be a boyfriend there to celebrate it as well…”

Senku took another shaking breath.

“Why I wasn’t enough for them to celebrate… It was supposed to be my celebration. My moment. And all they cared about was the absence of someone they’d never even met.”

Where… the hell had all of that come from? Had he really been feeling that way? That desperate for recognition? To feel like just being himself was enough?

Senku finally raised a hesitant glance to Gen next to him, not exactly sure why he felt nervous about what his reaction would be, but apprehensive nonetheless.

He’d expected pity, like from his friends and family. Or at least mild disgust for his outburst.

But what he saw instead was a look of understanding.

Like Gen had been putting the pieces of a puzzle together in his mind and was somehow finding a mirror in its wake. Or at least, perhaps some distorted, warped carnival version of one.

Shiori hummed thoughtfully, setting her pad and pen down on the table before leaning forward, toward Senku.

“May I be so bold as to ask the relationship status of your friends, Senku?” she finally asked, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands under her chin.

Senku wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but acquiesced nonetheless. “Yuzuriha and Taiju recently got married, but the three of us have been friends since elementary school. Chrome and Ruri have been dating for a couple years now, but Chrome is planning to ask her to marry him once she finishes college with her sister in America. Kohaku is Ruri’s sister and she has a girlfriend named Luna she met out there.”

“So it sounds like everyone in your friend group is in a relationship, correct?” Shiori questioned, analysing him calmly as he spoke.

“Oh, and my dad started dating Lillian Weinberg not too long ago after going up on the ISS with her.”

“WHAT!?” Senku and Shiori physically jumped at Gen’s exclamation, both turning to him in surprise. “Your dad is dating the Lillian Weinberg!?”

“Oh, I… wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that…”

Shiori cleared her throat, straightening her glasses slightly before returning her attention to Senku as if the small outburst had never taken place.

“Ishigami-san, it would be my professional guess that your friends are concerned about leaving you behind as they all seem to progress towards multiple adult milestones without you. It’s likely coming from a place of deep love and concern because they don’t want you to feel like you’re being left alone. Abandoned, so to speak.”

“But that’s absurd,” Senku argued, leaning back into the couch and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’ve never needed anyone in my life to make me happy. I’ve done that just fine for myself up until now.”

“Which is completely fine and normal for some people. But it’s likely they haven’t fully grasped that understanding themselves yet. They may just not understand that from where they’re coming from in their own lives right now.”

“I guess,” Senku conceded, dropping his arms from their crossed position so his palms laid face up on his knees. “But it’s still not fair for them to push that on me as if I’m some kind of lab rat.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” Gen butt in. Senku looked up at him in surprise, only temporarily having forgotten that he was still there. “So then it may be time to have an intervention with them in regards to it. Have you tried to tell them before that their essure-pray was making you uncomfortable? That it made you feel like the value of your happiness should be reliant on finding a life partner, rather than feeling fulfilled in who you already are?”

Senku sighed, disheartened, but seen. “Kind of. I tried, at first. I told them I didn’t need the distraction of emotions getting in the way of my progress on the rocket, but then once it was complete and we’d been nominated for the award, they began ramping up their efforts until I cracked under the pressure.”

For the first time since entering the therapist’s office, the gap between them on the couch was bridged as Gen reached his hand out, interlocking his fingers with Senku’s where his left hand still rested on his knee. Senku looked back at him in surprise, but the gentle look of compassion on Gen’s face completely disarmed any negative reaction he may have had to the unexpected physical contact.

He guessed he could let it slide just this once.

“I think it may be a good idea for you to try again. Firmly, or at least more assertive this time. Perhaps even scripted, to avoid getting flustered or nervous. And if you’d like some emotional support backup, I’d be more than happy to be there while you do it.”

Gen’s smile was so pure and unguarded. Like spring bursting forth from the protective blanket of snow winter provided as all things were reborn anew following a harsh, brutal slumber hidden away from the world for 3 months.

