Author's Note: My first Oregairu fic. Hope you enjoy.

(Number) is a literary or general media reference. This oneshot was partly inspired by the song of the same name by Sara Bareilles.

Gravity

Oneshot:

The scientific definition of gravity (or at the least, the one in our significanly and noticeably dumbed down school textbooks) is the "force of attraction between masses". Though I have absolutely no interest in science- the amount of attention I grace our teacher of the subject with reflects as much- I know the term is most commonly utilised in relation to astrophysics. You know, space and planets and all that. The study of outer space, at least to me, seems devoid of any relevance because, and by saying this I'm fully aware I'm displaying the egotism humans are inherently infamous for, there is only one place that's really important to us in the universe: Earth. Outside of this spherical amalgamation of rock and moral stagnation, nothing else really matters, since it is our responsibility as an organism to breed, pass on genes and ensure the survival of our species, and the only planet homo sapiens currently exist on is here. Scientists would probably defend the field of space exploration by claiming it is also our responsibility to better the current standing of our species, and colonising another planet in our galaxy would be an effective means of doing so. My counter to this would be either one of two, depending on my mood at the time of my purely theoritical argument with a purely theoretical astrophysicist: the first would be "Fuck off, you smug four-eyed prick", because of course everyone in that profession wears glasses, and the second would be "We should definitely worry about fixing our own planet before progressing to Mars".

But I digress. I missed the initial oppurtunity to return to topic at the mention of passing on genes. I'd been trying to make the point that obviously, gravity can also be applied to interplanetary matters. Since humans have mass themselves, it is logical to assume we can also be classified as masses. Thus, we all have our own forces of attraction, no matter how small (the larger the object, the greater the force). However, it has recently become evident to me that there a few specific individuals who seem to defy all the pre-existing laws of gravity a certain Mr Newton drew up all those centuries ago. It is, however, unevident why the strength of their gravitational field has increased, other than the features they possessed which society, in its infinite amount pretence and unfanthomability, have decided to label as attractive. One of these individuals is the Service Club's president, Yukino Yukinoshita.

Wow. That has to be the single most longwinded and totally unnecessary route of making a simple point I've ever taken. I tend to be quite good doing that- using long words in an attempt to make myself seem more educated, and vaguely hoping they would explain whatever I was trying to say in the process. Seriously, what was all that bullshit about gravity? I could quite easily turn those last two paragraphs into a single sentence to far greater effect.

I will now attempt to do so now.

...

Here it comes. Any second now. Once I summon up the courage to even contemplate the painfully humiliating, dignity crushing truth that has become apparent as of late. By the way, it wasn't as if my dignity was in a particularly good state regardless. Any more crushing and it will literally become nonexistent.

...

*ahem*

...

I may or not... hypothetically speaking, of course, with emphasis on the hypothetical side of things... be really quite very strongly attracted to Yukino Yukinoshita. To the point of being, I suppose, what one might usually consider a "crush".

Isn't it funny how when you think you've reached the absolute rock bottom, the final, weakest layer of the bedrock, the ground can suddenly open up and reveal a whole other festering pit of social humilation below it? Actually no, it isn't funny. It isn't funny at all. In fact, it's downright depressing. How could I have let this happen? How could I've let any feelings beyond simple adolescent male attraction towards an admittedly attractive specimen develop into more than that? How could I have a crush on Yukino Yukinoshita?

I mean, this is a girl that I'd labelled, when we first met, as the Ice Queen. And for good reason. On a good day, I would describe her as blunt. On a bad day, which by the way were far more frequent in their occurence than the latter, she was rude, cold, aloof, unapproachable, entitled and haughty to the point of it being vexing to your very core. Well meaning, but rude nonetheless. Staring into her eyes was like Hercules staring into the eyes of Medusa (1), only I had none of the strength or courage required to defend myself. Her excessive determination to suceed meant that, had it not been for the intervention of Hiratsuka-sensei, she wouldn't have even bothered to give someone like me, a semi-nihilistic loner, the time of day. Sometimes, she still couldn't be bothered to, almost a year into our acquiantance.

