Archive of Our Own

The gossip doesn’t reach her ears until well after it has settled as a new reality for the school body. It’s not her fault. Chie has long learned that all hushed whispers about either Yu or Yosuke are better ignored for diametrically opposite reasons, although occasionally they ring astonishingly true, and therefore her brain filters most of it as easily as one does Ms. Sofue’s history classes.

This time, though, their names echo in combination. Yu and Yosuke. Tightly interlocked like two lego pieces stuck together because they were jammed too forcefully in a freak accident.  

A first-year admonishes her classmate over her hopeless crush on Yu, citing that Hanamura and Narukami are clearly an item, that any man with such tastes isn’t to be trusted, and Chie’s last step skids across the wooden flooring with a sonorous squeak.

She spins around on her other leg to find the students gone.

A bark of laughter bubbles up her chest, manic and sudden.

Then the school bell ding-dongs as a stark reminder of her tardiness, and she presses on to her classroom in a hurry.

Class starts. Chie spends most of it daydreaming about the new martial art move she can replicate with all her free time, unlike the plebeians busy with clubs or, worse yet, work. Sneers when Yosuke stubs his toe against his desk after being woken up from his impromptu nap in the middle of literature lesson. Lunch hour comes with her sharing a new flavor of ramen bowl with Yukiko, glowering at the boys despite their assurances that they’re well served with Yu’s bento split between the two. They aren’t to be trusted. Even less so when put together. She’s learned her lesson.

After school, the Investigation Team gathers around their usual spot at the Junes’ table. The place is almost deserted despite winter’s end approaching, littered only by disgruntled employees and scavenging wildlife, but such inconvenience only ever slows down their bustling. Their high-calory fast-food banquet bought with Yosuke’s employee discount mouthwateringly spreads for them and the stray pigeons to slobber over.

Only then, watching Yosuke drag Teddie to the checkout so they can bring their drinks, does Chie remember.

The new gossip. About Yu and Yosuke.

The absurdity of it.

Chie sniggers at the memory. Elbows Yu in the hopes of extracting a reaction out of him.

“Did you know some at school think you and Hanamura are dating?”

Yu doesn’t even care to look up from his soggy fries. “Yes, of course I do. I’m the source after all.”

Her laughter suffers an abrupt death.

Yu continues on eating.

Pigeons toddle close, sly and expectant.

She slams the table, her half-eaten, too oily nuggets falling to the ground.

The pigeons begin their assault in a flurry of coos and feathers.

“You— what! How!”

Yu finally meets her wide-eyed stare while nibbling on a fry with the haste of a starved chipmunk. “A girl from class 2-3 confessed and I wanted to get her off my back.”

Chie stares some more, waiting.

For the punchline.

That does not come.                                               

Scowl in place, Yukiko perks up from resting her head in the cradle of Chie’s shoulder.

“That’s not nice,” she says to Yu.

“She was gallingly insistent. It was her third confession even though I already turned her down twice before.”  His mouth twists into a pout. “She was interfering with my free time.”

“Your free time consists of bug catching and fishing at night,” Yukiko points out.

“My free time still.”

Chie scoffs, finally rediscovering her voice, “And you told the poor girl you were dating Hanamura Yosuke?”

“Oh, no. I told her I was already interested in someone else and she surmised it must be Yosuke all on her own,” he says plainly, munching on another fry. “Somewhere along the way, the idea developed into us already dating and, by next week, my clubmates were congratulating me.”

The pigeons have gathered the courage to hop on their table, daring to peck directly at their food, pilfering small bites here and there before scooting back. For once, Chie can’t bring herself to care about the state of her dinner—her mind swirls at the speed of a typhoon until nausea pushes her back against the creaky plastic chair.

Even the younger trio have stopped playing footsies in favor of paying attention to their conversation. Kanji, Rise and Naoto look at them with eyes blown wide and triple astonished gasps.

It makes Chie feel a bit better about her outburst.

Except—

“But aren’t you going to correct them?” she demands at the same time Rise asks in disbelief, “Wait, so it’s not real?”

Chie’s neck almost snaps in her haste to gape at her. “What!”

While Yu answers, categorically ignoring Rise’s question, “I thought doing so at first. Now I don’t see the point. It’s convenient.”

Across the court, Teddie loudly threatens a labor strike if Yosuke doesn’t buy him another ice cream.

“Convenient,” Naoto repeats flatly.

“Yes. People have stopped bothering me about my love life, have stopped wondering why I prefer to hang out with Yosuke,” Yu lists, raising a third finger, “and non-grata confessions have reached historic lows. Besides, it doesn’t affect my daily life whatsoever.”

Silence overtakes them. Everyone except Yu fidgets in their seats.

Kanji shuffles closer across the sea of pigeons. Asks in a low voice, as if sharing a secret, which Chie belatedly realizes they might be, “And Hanamura-senpai’s opinion on all of this is…?”

Yu looks at all of them, unblinking, for a beat too long. Then his lips unfurl into a self-satisfied smirk. Katana sharp. Practiced. Similar to the smirks he wears when facing shadows who have no chance to survive him. He shrugs, as if none of this matters, and returns his attention to his food, calmly shooing the bird nicking one of his fries away.

The table plunges into an uneasy stillness.

The pigeons continue to feast.

“What the hell! Why are you guys letting the birds eat our food?!” Yosuke yells, familiarly strident.

The cacophony prompts the pigeons to flutter, puff and fly away, leaving in their wake pecked food now inedible, dirty disheveled feathers and an array of foul-smelling droppings staining the table.

With his arrival, too, this particular meeting meets its sudden end. Excuses to leave pour out all at the same time to Yosuke’s great consternation, and the team quickly disperses, not before offering a prayer to the poor employee that will have to clean up after their mess.

“Yosuke’s head gonna explode when he realizes,” Chie comments in her way back home.

Yukiko hums thoughtfully by her side, her head lowered. Her evenly cut bangs sway with the late winter wind like the last autumn leaves dancing in the air. The streetlights flicker on as the sun sets on the horizon, casting them into shades of orange light, framing Yukiko’s face in a lovely contrast—the perfect snow-white planes of her skin against the soft shadows that only enhance the playful glint in her dark eyes.

“I wonder,” Yukiko says idly. “When it comes to Narukami-kun, Hanamura has always been more open and honest.”

“You think?”

“Yes. You don’t?” she presses, looking up to her, her gaze heavy and purposeful. “They’re best friends.”

Chie’s eyebrows scrunch together. Struggling to envision a version of Yosuke that can stomach such scandalous talks about him, she tils her head in hesitation, but Yukiko’s also been quiet since Yu announced his involvement in this mess. She was probably thinking about the consequences more thoroughly that Chie has, taking into account all possible implications and effects, the shift in the relationships of their group. Yukiko’s always been more thoughtful, more aware, when it comes to these matters.

“I guess I see it,” Chie concedes with a shrug. “At least you’re right that they’re best friends.”

