Work Text:
At the mercy of your friend and housemate Mayu who’d gotten your permission to bring you to the countdown party organized by your cohort, you find yourself stepping through snow on the path to the venue. Ice crunches under your boots, and each sound is a reminder that you dislike such events, that you’d rather be at home perusing your manga collection like you always do for New Year’s.
Morosely, you recall that the “agreement” reached with Mayu was while the both of you were enjoying the bottle of gift wine from that pretentious family of hers, while catching up on Keeping Up with the Hibikis. Your housemate, unfortunately, holds far more liquor than you do. The odds were never in your favor.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Mayu rings the bell and the shrill noise makes you stumble. You’re sorely tempted to hide, maybe even return the way you came, but unfortunately you’re a girl of your word, even if said word was given in drunk delirium.
The large glass-paneled door to the chalet opens and you recognize the womanly figure that appears behind it. With long, sleek pink hair adorning her shoulders and complementing her strapless dress, Luka, the girlfriend of tonight’s host Gakupo, notices Mayu first and welcomes your housemate with a radiant smile and open arms.
Must be nice to not have to counter-check every gesture, you think.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mayu. You’re the chaos we need right now,” Luka says warmly, before turning to you. “And who might this be…?”
“Rin,” you answer, opting to bow in lieu of a handshake. Better to be safe than sorry. “I room with Mayu and, uh, we’re both in Business.” This will suffice. Probably.
Luka’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, you’re that Rin!” You nearly wince at her choice of words. “I couldn’t recognize you! You look so different…”
“I know, right? Such a stunner when she wants to be,” Mayu cuts in, patting your back hard enough to disrupt the thoughts starting to form in your mind. Thankfully she’s your ally first and foremost, even while she drags you light years out of your comfort zone. “So how’s it been tonight?”
“Oh, you know…” Luka leads the two of you inside. The rush of indoor warmth is comforting to ice-kissed skin, almost enough to put you at ease. You keep your head down until you’re shown to a coat hanger and shoe rack, where you set your ankle-length coat on the lowest rung and your boots on the top row. Easier to reach for a quick getaway, just in case.
With those layers of protection gone, you feel naked, feel your body crawl and flush where your outfit doesn’t shade. You regret turning down Mayu’s offer to lend you one of her gothic lolita-style dresses, extravagant as they are with their frills and laces and ribbons. You almost wish you were wearing Luka’s dress, even—at least it covers the legs.
And so hoping to turn invisible or have the earth open beneath you to proverbially take you home, you enter the main room with Mayu and Luka, pinching at your white blouse that you’re sure is so sheer your bra is stark under it, and shiver at the draft hitting your legs where your plaid skirt doesn’t reach—far too high above the knee. Bend over and the world will see your ass. Why did you think this piece from your middle school “plaid craze” would be adequate?
(In hindsight, maybe you should’ve considered rushing to the laundromat for the rest of your wardrobe when you trialled this ensemble for Mayu, who approved it instantly.)
To your relief and slight chagrin, Mayu has made it so the two of you are early enough that your arrival doesn’t turn heads. Aside from Gakupo who’s probably already inebriated, judging the way he’s doing his famous fan dance unprompted and in comically sloppy fashion, it’s still relatively calm. Though it also means a longer wait until Mayu tires of being social to go home together, which will probably be… at 1am or so, after fireworks and a second round of partying.
You glance at your phone. It’s only 8:30 pm. Oof.
For as long as you can, you orbit around your housemate—the only person you’re more than acquaintances with, alternating with turning into a phone-obsessed wallflower in the quieter corners of the floor. You sense the approach of other partygoers a few times, but nip the potential conversations in the bud before they can happen, shuffling elsewhere.
Of course, Mayu notices this.
“Rin,” she hisses as she yanks your arm and you down to her level, her olive-yellow eyes flashing. Scary. “You can’t keep snubbing people. You’re at a party, for god’s sake.”
“But Mayu,” you attempt to defend, jerking your arm free and forcing words through your constricting throat. “It's been so long since…” You sigh. “Can’t I wait this out? I… Just being here is enough, isn't it?”
Picking up on your urge to leave right there and then, Mayu eases the pressure, the pointed look in her eyes softening. “Listen, it’s going to be fine. It’s just our year tonight, and as far as I know everyone’s nice.”