It wasn't important that she was also unfairly beautiful. It wasn't important that she had stunning yet dignified raven hair that reached all the way down to her waist, curling and uncurling, reaching and retreating over her neck like waves on a shoreline. It wasn't important that her eyes, the same ones that could be so terrifying, were also reminiscent of perfect, glimmering snow flakes. Or perhaps a calm, cerulean sea or stream. It wasn't important that the breathtaking symmetricality of her doll-like face merited the jealousy of all her peers. It wasn't important that she had the best legs and figure in all of Sobu High (believe me, I checked them out regularly), and it certainly wasn't important that beneath her cool, kuudere exterior was a complex and insecure girl that, despite all her intelligence and fierce independence, I wanted to protect more than anything in the world.

Just look at her. Sat there. Being attactive. How despicable.

How was a boy supposed to resist? Like jesus, cut me some slack! The only method by which I'd be able to resist Yukino Yukinoshita was an abundance of max repels. Or a dusk stone in order to evolve and increase my defense stats (I would be a dark type, of course) (2).

Even now, I was pushing my luck by observing her for a length that extended beyond a few seconds. Usually, our afternoon Service Club meetings were characterised by assortments of snacks and drinks (all prepared or bought by Yukino, of course) that were scoffed, a healthy amount by Yours Truly, over the course of the hour. Yukino would be sat on the far left side of the table, just about as far away from me as was physically possible without being too blatantly rude, reading the high brow literature that so brilliantly conveyed her understated, confident, intelllectual persona.

I would be sat on the opposite side of the table, with a warm mug of green, peppermint or roobois tea contributing to the therapeutic atmosphere, immersed in whatever shitty light novel I'd found in Chiba's erray of bookshops or managed to pester Zaimokuza into lending to me. Yukino, indulging in one of her interludes of savageness fired in my general direction, would no doubt claim they were reflective of my rotten, perverted core. I'd retort that it was only reflective in the sense that light novel's were more than they seemed, and some were prone to moments of genuine and profound insight. She'd scoff, and say something like "Oh, but light novels have attractive covers to drawn in their sad, disgusting, lowlife audience, and there's nothing attractive about your cover", and I'd grumble knowing I'd been outwitted for the trillionth time that week and try to ignore the smug look of satisfaction on her face. I'd forgive her every time, of course. Despite her distinct lack of, ahem, womanly assets, it was impossible to stay mad at a girl with a face like that.

There was, however, another member that had managed to ingrain herself in the Service Club's set up that was missing in this specific instance. Yui Yuigahama, your average airheaded nice girl with a head of bright pink hair (if I believed in stereotypes, I'd say it was a mirror to her no doubt superficial soul), served as the gap bridging us together. She appeared to lack the capability, or perhaps just the intelligence, to enjoy a piece of writing and so wasted away the time by messing with her phone or spouting whatever vacuous bullshit entered her equally vacuous brain with about as much charisma as a rotting corpse. Nonetheless, she was naive and brainless in an endearing way as opposed to an irritating one, and had done an impressive job in melting the particularly frosty edges of "Yukinon's" exterior. The reason for her absence was the wedding of one of her relatives who currently lived abroad. Due to the lack of regular flights to and from the Yuigahama Clan's destination, they'd decided to scrounge a week's holiday out of the affair, leaving Yukino and I to fend for ourselves.

It was on the Monday that I realised I had a crush.

It came completely out of the blue. Well... the realistion itself came out of the blue. I suppose, sub-consciously, I'd known that I was deeply attracted to her for months now. It was only natural that the feelings would manifest, slowly growing, developing deep within the confines of my chest. They became obvious in a moment like any other. We were merely sat there reading, as we had done on countless occasions previously, when a short sideways glance set my heart alight as easily as a match to petrol, and sent my head reeling in a dazed, lost stupour.

It was autumn, and so the days were growing shorter. The sunsets occured earlier and grew progressively more dramatic. The sight that greeted me as I glanced sideways was one so pristine, so perfect, so picturesque, that I half wished it would remain imprinted on my eyelids for the rest of eternity. It was the kind of moment that artists and visionaries would dream of capturing. If I, personally, had any aptitude or enthusiasm for art, I'd have felt compelled to find a canvas and paints right there and then, if only to preserve the graceful, delicate, intricate, beautific lines and distinctions of Yukino Yukinoshita. With the dappled leaves faling gracefully behind her head, accompanied by far reaching sunbeams that burnt through the huge glass windows and danced through the room, performing an elegant waltz with the strands of her hair and that gorgeous pale complexion as a partner, the thought crossed my mind.

