a/n: still willing to go down with this ship sigh
disclaimer: i do not own GSNK. this is a transformative work created solely for non-profit entertainment purposes.
The musing starts on day one as she's walking to her university campus. Chiyo wonders idly if she will fall for someone before the school's entrance ceremony, as she did the last time she had to attend one. The cherry blossoms are once again in full bloom, swaying gently overhead.
Carried by the breeze, a few stray petals come to rest on her hair and clothes. The general atmosphere is relaxed, and every other person she passes on the street is subtly smiling, even if they don't realise. It really is the perfect atmosphere to fall in love, she thinks, filled with a new understanding for that eternal shoujo manga trope.
It makes her smile wryly now, when she thinks of how she went about chasing her first crush in high school, as if trying to win something from Nozaki (in hindsight, it was for the better that she ultimately lost). Of course she wouldn't be the person she is today without that experience, even if flashbacks to the searing naiveté of it all never fail to make her stomach turn.
There is a lot more time for navel-gazing in college than she thought there would be, even with the hustle of classes and the trouble of establishing a credible sort of social life before everyone gets too caught up in said classes to bother making new connections. Finding a way to keep idle thoughts at bay soon becomes of paramount importance. She isn't a big fan of the things she thinks about when there's nothing to do and no one else around.
Unsure what to do with her two free afternoons a week, Sakura Chiyo finds herself staking out a prime spot on the campus green for a nice, solid bout of people watching.
Kudos to the landscaping team, she thinks, as she tucks herself into a little nook formed by the juxtaposition of tree roots and a couple of high shrubs. She chose this spot for its truly strategic positioning: this particular tree is set on a knoll than rises gently above the rest of the green, so she can look over a good expanse of them without strain. At the same time, she's dry, well shaded, and low to the ground; it is unlikely she will be disturbed by anyone.
If all the world's a stage, people sure do like to play things by the book. The courtships she observes are, by and large, enacted in a depressingly staid manner. This reality is so contrary to her expectations that it hurts to document them at times.
Where are the youthfully energetic confessions, the playful roughhousing to hide a flirtation; perhaps even a couple of sweeping romantic gestures? Given the absolute dullness thus far, she wouldn't be opposed to a peek at some sexual tension either. Instead everyone here is acting like they're in a government mandated matchmaking system (and maybe they are).
Chiyo has to look very hard to find something to love about each of them.
It is painstaking work, but fulfilling at the end of the day.
Dimples that only appear when one smiles extra hard. Laugh lines. A dirty shoe. Handwritten notes from a lecture. Earrings lost in the grass. A cold drink from the vending machine. It's the small things like this that catch the eye, that have the power to make the people she so carefully watches light up.
She was too hasty at the start, but she's learnt to wait for the moments that really count before touching pen to paper, because it's only then that the scene before her comes to life. Okay, she was being mean when she said they were all dull. God knows she's probably duller than all of them.
Oh, but she's learnt her lesson. Humanity is beautiful, yes, but only if you work to see it. Sakura Chiyo, for one, has been working very hard.
Mikoshiba Mikoto has been alive for nearly twenty years. He's spent about half his life, then, being an otaku and hiding the fact that he's an otaku from everybody around him.
Sometimes it feels like a curse, because he simply couldn't bear to live without his figure collection and gal games, but at the same time he can't truly live with them. Not out in the open, at least. Mikoto treats his love for these things like a secret shame, and refuses to even think about why. Hell, even his family doesn't have to know.
In high school, that way of life is more than enough to get by on: he's got a handsome face and a handsome figure, which excuses most of his eccentricities to the general student population—not to mention that little fan club he somehow managed to acquire. Or that train stalker who asked him out. Or the fact that a popular shoujo manga heroine is actually based on him. Him!
He wonders, on occasion, what the reader response would be if gentle, lovely Mamiko were revealed to be a rabid figure otaku. Would there be an alarmist response, or would people see it as a loveable quirk? Perhaps no one would care, since the main point of the story is Mamiko's romance with Suzuki; that sort of character detail is negligible unless it has significant bearing on the course of their relationship. It's unlikely that Suzuki hates otaku culture or figure collections or otome games anyway.
Still, the Mamiko question is a good analogy for what he really wants to ask the people around him when he says: "I'm cool, right?" Being an otaku shouldn't have a significant bearing on his relationships, right? Well, he doesn't look like an otaku at all, right? You aren't going to leave, right?
This, this is what he really means, only he can't say it aloud. It's stifling.
Coming to university is like a breath of fresh air.