Yukiko smiles softly. “Like us.”

“Yeah,” Chie laughs.

The street forks ahead of them. The lights in Chie’s house glow on one side; the inn’s imposing silhouette shines against the backdrop of the dusk sky on the other side.

Chie’s shoulders sag with disappointment, blowing a raspberry.

“Well,” she sighs, “guess this is it for today. See you!”

She’s almost on her way to jog the last stretch towards home when Yukiko unexpectedly grabs her hand, her grip strong, almost bruising.

“Wait, Chie. Wait.” Yukiko inhales deeply, her posture rigid. “I have a family lunch this weekend. A big one, with most of my extended family.”

Chie stops, blinks. “Uh, alright?”

Yukiko’s fingers tense around her wrist. “It’s just… They don’t ask it directly, but my grandparents and most of my aunts and uncles always wonder if there’s anyone I could bring with me. Mom also worries even though she doesn’t say it.” She purses her mouth into a frustrated line. “It gets a bit irritating to tell the truth, so…”

Her sentence trails off. The last vestiges of sunrays hallow her in a halo of bright yellows.

Chie blinks again. “Oh.” Then: “Oooh. You need someone to keep you company? I’ll be there, sure!”

“Really?” Yukiko asks, her face brightening with a delight that has little to envy the setting sun. “It’s not going to be fun, mostly business talk. You know how my family is a bit…”

“Stuffy?” Chie suggests. Yukiko smiles rueful. “It’s okay. Besides, free food! Good food at that.”

“Of course. I’ll make sure there’s some steak, too,” Yukiko says, sliding her hand down Chie’s wrist to rest on her palm. “Although you should still come prepared. I think my family might get a bit, you understand, shocked when seeing you.”

“Sure?” Chie beams, uncertain. “It’s not like your parents don’t know me. They’ve always been nice to me, so I don’t think they can get weird now for being there, yeah?”

On Sunday, her parents give her weird looks when she arrives, and the rest of the family frowns grimly.

The wooden dining room gleams polished to a sparkling sheen; the fancy sitting cushions dip under their weight, expensively comfortable. A variety of Japanese dishes fill the table. The whiff of good meat reaches every corner of the room, and Chie’s mouth waters when spying a wagyu steak not far from her reach, but quickly sobers up when the old geriatrics who call themselves Yukiko’s grandparents contemptuously sniff in her direction.

Through the introductions, the dull small talk and the beginning of a stilted lunch, Chie sticks close to Yukiko. All her muscles taut under the foreign scrutiny, the match of her patience burning short.

A visit to the dentist might be in the cards, even, if she keeps grinding her molars at Yukiko’s uncle’s palpable and constant ogling.

A familiar hand grasps around hers under the table, hidden from everyone but themselves.

Chie surreptitiously looks to her side, where Yukiko’s busy hosting one of her cousins, her fitting kimono flattering her figure, the neat updo offering a clear view of her delicate bite-worthy nape, and lets a small smile grace her. The clear sentiment swells in her chest, warm and bright and soft.

Lunch carries on as tediously as PE class in the middle of a heatwave. Occasionally, someone will recognize Chie’s existence by asking harmless questions such as how is school (awful, to which everyone scowls) or her future plans (the parents nod agreeably at her police academy answer). Not that Chie minds much—she’s here second for the food, which she’s enjoying to her heart’s content and her stomach’s delight, and Yukiko first, who Chie silently encourages by squeezing her hand when she lifts chin and announces to her grandparents, curtly and deliberately, that she requires no assistance in finding a companion for these events, could you rest at ease, please.

Lucky her that Yukiko’s family are the kind of old orthodox that would rather avoid direct confrontation in favor of snide gossiping behind closed doors.

It means they’ll leave Chie alone as long as she holds her ground—easily done by grabbing a whole rib with her hands and devouring it all in a matter of a minute.

Juices drip down her chin. She wipes them with her jumper’s sleeve.

The aunt seated across her hides a scandalized gasp, and Chie’s grin shows a full set of white teeth.

“Can we do this again?” Yukiko asks when all’s said and it’s time to leave.

Most of her family are spying from behind the kitchen doorframe. Yukiko deliberately ignores them, so Chie follows her lead.

Chie also thinks back on the sheer tedium of the day, then the dejected slant on Yukiko’s eyebrows, and answers, “Sure, whenever. But next time I might kick your uncle when no one’s looking, okay?”

Yukiko laughs and laughs and laughs. “Thank you. That’s a promise.”

By the end of Sunday, too, Yosuke still hasn’t realized what’s going on with all those rumors about him and Yu.

The notion keeps Chie awake until Inaba goes gravely quiet outside. The glowing star stickers in her bedroom’s ceiling, the ones Yukiko gifted her a lifetime ago, accompany her throughout the sleepless night.

Next day, in the spirit of being a good friend even towards Yosuke, Chie hunts him down while on his shift at Junes.

The supermarket neon-white lights cast sickly shadows over them. The place smells of detergent and limon. Here, surrounded by sales-hounding housewives and the stacks of itchy toilet paper, Yosuke will have to keep his temper in check, neither able to flee or blow up when she breaks him the news. She tries to be as direct and blunt as possible, voice clipped, eyes sharp, and the answer she receives is—

“I know.”

Chie blinks. Yosuke continues to shelve tampon boxes with the disposition of a well-trained dog.

“You know?”

“Yeah, Yu told me as soon as he realized what’s going on.”

“Ah.” Chie forces herself to close her gaping mouth. Clears her throat to ask, “What was your reaction?”

Yosuke huffs, shoving the last box of 69% leak- and odor-free Junes-brand tampons on the shelf before sharply turning to her with an exasperated frown. “At first, I thought he was joking, clearly. Then I realized he wasn’t, so I got mad at him for getting me involved, but he pulled the, you know, the face. The pleading cat face from Shrek.” He does a widening gesture around his eyes. Chie nods readily—she does know. “So, like, whatever. I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal and he could get a moment of peace from getting confessed by some girl, because of course that’s Mr. Popular’s biggest problem.”

Yosuke finishes with a scoff, fist balled, mouth pinched, ears flushing neon red.

Chie folds her arms, eyes roving over his form.

So Yukiko turned out to be right, uh.

Still, the information slots awkwardly in her perception.

Though Yosuke’s clear unease, at least, seems right.

“But then it became a big deal?” she probes.

“It became a big deal!” Yosuke cries, frantically waving his arms around. “Some girls I’ve never even talked to tearfully asked me to take good care of him! Those old men Yu sometimes fishes with told me about fishing puns I could use on Yu like—like some sort of flirting advice, I think? Naoki congratulated me, then said Yu was too good for me. The brat. And—!”

“Excuse me, young man, where are the pickles?”