I could fall in love with a girl like this.

It probaby seems heartwarming or sentimental to read, but as a self-proclaimed loner, champion and practitioner of the solitary way of life, forever in search of a relationship I'd perceive as genuine, I can tell you it was actually a fucking terrifying epiphany to experience. My previous pathetic experiences with romance (if they could even be labelled as such) had left me scarred and wholly convinced that the cliches one reads of love in novels were total, pure, unconcentrated crap. What kind of person could possibly want, or reciprocate the unrequited feelings of a, to quote Yukino herself, pathetic and creepy loner? I'd chosen to walk alone, and the rest of the world, until Hiratsuka-sensei decided it would be a great idea to tear down all my preconceived notions of love and friendship, had appeared more than happy to let me do so. Feeling rather overwhelmed by this sudden, unexpected and undesired surge of ... *shudder*... emotion, I'd quickly excused myself from Service Club duties for the rest of the day under the pretence of overdue class assigments. In truth, I just needed a breath of fresh air, and of course, the much maligned and under-appreciated sweetness of MAX Coffee to rejuvenate myself after such a revelation.

And, upon returning home, I'd naturally done the thing any confident, self-respecting and mature male would do: desperately begged my little sister for guidance. To all things masculine in the world, I apologise.

At first, she'd returned my desperate stare with wariness, no doubt assuming it was some kind of elaborate joke or prank. I could hardly blame Komachi for being suspicious, as expressing any form of emotion to her, let alone one as intense as romantic interest (in Yukino you perve; I'm NOT a siscon, although she is incessantly cute) was as rare as me emerging from my room on a Saturday, or appearing at any form of non-family-and-therefore-not-compulsory social event. Upon realising I was, regrettably, being serious, she very nearly burst into tears of unbridled joy. "Am I dreaming? Is there really a chance my Onii-chan won't die alone?" Cheers for that one Komachi- there's yet another brutal, Hiratsuka-esque suckerpunch to my pride.

Nonetheless, it seemed my faith and near total reliance on her for decisions in all aspects of my life was well placed, as she quickly set about reassuring me that my life was not about to end just yet. But just as I'd begun to reduce the previously sky-rocketing likelihood of a nervous breakdown or hyperventilation, she'd gone and dropped this Hiroshima sized bombshell. "So, you're gonna confess tomorrow, right Onii-chan?"

My reasons for, at that moment, abandoning my little sister in the living room in favour of the comforts of my hole- I mean my room, were numerous. First, I knew that escaping from my sister' presence would've been my only means of retaining sanity, for if she'd found out that my original intention had been to bury my feelings with all the typical proficiency of a loner I would never have heard the end of it. She'd attempted to speak to me from outside my locked door, resolutely refusing to take a hint in the most obnoxiously Komachi manner possible, and I'd only managed to deter her incessant knocking by promising I'd confess by the end of the week. I'd been lying through my teeth, obviously... well, I'd anticipated it would be a lie, at least. You see, the second reason was that I had some serious internal musing and scheming to do. I needed a solution, or at the very least an effective means of dispelling the feelings of my treacherous heart, to the situation I'd suddenly found myself catapulted into. It took me almost three hours of silent contemplation to achieve one I deemed to be plausible. It most certainly hadn't been elementary, my dear audience (3).

One's stream of conciousness is always difficult to recount, as there is simply no way to fully articulate the bizarre leaps of logic by association that an active brain makes when being exercised. And mine, more used to prolonged strain than most, was going at full tilt. Nonetheless, I will strive to make it is a clear as possible.