He's walking past the cafeteria, where a flood of students is pouring out from, when a vaguely familiar voice catches his ear. Instantly Mikoto flashes back to the week before, when school had just begun. He'd taken an impromptu trip down to his favourite figure store, needing one last boost of energy from his beloved 2-D harem in order to face the semester with any equanimity. Apparently he really needed that boost, because he'd been feeling so frazzled he didn't even realise he was wearing the freshman orientation shirt until someone behind him randomly said hi.
"Ooh, so you're a kouhai from Roman U," the voice went. "Hello! It's nice to see you here!"
Mikoto whirled to face the guy, face flashing between red and white in sheer horror.
"S-senpai? S-s-sorry, I—I don't think I know y-you?"
"I've seen you in this store before," the stranger says. "Red hair is pretty recognisable, haha. But you weren't a kouhai then. Hey, what's your name?"
"M-mikoshiba," he stammers on autopilot, then curses himself for slipping up.
"Well, I'm glad we met and that I got to say hi! Don't be a stranger if you see me in school, okay?"
Mikoto is totally floored. The thought of people knowing about his otaku side has always paralysed him when it comes to social situations. He stands there gaping for a while until his brain registers that there is a person in front of him, still waiting for an actual response.
"Um, okay," he mumbles, gaze darting guiltily to the side. "But, ah, could you not mention…"
"Hmm. As you wish! Though you should be more honest with yourself, Mikoshiba-san."
To be honest, those parting words still sting.
But Mikoto manages to stutter out a quiet greeting and that senpai responds, looking visibly surprised to be acknowledged. He cheerily breaks away from his friends, waving to Mikoto to follow him down the corridor. "I'm in the cultural appreciation club," he says. "Let's go to the club room and talk, shall we? It should be empty right now."
Not knowing what else to do in this situation, Mikoto follows.
"You know, being an otaku is nothing to be ashamed of," senpai says as he shuts the door behind them. He's smiling, gently, and that throws Mikoto off. "Everybody has their quirks. It's what makes us different as actual human beings, isn't it?"
Mikoto turns his head away. That sort of thing, he knows, is easy to say, but how many people really mean it? Then again, senpai seems to be a fellow figure otaku, and the guy has actual friends. Actually, Mikoto has friends who know he's an otaku and haven't dumped him yet, doesn't he? Maybe it's not so hopeless after all. Still, he's willing to bet that he's just being paid lip service here, until senpai grabs him by the elbow and steers him over to the large windows on the other side of the club room.
"Let me show you something," he says, discreetly pointing down at the college green.
Mikoto peers out the window. The place is filled with couples as usual, nothing out of the ordinary. He blinks in confusion.
"Over there," senpai gestures, sounding amused now.
And then Mikoto does see: tucked between the large roots of an old tree and a high row of border hedge is a head of vermillion hair, bowed over pages of some sort. Some kid drawing? Every few seconds she peeks through the bushes before going back to scribbling something on her paper. No, spying on other people and drawing? But what does it mean…
Bafflement clear on his face, Mikoto allows senpai to push him down into a seat and lean forward with the air of someone who's about to confide a great secret. "That person is there two times a week," senpai says, "and she always sits in that spot. Now, Mikoshiba-san, what do you think she's doing?"
"Um," Mikoto says. "Spying on people? And drawing them?"
"Yes," senpai says. "Correct. Do you think it's weird?"
He can't help thinking this is nothing compared to some of Nozaki's behaviour, but he can't very well mention that here.
"Ah, well—I don't think—"
"So you do."
Senpai pauses before opening his mouth again, as if waiting for some point to sink in.
"You know, Mikoshiba-san, I bet she knows that. But she still comes back every week to watch people. And I want you to think about why."
As a matter of fact, Mikoto has wondered: what would he be like in an environment where he could come out of his fake-cool-person shell? If he could convince himself that liking to collect sexy figurines and manga for, uh, fairly superficial reasons, was nothing to constantly shame himself over? Oh, and telling people that you only like 2-D girls just screams emotionally unavailable. He's afraid of receiving love, he supposes, in a way that someone like Sakura is not. He's afraid of giving too.
"Maybe you should go down there and talk to her," senpai says, watching curiously as Mikoto's face flames.
"Anyway, would you like to join the club?" he offers, ignoring Mikoto's surprised sputter of who, m-me?
"There are many different ways one may appreciate culture, you know," he says seriously. "I think you might benefit from being exposed more to this way of thinking, Mikoshiba-san." Senpai smiles at him, eyes flicking out the window. "And, of course, I would like to get to know you. As a person, not just a fellow figure otaku."
Surprising even himself, Mikoto immediately says yes.