She gives your shoulder a squeeze, and you wonder how a girl so much smaller and shorter than you feels like the older sibling you wish you had growing up. “Okay? Even if it doesn’t work out, no one’s going to hold it against you. And if they do… if they even dare—”
“Please don’t finish that sentence.” A sequence of memories, of Mayu heading out after listening to the account of your last breakup, and the radio silence only broken by a call from temporary arrest to inform her family to pay bail, spring to mind. “There’s no need for that. Whatever you’re thinking.”
“Then go,” Mayu urges, shoving you by the back further into the room where Gakupo is clumsily setting up disco lights. “Try to have fun. And if it’s really impossible, text me.”
“…Okay.”
Unfortunately you, Rin, are a girl of your word.
In your nervousness you’ve forgotten that eating and drinking are, in fact, things that can be done at parties. Yes, why not? A little refreshment might make this easier.
You wander over to a massive, frosted glass bowl with pink beverage and bobbing ice spheres in it, and scoop yourself a cup of fruit punch. The smell is curiously acrid and it’s a bit bitter on the tongue, but it’s sweet enough all the same. Must be some mix of exotic fruits you’ve never had. Down the hatch.
It’s surprisingly tasty.
Another.
Still tasty. Still sweet.
One more.
Hm, did the room always look so small and wobbly? Maybe you ought to ask Mayu. Mayu always knows what to do.
You reluctantly empty the contents of your cup into the closest mini bin, then remember your skirt is too fucking short to imitate The Gleaners by Jean-François Millet. So you immediately straighten up—
—and send someone’s plate of food flying out their hands.
“Eek! I’m sorry!”
It happens so fast it’s a blur, a magic trick performed for an audience of one, for you alone. A whirl of gold, a flash of paper white. Bits of color are caught on a white palette, above you, beside you and in front of you.
“Whew,” the boy before you exhales, and you realize he’s way too close when heat fans your face. It’s rather minty. Cerulean eyes meet your blue ones, then he pulls back. “That could’ve been bad.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” You can’t decide between flailing your hands in panic or bow in apology, so you settle on pinching the ends of your hair instead. “I’m really out of it tonight.”
Why? is the question you expect to hear. Actually, you’re expecting a lot of things—a spark behind the eyes, a flush on the cheeks, the loss of words in stutter. To be so close to a person like this is dangerous, but who could’ve foreseen this? Not you. It’s too late now.
To your horror, the pink hue on this boy’s face does deepen, subtle as it is. You never fail to notice such things—are unable to not notice such things.
And yet, the night is full of surprises. “It’s all good,” he says somewhat breathlessly. “But are you okay? You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
There’s an exit point in this conversation somewhere. Best you take it. “I do. Parties aren’t my thing.”
The boy nods. “Yeah. To be honest, me too. But my friends can’t do without me. Only here ‘coz of them.” With a chuckle, he adds another slice of cake to the disarray on his plate and gives you a smile that gets your heart skipping.
This must be what manga does its damndest to portray, the winning panels of expression meant to steep readers, to crystallize emotion. You’ve seen an innumerable amount of these panels, seen many moments like this with real people, and even now it hits just as hard as the day you started to dream.
There’s a reason why your favorite genre is romance, why you keep hoping to meet The One even though the chances, for you, are slim to none.
“Well, good luck and hang in there. The fireworks will be worth it, probably.” And off the boy goes, back to his noisy group of friends gathered around a Jenga tower.
Oh.
That went… surprisingly okay?
You examine your hands even though nothing has ever manifested from them before, and nothing will; your influence isn’t a tangible thing. Hope floods your chest and fills your sluggish self with a sort of bubbly energy you’ve not felt in years.
Maybe, like Mayu said, things are indeed going to be fine. Maybe you’ve received the grace of a higher (or perhaps lower) power tonight and people won't fall at your feet if you so much as look their way. Like that boy.
Alright then, let’s have fun, you decide.
Where you come from, parties are infrequent and party games are even rarer. As someone who’s used to associating with people older than yourself, used to being guided along by the more experienced, tonight feels starkly different. But perhaps this departure is what you need every now and then. People here don’t treat you like a child, which you greatly appreciate.
Drinking games are a hard pass. There’s no telling what might happen if you lose yourself in a room as crowded as this; you’re not sure if even Mayu can clean up after you in such a situation. Your coordination with video game controls is rubbish and you prove this to yourself by getting buried under various items, falling dead last in Mario Kart for a few rounds. Oh well.
Card games however, are your oyster, and people start calling you “Mayu’s naughty housemate” after you claim several victories playing Cards Against Humanity. If your mind was a little sharper at this time, you might worry about perpetuating certain stereotypes picking such diabolical answer cards, but you’re having too much fun to care.
