Her luck stat has to be really low today. The place where she collapsed stinks of stale piss and cheap fries. And sweaty men . Futaba sniffs in disapproval, then returns to languidly tapping at her phone as it gives a tiny buzz. Good. She hacked into the station office's Wi-Fi. Sure, she has also tinkered with her mobile data plan to give it a bit more oomph and fuck capitalism, so the possibility of S— Dad going broke, cuz the bill would end up huge, is next to none, but still. It's fun. 'sides, she's underground. The connection sucks major ass.
She pulls her legs closer to her chest and, trying not to choke on air, eyes a random passerby who doesn't notice her. Nice. She's so not in the mood to deal with irritating NPCs.
Speaking of which — ah, here comes that special boy. Futaba smiles wanly upon seeing a small blue dot appear on the map she pulled out, then enters the messenger app and shoots off a text.
oracle: halt
The dot stops moving.
inari: Excuse me?
oracle: go to that spot w/ the dick graffiti
inari: I don't comprehend which one.
oracle: shido graffiti, you dip
Lo and behold, it only takes half a minute before she hears the familiar steps, and then Yusuke pops in her view, looking as if he was trying to seem both concerned, confused and cross. It wasn't working out for him, of course, the poor bastard.
"Good afternoon, Futaba," he greets her politely. "Would it be useful were I to ask how you knew I was here?"
"Nah," she says, fiddling with the cord of her headphones, and god does she sound crappy. Yusuke immediately changes his expression to one of unhidden worry.
"I see." He crouches by her, effectively blocking out the view of other passing peeps. Sorta. He's a twig man, but points for trying. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"Yeah." Coughing into her hand, Futaba recollects herself, then elaborates, "I kind of neglected sleep for the past few days. And then school was a pain. I got reckless, used up all my HP and kind of crashed here."
"Ah, I…. suppose I understand." Yusuke nods to himself, then adds, "In any case, I have been planning to visit Sayuri, so I'm heading in Leblanc's direction. Would you like my company when getting home?"
"I can't get up," Futaba admits, unable to keep the grumpiness outta her voice. However, Yusuke simply smiles.
"I could carry you."
"People will stare," Futaba warns, then shrugs. "But, hey, who cares."
"I don't," Yusuke replies serenely, like the dork that he is, then takes her schoolbag and has her climb on his back. His grip under her knees is careful but firm, and he huffs out a laugh when she flicks him in the ear while looping her arms around his neck. His collar smells like paint and mint shampoo. It's kinda nice. Comforting, even.
The walk from the train station to Leblanc isn't long, but they do get a few odd looks. Futaba, despite her boastful statement, can't help but end up pressing her face into the arch of Yusuke's neck. Her glasses leave some indentions on his pasty-ass skin, yet he doesn't complain.
Yet she can hear some stuff despite still wearing headphones, and ends up catching some chick say in a high-pitched trill,
"Look at them! That's so cute. Wish my boyfriend was as attentive as this cutie is."
Futaba rolls her eyes. Yep, her hypothesis has now been officially confirmed once again — people really are morons.
Yusuke turns to her as much as he can and asks, ridiculously perplexed,
"What is this girl talking about?"
She spends the lion's share of the evening on texting her friend, claiming that yes, she's really a-okay and minty fresh, so get back to drinking paint water mixed with sake or whatever else you and your artist pals like doing, Inari, and get off my fucking back. Then she passes out on the couch in the middle of an anime marathon.
But her teachers wouldn't accept 'I felt emo and wanted to sleep for ninety-three hours' as an excuse for skipping school, so she gets up, gets out and somehow survives the day. Has lunch with Ann and Ryuji, who study for exams and seem to hate everything about their lives. Then the routine, soothing in its monotony, goes to heck.
"Hey, look at this guy," says Futaba's classmate, a cheerful girl called Sayaka, who likes watching shounen anime and drinking lethal amounts of pink lemonade, and is kinda tolerable, so they hang out together from time to time. She takes another swig from her sippy cup bidon thingy, then, upon Futaba's confused stare, points at the aforementioned dude.
"Oh my god," Futaba mutters to herself. "I know him."
"You do?" her colleague asks, but she's already off, stomping hard and glaring hard.
"What the hell, Inari," she begins, but Yusuke raises his finger and continues to doodle in his tiny sketchbook. A mere second before Futaba decides to bite his hand, he stows his stuff away and finally acknowledges her properly.