As he is ushered out the club room to go turn in an official application to the teaching advisor, Mikoto resists the urge to look out the window at that strange little voyeur once again. He has the most uncanny feeling, in his gut, that he already knows this person.
After a while Chiyo starts approaching her victims in person, creeping down from her self-made observation tower like the gremlin she is. She tells them she's profiling people for an art project, would they be willing to pose for a couple of portraits? Perhaps tell her a little bit about their lives? All her years of managing Nozaki-kun's socially retarded ass (and, okay, the rest of their entire friend circle) come in handy when she has to put total strangers at ease with just her conversation skills. Boy, does she have a ton of those.
The Sakura Chiyo she presents to her subjects is small, cute, and mildly curious; not to mention just the right amount of friendly to charm people into talking. And just like that, she amasses an entire notebook of closely annotated sketches by the time club recruitment day rolls around.
So that's her portfolio more than settled, if she decides to go for the art club. She takes her time wending her way through the concourse where all the booths are set up, choosing to take a meandering path though the crowd. There's ample opportunity for people-watching here too.
From a distance she spots Mikorin's fiery head, speaking effusively to potential new recruits for the cultural appreciation club. She's surprised to see him, a fellow freshman, there and looking completely in his element as he rattles off club aims and so on with ease.
Almost unconsciously, she draws closer. The next thing she knows, she's standing in front of his club's booth and being offered flyers about a call for aspiring manga author submissions.
Mikoto detaches himself from his rapt audience as fast as humanly possible and makes his way over to her side with a smile. To his surprise, Sakura blinks at him for a long moment, as if she doesn't recognise who he is. And then—
"Hey! Drawing girl, you're here!"
—his senpai's voice is an excited whisper-shout, and Mikoto goes pale as Sakura's eyes widen in surprise. "Our club room is in the building right behind your spot," senpai says, tapping Sakura on the shoulder as he draws up next to them. "Good spot, by the way. Couldn't have picked better myself."
Whoever this guy is, he seems strangely accepting of her weird little habit. Chiyo decides to just roll with the punches before Mikorin explodes from holding his breath in.
"Eh? You saw me from a window in the art building, then?"
"Yeah. Your hair's pretty bright, haha! Just like our Mikoshiba's."
"It is, isn't it," she smiles. "Here, Mikorin, I'll show you some of my sketches."
That smile is small but genuine, and it warms his insides. Look at you, the slant of her mouth says; you've grown, and I am proud of you. Nothing that needs to be said aloud, of course. He leans over her shoulder to study her work, eyes automatically lighting up as he admires the perspective, the shading, the lines. It's a comfortable position for both of them, used to critiquing each other's art as they are.
Chiyo's petite frame still fits nicely under his—he doesn't even have to worry about bumping his chin against her head because she knows his movements well; knows to lean to the side when he wants to lean down for a closer look. Her sketches are mostly done in black ink, though he can see traces of pencil strokes under some of them as he leafs through the pages.
Mikoto can see the amount of sensitivity she treats her subjects with, even if the scribbles in the margin are not so complementary. The time she spent capturing the likeness of each couple is truly an investment, and Sakura approaches the task as seriously as anything else she does.
—watching you gave me courage, he wants to tell her. All those years in high school, always throwing herself into Nozaki's path so fearlessly: she's been much kinder to herself than he knows how to be when it comes to embarrassing pursuits, he thinks.
Mikoto himself had been one of those who laughingly called her unhinged or obsessed in that pursuit, but for Sakura back then, there was only Nozaki Umetarou and his heart waiting to be won, cynics be damned. He has seen how the single-mindedness of that pursuit gave her passion focus; how it gave her armour against feeling too conscious to act on her crush, and a shield from anything the gossip mill had to say.
He wishes he'd been equally blessed with such fortitude back then.
Chiyo wants to fall in love again; she wants to do it like jumping into a puddle. That is to say; purposeful and deliberate, even if things get messy. The last time with Nozaki-kun, it was more like accidentally falling into a pothole as she walked down the road, having forgotten to watch her step: suddenly in too deep, and no way to reason herself out of it.
The whole point of that infatuation was that it was illogical, she sees now. Young love is like that. Calling it puppy love does the concept no justice; it's more like being a racehorse, running full tilt ahead, with blinkers strapped on and spurs digging into your sides.
Now, with the blinkers off, some things become increasingly clear to her as the semester progresses.
For example, re: love; Chiyo's subconscious already knows who she wants to choose.
Conscious her swats the daydreams away and tries to refocus her attention on whichever professor is currently speaking. It doesn't always work. Good thing she didn't join the same club as Mikorin, she thinks. Good thing she didn't join a club at all.