Senku swallowed deeply, feeling the heavy, crushing weight he’d been living under for the last year finally lift from his lungs. If Gen noticed the single tear that rolled down Senku’s cheek in response to the kind offer, he made no attempt to comment on it.

“It sounds like this is the first time the two of you have spoken about this before. Is there a reason you didn’t feel comfortable bringing this up with Gen until now?”

Senku was shocked back to the present, away from the angel of kindness still holding his hand to his left. He shifted uncomfortably at the probing question, finding mild alleviation once he shifted closer to the center of the couch.

“No, I guess we just… didn’t have the chance to discuss this before. What with his touring, and whatnot.” Senku still had no idea what Gen’s career was, beyond the scope of said tour.

“Could it be possible that you have been directing a fraction of resentment for the situation towards Gen as a result of him not being as physically present in the relationship?”

Senku jolted backward, aghast at her insinuation. Not even insinuation, but a blatant accusation and attack on Senku’s character. Or at least, that’s how Senku took offense to such a ridiculous question.

“No, never!” Senku replied, physically repulsed by the idea of blaming someone with no fault to be had in the situation in such a cruel manner. “It’s not his fault he’s successful and talented, resulting in a busier schedule than most. It’s just that my needs in appeasing my friends shouldn’t be his responsibility. It’s my problem to deal with, not his.”

Senku felt the hand still tightly clutched in his own squeeze, growing warmer in his hold.

“Besides, I’ve noticed… he can often find himself in situations where he isn’t necessarily comfortable, just for the sake of helping others. His selflessness to appease those around him hurts him. It wears him down until there’s nothing left for himself. I can see it…” And he had seen it, in the weariness of Gen’s shoulders as he’d left his own therapy session half an hour ago before agreeing to another session with a complete stranger right after.

Senku was back to looking at Gen now, but it was Gen’s turn to look surprised, if not completely stupefied.

“Anyway, my situation wasn’t fair to him. Me picking him just because he was there when I needed an out wasn’t fair. It was selfish. He deserves someone who doesn’t need him around 24/7 as a required obligation of the relationship. At least, no more than he can substantially afford both himself and them.”

Senku’s thumb began slowly rubbing circles on the back of Gen’s hand when he felt it tremble ever so slightly. Gen’s eyes were closed as he tried to compose himself. That little crease between his eyebrows was back, and if it weren’t for his closest hand having already been held tightly by the man next to him, Senku didn’t think he would have been able to restrain himself from finally reaching forward to gently smooth it out.

“Senku…” Gen breathed softly, finally opening his eyes. They were shiny, tears clearly being held back by a hope and a prayer.

“Do you feel like that’s a fair assessment of yourself, Asagiri-san?”

Oh right, the therapist was still sitting across from them. Senku had forgotten she was there again.

“I…”

Gen looked slowly between him and Shiori, before dropping his gaze to their still combined hands. The edge of his bangs had fallen just far enough forward to hide his eyes from Senku. He kept himself from reaching forward to lift Gen’s chin back towards his face.

A deep breath. Another deep breath. Then those eyes were finally back on him.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong, Senku. More often than not, I think I push myself to be selfless because I’m… scared of being selfish.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, though. It’s natural human biology to put oneself first for an optimized chance of survival. It’s survival instinct, Gen. No one is above biology.”

Gen laughed wetly, reaching up with his available hand to wipe the moisture from his eyes. “Well, when you put it like that, it makes me feel a little silly for having worried about it for so many years. I’ll try to remember that from now on.”

“You’re not silly,” Senku said, finally leaving his hesitation to the wayside to reach forward, brushing away a stray tear that had escaped Gen’s attention. “You’re just a good person. A bad person would have never had such concerns. You should try to remember that next time, too.”

“Okay,” Gen chuckled wetly before his second hand joined the first around Senku’s. “I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that.”

