Say My Name
Even on her days off, her feet dragged her to the same vending machine.
It was October, and Academy City was firmly in the throes on autumn. Schools had switched to their winter uniforms, arming the students with thicker jumpers and blazers to head off the incoming chill. The leaves on the trees had lost their rich green colour to wear various shades of amber, from the light, dry-looking brown to a deep apple red, and held onto branches with an ailing grip before they were blown into the streets and cleared away by the city's usually efficient cleaning robots. Grey skies, less natural light and more frequent rain - the enjoyable, relaxing days of summer were long gone.
The usual dreariness of the season didn't deter Mikoto from leaving the warm confines of her dormitory and enjoying her usual routine, however. Dressed in her school's winter uniform, where a light brown blazer replaced the sleeveless jumper and the pattern of the skirt changed from a dusty grey to blue tartan, she set out to a certain vending machine; the one that had, some time ago, become the target for Mikoto's ire after an unfortunate incident involving a 10,000 yen bill. It was the time of the day that the park was close to empty even when the weather was nice, and completely deserted during wet days.
So, it was without a glance to her surroundings that she pivoted on one foot and lashed out with her other leg, her short skirt flaring up and revealing the pair of shorts underneath. It collided heavily with the side of the machine it rattled into life, whirring for a moment, and then, with a heavy clunk, deposited one of its cans into the collection tray. Mikoto knelt down to retrieve the can, gave the label a quick read – Bear Curry Soup – and wrinkled her face in distaste.
"They sure make some strange flavours."
"You got that right," Mikoto responded absent-mindedly. She opened the can and took a sniff of its contents. The unmistakable scent of spices invaded her nose, and brought back memories of a scorching day during the summer when she had been "persuaded" to down a can. She took a sip and regretted immediately. They hadn't improved the flavour at all.
"It's warm though, I guess."
Mikoto turned to face the owner of the voice, with it's ever-familiar note of resignation that could only be produced by those who frequently faced misfortune in their life. The high-school student with dark, spiky hair stood next to her. His hands were buried in the pockets of a hooded jumper, and a plain white shopping bag, stuffed with what she assumed was groceries, hung from his wrist.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, a simple question made all the more difficult by the boy's proximity.
"I was just walking home until I saw you acting all violent over here. Are all rich girls vandals like you are?"
"That machine deserves it," Mikoto huffed. The boy gave her a weary look, though whether it was because of her or because he had also been a victim of that faulty vendor she wasn't sure. His gaze then focused on the can Mikoto held onto. She held it up in front of him. "You want it?"
He reached out to take it, then hesitated. "Not if you haven't paid for it."
"What, do you think I'm some criminal or something? Just take it already."
Mikoto held the can towards him and he reluctantly took it, careful not to spill any of it. He held it carefully, and scrutinised it closely, as if the can was some sort of trap.
"I guess it'd be a shame to waste it," he concluded, and drank some, not at all bothered by the taste. "Thanks, Biribiri."
Mikoto had wanted to respond with a simple you're welcome, but the words were swallowed up by a wave of irritation.
"Stop calling me that!" she said sharply. She crossed her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes in a glare. "How many times do I have to tell you before you actually call me by my name?"
"It's not like you ever call me by my name," the boy grumbled, more to himself than anything.
Mikoto opened her mouth to retort, to dismiss his claim as nonsense, but found the words dying in her throat when she found herself unable to remember a time that she had used his name in any conversation. They hadn't even formally introduced themselves to one another at any point since they met back in May. The reason why completely escaped her; it wasn't like she didn't know what his name was.
She watched as the boy pulled his phone out of his pocket. He took a single look at the display and his eyes widened.
"Crap, I'm running late!" he exclaimed and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He looked at Mikoto. "I'll see you around!"
Dumbfounded, Mikoto watched as Kamijou Touma ran off into distance, the shopping bag swinging around widely, and its content precariously close to spilling out onto the ground. Then, she realised that his lips had come into contact on the exact spot on that can that her own had just moments before, and her face burned as if she had downed its entire contents in one go.
"Good morning, Kurasama-kun!"
"I really want to walk to school with Kurasama-kun."
"Kurasama-kun..."
Mikoto scowled and slapped the magazine shut before she stuffed it back into the magazine rack, not caring to put it back in its original place, nor paying the frowning shopkeeper who kept throwing her sideways glances any mind. On any other day, she would kill a good hour reading through the week's releases, but today her eyes had spent an unusual amount of time attracted to the smallest of details and it was all his fault.