With an agility that can only be achieved through tireless repetition, Yosuke turns around towards the old woman with a walker, posture in check and open, his tempestuous frown replaced by a too wide smile in a matter of a blink. “In the second floor, third aisle, ma’am. Between the mayonnaise and tomato bottles. There’s also a deep discount on the Junes brand pickles you might enjoy if you have our membership card.”

“Oh. Thank you,” says the woman with a toothless smile.

She pinches his cheek; Yosuke’s smile unnaturally stretches.

They watch her dawdle until she disappears behind the meticulously built pyramid of the latest uproar on toothpastes: Cavities Begone as Easily as Your Bank Account Savings, Now Pumpkin Sauce Flavored.

Tak-tak-tak, the clatter from the lady’s walker also fades into the distance.

Yosuke turns around again, his face wiped clean from any expression, as frighteningly blank as Chie’s mind when facing a surprise chemistry test.

“And you’re going to let things be? Let people think you’re dating Yu?” She recoups her attack, stabbing an accusatory finger in his chest. “You, who can’t stop being an asshole if so much as the word gay is uttered in your vicinity!”

“I felt bad, Chie. They were being so nice about it. What was I supposed to do?”

“…Nice. That’s your excuse. People were nice. Over your fake relationship with Yu.”

“Yes, nice!” He shakes her shoulders. She swats his hands away with an audible tsk. “Kou and Daisuke offered to beat up anyone who trash-talked us; Nanako-chan has started planning family outings and her outfit for… for something. Flowery. With fancy white lace. And church bells. And rings. She showed me a drawing.” His eyes haze out of focus before shaking it off. Yosuke glowers at her. “Do you want me to disappoint her? Nanako-chan? She already wrote it in her diary, she told me, you know!”

 “Well… no… I mean… I guess you could…” Chie steps back, cowed. She stammers placatingly, “There must be a way to let her down gently?”

Yosuke sinks his face into his hands. “And then my parents heard about this whole thing from somewhere and they just asked me if I had plans to bring him over some day.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t get it—they sounded happy for me!”

“When are you bringing him?”

“I’m not! Because it’s still something Yu made up! That’s the problem, weren’t you listening?”

“Excuse me, young man, where did you say the pickles were? I think I forgot.”

Chie yelps. Jumps out of her skin. Spins around to meet the same woman as before, with the same walker and with the same toothless leer.

She hadn’t heard her come, not at all.

Hand on her chest, she watches as a composed Yosuke quickly steps forward with his unsettling smile and the previous memorized spiel on his lips, this time even pointing towards the direction the lady should be heading to.

The woman leaves again, and Yosuke’s smile goes with her too, although his eyes hold a glint of a madness within.

Tak-tak-tak

Chie coughs.

Another moment passes.

“So. When,” she urges.

Yosuke scrunches his nose, gaze glued to the floor tiles.

She waits.

Not a minute after, he deflates.

“Yu and Nanako-chan are coming over next week so she can check Junes-related paraphernalia Dad has gotten throughout the years,” he says with his jaw clenched, like he’s plucking a wisdom tooth.

Chie drags a hand down her face. “There, was that so hard to admit?”

“They’re going to have dinner with us.”

“Of course they are.”

“…You don’t need to say it in that tone.”

“How else I’m supposed to say it, you moron? You aren’t helping yourself here by playing along to this stupid thing so well.”

“Chie. They told me they expected something like this. No one’s questioning it. No one.”

Yosuke says this so pitifully. So despondent.

He sounds like someone who has already given up. Who got pissed on by God and now has to marinate in a golden shower because the exit is guarded by the cutest seven-year-old with dreams of being the flower girl to her big bro’s big day of walking down a church aisle in a tuxedo.

His forlorn look pulls her heartstrings just so, if only because he looks at the brink of an aneurysm. 

Chie places a hand on his shoulder.

“I am. Questioning,” she offers gently. “Mostly Yu’s sanity for choosing to involve himself with you, but.”

“Thank you,” Yosuke says softly, almost teary.

Like he’s truly thankful.

“Eww. Disgusting.”

“Fuck you.”

“Even more disgusting. But also better.”

“Excuse me, young man, where were the pickles again? This place’s too big for me. Too big, I say. When I was your age, we didn’t need so much—”

Unsurprised, Yosuke squeezes his eyes close, counting under his breath as the old woman prattles on about her heydays over his shoulder.

When he faces the lady again, he does so with that schmoozing smile of his that looks like a rumpled bargain-bin child-weathered teddy bear with a missing face and splitting seams glued together with extra-strengthened tape twice over, but there’s an edge in his eyes. A blazing spark. Treacherous and wild.

As though he’s considering setting the whole place on fire, and is dangerously close to doing so.

Chie has never been happier for neglecting having a part-time job.

Money’s so overrated anyway.

“Now, dear customer,” Yosuke says to her in such sickeningly sweet voice it makes her hurl, “if you don’t have any more questions, I must escort this beautiful lady to her pickles.”

The old woman giggles, waving a coy hand. “Oh-ho! What a cad, calling me beautiful at my age.”

Next, she interlocks their arms together, forceful, pulling him down to her level with a strength that shouldn’t be available to someone her age.

The Junes jingle starts booming from the speakers overhead, but there must be some technical problems—the preppy voice suddenly distorts into a cursed chant from the beyond before it cuts off completely, replaced by abrupt silence.

Yosuke’s entire face twitches, as though he’s staving off a rictus.

The service smile doesn’t fall, though.

Chie slowly bobs her head in acknowledgement, genuinely impressed.

Taking pity on him, she says, “Yeah. You do that. Let’s talk some other day, okay?”

It doesn’t occur to her until much later, until after she has taken Muku on a stroll, done homework, had dinner and shower, and was watching a new battle anime, wondering if it had enough comedy to convince Yukiko to watch it too, that Yu must have been lying back then. About this little playact not affecting his daily life.

Because if Yosuke’s being bothered this much by those around them, there’s no way Yu hasn’t had to deal with a conga line of people trying to shovel talk him in their own way.

But he’d looked—happy.

Unbothered.

Which means—

Her mind goes dark, like an overheated TV turning itself off to preserve its functionality.

Then she goes to bed.

Sleep takes her easy. No further thoughts remain.

Nothing changes.

Surprisingly and unbelievably, nothing changes.

Teddie congregates with like-minded people who share his believes in the right of the workers for company-sponsored supplies of popsicles while at working hours. Naoto, Rise and Kanji have a week-spanning argument about the possibility of maintaining a three-way handhold while walking down the street.

Yosuke and Yukiko attend the shopkeeper association meeting with their parents to learn the professional ropes, and return from there with a notebook full of scribbles they proclaim it’s their masterplan to Inaba’s domination. In the notebook, annotations fill the margins, footnotes clarify details, additional schemes have been considered as contingency plans.

Chie also spies a section titled “List of Enemies—Execute Without Hesitation” before quickly looking away.

Meanwhile, between orchestrating a cricket symphony and managing the carousel of people who want to spend one last day with him, Yu clears up enough space in his busy schedule to train with Chie one-on-one for old time’s sake.