“It seems to me,” Shiori spoke softly, as if fearful of shattering the moment between the two of them. “that the two of you truly do recognize and respect the other for both your strengths and your weaknesses. What is the hope for each of you for resolution today?”

“I think I just want Senku to be happy. To feel seen. To be assured that he is enough as he is, without anyone’s approval of what he decides to do in life,” Gen answered quietly. His hands squeezed Senku’s reassuringly, warmly, intimately. “I think that’s all I really want right now.”

Senku, unable to take his gaze away from the shining eyes of steely blue next to him, answered “I don’t know anymore.”

“Perhaps that is something to think about moving forward then,” Shiori responded. She lifted her pad back into her lap from the coffee table, jotting down a few bullet points.

In the few seconds it took her to do so, Senku’s mind roiled.

What did he want?

He knew what he wanted going into this: freedom from the lie.

He wanted assurance that he himself was enough.

He wanted his friends and family to see him as capable in knowing what he wanted in life without intervention.

Without the hindrance of having to account for another person in every decision he made moving forward.

But now?

Would something like that really be a hindrance?

Senku didn’t think so.

Not if that other person was someone as extraordinary as Gen.

Senku’s heart stopped.

His eyes searched Gen’s face, so open now compared to when he’d first approached him an hour ago. His eyes looked soft, but dolorous. His smile genuine, but doleful. The crease between his eyebrows still ever present.

Why?

For the first time in his life, Senku wanted to understand the complexities of another person’s mind beyond the extent of societal duty.

He wanted to know how Gen ticked. How his career affected him and gave him a sense of purpose. Why he ever began to fear he may be selfish beyond reproach.

Even moreso, beyond any and all of it, Senku wanted to learn how to be good with people, just so he could be good with Gen.

For Gen.

To Gen.

Oh.

Oh.

“It seems that’s all the time we have for today. I just want to thank you both for being so open and honest here. Trying something like this for the first time can be scary for many people. I think you both did excellent, though. I also think continued, more open communication may be able to help you find ways to align your goals, both professionally and interpersonally, if you decide to move forward with your relationship. If you work on giving each other grace as you figure things out, I don’t think there’s anything you can’t overcome together.”

Senku’s attention was torn away at Shiori’s words. Her warm smile felt reassuring in the wake of his revelation. Her words flitted at the back of his mind becoming the base code for a new program installing itself for interpersonal growth.

Gen rose to his feet, his hands suddenly leaving Senku’s. The difference between then and when his dad had pulled his hand away from his shoulder mere weeks ago was that when the contact left him, Senku no longer felt cold inside.

He felt warm. Hopeful. Convalescent. Reborn.

Like everything he was convinced he knew about himself had been shifted in a full 180.

It felt exhilarating.

“Thank you for your insight. It has been most enlightening,” Gen said, bowing at the waist to the woman standing across from them.

Senku stood as well, a lot less lightheaded than he’d expected, but still thoroughly floaty. His feet were firmly on the ground, gravity all around him, but his heart felt aflutter.

His mind reeled as it struggled to decide what to do about his epiphany, but he forced his feet to move forward as he and Gen were led back towards the waiting room at the other end of the hallway.

Silently, the two of them shuffled through the waiting room, into the elevator, and down to the building’s lobby. Senku spent the whole trip down desperately searching for words he’d never thought he’d need to find in his lifetime, and unfortunately, he came up short.

Eventually, the building’s exit was a few strides away and he still didn’t know if he was allowed to want what he’d discovered. He didn’t know how to ask for it. Didn’t know how to admit to it, especially after everything he’d just said in front of the person it now directly concerned.

As they finally breached the entrance into the world beyond the small space in which they’d equally shared discoveries and revelations, Senku and Gen paused on the sidewalk. They stood there together for a minute, awkwardly shifting next to one another as if they didn’t know where to go from there.

Then, with a deep, centering breath, Senku broke their shared silence.