Inadvertently, your offhand comment about singing in the shower (you don’t even remember what started the conversation) sparks a wave of discussion among the card players and you get dragged by Nana, one of Mayu’s other friends, to Gakupo. Much like your housemate, Nana appears to have some sway in this circle and she convinces the host to set up the karaoke machine.
(Seems like Gakupo's a bit of a pushover.)
“I don’t actually sing though,” you lamely try to excuse yourself, “not in front of people.” And it’s true. You’ve never tried to because in theory, sound has a greater outreach than being in proximity does. Outreach is risky.
“Well, you gave us the idea,” Nana says.
“You did what you wanted to do,” you point out.
Nana takes your hand into her own. It’s an innocuous gesture, but you nearly draw back from the spike of fear that juts through your heart. When nothing appears to happen at the contact, you file away a reminder to count your blessings.
“Aw, please?” You realize what it is that makes Nana so persuasive as she implores you with big eyes and mouth upturned into a pout. She’s got a baby-face and knows how to use it. The opposite of Mayu’s approach, but just as effective. Perhaps this is why they are friends. “Please please pleeease? Just one song, then we’ll take over.”
Must be nice to not have to fret about endearing yourself to others, you think.
You shouldn’t agree to this, but the reason why is lost to the buzzing in your head. “Okay then.”
Five minutes of a ballad pass, made tolerable by the excuse of needing to see the lyrics when you have the lines down by heart. When you lower the microphone and turn away from the screen, you startle at the sight of a very crowded couch and many more people standing around it. On top of that, everyone’s looking at you.
You want to turn your stomach inside out and down another fruit punch at the same time.
And then slowly, your efforts receive the approval you didn’t know you needed, applause and hollers of praise, starting with the perpetuator of this whole activity.
“Encore, encore!” Nana cheers.
In full view of spectators, you blush all the way up to your ears. What is with today, with getting pulled in all sorts of directions by people? “But you… you said one song!” you protest, and said spectators laugh at your panicked tone. “You said—”
“Oh, I did, huh,” Nana says airily. “Let’s do a group song, then! You won’t be alone this time!” In a blink, she’s on the tablet controls, typing a title to search.
“Last one,” you say scathingly, and grip the microphone tight. Though tickled at the reception, you can’t wait to get away from this girl.
“Okaaay.” And you hope Nana is a girl of her word.
Her song choice gives you mixed feelings. You’ve been hearing this new release everywhere—at malls, in train stations, and random video clips. You’ve heard it so much that you’ve warmed to it and even know the lyrics. But…
“You gotta do the end pose, okay?” Nana unabashedly demonstrates a cutesy stance, cupping one side of her cheek to create a heart shape.
“Why,” you question with a dry mouth.
“Because I’m going to, and so is Yukari!” The stoic lilac-haired girl beside Nana nods at the mention. “We have to match! Please, I promise this will be the last thing ever.”
People are already getting hyped for the song. You can only sigh.
With that, a poppy track begins to play. Admittedly there’s fun to be had pretending to be an idol—you’ve definitely thought of it as a potential future before, but that was a very long time ago, before you were lectured that you, your species, can and must aim for much higher. Restrictive, stressful, and low-paying performance art is wasted on your kind who only need but ask for all the power in the world.
The words of a mother who was never motherly prove true, and reality settles in like a gnawing chill. You feel eyes on you, feel stares of varying intensities, all burning with the same want. No doubt any scout in the audience would move to claim you. You keep singing, and pray that your skirt doesn’t flutter any further up your legs.
This is a normal reaction, you tell yourself, humans can’t help themselves. Once this is over and you make your escape, all people will remember of you is that you’re “Mayu’s naughty housemate” who can hold a tune. Your presence is nothing but a spell, and there will be nothing when it wanes. Nothing real. Nothing that can ever be called “love”.
The worst part is that you can’t even command it, this power, this… influence that your kind wields as a tool. Why, why didn’t you argue with Mayu more to let you stay home? You should’ve. You really should’ve.
This was a mistake.
Your eyes sweep over the crowd. What you’re looking for, you’re not even sure. Maybe you want to see something different. Someone whose eyes don’t just look hungry, hungry, hungry, hungry—
Cerulean.
Your breath catches.
He’s here, the boy you so inelegantly flipped the dessert plate of, the boy who blushed only a little in your presence. He’s standing with two others who must be his friends, and to your amazement they don’t seem too invested in this performance either. The blonde boy from earlier is here, and he’s watching you.