Good weather. Easy banter. A light training regime.

In the middle of a water break, Yu admits that he’s offering the lion’s share of his free time before leaving back to Tokyo first to Nanako and second to Yosuke.

Those two had become very needy, he adds.

He grins when saying this, a bit saddened around the corners but mostly disgustingly self-gratified.

The water misses Chie’s mouth to drip from her water-bottle down to her shirt.

Sometimes—very rarely, but sometimes—Chie understands Yosuke’s need to apply a rhinoplasty to Yu’s nose by unconventional methods, namely, a powerful right hook.

“Don’t you regret it?” she asks, taking the chance now that the topic has been broached. “Maybe wished to choose some other excuse to keep those girls at bay? Maybe with someone else?”

“Why would I?”

“I just don’t get it. It’s Yosuke.”

Yu nods once. “It’s Yosuke.”

They run through another kata.

Chie’s jaw works through the effort of voicing the one thing that actually, truthfully bothers her:

“Don’t you think it could affect your friendship with him if it gets out of hand?”

Yu stops all movement.

And laughs.

It’s an off-putting sound.

Yu doesn’t laugh—he smiles, he grins, sometimes he chuckles under his breath, but he doesn’t laugh proper, and now that Chie has heard it, she hopes to never hear it again.

Because amazing, understanding Yu shouldn’t sound like a goddamn tokusatsu villain who has won the episode by defeating the heroes.

“It’s Yosuke,” he answers simply, whatever the hell that means.

“I don’t get boys,” Chie tells Yukiko later.

“Me neither,” says Yukiko. She points at the free chair behind her; Chie sits there.

The Amagi kitchen has come alive with Yukiko’s latest cooking adventure. Pans, utensil and devices litter the counter, and an odd smell lingers in the air. Acrid and old. Like when Chie had to visit her grandpa, who had fallen face first into a pile of week-old cow manure, in antiseptic reeking hospital room.

A pot stands on the fire, proud testament to Yukiko’s accomplishment.

Something inside is popping. Slimming. Wriggling.

Unmistakably alive.

Chie leans away from the pot. “What you cooking?”

“Gyudon,” Yukiko replies.

“…I thought Yu already taught you this recipe? I remember when you tried last it tasted good.” At the very least, it hadn’t looked like an army of rabid-infected, radioactive cockroaches had vomited inside. Even Chie can notice this one somehow outdoes everything they’ve ever tried cooking in the past.

Yukiko hums, trying to stir the concoction with a wooden spoon. The spoon breaks in half. “I was feeling experimental today. Narukami-kun told me it’s good to try new ways with old recipes as long as I know what and why I’m doing it.”

Chie stares at the metal lid; it has started corroding.

A nagging inside her chest pushes her to ask, “Why are you doing it?”

“My uncle and aunt stopped me for a talk some days ago. An enlightening conversation, truly, so I thought I should return their good will, don’t you think?”

“Oh,” exclaims Chie. “I see.” Yukiko’s smile widens as sharp as it is beautiful. Chie returns the gesture. “You’re so right. Do you need help?”

The academic year ends. Yu goes back to Tokyo, not first without all the heartfelt farewells and promises to keep in contact. Yosuke does an admirable job of keeping his composure until Yu’s train disappears in the distance, but after that he mops with the mien of an abandoned wet dog.

After some days of Yosuke’s quest towards transforming himself into a rotting starfish on his bedroom’s floor, Teddie begins to worry about him, mostly because Yosuke has stopped spoiling and berating him in equal measure; then their cute underclassmen start worrying, because they’re genuinely some of the kindest people Chie will ever know; and then Chie resolutely refuses to worry about Hanamura, which is why she kicks him until he’s running laps across Inaba with her.

“C’mon, Hanamura, move those chicken legs! Aren’t you supposed to be faster than me, uh?!”

“In sprints, not marathons, you muscle-for-brains harpy!” he wheezes. Then adds, like the filthy liar that he is, “I’m so not inviting you to fucking Souzai.”

She trips him for that, cackling when he avoids kissing the ground with an impressive faint only to end up kissing the telephone pole instead because he miscalculated.

It’s good to have a companion for her exercise routine, although Yu was better at this. Yosuke’s just a truly annoying guy, even if he looks more alive at the end of it than he did at the beginning.

Their after-exercise meal at Souzai Daigaku makes up for it, she guesses, so she won’t mind a repeat.

Soon after, their third year in high school begins. Old classmates, old halls, old professors, but a new syllabus to study and a neverending string of exams and warnings about how this year might shape their whole future. Their timetables overflow with tasks, rendering them too busy to worry about the physical distance with their friends.

Or—at least they should be.

“Why are you the depressed one now?”

Chie slaps Yosuke’s poking finger away. “I’m stuck in the same class as you again.”

“Poor Satonaka,” he taunts with a nasty sneer. “Left alone to fend off the big evil corporate lackey while Yukiko is in a different class.”

Chie slams her forehead against her desk and shrills, “It’s just not fair! Yukiko and I have always been in the same class. Always. Why change it now?”

“Well, at least you get to see her between and after classes?”

“I guess!”

No other than Kashiwagi arrives soon after, her high heels clicking to the rhythm of their funeral hymn. She’s their classroom tutor this year too, she proclaims; the class groans as one to that. They spend the first hour of the school year listening to Kashiwagi’s scathing opinions on the banality of the beauty industry before self-study frees them of her yoke.

Chie at last raises her head, her cheeks wood-marked from despondently hugging her desk with her face for the better part of an hour.

She finds Yosuke glaring at the back of the boy who sits in front of him as if it were an affront to life.

She laughs. “Hey, cheer up, you.”

“Why? Nothing to cheer up for.”

“Because this is a chance for you, right?”

He blinks. Finally turns to her. “It is?”

“People will stop gossiping about your relationship with Yu now that he’s out of the picture. You might even get a girlfriend, finally.”

“Saying it aloud’s gonna jinx me knowing my luck.”

“Why blame luck when the problem’s your personality?”

“Hey!”

Except luck, for once, prevails for him.

A first-year girl. Doe-eyed, high-spirited and with an abysmal taste in men. She isn’t subtle about her crush; she’s stupidly forward about it, even.

Chie barely pays attention when the girl retells how she met Hanamura-senpai—some other cliché about helping her find directions—because she’s already too busy not gagging at the way the girl’s tongue rolls over his name. As if she would rather use it to roll over something else. The disgust incurred by that image is so deep-seated, Chie forgets to ask about The Girl’s name.

Yosuke might have grown up a bit since last year, more grounded and less desperate, but at the end of the day it’s still Yosuke, right?

He still texts her sex jokes in the middle of the night, the jackass.

Well. Whatever.

Soon, Chie’ll probably see less of him, once he fulfills his long-standing dream of groping a girlfriend under the stars, or whatever other disgusting fantasy he harbors in that hollow skull.