"Hello, Futaba," he says, not without his infuriating serenity. "I hope you're faring better."
"Yes, yes, I am," she waves her hands frantically, "but what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I have found myself with a small amount of free time, so I decided to come here and borrow you for the afternoon." He grabs her wrists, smiling like a maniac, but his cool touch ain't very tight or uncomfortable. "After having brought to life a lovely visage of Haru, my inspiration demands I draw a model like you!"
"Geez, chill." She doesn't attempt breaking free, aware of how strong this stick kid is. "What, you making a series with all of us Phantoms?"
"Oh, I would like to! I'd take the influence from this autumn palette, as I did with Haru, and the presence of our group would be a lovely personal touch... But unfortunately I cannot picture Akira as of now…" His expression goes from excited to sour as he lets go of her. Futaba can't help but pat him on the shoulder, which is as far as she can reach.
"Okay, I can go be your magnificent model, but gimme a sec." She turns and sees that Sayaka's gone. "Huh. Nevermind. Let's go, then."
They end up in Ueno park, all golden and nostalgic, and Futaba benignly sits through the entire session of Yusuke setting up his canvas, Yusuke posing her, and Yusuke gushing over how she seems to interblend with the orange leaves of the cherry blossom tree behind her, but her paleness stands out, and impressionism this, expressionism that. What a nerd. She sticks out her tongue at him, but all he does is tut and say,
"No, please keep your previous expression... Yes, yes, just like that."
At one point, she feels her phone buzz in her blazer's pocket. She yanks it out.
sayaka: sooooo... tht guy (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))
sayaka: hes rly cute!
sayaka: oh sorry (´;︵;`) i didnt mean 2 make u jealous
me: ? what the heck
sayaka: oh futabachaaaan u dont have 2 say anythng ∩(︶▽︶)∩
me: ? what the Hell
sayaka: heehee~ well have fun w/ ur boyfriend
"What. The fuck," Futaba says out loud.
"Futaba?" Yusuke peers at her from behind his canvas. "Is anything the matter?"
"My friend is an idiot." She pockets the phone and pinches her nose. "She's even worse than you."
Yusuke pouts.
In the end, the portrait series does end up happening, just... Akira-less. When they Skype him during the weekly ex-Thieves meetup, he promises to model for it the next year, if he does go to college in Tokyo.
"When," Ryuji corrects him. "When you get your ass back here."
Akira smirks, rubbing his neck. His webcam messes up the image so much that Morgana, napping on his desk, looks like a black, pixelated blur.
"I'll try my best."
"You better do so," Makoto says, lifting her chin. "I have saved my study notes for you, you know."
All of them share a laugh. Well. Almost all. Futaba notices Yusuke knit his brows and turn his eyes away. She's the only one who picks up on that, because the conversation instantly goes back to Ann's story about how Shiho and her got stuck on a ferris wheel, which turns to Haru describing the set of teacups she got for her cafe, and then to Makoto and Ryuji arguing over coffee, and so forth, blah blah blah.
And then Akira has to disconnect and do his homework, so the Thieves take their leaves — and, once again, there's an exception.
"Inari," Futaba moans, turning off her laptop, as the doors close behind Ann. "Stop moping."
"Huh?" He pulls his glower away from Sayuri and gives Futaba a befuddled look. "Moping...?"
"Sit down," she orders, watching him closely. "I'm making coffee. I'm no Akira, but..."
He flinches, just a bit — just like she expected. Futaba shakes her head, then struts to the counter and gets going with the coffee preparation. Dad's off taking care of some paperwork stuff, and the crappy weather thwarts any potential customers, so Leblanc stays quiet and still in the early evening. Before the meticulous procedures swallow her attention, Futaba glances at Yusuke, who's sitting in the booth, stiff like a plank of wood, and staring at his sketchbook.
Emo boy.
The result of her dabbling comes out palatable, so she pours the liquid into huge red mugs, slips one to Yusuke and drinks from the other.
"You miss him," she states as she sits by him.
"Hm?" He takes in his surroundings, then wraps his fingers around the warm ceramic. "Thank you. And who do you even—"
"Akira."
"I— That is—"
For a moment, Yusuke stumbles with words, then ends up shrugging, then sighing, then giving her a baleful look.