She could be having a mundane day with scarcely any worry until the moment he appears in her vision. It was during those moment that her usually immaculate control over her powers faltered, and, as if paralysed by her own electricity, she becomes unable to move, to open her mouth and say something and even complete a coherent thought. Her brain short-circuits. At the last minute, one thought manages to slip through. Say something. Anything. But then she doubts herself. What should I say?
Hello. Followed by: How are you? She didn't need all those etiquette classes to know that, but then, those classes never covered those times when the art of conversation upped and abandoned you.
It wasn't entirely her fault. That guy never set the right tone when he started a conversation. When he wanders past her, throws up a lazy hand in greeting and calls her that stupid name, she feels the blood rush to her head, and her muscles tense ever so slightly, as if she was preparing herself for a battle instead of a casual conversation. She wondered if he was like that with his friends; whether he had nicknames for them, and what they called him in return.
Mikoto left the convenience store and walked briskly in a random direction, her mind working into overdrive. The image of the robe wearing, silver-haired nun that she saw hanging around him came to mind. In amongst the futuristic technology and innumerable amount of students in uniform, the girl's religious apparel and distinctly foreign features were strange, yet the relationship she had with that guy appeared completely natural. She had no problem at all using his first name, and he had no problem using hers, like they were close friends. Maybe too close.
She felt her control over her power slip. A stray bolt of electricity flew from her bangs and zapped the phone of a nearby student, who looked baffled at his suddenly malfunctioning gadget. She shook her head furiously in an attempt to rid herself of any unwanted images, and then took a deep breath. This wasn't anything to get worked up over, she told herself.
As she continued her walk, she passed by a boy and a girl wearing the uniform of a nearby high school. She stopped briefly to watch them. Theirs arms were interlinked, and their shoulders were touching. Their faces glowed with happiness and they couldn't stop giggling. Regularly, one would reach over and touch the over for the sake of touching the other.
Couples called each other by their names, didn't they? she thought idly. Indeed, if that guy and her were a couple, they would probably call each other "Mikoto" and "Touma", wouldn't they?
Feeling her face heat up, she wrenched herself away from the couple and took off in the opposite direction. She decided to return to her dorm for the day. Her room-mate, Kuroko, was away fulfilling her Judgement duty, so she was guaranteed to have a period of calm and quiet, and she could relax and forget all about spiky-haired idiots and names and couples.
Kuroko. She called her by her first name. She couldn't recall when she had started to do so, but her name had since become ingrained in her everyday vocabulary as something she could say without having to think twice about it, or consider the meaning behind it. It was the same with Uiharu-san, Saten-san and all her other friends and acquaintances, even the people she disliked, such as a certain suspiciously busty blonde Level 5.
That guy was an acquaintance too, wasn't he? A friend, even, albeit one she didn't know an awful lot about. Oh, sure, she knew his name, that he was a Level Zero despite carrying a strange power in his right hand, that he wasn't great in school and that the number of people he saved – many of whom happened to be female – extended beyond just her. These were just basic details, and not enough to feel close to anybody. Still, he was far from a stranger.
Mikoto returned to the dormitory and briskly walked up the stairs to the floor her room was on, half-heartedly returning the greetings from her school-mates along the way. Inside, she softly closed the door behind her, removed her blazer and threw it onto her bed before stepping into the bathroom and staring into the mirror that hung above the sink.
She could picture his appearance, with his spiky dark hair and the resigned, almost apathetic expression of somebody who knows something is going to happen. It was a face she saw most days some evenings and even in her dreams. She could recall it in such detail that the real thing may as well have been standing in front of her.
Kamijou Touma. How hard could it be?
She began by mouthing the words. They didn't feel uncomfortable; it wasn't like his name was some strange foreign word completely different from Japanese. All she had to do was sound it out, one syllable at a time. And she tried. However, she found her vocal chords failed to work beyond Ka, and no matter how much she willed herself to smash through whatever barrier prevented her from saying a damn name, she just couldn't do it.
Mikoto growled and turned on the taps. She splashed her face multiple times before she furiously scrubbed it dry with a towel. She saw her red face staring back at her and groaned.
"Get a grip," she muttered. "This isn't that hard."
The problem, she thought, was that 'Kamijou Touma' was too long to say. If she just used his first name, it'd be over a lot quicker, and she wouldn't need to think so hard about it.