Once, Mikoto's club activities are cancelled because the president came down with a nasty flu. Not wanting to go home just yet, he goes to find Sakura, luring her up to the club room with the promise of shelter and snacks.
Side by side, they lay on the floor for a long time. The sun cuts an increasingly wide swathe across the room as it moves through the sky, blanketing them in a sort of gentle warmth that only sunbeams can bring. In the faultlessly blue sky, clouds form and disperse at their own leisure. At some point Mikoto shifts onto his side so that he lies down facing her. Chiyo stares up at the dust motes that come swirling in through the window, her heavy eyes trying to track the progress of each discrete particle before they pass out of the sunbeam's reach and settle, once again, into invisibility.
The silence between them is comfortable, but Mikoto has a question.
"Sakura," he says, swirling the air around in his mouth, "just why do you still stalk couples? And draw them? Or ask them for backstories?"
"Well," she says, "people are interesting. I look around me and I can't help wanting to know."
It's been good, she continues in her head. Watching people lets me learn things, which is good, because those things also apply to me, as a fellow human being.
Sometimes, when she's squatting in the bushes under a noonday sun, she wonders if what she's picked up from watching these couples interact is very different from Mikorin's own understanding of how relationships work—since his knowledge is based on the mechanics of gal games, and the mechanics of those gal games must have been based on their creator's own understanding of couples; surely there must be some overlap? She also wonders how Nozaki-kun could have spent so long watching people, learned enough to be able to successfully convince the public that his authorial voice was 100% female, yet still be so painfully obtuse about recognising her feelings.
"But what are you going do with all the things you've written down?" Mikoto's hand is on her shoulder now, compelling her to look at him as he speaks. "Are you going to want to make a manga, like Nozaki did? Do you want to make something you can share with other people, not just yourself?"
Chiyo considers it for a long moment. "No," she says at last, "I don't make art to be remembered. I do it to remember."
Mikoto looks at her insistently.
"Don't you want to do other things with your free time?"
Like go to a festival with me, even though we don't have to scout for manga backgrounds anymore. Or help me buy snacks when I have to queue somewhere for a limited edition figure and you pass by after your cram school session ends. Or this, or that, or anything.
"Well, sure, I thought I did," she says. "But I like what I do now very much, you know? Getting to spend so much time alone is unexpectedly nice."
He is confused. didn't she want—rather, do they not all want—a busy college life, packed with new people, new meetings, new meaning? The college experience is a much vaunted one, and the Sakura he knew has always had a sunny outlook on life. He would have expected to see her joining a club; happily chatting with other girls at a faculty mixer; hair ribbons bouncing as she walks a garden path. That was the kind of life he envisioned for her. Instead, the real Sakura Chiyo spends all her time with the same five people, and the only time she hangs out in a crowd is to spy on other students for 'research' purposes.
My god, he realises, Sakura's basically turned into Nozaki. Of course, she is also here spending time with him. Alone. Together. If that even makes sense.
"What is this, then, if you're okay with being forgotten?"
"Planned obsolescence." She yawns. "We just learned about it."
"Ah," Mikoto says. "But you know, I don't think I'll forget you."
Chiyo laughs lowly. "That's okay," she says, "you're here with me after all. It would be terrible if you forgot."
Duly noting her particular emphasis on the word 'you', he slants a narrowed glance at her. He wants to tell her a bunch of important-sounding philosophical things, in return for making him feel so fluttery with just one word. Unfortunately, all that escapes his dry mouth when he manages to pry it open is a single "hmm".
Mikoto reaches over, takes Chiyo's hand in both of his, and tries again.
"Really, I won't. So if I forget, you have to make me remember." He keeps his eyes on their joined fingers, not feeling brave enough to look at her face. What kind of expression is she making? What kind of expression is he making, as he asks, tremulously: "Will you do that for me?"
"Okay," Chiyo says, turning to face him as well.
"I will."
And then they are quiet again.
Mikoto naturally blushes a lot when sincerely asking other people for favours, but this really takes the cake. He looks like has has a fever when he approaches Chiyo in a study area, nervously twiddling his thumbs. She patiently waits as he works up the courage to speak.
"We're doing a Noh theatre showcase," he says at long last, voice very small. Chiyo has to strain to hear him, even though she's already leaning close.
"Will you come help me with the clothes? A-and the makeup?"
"Mmm," she says, taking his hand to reassure him. "It'll be okay. You'll do great. And I'll be there to draw you so you'll know just how great you did later, when I show it to you."