Except—

The calendar sheds off pages.

And Yosuke doesn’t make a move.

“I thought Hanamura’d jump at the opportunity. She cute and clearly interested,” Yamamoto comments to her at a lunch break.

He’s a nice guy, her new classmate. A bit pushy, kind of too talented at sniffing her out when she’s alone. Still, he joined her and Yosuke in a group project and since has shown himself affable and easygoing. Even if he gets in the way when Chie wants to spend some time with Yukiko after being unfairly separated at class.

Though he likes wuxia series, too, and freely shares his DVD collection with her. So.

“It’s…complicated?” Chie says, unconvinced, yet somehow not at all surprised by Yosuke’s odd behavior.

This, above all, surprises her the most.

Chie watches the abnormal dance between Yosuke and The Girl. She launches the ball into Yosuke’s court, batting long eyelashes and puckering shiny lips with intention. He ignores her effort by redirecting their attention back to the English music band CD she has brought to him.

A disquiet churns in Chie’s stomach. Not quite the feeling of expired milk creating a ruckus in her esophagus. Something closer to the disappointment that haunted her when she had been unable to replicate the flavor of the palate-melting sauce from an on-the-wall random establishment in Tokyo after returning to tiny Inaba.

In short: the feeling of teeth-grinding bullshit.

“I think I’m gonna have lunch with Yukiko,” Chie announces suddenly.

“Wait, Satonaka, could I—?”

She ignores Yamamoto, beelines to the class next door and plops down on Yukiko’s desk without fanfare.

A dainty, calloused hand combs through her hair; a soft chuckle blows air near her ear. Mostly, familiar silence settles between them—that, and the smell of Yukiko’s homemade gyudon she shares with her, which is neither the worst nor the best dish to ever eat.

Just plain average, if a bit salty.

Yet one of Chei’s favorites.

The feeling in Chie’s stomach tightens.

After, things continue as always.

Then summer break arrives.

Yu gets dogpiled by seven friends, one little sister and five cats as soon as he lands on Inaba. Exactly twenty-seven questions bombard him before he gets to utter a word edgewise; more arms than there are people present encircle his neck and torso in a vice grip worthy of a boa constrictor, all vying for his attention.

It doesn’t matter that they already saw Yu in Golden Week not that long ago.

Their group is yet again reunited, and that’s always a motive to celebrate.

Thus the big party at the Dojima house that night: expensive food, good music and a plethora of stories to share.

And Dojima himself, with a gun at hand, silently reminding them about the eight-year-old present even if she falls asleep from excitement overload halfway through.

Message clear: no funny business.

Rise sneakily pushes the nicked sake bottle under the sofa.

Next day, Yu spends his first full day back in Inaba mainly with Nanako, as usual. No one questions this. It’s Nanako.

He spends his second full day back in Inaba mainly with Yosuke, as usual. No one questions this. No one, regardless of the shallow complaints about favoritism some of them voice out of habit rather than any actual grievance.

The rest of the week goes as expected: catch-up, outings, a strange detour where they have to help a tanuki retake its rightful title as king of its pack and its appropriate crown of flowers, and of course silly arguments on who gets to pet it first that almost ends in a bloodbath (Yu does after pulling rank and threateningly swinging his katana for his case).

The summer festival after transpires ordinarily.

The Investigation Team ambles through the street in pack formation, hopping from stall to stall.

They fail at most of the games, the single goldfish they win jumps down a sewer mouth into a dubious freedom, and they run around afoul trying to find new sandals for Naoto after the laces in hers break.

By the time the fireworks are to begin, they are tired, their kimono and clothes dirtied with sweat and dust, and they’re also smiling ear to ear, lips smeared with traces of sugar and energy drinks as sweet as the summer night.

And then—

“Hanamura-senpai! It’s so nice to meet you here,” The Girl greets, appearing out of thin air. “You look good in that get-up.”

Yosuke, who’s wearing his usual t-shirt and pants combo, blushes. “Uhm. You got a nice yukata, too. Are you here with your friends?”

“Yes! They should be somewhere around here. I walked ahead of them for a bit and got lost with all these people.”

“Ah... The fireworks’ll start soon, so they might be searching for you?”

“Oh, but I don’t know where they are now,” The Girl giggles, hair twirling around a finger, aiming for shy and failing by a mile. “If you would, Hanamura-senpai, could you help me—?”

Sluuurp.

The noise crackles across the space, unexpected. Loud.

Disrupting.

The Girl’s voice trails off, lips frozen in a tenuous smile.

She stares to Yosuke’s right. Finds Yu’s unwavering attention zeroed in on her.

His smoothie bottle menacingly slushes in his grip, half-full.

Besides Chie, Yukiko covers her mouth with a hand, shoulders shaking.

The Girl deliberately steps away from Yu; Yosuke pretends to not notice anything amiss.

She swallows before addressing Yosuke again.

“Erm. So. I was thinking, Hanamura-senpai, if you wanted, could you help me find my friends?”

“Uhhh, try calling them?”

“Dead battery!”

“Oh.”

“Besides, wouldn’t this be a nice time for you and I to—"

SLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP

“—to, to uhm...hang out...” The Girl stammers, disbelief marring her features. She stares at Yu again, mouth hanging ajar. Yu stares back. He slowly lowers his smoothie. A moment passes. Then another. Yu doesn’t attempt further tricks, and the Girl blinks away her sheer bewilderment, trying again, “Together. Hang out together, you and me. We could check out some of the stalls. I also know a nook with a nice view to watch the fireworks. If that’s…”

Once more, her words die on her tongue.

Yu has very deliberately inched the smoothie straw back to his mouth again.

Yosuke has gone rigid, sandwiched between two forces beyond his ken, his expression stuck into that eerie smile Chie has seen him use while at work.

Teddie has brought out a bowl of popcorn from somewhere to share with the other unwilling spectators.

With nothing better to do, the rest of the team begins to wolf down the popcorn, heads constantly turning side to side like a tennis match.

The Girl presses on, now with a contentious frown, all her affability and easy grins vanishing, replaced by all the grit and indignation a teenager girl can muster—which is to say, a whole lot.

“What I meant to say is that—” slurp “—we could have a good time together—” slurp “—alone, the two of us, if you’d just come with me—”  slurp

“Hanamura-senpai!”

“Fucking hell,” Yosuke exhales quietly.

“Wow,” the Greek chorus exclaims.

The Girl looks at the verge of a breakdown.

“… …I just think that—”

slurp

“…I—uhm—I think—I think I should leave?” She sounds thoroughly confused when saying this, as if her higher conscience finally won the battle over her lizard brain. “ItwasniceseeingyouHanamura-senpaiGOODBYE!”

Then she retreats back whence she came, running at full sprint.

They all watch her go with bated breaths.

The Girl disappears among the throng of people.

A beat passes.

Yosuke facepalms. The slap against skin echoes, loud even against the festival clatter.