My foremost instinct was, as I was prone to doing, forcing myself to endure the worst and not divulge to Yukino my crush. I would consider myself an expert in the realms of rejection via attractive girls, and I had absolutely no intention of experiencing something as crushing, soul-sucking and plain depressing as that ever again. Therefore, the easiest method of avoiding it was to pretend. To lie, and to convince myself into thinking nothing had changed. It wasn't as if Yukino would be missing anything life-changing if I kept quiet; I loved my particular brand of twisted logic and un-sugarcoated, realistic perception of the world, but many appeared to derive great pleasure in criticising these aspects of Yours Truly. Focusing on my dead fish eyes and "toxic" personality were also commonplace. Yukino, like all sadists, often indulged in such treatment too. Even if the miniscule probability of her accepting my confession came good, I would undoubtedly be a hinderance to her. In terms of romance, I was about as inept and uninformed as it came. I feared it was far more likely I'd be a Humbert Humbert (4) than a Romeo (5) figure in a relationship. To be brutally frank, if we're comparing me to famous literary figures, I share more similarites with Holden Caulfield (6) than anyone else, and he's not exactly not known for being a hopeless romantic. Indeed, I also share a hatred of phonies and facades with everyone's favourite juvenile delinquent- trying to act normal would be the final word in hypocrisy.

So, I abandoned that strain of thought and begun to pursue others. Unfortunately, I drew a blank on anything that would resolve the problem other than confessing, which, as far as I'm concerned, will always be a final resort. The move that I will use only when all the pp on Inferno, Flamethrower of Fire Blast has been used up (7). Waiting for my emotions to fade away was just another form of pretending, and there was no certainty that they would weaken with the passing of time regardless. In addition, there was also dozens upon dozens of possible negative outcomes, and indeed negative knock-on effects if Yukino, by some miracle, chose to accept. Believe it or not, but being perceptive of human emotion is one of my 108 talents (number 26, to be precise). I was fully aware of the... ah... tenderness that Yui Yuigahama reserved for me, no matter how much I wished to deny its existence. I valued the strange relationship we'd managed to cultivate at the Service Club and wanted nothing more than to see it continue. Just as I, grudgingly, would have to admit I'd become fond of my two undeniably attractive clubmates, I was sure they wouldn't make any effort to deny that they harboured similar sentiments. Only in the sense that we were... "friends", I suppose. They wouldn't be caught dead saying I was attractive. So far, all my efforts in convincing them of the merits of my half decent face had been in vain.

Yukino's feelings had always been harder for me to discern. Like me, she'd built up the customary loner protective shield, and chinks in her armour had only begun to emerge recently. Sometimes, I thought she might enjoy my company, but in others she seemed to be repulsed by the mere fact I was intaking oxygen. Like all human being, she was a living, breathing contradiction, full of tenderness and hatred and determination and submission and mystery.

Perhaps that was what I'd come to like about her.

Perhaps that was why, after a whole week of summoning the courage, I'd decided to tell her how I felt.

Needless to say, I was terrified. Every fibre of my being felt like it was going to implode in on itself, like millions of supernovas igniting the night sky. And who could blame me? Yukino Yukinoshita had a way of holding herself, a graceful dignity in her posture, that never ceased to make others feel inadequate. In comparison to someone as beautiful as her, I always found myself feeling inconceivably small and inadequate. A tiny bug she could send flying off into an emotional abyss with one look from the icy blue depths of her eyes. But, a truly atrocious boyband once said, or at least their assigned songwriter said, "You only get one shot, so make it it count" (8). And, in a hugely popular Broadway show, an American founding father once declared "I am not throwing away my shot" (9).

Here goes, I guess.

'So, Yukino...'

Pause. A long one at that.

The girl in question glanced up from her book for a split second, and then straight back down, as if remembering that I wasn't really worth her attention. 'Yes, Hikigerma?'

Screw you, romantic comedy gods. You just had to go and spit in my face again, didn't you? One second into confessing to my first ever true crush and I've already been likened to bacteria. A subcellular organism. Actually just go and die.

Well, screw you! I don't need your help! Just carry on, Hachiman. You da man. You got this.

'Ah... uh... well, I was just trying to say that...'

Right on time, my first obstacle to obtaining a girlfriend decided to settle down right in my path. This wasn't just a hurdle or a boulder I could easily avoid; this was a mountain of indescribable proportions. One that made Everest look as inconsequential as a tiny, pitiful grain of sand. This was, of course, my inability to talk to girls in any romantic situation whatsoever. It had proven itself to be my nemesis on numerous occasions, and like the Doctor to the Daleks (10) or the xenomorph to Ellen Ripley (11), it was an opponent that my efforts often paled and withered in comparison to. The only way I'd been able to communicate with the opposite sex in middle school, outside of monosyllabic grunts that is, was talking in a stuttering, unforgivably formal cadence that left me a cringing mess from the humiliation it induced. Incidentally, if my recurring night terrors are any indication, I think I still have PTSD from it.