"T-Touma."
It came out barely louder than a whisper. She tried desperately not to look at her reflection, but her eyes chanced a look upwards. She grimaced, and swore to herself that she would never show such an expression to anyone.
Mikoto left the bathroom, threw herself onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. Really, when she thought about it, Biribiri wasn't that bad a nickname on its own. It may not have been a name befitting the third strongest esper in the city, but it was only ever used for her, and it was only him that used it. That had to mean something, right? It wasn't like he was trying to mock her all the time.
She snorted. Who was she trying to kid? That guy used barely an ounce of affection when calling out to her, and really, when she thought back to all their encounters and conversations, she didn't speak to him with any affection either, or anything suggesting she thought of him as something more than an irritant.
"It's not like you ever call me by my name."
Mikoto let out a frustrated sigh and, those sour thoughts in mind, turned onto her shoulder and drifted to sleep.
Mikoto found herself on the streets of Academy City.
It was morning. It was overcast again, and there was a bitter chill in the air. She was walking the well-trodden route to school. Alongside her was him, Kamijou Touma, dressed in his school's winter uniform. Mikoto was saying something to him, but he didn't seem to be paying any attention.
She frowned. "Hey, are you even listening to me?"
He didn't respond and continued walking. She called out to him, but no sound came out of her mouth. She tried again. Nothing.
Her grip on her bag tightened, and her jaw clenched. She eyed his moving back as if there was a big target drawn on the back of it and made to take off after him. However, her legs didn't move an inch.
Then, Shokuhou appeared. The suspiciously busty blonde fell into stride with the boy and flashed him a wining smile
"Good morning, Touma," she practically purred.
Touma returned the smile, and said something, but Mikoto was unable to hear his voice.
That silver-haired nun then came running over and walked on his other side. "Touma, Touma!"
She was followed by Uiharu-san and Saten-san, who both greeted him cheerily. Kuroko teleported in from above. A group of her clones appeared from the front. A car pulled up alongside them and her own mother stepped out. They were tall talking, and said his name again and again and again.
Touma. Touma. Touma. Touma. Touma.
Mikoto could only watch as the group marched on into the distance. When they were nearly out of sight, she opened her mouth, and breathed out a single word.
Mikoto opened her eyes to see Kuroko's face mere inches from hers. They remained like that for a few moments, Kuroko's expression becoming more and more tense. The younger girl had planted her hands and knees either side of Mikoto's prone figure, and had lowered her face enough for her pig-tails to tickle Mikoto's cheeks.
"Kuroko," Mikoto said.
"Yes?"
"Get off."
Wordlessly, Kuroko scrambled off of Mikoto's bed. With a reproachful stare, she watched as she stood up, stretched out her arms and then straightened out her crumpled uniform.
"Onee-sama?"
"Hm?"
Kuroko stared at her, before sighing. She almost looked disappointed. "No, it's nothing."
Mikoto looked at the clock. There was still a good hour before curfew. She picked her blazer up off the bed and put it on.
"I'm stepping out a bit," she announced while she fastened the front buttons.
"Ah, before you go," Kuroko said, "Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Why were you saying that gentleman's name while your were sleeping?"
Mikoto felt a familiar heat in her cheeks and refused to look Kuroko in the eye.
"How should I know? It's not like I was dreaming about him or anything."
"Oh, really," Kuroko said, regarding her suspiciously. She suddenly gasped. "Don't tell me you're heading out for a late night rendezvous!"
"Of course not! I just want to get some fresh air and stretch my legs a bit and- what are you doing with those handcuffs?"
During her denial, Kuroko had pulled out a pair of handcuffs from who-knows-where and closed the distance between them. Mikoto darted to the side, barely avoiding a cuff swinging down to latch onto her wrist.
"It's for your own good!"
Kuroko tackled her onto the bed and straddled her torso. She took hold of one of Mikoto's wrists while Mikoto flailed about in resistance. The two struggled like that for a while, Kuroko wearing a strangely euphoric expression, while more and more sparks emitted from Mikoto's bangs as it became apparent that mere force wasn't going to pry the younger girl off her.
"Cut it out already!"
A flash of light filled the dorm. Kuroko gave a short yelp of pain, rolled off of Mikoto and collapsed onto the bed, the ends of hair looking slightly frazzled. Mikoto took that opportunity to flee the dormitory and her eccentric, now sizzling, friend.