Mikoto squeezes the hand that is curled around his, Chiyo's shorter fingers and small palm having to stretch around his own. The warmth of her skin against his is very comforting, and he basks in it as much as he can, committing the memory of it to heart.
"You're the best, princess," he says with a debonair wink, smiling his most princely smile.
Chiyo makes sure to return the favour when he's on stage for the showcase itself, and Mikoto nearly fumbles his most climactic line. Still, neither of them is too sorry about it.
"But Chiyorin," he whines piteously, pulling on her arm like a child. "I think I'm being stalked again. You have to stay with me and fend them off!"
She doesn't have the heart to shake him off when he begs, and he knows that, so this is him playing dirty. But she also knows better than to casually discount someone's fears of being stalked. It's a concern that is all too real, and Mikorin himself has previously been a victim of it. Chiyo will trust his gut on this.
"All right," she says, hands planted firmly on her hips. "I want to be here for you, Mikorin. But I really do have urgent errands to run."
Mikoto's face crumples, and he clings even tighter to her. Chiyo sighs, feeling torn. Then, struck by a sudden wind of inspiration, she pulls her trembling boyfriend into the bowels of the nearest subway station. "Let's go to your favourite figure store," she says when he tearfully asks where he's being hauled off to. "You can stay with the other regulars while I'm gone. And I will be back to get you as soon as possible, okay?"
She absently notes that his knuckles are white, and brushes a comforting thumb over the back of his hand.
He takes a deep breath, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "Okay. I trust you."
"Of course," Chiyo says. "You can trust me."
It's a long, lonely wait, but Mikoto doesn't completely waste his time. This damned stalker doesn't get to ruin his life. So he gathers his breath, goes to find the store owner, and offers to help check the stock or balance the accounts or clean the bathroom. Really, he just needs something to do to keep his mind off his worries.
The man is puzzled at first, but gladly accepts his help (it turns out one of his part timers is off sick) and puts Mikoto to work.
For the next few hours, he putters around doing odd jobs in the store. He even ends up helping some kid who wandered in—"I'm looking for a figure that looks like my mum," the brat said when Mikoto tentatively went over to inquire, "because she's gone now and I'd like to have a reminder of her. Do you sell anything like that here?"
Mikoto blanks out for a moment before gently steering the kid down the street, to visit a store with a less risqué selection.
"Um, you can try here," he says. "They do custom dolls too, if you have the money, so maybe they can give you what you're looking for?"
The boy's face lights up.
"Thanks, mister!" he cries. "Don't worry about money, daddy gave me a lot to stop being sad. So it's okay to spend it on this."
And then he is gone.
Mikoto shrugs, heads back to the store, and waits for Sakura—no, Chiyo—to return. By the time she texts to say that she's done with all her errands and on the way back for him, he's more than ready to go. The store owner waves him off into the late afternoon street with a bagful of complimentary snacks.
He runs to meet Chiyo at the station, smiling all the way.
When they get to Mikoto's apartment building, they find Nozaki Mayu sitting on the pavement outside, knees tucked up against his chest, and his high school's judo uniform crumpled on the ground next to him. Mikoto and Chiyo share a confused glance.
"Mayu-kun," Chiyo asks, "did something happen?"
Mayu raises a sign with 'ADOPT ME' scrawled across it in marker. One look and they know that he definitely stole it off some box of homeless kittens, rather than exert himself to write his own sign. Still, it isn't like Mayu to run away from home on a whim.
"Well, both of you come inside I guess," Mikoto says, scratching the back of his neck. "We'll figure it out."
So they bring Mayu in, ply him with tea and biscuits, and tuck him into a guest futon for a nap. They even wash his judo attire, which greatly amuses Mikoto's mother for some reason. Chiyo's just grateful that the lady holds back on any jokes about grandchildren she might have wanted to make.
With Mayu settled in, they fire off a text to Nozaki-kun, hoping to find out more about the situation. He replies five hours later with:
sorry deadline
pls keep him for two days
thanks
i'll owe you big time
Mikoto groans at the news, but Chiyo knows it makes him nostalgic to spend time with Mayu-kun again. "It won't be so bad, will it?" she says, running her hands through Mikorin's rich hair. They're both on the living room sofa, her curled against one armrest, him stretched out with his head in her lap.
"Just think of it as babysitting. Mayu-kun's almost like a cat."
"A cat in high school," Mikoto grouses. "That's trouble."
He wrinkles his nose when she laughs at him, looking so much like a wet cat that it makes her laugh all the louder. Neither of them moves until called for dinner, then they get up and go wake Mayu, walking hand in hand.
.
.
.
fin.