The rest look back at Yu in unison, ogling him as if he were a new cryptid ready to suck out the souls of everyone present.

He looks back at them while finishing off his smoothie in complete, blissful silence.

“What,” he dares to ask.

Just like that, the dam breaks—Yukiko starts honking with laughter until tears stream down her cheeks.

As though on cue, Yosuke smacks Yu’s head. “You needn’t do that!”

Yu stares at him for a minute. “No?”

Yosuke seethes, “No!”

Yu pouts. “But—”

“Doesn’t matter!"

“Well—”

“Wouldn’t have!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“If you—”

“Would it now?”

“Yes.”

“Urgh.”

“Do it.”

“…Fine! I promise.”

Yu opens his mouth, closes it. He cocks his head to the side, searching Yosuke’s deepening blush. A whole conversation takes place between them, somehow with even fewer words exchanged.

At the end, Yu smiles placidly. “Alright. I too promise I won’t do it again.”

Then he launches the smoothie bottle to the nearest trashcan with his basketball skills. It arches beautifully across the air before it lands inside with a resonant plop.

Yukiko finally manages to catch her breath, eyes shiny with mirth. She wipes her cheeks with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You two are genuinely dreadful and treated that poor girl terribly. Never approach a woman again,” she says.

“Noted,” Yu says.

“What,” Chie stutters into the ensuing silence. “The hell.”

“That was so cooooool!!” Teddie slams in, the popcorn bowl finding a new home on the ground in his haste to crowd up to Yu. “Since when did you and Yosuke develop telepathic conversation?! That’s so unfair. Can I learn it too? Can we practice now?”

They spend the remaining time before the firework shows practicing telepathy. The key to achieve such power, Yu informs them, is to pray at the shrine fox three times a week and be absurdly close to each other.

Chie wisely decides this nonsensical training to be better than unpacking the enormity of what she just witnessed. So she keeps quiet, and lets the thoughts wash off of her, and finds space next to Yukiko, who will always shield her from the boys’ unbridled stupidity.

“I wonder if I could pull off something like that too,” Yukiko wonders when they’re finally, finally settling down to see the fireworks.

“The what? The telepathy stuff?”

“No, no. Scaring off unwanted attention the same way Yu just did.”

Chie hums, the idea taking shape in her mind. “I don’t think so? You don’t have the face for it like Yu does.”

“I don’t?”

“Your face’s too pretty. Yu’s handsome, too, but he has the, you know, the Hannibal face sometimes. Like when facing those big shadows, you know?”

Yukiko readily nods—she does know. “What do you propose?”

Chie considers it for a moment—the answer comes somehow easily.

“Your laughter,” she offers.

Yukiko’s mouth forms an O. “Ah. Right.”

A pause. Chie asks, “Is it for the guys in your class—”

“No.”

“Is it for—?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“Problem?”

“Nope!”

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

Fireworks bloom over their heads, rainbow colored, bright and loud, like a promise.

A week later, they watch Yamamoto flee from Yukiko’s minute-long baying in the middle of Okina’s main street.

“Oh, it worked. Marvelous,” she says, happy as a clam, waving at Yamamoto’s back in a forever goodbye.

Chie swallows. Her mouth has become sandpaper dry. She’ll miss the wuxia DVDs a bit, she thinks, but this also translates into more free time. So.

“Can we go to the movies now? The screening for Is It Wrong to Flirt with Girls While Fighting Them at the End of the World as Another Girl?  will start soon.”

Yukiko tightly links their arms together, leaning her body against hers and smiling beatifically up to her. She’s wearing a sundress that hugs her waist and the lily-shaped necklace Chie gifted her last year for her birthday, one that matches with her own bracelet.

“Yes, of course,” Yukiko says, and pulls towards the direction with a giggle.

So, they go.

All in all, another nice summer day.

“You’re aware you aren’t making yourself any favors by visiting Yu on Valentin’s weekend, right?”

They are huddling in Yosuke’s living room, a TV bigger than the one in Chie’s house turned on and his console plugged in. Their fingers smash through the controllers’ buttons in a frenzy, their characters following the inputs in a whirlwind of punches, kicks and evasions.

Two empty bags of chips lay between them.

“I’m not giving up alone time with my partner who I only get to see on holidays over some stupid gossip,” Yosuke grouses, his attention wrapped by the game rather than by their talk. “What more can they say anyway.”

What more can anyone say, indeed.

Chie grumbles, put off—she can’t argue against that.

Suddenly, her character drops dead over a well-timed flurry of punches. LOSER flashes over her side of the screen, while Yosuke crows at the WINNER on his side.

She swears loudly, demanding a rematch.

Next minute, they’re onto the next round, any problem other than digitally beating each other into a pixelated bloody pulp all but forgotten.

When Chie returns home later, it’s in a good mood. It’s a bummer that Yosuke’s clearly good enough at fighting games to eke out wins against her, even if they’re pretty equal most of the time. But that’s okay. It just means she needs to try better; it’ll make her wins all the sweeter.

Whistling a bright tune to herself, she opens her wardrobe. A few days too early to decide on an outfit for her outing to Okina with Yukiko this Valentine weekend, but a newly opened karaoke awaits them there and Chie can’t wait. They both have been dying to try it out for the longest time.

Clothes fall discarded on Chie’s bed like Kanji’s card hand when playing daifugo—too uncomfortable, not her style, the colors don’t match, too old-fashioned.

Not daring enough, a bore that won’t turn heads around.

After an hour of trying, re-trying, and re-re-trying, she settles on short jeans and the bright low-cut shirt Yukiko praised not long ago.

Shows a bit too much of her legs for winter, but she for sure can endure.

Must add a jacket too, she guesses, in case it rains, and comfortable winter ankle-high boots.

Chie smiles satisfied at her image in the mirror. Wonders if she can ask Rise for help applying make-up the day of.

Wonders if maybe Yukiko and she could go to that sweet’s café with the frilly curtains Yukiko’s loves after the karaoke, too.

Regardless, her good mood can only get better weekend come.

The end of their third-year crawls in like an overstuffed earthworm. The Sakura trees have begun to dress with flower buds. An early spring heralds a pink-showered graduation, and Chie twitches with restlessness at the constant reminder that only a month remains before she stops seeing her friends every single day.

After school, Yosuke and Chie make their way back home together in one of the few afternoons where neither are bothered by any pressing obligations while Yukiko has been held back by class duties.  

Yosuke walks one step ahead of her, and Chie follows close behind by trying to step on his sneakers’ heelcaps.

“So. You’re really going to university in Tokyo,” she comments.

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Good riddance.”

He laughs at her petulant tone. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to visit you all the time just to annoy you.”

“Pfft, as if I’d ever want to see your mug.” She tries stomping on his foot again. Fails. Yosuke’s stepped to the side, sensing her intention. “Also, heard you’re becoming roomies with Yu.”

“Yep.”

“Decided that long ago?”

