in ardent captivation (it was always her)
Satoru is ten and his favourite partner-in-crime is gathering her things with a meticulousness he could never muster, packing them into her bag one by one with excruciating slowness while he taps his foot impatiently, paces in front of her, and finally bursts into verbal protest.
Sakiiiiiii, he whines, leaning on the edge of her table and kicking his feet with all his impatience.
She slaps his palms off the table with her notebook and continues as she did before, maybe even slower to spite Satoru.
In resentful resignation he watches her like a hawk, and his feet betray how eager he is to run out of their classroom, out of Harmony School and into the fields where they can spend the afternoon in games and laughter.
Done, she says at long last, and Satoru's pout breaks into a toothy grin.
Come on, he says. He thinks nothing of grabbing her hand and running at full speed through the dim winding hallways, until sunlight warms their shoulders and in the distance is Maria with her flaming river of hair, yelling something he can't make out from where he is.
The headmaster's bronze statue reflects the summer sun dully.
(In his eyes, Saki shines brighter.)
Satoru is twelve and he doesn't really care if the other team surrenders or not. But since they won't, he's fine with a draw.
Their referee today is Shun, who always seems to be not all there when he's alone and more often than not ready to be the odd one out. It's not something Satoru understands.
But Saki does, and when she takes deliberate steps towards the crest of the hill instead of towards the canals, he feels something akin to impatience. After they all managed to agree on a draw, too!
He doesn't know what's so special about the minoshiro, and he expresses that thought as much as he can. Bluntly.
(Anyone can see that the rarity of the moment isn't in the minoshiro; it's in the way Saki looks at Shun.)
It is his first day at Sage Academy, and it sure is nice seeing all his friends again. Shun, Maria, even Reiko.
He's not worried because she'll definitely join them soon. She has to.
Alright, so he's a little worried.
(He still takes a jab at her when she does arrive, though.)
Satoru is still twelve, and in the last 48 hours, he has bickered with Saki over how to row a canoe, faithfully retold stories that he heard, watched a fire while his friends went rowing without him; puked in the bushes where he wasn't even supposed to be, caught an evil minoshiro, extorted information out of said minoshiro, was caught by a priest from the Temple of Purity, had his Cantus sealed; followed the priest through the forest, was attacked by queerats, watched said priest get killed by blowdogs right in front of him.
It's a lot to handle at once, and he doesn't have the luxury of time. Or comfort. Without their Canti, they're easy targets.
So if there's a chance to escape, they should take it first and worry later.
This time he thinks everything of grabbing her hand and running at full speed, until they're both breathless and terrified and about to fall.
(As long as he can feel her fingers clutching his sweat-slick ones with a strength born of terror, they're both alive.)
Satoru is fourteen and if there is one thing he sees eye to eye with Saki on, it's how interesting Shun is. Interesting, meaning intelligent, generous, gifted, and now increasingly attractive as well.
He knows he's lucky, really – to be born a boy, to be Shun's chosen partner – but he can't stop wanting to push his luck when he all but maintains a monopoly on Shun's benevolent attentions.
In comparison, Saki remains capricious and difficult, proven when she drives her foot into his as petty revenge for his comment about her heart.
(But when push comes to shove, she's the one who has his back.)
Satoru is fourteen and confused because the contentment with his life from a few weeks prior had dissipated, unbeknownst to him, and is replaced by this fuzzy bewilderment whenever he looks at his friends.
For instance, he never thought Ryou had any interest in Saki, and he had been pretty close with the former. When did this happen? Wasn't the one Saki liked—huh, Ryou?
He's not sure how it happened but he's surprisingly miffed when Saki calls Ryou away, presumably to agree on their duty pair nominations, and he can't stop eyeing them from his corner behind the classroom door, with the air of the hare who's arrived ostentatiously late to the race with the tortoise. A race he didn't know the tortoise was seriously running.
Saki's the one who walks away. He stops her without so much as a greeting.
Are you going to choose him, he says.
(Do I still have a chance, he thinks.)