You try to smile at him between lyrics, though you’re sure you’re cringing more than anything because these lines are fucking sappy. So much for “parties aren’t my thing”. Hopefully he’s forgotten about that.
The boy returns a grin, as though sharing a secret with you, then brings up a hand to gesture thumbs-up.
What the heck?
For the first time tonight your lips lift in genuine elation, and you giggle very audibly into the microphone over a few lyrics.
Thank goodness for instrumental sections.
Nana turns to you with an eyebrow raised. If Yukari is curious, it’s hard to tell. You shake your head, play it off—you can’t explain what you don’t understand.
You keep your eyes away from that half of the crowd until the twittering in your head stops, and when you do dare to look at the culprit again, he raises a thumbs-up, this time wiggling the end of his thumb like he’s jamming on a button. He looks like he’s about to laugh himself, blown out cheeks and all.
Whether he wants to support or tease, he should just pick one!
As you arrive at the bridge and final chorus, you wrack your brains for something, anything to get this guy back for the disruption. Hm. Considering the timing, there’s only one thing you can do.
Throwing caution to the wind in the heat of this moment, you, Rin, bring your fingers up to your cheek and curl them, to make a heart gesture at this boy.
(“Oooooh!” the audience choruses.)
A perfect execution—you make it so, and the target of your affections seems to think the same. Stars sparkle behind those cerulean eyes, his jaw drops, and pink hikes high up his face.
Take that!
You shouldn’t have, a tiny, less excited and much more nervous part of you hisses. But the satisfaction of this, the once-in-a-blue-moon feeling of being in control of your nature is too great. You’ve charmed the guy who’d been teasing you. That’s all.
(So you say.)
Though like all prior instances you’ve gotten ahead of yourself, the magic called Adrenaline rapidly wears off, leaving utter embarrassment where boldness once was. You’re fleeing to the drink bar before Nana can even breathe a word of thanks.
Your head hurts a little, so you start with water. The fruit punch afterward is like a reward for all the shenanigans you’ve had to put up with tonight. It’s 11:35 pm now; there’s light at the end of this tunnel.
Okay, to tell the truth this hasn’t been as awful as you dreaded, as you made it out to be even though you’ve done nothing but get pulled here and there. It’s been a very interesting end of the year, to say the least. And speaking of interesting…
“Hey there.” If it were anyone else but Thumbs Boy, you might be looking for Mayu right now. But Thumbs Boy is alright. You also hope you can learn something else to address him by.
“I thought parties weren’t your thing,” he says with a grin.
Of course he’s bringing that up, of course he is. You shrug. “It’s true. I also did say I was out of it tonight.”
He laughs. “Well regardless, you were great back there. You’re a talented singer.” Your face warms at the earnestness of his praise. “Are you secretly an idol or something?”
“I’m not.”
“Come on, you can tell me.”
“I’m not!”
“Blink twice if your agency is—”
“I’m serious!” you giggle. “Really. I’m not.”
“Yeah? And were you serious about this?” He mimics your earlier display and stares slyly at you with a half-heart face.
Fuck, he’s cute. Really cute.
“Payback,” you retort, recreating his bizarre button-pressing gesture. “For whatever this is. It’s bad manners to throw someone off their groove, you know.”
“Throw—hey, I was only cheering you on.” Thumbs Boy holds his hands up in surrender. “My bad if I misconstrue a girl making a heart at me as anything but payback.”
You find yourself pinching the ends of your hair again. You’re definitely not blushing.
“What’re you trying to say?” you challenge, locking gazes with him. The corner of your lip twitches upward, betraying you.
He leans in (over you, rather), smirking. “I dunno. What are you insinuating?”
You continue to stare. He continues holding firm.
Then the both of you laugh.
“Just messing with you,” he says, and waves the air above as though to clear it before extending a hand to you. “I’m Len, from Economics. Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
Of course he hasn’t, because tonight is the Stunner’s debut. And very likely her last episode.
You tentatively take his hand. It’s calloused yet warm. “It’s fine. I’m Rin—”
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” someone shrieks.
The chatter in the room dies down.
“It’s just a little prank…” You recognize this voice and realize Gakupo, who’s currently out of earshot, has a lot to answer to. Poor guy. “All in good fun! Admit it, it’s funny!”
“What if someone was allergic?! And we have drivers here! Do you not care?”
“Lily, Lily, hold on a minute.” It’s your housemate. “Let’s have the facts first…” An intake of breath. “Carry on, everyone! Nothing to see here.”
You turn back to Len and awkwardly finish, “…from Business.”