"He has raised the possibility of not coming back to Tokyo. I cannot say I am... untroubled by it." He holds tighter onto the mug, and Futaba can't crack down the urge to rest her palm over his. "Akira is the first friend I ever had the opportunity to make, so the prospect that he would never again be a part of my dailiness brings me no ease."
"Hey, same. Kinda." She frowns. "I mean... He's my brother, you know, and it's so weird not to have him here, you can't even imagine." She meets Yusuke's eyes and gives a small, brave smile. "And he doesn't drive me up the wall as often as you do, Inari."
He's about to reply when the doorbell chimes and Dad enters the cafe. And doesn't say hello immediately, which is uncommon.
"Hey, Dad," Futaba says and gives a wave, sorta confused. Then realizes where he's staring.
At the mug. At her hand on Yusuke's. And he's got a weird look on his face.
"Hey, kids," he says, very, very slowly. Yusuke bows his head politely.
"Good evening, Boss."
Dad gives him a lengthy, suspecting stare. And then its meaning hits her, right in the dick.
"Oh my god ," Futaba huffs out.
"I didn't say anything," Dad protests, but she's already storming off, absolutely fuming.
The… thing is, Futaba can see what gave Dad this nutty idea. Ever since the team came back from Akira's place and she started attending school again, about seventy percent of her outings had been spent with the moony foxfucker, thanks to the others being busy either with school work, college work, or just (we're looking at you, Haru the hipster) plain ol' work. And Yusuke, to Futaba's utter delight, outright said that he's going to get into Geidai no matter the results of his finals, so he may as well kick back and focus on broadening his artistic horizons.
And Futaba ended up in the first year because of her shut-in time, despite being one smart fuck, and that means doing homework takes her less than ten minutes. And that means a lot of free time she can't spend in her room brooding. After all, she has friends now, wow-wee! "So get the fuck out of my house and do what you youngsters do!"
Thanks, Dad.
Anyway, she… really has been close to Yusuke. Recently even physically close. Then again, it's not like either of them understand social norms about what men and women are supposed to act like, and if they do understand, they don't give a damn about said norms anyway. To fuck with that romance bullshit. They're just close friends.
(She does a small experiment, just before falling asleep. Imagines doing some of this… couple stuff. Like holding hands during dates. Kissing. Touching. And, just as always, it makes her skin crawl. She shakes it off and pushes her face into the pillow, grinning).
So that's settled. Thank goodness, she wants her feelings strictly organized and platonic—and she knows romantic feelings do not exist, not for anyone at all.
The next day, as she's helping Dad in Leblanc, she explains that aspect of herself to him.
"So…" he mutters, correcting the siphon she set up, "I was wrong, eh? Sorry about that."
"You were totally, absolutely, amazingly wrong." Futaba grins up at him. "Like, Dad, honestly, you could've just asked before freaking us out."
"Yeah, yeah," Dad says, which means he's kinda embarrassed. "Freaking you out, ya mean. I don't think the lad even understood what has happened."
"Prolly not." Wiping her hands with a plaid rag, she peeks at the stove. "Ooh, did you add potatoes? Ryuji hates 'em."
"I know, and I did." Rolling his eyes, he accepts a fistbump, then nods curtly. "Alright then, when your friends arrive, take them to the attic, make sure they aren't loud or—"
"—don't end up setting the floor on fire, and try not to eat the entire pot of curry yourself, Futaba, please," Futaba finishes after him. "'kay, 'kay, I'm going, they're gonna be here soon."
Usually, 'they' means all five of them, and 'soon' means 'half an hour, because either Ann wants to buy a chocolate bar or Makoto has to be dissuaded from fighting someone who tried to catcall Haru. But, this time, Futaba barely has the chance to haul a pot of curry upstairs and turn on her laptop before her teammates, sans Yusuke, show up, looking thoughtful.
"What's the beef?" Futaba chirps, raising her eyebrow. Ann examines her nails, clearing her throat, then says,
"We… There's something we wanted to ask you, Futaba-chan."
"Huh? What?"
"Listen, it's ok if you don't wanna tell us," Ryuji blurts out, "but we just wanna know if you and Yusuke are, like—"
"What."
"If you truly are together," Haru joins in, holding onto Makoto's elbow, "we would like to be able to congratulate you on this new step in a proper way."