Mikoto gave a long, deep sigh. Night had descended on Academy City and the cool, autumnal air helped ease of her tension that her room-mate had done too good a job of increasing. The threat of several volts worth of punishment did nothing to deter Kuroko from her more eccentric behaviours, be it her attempts at seducing Mikoto or to prevent Touma from becoming involved in Mikoto's life. She may have even grown to enjoy to it. The mere thought caused Mikoto to shudder.
She stuffed her hands into her blazer pockets, her fingers coming into contact with the cool metallic surface of the arcade coins she habitually stockpiled, and let her legs carry her down the pathway with no destination in mind. The way was illuminated by street lamps and the lights from the many tall buildings playing host to the city's researchers. To an outsider, the scene would be typical for a city at night, but they would find the barren streets and still silence eerie. Mikoto, though, had spent many years residing in Academy City, and many nights out and about just before or after curfew. The fact that the streets emptied at the same time every day and life outside of schools and dormitories ground to a halt was simply an accepted part of life's routine.
Of course, she wasn't the only one to have regularly sampled the city's so-called nightlife. Gangs tended to choose this time to gather and cause a bit of mischief while Judgement's presence on the streets wasn't at its strongest. Mikoto had encountered many of them, and many of those encounters had ended the same way. It could be said that she was very much a part of the city's problem with gang violence.
As for the "late night rendezvous" that Kuroko spoke of – those happened, too. Or so she had heard. It wasn't like Mikoto sought those out; not with any random strangers, and certainly not with a certain spiky haired idiot. She doubted she could, even if she wanted to (not that she ever would want to), as any time she ran into him in the evening, he always seemed to be in a hurry for one reason or another.
Mikoto rounded a corner and began walking down a street that she knew would take her close to his dormitory. That was when she spotted him, walking into the distance. Under the glare of the street-lights, she could see his slightly slumped posture and the half-full shopping bag held in his left hand.
His name appeared on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped it from spilling out. What reason did she have to call out to him? Just because she spotted him on the street, it didn't mean she had to stop him and start a conversation. He was likely busy with something and didn't want to be held up.
Despite that, her eyes remained fixed to his back, and her legs kept frustratingly still. It was like she was waiting for him to sense her presence and come to her of his own accord. But that was stupid. Unless he had a power she was not aware of, he was not going to realise she was there, behind him, watching him, unless somebody told him or he turned around saw her himself. If she really wanted him to turn around and see her there, there was one easy and effective method.
And so, she took a deep breath, and called out, "Touma!"
Her voice echoed down the street. Startled, the boy whipped around. Spotting her, his posture straightened up, his eyes widened and his grip on the bag slacked enough for it to drop to the ground with a quiet rustle. Mikoto allowed herself a triumphant smirk. Touma watched her wearily as she approached him, stopping a foot so in front of him.
"There, I said it!"
Touma frowned in confusion. "Um, congratulations?"
Mikoto's eyes narrowed. "You've no idea how much effort it took to not call you 'idiot'."
"What, you want a reward or something?"
Her heart-rate increased just a bit – as if it could raise any higher - at the thought of a "reward". She willed her imagination to stay firmly where it was and not plummet into the gutter.
"Idiot, why would I want a reward from you?"
Touma breathed a resigned sigh. "See, now we're back to square one."
Mikoto felt like sighing, too. She didn't know what she was expecting. Did she want him to be grateful? To be happy? To take her into his arms and say I've been waiting so long to hear you say that?
"That's what I'm going to call you from now," she said, unable to look him in the eye. "That's okay with you, isn't it?"
She glanced at him. He looked surprised for a moment, but his face soon relaxed into a pleasant smile. "Sure. That's fine by me."
Silence fell over the pair. Mikoto wasn't sure what to say next.
An automated message played out over the whole city.
It is now 18:00. Curfew is now in effect. Students must return to their places of residences promptly.
"Wow, it's this late already?" Touma checked his phone, as if there was any doubt that Academy City's time-keeping wasn't super precise. "See you later, Misaka."
Mikoto watched him leave, suddenly aware of her heart pounding in her chest. She felt lighter, as if a load had been taking off her shoulders by clearing an obstacle that no person her age should have had.
She started to head back to her dormitory, wearing a contented smile, feeling like she had taken a small step closer to Kamijou Touma, and uttered a single word.
"...idiot."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. If you did, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment. If you didn't, well, I'd still appreciate it if you left a comment. Thank you for reading.