However, all the factors conspiring against me should quiver in their boots, for I'm elated to announce that I have a cure to my tongue-tied affliction. A single phrase that, no matter how many times it was exhausted in conversation, never failed to ease the awkwardness!

'The weather sure is nice, huh?'

I want to die.

To make matters worse, Yukino seemed equally disgusted by my utilisation of that creaking old cliche. 'Please don't tell me that you've somehow managed to exchange brains with Tobecchi without me noticing, Hikigaya-kun. Here I was thinking your social skills had improved.'

It did indeed sound like something Tobe would say on his continuing crusade to earn the affections of a certain unhealthily yaoi-obsessed girl in our class. Again, I am stunned by how far into the void we call depression I'm capable of descending into in the span of a single conversation.

I took a deep breath. Calm, Hachiman. No matter how dire the outlook may be, things are still salvageable. True, just about everything I'd identified during my meticulous preparation process that could go wrong had indeed gone wrong, but past mistakes didn't guarentee future mistakes. Didn't someone once say that without failures, you'll never achieve success? So far in my miserable existence, I've yet to see the "wisdom" in that phrase come to fruition in any shape or form, but my resolve is stronger here than it has been in previous instances. Yukino's opinions of me surely can't sink any lower; the only possible movement I can make is up at this stage.

Step One of my rescue effort: steer the conversation to common ground.

'Sorry. I'd just wanted to ask... what book you were reading?'

And Hachiman has scored an absolutely superb goal! That one would make Pele blush! Rom-com Gods 1, Hachiman 1. Not only did this bring us to one of the only subjects I could speak of with any genuine eloquence, and perhaps even enthusiasm, but it was an assured means of actually engaging Yukino in a civil conversation. True though it may be I didn't read the kind of chin-stroking literature that she enjoyed, my love of reading was undeniable and one of my most prominent hobbies.

But, as ever, she was quick to remind me of her snobbery for my preferred format of publishing. 'I'm surprised you're interested in a work of fiction with a certain degree of innovation and subtlety to it. Aren't you more arous- forgive me, I meant intrigued, by the fantasy ventures of self-insert protagonists with various scantily-clad women?'

'Always harking back to the same old insults, huh? Well, I'm sincerely sorry for having a preference. Maybe if you actually read one, you'd realise light novels can be just as intricate and thought-provoking as the pretentious rubbish you read.'

'First of all, my issue is not with the fact you have a preference- it is the fact that preference is essentially the literary equivalent of pornography. Second of all, I'd rather go on a date with you than read a light novel.'

... Rom-com gods 2, Hachiman 1.

Throughout their lives, loners are quick to develop a defensive wall, more so out of necessity than anything else, that granted them a fair amount of immunity to insults. Mine was so regularly under siege that it came closer to resembling a fortress than a wall, with a moat and archery holes to boot. For the most part, this was enough to shield me from the cruelty, insincereity and brutal prejudice of the modern world, but there are times when even I can only watch helplessly as the enemy swim across that moat with little trouble, scale the walls as if they were a playground climbing frame and leave me a bleeding, broken mess on the ground. I've always managed to pick myself up before, but this... this was a failure greater even than my confession to Orimoto. And that's really saying something. At least then, I managed to reach the point of popping the question.

All hail the Ice Queen of Sobu High. I hope you're satisfied.

I sighed very quietly, not really caring if Yukino heard me anymore, and picked up my light novel, hoping to find solace in the aforementioned underdressed harem girls-

'It's a collection of short stories.'

I glanced up in shock. Yukino was sat in the exact same position as before, with her delicate fingers clutching the sides of the book whose cover was still concealed from me, and her legs held tightly together in a manner that always seemed to me so peaceful and dignified. She refused to meet my gaze, and that spoke volumes. Yukino wasn't a girl who avoided, or hesitated, or danced around a point... only if she was embarassed would she stop or look down.

I opened my mouth and then closed it. The silence smothered the air like a cloud of pillowing smoke. Was it my imagination, or was there the slightest tinge of red visible on her snow-white cheeks?