“Hm-mm. I think just after he left? We started talking about the future and it sounded like a good idea.”

“Sure it wasn’t because you’re kinda pathetic without him?”

“Shut it. It’s not like Yu’s any better.”

An ugly laughter spills from her mouth—not because what he’s said is funny, but because it’s true. Undeniable.

Yosuke turns around to her. Eyebrows slanted in puzzled annoyance. As if he truly doesn’t understand what’s going on.

A reckoning’s inevitable; payback’s mandatory.

Vision gone red, Chie punches his arm. Fiercely.

“You really are dating him!” she accuses in an outraged huff.

“Ouch, hey! Stop slapping my arm! Wait, wait!” Yosuke grabs her fist, his frown deepening. “Whatever even makes you think that?!”

“What is there to make me not think that, you moron. That’s not even denial from you!”

And instead of vehemently, homophobically denying this truth, as should be usual from Hanamura Yosuke, he has the gall to say, “Ugh, why do you need to talk about this? It’s not like it matters!”

This fucking asshole!

She swings her other arm down on him; he catches this one too.

They lock in a standstill, glaring at each other.

People pass by them utterly uninterested, too accustomed to their shenanigans.

“Of course it matters! I’ve spent the last year listening to you whine like some sort of piglet about Yu this and Yu that! Chie, you get that it’s all Yu’s bullshit, right! Do you think people will say mean things about us, Chie? I’m so pathetic, Chie, ah-boo-boo,” Chie spits, a vein pulsing in her forehead, hot and throbbing and mostly annoyed. “If you’re going to be so annoying about it, at least I should be the one informed first if you changed minds!”

“Oh, fuck off. First, I don’t talk like that—”

“You do!” a passing neighbor shouts.

Chie smirks contemptuously. Yosuke ignores them and presses on, “Second, none of us ever talk about this kind of stuff. We just let things be. Why should I be the first to bring shit up?”

“What! We talk plenty. About anything and everything. Because we trust each other. For god’s sake, just yesterday we talked about the new warts in Teddie’s butt!”

“Yeah, but that’s not the actual weird stuff! Like whatever the hell’s going on with Kanji and Rise and Naoto,” Yosuke argues back. “Everyone knows it’s there, but we never talk about any of that!”

He throws her off-kilter by pulling back, taking a stance, and pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Objection! some classmate yells in the background, laughing.

Aghast, Chie splutters.

“I—Well! That’s because they’re our underclassmen. We’re there to support them, not meddle with their…triad?” she tries. Yosuke’s glare sharpens. “Rise’s harem? Naoto and Kanji’s motivational group for their gender issues?” She shrinks under Yosuke’s roll of eyes. “I actually don’t know what’s going on with those three.”

Yosuke exasperatedly throws his arms up in the air. “We never talk about Teddie’s new obsession with the Communist Manifesto.”

Chie folds her arms, huffing, without the intention to give up even an inch against Yosuke. “I mean, we don’t talk about Nanako’s concerningly increasing collection of Junes merchandise, either. Because that’s Yu’s problem. Likewise, Teddie’s your problem.” She pauses, frowning. “Where did he get that from, anyway?”

“I had him study some history after he made some stupid and naive comment about World War II that almost got us mobbed. That led to learning about Marx and now he’s threatening strikes and unions and heading the proletarian revolution of Inaba against the corporations.” Chie gawks, not sure where to even begin processing any of that. Yosuke sinks his face into his hands, whining, “I wish I could join him.”

Chie, not understanding the labor struggles of her employed lesser, says flatly, “Though work.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” Yosuke sniffs, glaring at her again. “Back to it. We don’t talk about you and Yukiko. Your weird ass relationship. You totally not dating weird ass relationship, you goddamn hypocrite.”

Chie gasps. Eyes wide. Hand on mouth.

She steps back, surprise turning her legs wobbly.

That’s!

That’s outrageous! Absurd! Not—!

“Not true! We aren’t.”

She would know!

Yukiko and she would have talked about it at least.

Yosuke vehemently disagrees by tutting in her face, by wearing that stupid smarmy and condescending leer he’s so good at, even as Chie slaps his hand away with an irritated scoff.

“Oh, no no no, Chie-chan, you don’t get to say that. Because you are. Everyone knows,” he says, words overflowing with arrogance. “No way you haven’t heard. Or suspected. Not when Yukiko already told me you two have plans to spend a whole week after graduation partying in Okinawa, together and alone.”

An excited smile flourished on her lips. “She talks to you about me?”

“Chie!”

“What? I wanna know! Besides, what you said isn’t uncommon when it’s with your best friend. That’s no proof.”

Yosuke’s glower is withering. “You’re as full of shit as I am, ever told you that? And that’s saying something. Fine, nevermind that. There’s a reason all the boys suddenly stopped trying to clear the Amagi Challenge all at once.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “That’s because Yukiko finally put her foot down in letting the boys be misogynistic pigs around her.”

“And because you kept quite literally kicking their asses,” he grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t let up on his hounding, squaring up another round of accusations instead: “You two almost killed her uncle because he trash-talked your relationship.”

“It was deserved,” Chie sniffs contemptuously.

“I saw the news, you know. Inaban man hospitalized after consuming unclassified toxic waste; doctors discover new dysentery strain.”

“And as I said, deserved.”

They glare at each other. Nose scrunched with determination. Hands fisted at their side.

Angry sparks fly.

Their spines tense, taut as though predators aiming for the killing blow.

They lean forward, ready.

And Yosuke shots first.

“I’ve been your third-wheel for the last year.”

“Hanging out with us as a friend is not third-wheeling.”

“You’re not gonna deny me my pain now,” Yosuke barks. “I didn’t endure you two planning dates and making kissy faces and holding hands all the time while we hung out for you to tell me that’s friend stuff now!”

“Please, it just means you want to do all that with Yu but can’t. You’re just jealous.”

“Yes, DAMMIT!” he roars, face as incandescent with hurt as his words. So much so, Chie loses her footing. “I’m stupid jealous! Seething with it! Stop throwing it in my face! Why do you get to enjoy spending time in the flesh with your girlfriend while I’m stuck with shitty phone calls with my boyfriend, uh?!”

His outburst is deafening, his voice reverberating loud and angry and desperate.

A wretched, impotent scream tears through his throat, and Chie witnesses the give on his posture, now encumbered by rage and dejection so thick it swallows her.

The power of Captain Ressentiment in full display.

Whichever retort she might have formulated on any other occasion, it fails her now.

“That’s not… It’s not…”  

She looks around for help. For an out.

An audience has formed around them. Mostly their classmates, but some old shopkeepers also stand out, and they’re all looking at them with a mixture of glee and pride.

“Holy shit,” they whisper amongst themselves, “he finally admitted it.”

Then they look at her, excited, the question unvoiced but heavy on her shoulders: what about you?

Yosuke pays them no mind, too busy throwing a self-pity party in his head.

On the other hand, Chie freaks out.