When she says I'm sure he's not the one we both fell in love with, he remembers that she's brilliant, with acuity that the twelve-year-old him could only admire with backhanded compliments, unfailingly earning him an elbow to the ribs or worse.
Even if Saki is sure she doesn't and has never liked Ryou, he can't help but add a few flourishes to the tale he's spinning. A sketchy experiment is enough to get the hindrance out of their hair for the moment; drawing a hundred snowflakes is to keep him there until he hopefully catches a cold and misses class for a week.
He's not hoping out loud, and he brushes off Saki's you're so evil with the excuse of necessity.
(Part of him knows it's her way of appreciating his bullshit, and he relishes the compliment.)
When it comes to Maria, Saki knows no limits or pragmatism, and so Satoru knows he must be the voice of reason, but on her side.
Even so, he briefly loses his train of thought when Saki stares and says I was just thinking that you're really kind.
It's the first straightforward compliment he receives from her, out of nowhere, after all the years of trying to turn her gaze to him.
(And he was only trying to keep her from getting hurt here.)
Satoru turns 26 and even though he's no longer at that age where birthdays feel special, his co-workers make a point of congratulating him regardless.
Presents come in too, in the form of research samples or lab results that are two weeks overdue. Where he works, it's a gift if he doesn't have to wait three weeks for them.
And of course, the inescapable barrage of is this gonna be the year, you're about that age, eh and hurry up and have one before you hit 30. He's never more grateful that his direct superior Tatebe is antisocial and has no interest in him outside of his work.
The best part of the day is when he meets her on the canals on his way home. Happy birthday, she says, and she levitates his present through the distance between their boats, where it wobbles in a stray breeze, and right into his palm.
Which is a good thing, because he's not watching its flight too closely. With the setting sun and Saki in his eyes, he can't see it even if he tries.
(Damn, when did she become so pretty?)
Satoru is 26 and he genuinely believes this is the most trying day of his life. It has been 37 days since he fought with Waterwheel's resident fireball and he hasn't seen her even once since then.
Predictably, he's not so keen on being nominated to pay a visit to the Department of Exospecies Control, but maybe the professional setting will protect the integrity of his ribs. And his feet. Now that they are older (and he stands a head taller than her) she ceased headbutting him, at least.
He sets out with his co-workers' calls of encouragement, and his mind is on how best to shatter the ice between them after a month of silence.
And queerats, of course.
(Even if he weren't volunteered, he would have bought into any excuse to make up with her.)
She's trembling with the words that pour out of her lips, the tears spilling from her eyes, as they lie side by side in the rickety barge.
I don't want to die without knowing.
Even though it's not the time and place for it, he reaches out for her – and because it isn't the time and place for it, his hand falls only on her wrist.
(But with that she stills, the calm bearing of a survivor comes over her and she becomes the same Saki he would follow to hell and back.)
If it means that Saki would have another 1% chance of leaving Tokyo alive, he would do anything: go with Kiroumaru alone, carry the Psychobuster, stand in front of the fiend, or risk getting infected along with the enemy.
He does consider that she would want him to return alive with her, but doesn't give it much weight until he hears her scream and flames consume their trump card, before both he or the fiend could be infected.
He's a little shocked about it all, but he follows her when she tells him to run.
(And he can't find it in him to let her blame herself for the loss, because even if they die here, he will die knowing she cherishes him as much as he does her.)
Satoru is alive and he never wanted Saki to know the reality of the queerats.
While her punishment is decided upon and handed down, she says nothing and neither does he.
(That makes two of them.)
Satoru is almost 27 and for the first time in months, has an uncomplicated task in front of him.
All he has to do is to sign his name with the brush, on rice paper.
It is a simple task; he completes it with self-consciousness and utter sincerity. He replaces the brush and glances to his right, where Saki stands dressed in the ceremonial colours of white and red. She meets his eyes; he blinks in the face of her unwavering gaze.
(There is still too much to do to bring Kamisu 66 back to life and yet for today he can be content that she's still with him.)
end