'It's by one of my favourite writers. Angela Carter (12).'

'... I'd be lying if I said I'd heard of her.'

My response wasn't really intended to be humurous or self-depracating. It passed my lips simply with the intention of easing some of the tension that had emerged seemingly from thin air. If anything, it was an invitation for her to unleash some of her typical sarcasm. Though it hurt, I'd take something familiar over this prickling, disquieting uncertainty any day.

'She's a truly astonishing writer. H- her prose is unparallelled. In my opinion, no other 20th century has writing as succint and unsentimental as she does. Not only that, but the way she describes... there is nothing more than what is absolutely necessary, yet it's beautiful. Hypnotic, really. I've read all of her work.'

This has to be most Yukino-esque apology I've heard. How can it be someone as intelligent and confident as her can be reduced to this in a few seconds? All of a sudden, the Ice Queen is stuttering and stammering with her words. Talk about hot and cold. And what exactly does that blush mean?! Any other boy would get the wrong idea.

'Which short story in particular?'

For a moment, Yukino didn't reply. Her eyelids fluttered closed, though the book remained clamped firmly in her grasp. She composed herself, and suddenly her voice had returned to ts usual assured, rather self-important tone.

'It's one of her lesser known works. It's called A Souvenir of Japan: she's a Western writer but she spent a lot of her early career living in Tokyo. It compounds her usual themes of sex and feminine identity with... I suppose, something more tender. This is one of her only works that focuses more on love as opposed to obsession.'

Ah. Love. One of the oldest enigmas known to human civilisation. How many books have I read that write of love in that irritating, banal, vapid manner simply because they lack the ambition to bring something new to the table. Even someone as inexperienced in matters of romance as I can tell it so much more complex and difficult to explain as they make it out to be. This is perhaps none clearer than in descriptions of sex: of course, I understand the fanservice appeal (very well, I might add), but to assume sex would be as purely physical as they make it out to be is ridiculous. A relationship with anybody is an emotional complication, and the rewards are both paltry and enormous simultaneously.

'I didn't see you as one to be interested in romance.'

'I'm interested in the sense that it is something I don't understand, and that makes me curious. Carter's perception is far more layered and realistic than most author's I read. There's a line about half way through-' She paused for a moment, searching through the text with her index finger for the right passage. 'She writers, "How far does a pretence of feeling, maintained with absolute conviction, become authentic?". In the story, the narrator has a relationship with a Japanese man who claims she is the love of his life, yet he uses her merely as a vehicle of his sexual fantasies. There are lots of motifs throughout it about splendour and facades... they visit a firework show, only to leave early. There is talk of geishas and samurais, and the blurred line between those professions with whores and murderers. They both have expectations of the other, and they are left so woefully unfilfilled that they deny the truth so as to covince themselves they are in love.'

She met my eyes for the first time in the conversation. 'I- I don't think their relationship is genuine.'

How on earth was I supposed to respond to something like that?

But there, in her bewitching blue eyes... I think I saw a reflection, as clear and unobtainable as that shown in a looking glass. A sincere reflection of my innermost desire. My desire for an emotion, for a feeling, for a relationship that wasn't blighted by the endless lies and bitter disappointments of human interactions. I think, in some respect, I saw a version of myself. And, in a world where I constantly felt isolated, surrounded by people who didn't look or think or comprehend like I did, it felt almost obligatory that I should persue it.

'Yukino... I know what you're like. You'll never be satisfied until you know absolutely everything possible to know? So... you want to know about love, right?'

The corner of her lips twitched up. 'Yes.'

'Maybe at some point in the future, I- I could help you understand.'

I barely managed to force that out. My breath was caught in my throat. The sight of her had a habit of doing that to me.

Her countenance changed, shifted, into an emotion I thought I recognised as happiness.

'Yes. I think you could, Hachiman.'

Please RR! I really appreciate people's feedback.

1- ancient Greek myth, Twelve Labours of Hercules.

2- Pokemon.

3- Sherlock Holmes.

4- Lolita.

5- Romeo and Juliet.

6- Catcher in the Rye.

7- Pokemon again.

8- JLS.

9- Hamilton.

10- Doctor Who.

11- Alien franchise.

12- one of my favourite writers.