Taking a step back from her computer, Futaba physically feels all the previous excitement drain from her.
"Seriously?" she hisses. "Seriously? Guys… I thought you knew better. No offense, but fuck you." As tears of anger form, she stomps away from them.
"Wait! Futaba-chan!"
On her way out, she bumps into Yusuke. He opens his mouth to say something, but, before he has the chance, she slams the cafe door behind her.
Alright, alright, that might've been an overreaction. Maybe. Probably.
Whatever.
She gets their point, though. She never was the one to overshare, but that didn't give them the right to assume such crap and act like they were right without knowing jack shit. But then she shouldn't have exploded like that. But… Ugh.
Staring at some stim video she had saved for occasions like those, Futaba runs her fingers up and down the fold of her blanket and finds comfort in how fluffy and delicate the fabric is. Up and down, until she stops feeling like a sheet of glass about to snap under the pressure, sending shards all over—
Okay, she's not fine. She's sad and salty, and doesn't want to lose her friends even though they've been kinda douchey.
"Hey, Futaba! Your friend is here to see you!"
That does not help.
"Make them go," she shouts back, then hears Dad walk up the stairs, a pair of footsteps following him.
"You're sure? It's—"
"If Futaba would prefer to stay alone, I'd rather not—"
She hops off the bed and opens the door, making Yusuke stumble as he turns to face her.
"Hello?" he says timidly.
"Get inside before I set your tail on fire," she replies, then walks to Dad and pulls him to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek. "Thanks, Dad."
"Y-you're welcome," he stutters, clumsily rubbing her back. When they part, he shakes his head with a tight-lipped but honest smile. "I'll be at the café if you need me, okay?"
When he leaves, Futaba makes a face at Yusuke. They're standing in her room and staring at each other, but it's not awkward at all. Not much is with the two of them.
"So, did they congratulate you too?" she asks wryly. Yusuke sighs, looking vaguely ticked off.
"Thankfully, they did not. However, I think it may be improper for us to spend time together, if those reactions are to continue…"
"So that's why you're here, eh?" Futaba quirks her brow.
"Well, I deemed it polite to inform you in person… And," his expression softens, "your sudden departure has been worrisome, so I decided to check how you were faring."
Futaba can't help but snort.
"You're a dork, Inari." When he cracks an unsure smile, she adds, "And no way in hell I'm giving up on our friendship."
"That's… quite reassuring to hear," Yusuke says, visibly relieved, which is so depressing that Futaba simply has to sock him in the arm. "Ouch. What was that for?"
"Stop being a nerd, shut your fuck and watch stuff with me." She hurdles herself back to her bed and pats the spot next to her.
"By stuff, what do you mean?" Sitting by her side and pulling a sketchbook from, apparently, thin air, Yusuke tilts his head to look at her. "If it's another uncouth anime, I'd rather avert such—"
"Nope." She clicks on the YouTube tab and shows the video to him. "A slime poking compilation." With barely a thought, she throws her blanket over the two of them.
"Huh."
They end up watching, like, fifty minutes of various relaxing vids before there's a Skype call from Akira. Great.
"Everything alright?" is the first thing he says as Futaba picks up the call. He actually looks concerned.
"More or less," she flaps her hand, noticing Yusuke drop his gaze to his sketchbook and shuffle away so the camera doesn't see him. Poor, pining kid. "The rest told you what happened, yeah?"
"Yes. Funniest thing I've ever heard."
"They doth assume too much," Futaba sneers, then rubs her eyes. "But… I guess I'm sorry for being a whiney brat."
"It's okay," Akira says kindly. "No one is mad at you."
That's actually good to hear. Some of her anxiety dissipates.
He runs his fingers through his hair, then adds,
"I don't have much time, so I'm calling only to ask if you're okay. Oh, and if you saw Yusuke. He apparently left Leblanc not so long after you did."
Futaba glances at Yusuke, whose expression now resembles that of a deer lost on a busy highway, and says,
"Nah, I didn't, but he texted me that he'll show up in an hour or so."
"Say hi to him for me," Akira requests. "And tell him to call me. I need to say a few things to him, including thanking him for taking care of my step-sister."
"It's fine," Futaba says, noting how dumbstruck yet hopeful the dumbass beside her looks. "It's only natural he and I would take care of each other, after all. That's just what friends do."