“Hey,” he started, clearing his throat in order to steel his nerves. “I just wanted to apologize for putting you through all of that back there. You were already in a vulnerable situation, and I didn’t consider your feelings at all when I asked you to do something so ridiculous. You deserved 10 billion percent better.”

Gen turned to face him, looking him in the eyes as he smiled. “I appreciate you acknowledging that, Senku. Thank you for saying so.”

It was silent between the two of them again. Not an incommodious silence one flounders within, avoiding suffocation like a drowning man, but a peaceful one that allowed reflection and connection to blossom.

It stayed like that for a while, the two of them looking at the other, as if waiting for something to happen, but both unwilling to break the spell that had befallen them, blanketing them in their own little world of equanimity in front of the office building.

Then Gen finally opened his mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again, and expelled air from his nose before turning his attention to the cracks in the sidewalk below their feet.

“Y’know, you’d make a truly wonderful partner, Senku.”

“Yeah, Chrome tells me that whenever we make a breakthrough in our research.”

“No, no, I mean–” Gen took a breath, using his shoe to tap a dandelion that had sprouted up from the cracks in resilient defiance of its environment. “Romantically.”

There was more silence. A shift. Senku’s brows pinched in confusion, trying to understand Gen’s meaning, because he was fairly certain the other man hadn’t meant what Senku interpreted his words as.

Then, “I know you said you’ve never had interest in that kind of thing, especially after all the goading from your loved ones from the last year. But… If you ever happen to find the right person, or anyone at all, even though it’s otally-tay okay if you never do, then you should know they’d be the luckiest person in the world.”

His words were quiet, shaky almost, in the way one tries to pretend something isn’t bothering them.

Senku’s mouth went dry.

“I could say the same of you, Gen. Try to stop selling yourself short from here on out. You’re worth more than the masks you put on.”

Gen finally looked up at him, his lips parted and eyes wide in reverence. Gen looked at him like he was something precious.

Senku wanted to be something precious to him.

Gen swallowed, drawing Senku’s attention to his Adam's apple as it bobbed with the motion.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

Senku startled even himself. With great effort, he pulled his attention away from Gen, drawing his wallet from his back pocket. He removed the bills from where they’d been hastily shoved back inside at the therapist’s arrival to the waiting room an hour prior, before holding them out towards the man who had helped him in more ways than he could ever fully repay.

Gen looked at the money in his hand, then up to his face.

“Did you really mean all of that?”

“What, about the money? Yeah. We can still find an ATM though, if this isn’t enough to thank you for everything. I think you deserve 10 billion percent more, honestly.”

“No,” Gen stumbled with his words, folding his arms back into the sleeves of his cardigan like he had in the therapist’s waiting room. “Everything you said in there. Did you really mean all of it?”

“Oh,” Senku flinched internally, now regretting the absolution in his words—the beliefs he’d only ever known to be true until now—but answered Gen’s question the best he could. “I mean, yeah. I did. At least, most of it. The parts about how we met and broke up obviously weren’t real, but the rest of it was. I guess.”

But Gen must have seen something—known something had shifted in Senku between then and now.

Gen shook his head, his lips melting longingly in exaltation as he looked Senku in the eyes. He reached up to tuck a white forelock of hair behind his ear, cheeks pinkening as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

He looked between the money and Senku again, before determination settled in every line of his face. He reached forward, hand gently laid overtop Senku’s outstretched one, then pushed the money back toward his chest.

“Keep it for now. Maybe you can use it to buy us lunch sometime this week?”

Senku was taken aback, his heart quickening and breath shortening as he forgot how to breathe from his diaphragm.

He nodded, slipping the bills back in his wallet, returning it to his pocket whole once more.

“I think I’d like that.”

“Then it's a date.”

Phone numbers were exchanged. Schedules compared. A day and time selected.

A promise for a next time assured.

Goodbyes a bit reluctant, but comfortable with the inevitability of their reunion on the horizon.

And finally, finally, Senku felt like celebrating something.