Too much. Too much attention; too much expectation. Too much to answer for.

In a restless hurry, she pulls Yosuke to her side while baring her teeth at the audience, until they remember the meaning of courtesy, embarrassed gazes cast away from them, and all of sudden all those people quickly return to their lives.

Not looking back, Chie takes refuge with Yosuke in the nearest out-of-sight crook—inside the bus station shelter, where the next line won’t be coming for another thirty minutes. Not a secluded spot by a long shot, but it’d have to suffice.

They sit down. The old wood and plastic of the seats creak ominously.

A mantle of silence chokes them.

Yosuke continues to not utter a single word, and Chie…

She just—

“Yukiko and I are really dating, aren’t we?” she admits into the silence, voice weak and reedy.

Yosuke doesn’t answer.

She can feel him merely watching her instead. Waiting.

She wrings her hands together. Her fingers interlock in a tight knot, not different from the one that sits at the bottom of her stomach.

“I knew it! Of course I knew it. At first, I thought I was imagining it. We never really spoke about any of this, never put it into words,” she says hurriedly, haltingly, out of breath, out of excuses and out of mind. “So, I just felt confused. Maybe it was just Yukiko going through some phase. That maybe I was—I was—”

She groans. Slams her palms against her seat, now also out of words. Frustration swells in her chest until it turns into a blush that scalds her face.

Yosuke takes pity on her and offers, “Misreading the situation?”

“YES! But by the time Yukiko started the whole kissing me stuff, it was like ‘aw, man’ and then it was so embarrassing to bring it up. So stupidly embarrassing. And you know what the worst part is?” She doesn’t wait for his input. “No one questioned it! Absolutely no one!”

Her voice breaks in the last syllable, cracking the vowels like a whip against flesh.

Another groan, followed by the instinct of hiding her face behind her hands. Refusing to address the truths she has so haphazardly spilled out, scattering like entrails in need of cleaning.

As long as the world cannot gaze at her, she doesn’t have to gaze back, delusionally comfortable.

Yet the seconds tick on.

Eventually, her breathing evens out. Steadily, her heartbeat slows down.

From beyond her cocoon, Yosuke’s sigh reaches her ears, long and weary.

Still, he pats her back, the weight of his hand grounding against the storm raging inside her mind.

“I’m questioning you now,” he says sympathetically. “Mostly how much of a bullheaded idiot you can be, but.”

She raises her head, sniffling.

Finds Yosuke smiling at her with one side of his mouth, palpably self-deprecating.

“Thank you,” Chie says, grateful for once.

A pause.

Then.

Yosuke grimaces. “You were right: that sounds disgusting.”

Despite everything, Chie laughs. “Fuck you.”

“Eugh. But also better.”

Chie laughs harder, and Yosuke joins her. The sound thrums in their bones, wild and manic and well-worn.

They lean back, spluttering the last remnants of their momentary hysteria before their bodies give in, thoroughly exhausted.

Chie tries stretching her limbs, easing away the stiffness on her muscles. She just feels boiled over like an overcooked croquette.

“What are we going to do about this?” she asks when the lull has settled in her chest too.

Yosuke considers the question just for a moment. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Yosuke shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, what’s the point?”

“Uhhh, not letting Yu and Yukiko get away with the fact they basically gaslighted us into a relationship?”

“Meh.” Yosuke rolls his shoulders. “You really don’t want to get into a fight when we already have enough fighting the exams, do you? Do you?”

Chie pouts, put off. “Don’t come crying to me when you somehow get roped up into having sex with him.”

Yosuke stares on, face unnaturally blank, his mouth pinched into a line.

Chie brings a hand to her mouth. “Oh.” She isn’t sure whether she wants to laugh or yell at him.

“Let’s not talk about that, either,” he says wisely, so they don’t.

The first spring breeze rustles their hair, smelling of rain and earth, and brings back their attention to the fact they’re idling in a public spot.

At the same time, together, they stand up, dust off their clothes, and continue to walk down the street back home.

Like nothing has happened.

And, in a way, nothing has truly happened.

Yosuke takes the lead one step ahead, Chie retakes her foot game.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” she asks.

“Dojima asked me to look after Nanako.”

Chie stops abruptly. Yosuke does the same.

Chie stares at him blankly. Yosuke does the same with her.

“Did he, now,” she drawls, extremely deadpan. “I take you’re the one inheriting the surname in Nanako-chan’s plans?”

“Hyphenated, so Teddie doesn’t feel left out.”

“And Dojima’s opinion?”

“He’s more resigned than I am.” He pinches his nose. “Didn’t I just tell you we aren’t supposed to talk about any of this? Please, just lay it off, okay?”

“You’re making it so damn hard, though.”

“I know,” he grits. “Do you want me to ask how your last visit to the Amagi Inn went?”

Chie purses her lips. She does, in fact, not want to tell him about how Yukiko’s parents drilled her about her intentions with Yukiko in the long run, how her prospects as future a police member might affect their relationship.

Whatever.

They march on.

“Can I go with you? I need to ask Dojima for those annotations he promised me for the police academy.”

“Sure, whatever.”                        

“Not gonna stay for long, though. I also need to do some research.”

“You, research?” Yosuke sneers. She kicks him for that—tries to. He jumps away from her reach. “What for?”

Huffy, Chie kicks the pebble on the road instead. “…Lesbian sex.”

A yelp. The racket of a body tripping over his own feet.

Chie uselessly holds back a snicker as Yosuke picks himself back up and sprints to close the gap between them, face all red.

“…You remember that weird nurse Yu hung out with?” he says. “She’s back. Talk to her.”

Inaba blusters around them; the sky shines a bright blue. It’s a good afternoon. “Cool,” Chie says.

The nurse is very forthcoming if a bit too interested. She hands away a bottle of lube for free and directs her towards some safe, veritable websites that hold the relevant information for her research.

She spends two afternoons absorbing every piece of information like a sponge. A feat never accomplished before when it comes to school matters, but this is also a hundred times more important to her.

It’s absolutely worth it.

Lesbian sex, turns out, is pretty fantastic.

Chie has no complaints. Neither does Yukiko, if the way she laughs like it’s both the funniest and the most breathtaking act is any indication.

.

.

.

“Yukiko, Yukiko. Wake up.”

“Hmrm?”

“How long would you have waited for me to clue in on this?”

“Mrmrmg?”

“That we were together together.”

“Ahh. However long it took you.”

“…no way.”

“Don’t pull that face. I didn’t mind— it was fun. Still is.”

“…fun?”

“Of course. It’s always fun with you.”

“Oh.”

“Although I could do without being woken up in the middle of the night.”

“But… what if I didn’t—?”

“Oh, that was never happening. It’s you, after all. Stop worrying, Chie.”

“Now, what does that mean?”

“Do you really want to talk about it?”

“Nope!”

“Ahaha, thought so.”

So they don’t talk about it.

It’s no one’s business but their own, after all.