Work Text:
Sayaka didn’t really know or understand what companionship meant until she met Leon.
He was always the one to approach her first, back in those early days. Back before everything. Before despair, before Junko, before tragedy. She wouldn’t have ever spoken to him otherwise, she thinks.
She was mean back then. Much meaner than she even was as a remnant of despair. When she’s a remnant, she has him to soften out her edges. She has someone to protect, to defend, to make the smart choices for. But back then, before she ever knew what friendship looked like, she had no one. She was just herself, broken glass and all.
The first time they meet it’s after orientation. She’s walking through the courtyard towards the exit. Other students are lingering around, getting acquainted with each other. Even the anti-social ones are hanging around, speaking to one another freely, sizing each other up, getting a taste for the competition, or perhaps just trying to learn which people to avoid before the school year even starts. She doesn’t have that kind of luxury. She has work to do. She’s lucky that her manager even let her go to orientation to begin with. She doubts she’ll get to spend much time on campus.
People recognize her, because everyone around the world does. Some people move out of her way. Some people wave nervously and then squeal when she waves back. Some of them just keep talking to each other, oblivious to her existence and happier for it. Some people just stare.
A stab of envy strikes her. Why can’t she just stand around and mingle? Why can’t she make a life long friend on the first day at a world renowned school? She’s with the best of the best and she doesn’t even have enough wiggle room to take a breath. It hurts. It’s so frustrating. She just wants to scream at everyone that they’re lucky and they should know it. That all their wanting doesn’t mean a single thing in comparison to the NEED that burns in her chest. She wants what they have.
She wants what they have so much. She wants what her parents had with each other, the lightness, the ease. She wants the genuine trust that they placed in each other. She wants what Teruyo and Saya have. She wants their comfort, their smiles, their affection. She wants to steal away the joy that slips from them in wafts. She wants the mischief that Ayaka and Satomi get into. She wants the play fights, she wants arm wrestling, she wants ultimate rock paper scissors that ends in bruises. She wants the ability to, at the end of the day, have someone to be exhausted with.
As she walks further and further away from the main building, the people begin to thin out, opting to gravitate towards the central hub of it all. The further she walks away, the more alone she is, and the more lonely she feels. It’s akin to the gnawing pang of hunger in her stomach, but different. Her thoughts get more stormy, but her expression stays the same. She hates being alone, and she hates the limousine that waits for her, ready to take her to the next stop. The next fan meet up. The next horrible horrible thing.
A hand is placed on her shoulder.
She whips her head around quickly, guarded. She doesn’t know who this is but there have been plenty of time where people have wanted to hurt her. They don’t let people get away with it in public, but there aren’t a lot of witnesses around right now. And anyone who could see her being murdered would be too far away to do much of anything.
But she doesn’t hear or feel malice. There’s so much NOISE coming off of this guy in waves. She feels like she’s been thrust right under the battering of a tidal wave. For a split moment, for a split second, she sees his whole life, she feels the want that burns in his chest.
I want to be a musician. I want to be a singer. I’ll be the frontman. Put me in your band. Let me sing for you. I hate baseball. I want to go home. I want her to let me into the world she lives in.
She wrenches herself back, almost as if she has been burned, and he looks startled. And now all she can hear is him. No one else’s thoughts. It’s all zeroed in on one particular point in the universe. It is both comforting, and utterly terrifying. She wants to hit him.
“Woah. Damn. Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare ya!” He laughs awkwardly, and smartly puts some distance between them. It does little to stop the noise in her head. He winks, but its a performance for an audience she’s not a part of, an audience she can’t see. Mr. and Mrs. Kuwata. “Guess I was just so excited I forgot how to be polite.”
It’s middle school all over again. She is staring into the eyes of someone so sweet. So kind. So earnest. She is staring into the soul of someone who doesn’t want to hurt her. And she feels such a violent rage take hold of her. He’s better than her. He’s better. He’s hurt and he’s still nice. He’s a good person. Why isn’t she a good person? She wants to hurt him. She wants to break his arm like she broke that girls arm at the variety show just last month. The adrenaline rush from it still lingers in her system like nothing else. Bones snapping. A scream. A silent widening of the eyes.
He speaks again and she’s reminded of where she is.
“Listen, I uh, I know you’re a busy person,” He starts, and she nods. She is. She’s busy. She has places to be.
“But, if you ever have a chance. I have some questions? Y’know. About being a singer.”
She blinks at him.
He’s sweet, but not infallible. He wants what she has. Who she is. But he doesn’t actually want it. No one would want to live like this. On the edge all the time. Paranoid. Worked past the point of exhaustion. Hurt for fun. A punching bag for the higher ups and someone to sabotage out of jealousy by the ones below. A mannequin, a burning effigy, a paper weight, an IDOL.
He seems to lose his nerve.
“Sorry, sorry. I know it’s sounds stupid. I got in here on my baseball skills. But I can’t stand that shit anymore. I know it wouldn’t be the same genre as you, but I really want to be the frontman in a band!” He starts out strong, and then completely loses steam, as if he’s waiting for her to shut him down.
“Please?”
And at that, she can’t help but let out a laugh. It’s something that she’s even confused by. It’s not a pity laugh. It’s not a laugh she planned out. It’s not a laugh that was strategic and designed to charm and beguile for her own personal gain. No.
She just. Laughed. Like it was normal and easy for her to do.
Genine.
Just a laugh.
He bristles, like she’s making fun of him, and she shakes her head.
And she finally speaks up.
“No no, I’m not laughing at you, promise. I have somewhere to be right now. But the next time you see me, feel free to ask as much as you want. I’ll see what I can do to help you.”
And he finally looks HAPPY. There’s a big smile on his face. He goes to reach out to her again, casual and so free, but thinks better of it. She wishes he’d crossed the gap and clapped her on the shoulder or punched her in the arm like he planned to. Like she was just a friend he had on his sports team.
And as she walks away and waves, a strange sort of lightness, an ease, worms it’s way into her brain. The urge to hit him dissolves a little bit. It’s still there. She still wants to punch him in the stomach and have him double over and make him regret being born. She still wants to crush his dreams under a rock, under a heel, and tell him that being what she is is hell. Tell him that what he wants to be will kill him. Tell him that had he, in his current state, had to walk a day in her shoes he’d fling himself off the nearest skyscraper.
But he’s a good person. He shouldn’t have to do that.
She vows to never let him be hurt like she was. Because he was a good person. And no one deserves to be where she is right now. Especially not a sweet baseball player who just wanted to think for himself for once. He’ll just try on the clothes, realize he doesn’t like it, and then find something better to like.
Yeah. That’ll fix it.