“Gotcha. Uh, wow. Wonder what happened.” Seeing his attention shift back and forth between you and the hushed discussion, you reach for his sleeve.
“We shouldn’t get involved,” you advise despite knowing equally little. What you do know, is once Mayu enters the fray, resolution swiftly follows, for better or for worse. “Let them sort it out.”
Besides, you want to talk with Len more.
Chats >> Mayu
You: Met someone nice :)
The two of you make your way upstairs, Len leading the way out of consideration for your attire (for the second time tonight, you lament not using the laundromat). You arrive at another set of stairs and take it higher up. Drawn towards moonlight intermingling with lamplight and faraway city glow, you enter a sunroom.
Long couches, fluffy rugs and a lacquered coffee table. Cozy. For the seclusion it provides, this sunroom is surprisingly desolate. All the better—you’d be hard-pressed to explain away being spotted up here alone with one other, said other being a very cute guy.
But that’s just you getting carried away with your thoughts. This won’t go anywhere. You shouldn’t expect it to.
Len stops your hand when you reach for the light switch. “Fireworks in ten minutes.”
“Oh, right.”
Snowfall is heavy tonight. Cold works its way into your skin, under it as you approach the glass, press the pads of your fingers into the frosted surface. You absently trace out lines where your breath condenses, lines that lead nowhere in particular but soothing all the same.
“What brings you here tonight, then?” Len’s reflection shifts into view behind a layer of drifting snow.
“Same as you,” you answer, and start to draw puffy cloud shapes onto the glass. “My friend insisted I tag along. She, ah, might still be mediating downstairs.”
“It’s her?” Len laughs. “No wonder you said not to get involved.”
You end up drawing a chibi in Mayu’s likeness, fluffy hair and dress and all. “Yeah.”
“Not sure if you know my friends,” Len says. The two not-hungry guys with him, you vaguely recall. “Dex and Yuu. They practically dragged me out of my apartment.”
The mental image makes you chuckle. “Why, did you have plans?”
“To sleep, yeah.” He starts drawing large Zs next to chibi Mayu. “Classes just ended, man. I need all the sleep I can get before I find work.”
Explains the texture of his hands. You pause on your chibi Nana. “Work? So soon?”
“Mmhmm.” Your fingers brush his. Is it contact static that makes your heart race? “I’m… independent, you could say. And existing is expensive.” He steps away, admiring his abstract art of what looks like, by stretch of the imagination, a button mushroom and a triangular sandwich with wavy lines along the base. “But you know, I’m glad I came tonight.”
You wonder if that’s a rendition of you on the glass.
“That’s great.” You avert your gaze from him in the reflection. “I’m glad I came, too.”
A shuffle, and you’re suddenly enveloped in warmth around the shoulders. It smells faintly of cologne. “Looking at you makes me feel cold,” Len remarks.
He’s been looking at you, your conscience whispers, and you visualize swinging a baseball bat at the thought. “…You’re giving me your jacket despite that?”
“Eh, I’ll be fine.” He’s an awful liar—you can see his arms shudder.
It’s you who’s fine in this temperature. Something about… what was it again? The native climate of your ancestors, something along those lines. You vibe in hotter and colder settings than most.
So you reach out to tug on Len’s shirt, pull him back. “I’m okay, really. You should keep warm,” you implore.
“Alright, then.” His movements come to a stop before his jacket can fall away from you, and he stills.
Oh no.
You’ve overdone it.
You’ve seen this many times before, been in this position more times than you can count—in the arms of a person thoroughly, completely, and utterly captivated by you. Len is no different; the signs were just less prevalent.
And yet, and yet… He draws close. You should put an end to this, push him away, break the spell you’ve cast on him. But you don’t want to. Len is different; you feel safe in his touch. He’s the first one who gives you this feeling, and he might just be—
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
The both of you jump.
“Happy new year!” rumbles the party two floors below.
His bewildered eyes meet your own, and the next beat there’s a burst of color that momentarily blinds you. More flashes follow. Pink, cyan, green, red, yellow… It’s precisely midnight of a new year.
Dazzled by lights and dazed from attraction, you take each other in until your hearts settle. Amid sparks, you see his pupils dilate.
Last chance, the anxious you nags. You ignore it.
What was the saying? New year, new me? Hypocritical as is, you want to apply it here and now.
This time, Len tucks your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his palm. The butterflies in your stomach flutter harder. You wonder if he can hear them, if he has them too.
“Happy new year,” he whispers.
“Happy new year to you too,” you echo.
As he nears and a minty heat caresses your lips, you shut your eyes, letting yourself dream again.