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artificialqueens · 4 years

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One Direction (To Your Heart), 2/6 (Methessence) - Cheetah

Summary: Jaida will share two tattoos with her soulmate: one will be her own first tattoo, whilst the other will be theirs. And if there’s anything Jaida knows about her soulmate, it’s that they love One Direction - why else would it be written out on her skin?

What Jaida doesn’t expect, though, is that she’ll meet her soulmate during the final week of preparation for her first big fashion show, or that it’ll be the bubbly, blue-haired artist she’s working with.

Maybe it’s time she learned to embrace the unexpected. And One Direction.

Chapter Summary: Jaida meets Crystal, and finally gets acquainted with One Direction.

A/N: The song in this chapter is “Kiss You” by One Direction. I will admit that writing this fic has made me appreciate them a lot more than I used to lol

Thank you so much to @dollalpaca for betaing!

Ao3 || my blog

Meeting

At first, all Jaida sees is blue.

Her gaze swims in bright necklaces and denim, in cobalt hair rippling with colour like the ocean on a summer’s day. And then she meets brown eyes as wild and untameable as the seaside cliffs, shimmering like they’ve been touched by the moon. Jaida feels her breath catch in her throat.

“I’m Crystal.” The stranger extends her hand for Jaida to shake, and the sapphire bracelets adorning her wrists glimmer in the white light of the lobby. “Crystal Methyd. I’m the assistant events coordinator - I was told we’d be working together?”

“You’d be right,” Jaida greets her with a warm smile as she shakes her hand. Crystal’s grip is soft but firm, matching the silent confidence in her umber eyes.

Today is the first of many days they’ll be working together, doing odd jobs to ensure this fashion show runs smoothly. It’s Jaida’s first show with the Del Rio brand — in fact, it’s her first big fashion show in general — and she wants nothing more than for it to go well. She started working with Bianca shortly after her graduation, when the brand was nothing more than a handful of people with sewing machines and a dream. Now, it’s expanded into so much more, and Jaida is desperate to prove that she’s really, truly meant to be here.

As she stands opposite Crystal’s sunny smile, Bianca’s words from earlier in the morning ring in her head: “Here’s your schedule, Hall. You’re working with some girl who sounds like she might be a drug addict.”

She hopes beyond hope that Bianca is wrong. Nothing is going to ruin this for her, least of all the crazy assistant of the events coordinator.

And upon first glance, Crystal is as wild as her name suggests, with her summer-sky hair and eclectic sense of style. But there is such excitement in her smile and her brilliant eyes that Jaida can’t help but be immediately endeared, the worry dissipating slightly in her chest.

“So,” Crystal says, drawing out the syllable as she bounces on the balls of her feet. “Hair and makeup artists, yeah? You ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Jaida tucks her clipboard into her purse, even though she’s perused her schedule enough times that she’s sure she’s memorised it by now, and follows Crystal to her car.

They listen to One Direction for the entire drive.

At first, Jaida doesn’t realise what she’s listening to - she’s only aware that it’s some generic pop song that she’s probably heard before and couldn’t be bothered remembering. Crystal hums along, slightly off-key and warbly, but Jaida doesn’t mind.

“You okay with this music?” Crystal asks, midway through the song, as though only just realising Jaida might not agree with her taste in music.

“Yeah, I’m chill.” Jaida doesn’t actually like it, but she isn’t about to start a debate about the validity of modern pop. Besides, Crystal seems happy - and equally at ease with their lack of small talk - and Jaida is content with that.

“So tell me, girl, if everytime we to-o-ouch, you get this kinda ru-u-ush,” Crystal sings aloud while they’re waiting at a red light. “God, I love this song.”

“It’s not bad,” Jaida admits begrudgingly, stifling a smile when Crystal shoots her a look of abject horror.

“‘Not bad?’ This is art!”

“Naw, child, this ain’t it.”

Okay, so maybe she was wrong about starting a debate.

“No one knows how to appreciate One Direction anymore,” Crystal laments, as the lights change and she returns her focus to the road.

One Direction. Jaida’s mind can’t help but wander in the direction of her mysterious soulmate. It’s been four years since the night her soul tattoo appeared, and there’s still no sign of them. It doesn’t worry her like it used to; she’s decided to let fate run its course, and in the meantime, she does what she pleases. Now, seeing the mark on her skin has become routine. She’s grown accustomed to its presence the same way she got used to seeing herself with earrings after she got her ears pierced.

Soon enough, they’re arriving at the hairstylist’s studio, its walls lined with wigs and photographs of models with perfect hair. Crystal is like a bird, bright and breezy, hopping through the room with an enthusiasm that seems to radiate from all of her features. For a moment, Jaida wonders whether or not her own posture is too stiff, too poised, and has to remind herself that she’s a professional, here on business. So is Crystal, but the word professional seems to carry a different meaning for her.

And, as it turns out, any worries Jaida had about Crystal are unfounded. She is competent - incredibly so, in fact. The Crystal she sees in the stylist’s office is one who knows what she’s doing; who uses her wacky style and charm to her advantage, who gets her point across clearly and concisely. All Jaida needs to do is make sure Bianca’s vision is followed.

In a few hours, everything is sorted out, and the meeting is over faster than Jaida could have anticipated. The drive back passes in much the same fashion as the drive over: as soon as Crystal turns the key in the ignition, the same poppy, upbeat love songs begin pounding through the car. Crystal sings along shamelessly.

And again, all they seem to be listening to is One Direction.

“Do you listen to anything other than this stuff, child?”

“Well, yes,” Crystal says, “but I’m kind of obsessively listening to my One Direction playlist right now. I can change it, if you want.” She doesn’t sound offended, and Jaida likes that about her. She’s easy to get along with, and in the few short snippets of conversation they’ve had, Crystal has taken any teasing comment with an easygoing laugh and a toss of her ocean-blue hair.

“One Direction is fine,” Jaida decides after a moment. She can’t help but think of her soulmate, and whether or not they, too, have a One Direction playlist that they listen to on repeat. She might as well take this opportunity to get acquainted with their favourite band. “I just wanted to make sure you’ve got more taste than this.”

“Haters gonna hate,” Crystal replies breezily, grinning at Jaida in the rearview mirror, and Jaida grins right back.

Jaida is unusually nervous.

She swirls the words on her tongue — three simple words — and wonders at her own anxiety. She isn’t usually like this, and she’d hardly expect Crystal of all people to be the reason for it.

She bites the bullet as Crystal locks her car.

“You want lunch?” Jaida asks cordially.

Crystal chews on her bottom lip, silent, and for a moment, Jaida wonders what in the world she’s done wrong. Do event coordinators have something against eating lunch with their coworkers? Maybe it’s something specific to Crystal’s team, or maybe Crystal just doesn’t like her.

“I mean, I would,” Crystal says eventually, her voice high-pitched and sheepish. “But I promised I’d hang out with Widow on my break, so… I can’t.”

Jaida has no idea who Widow is, and she doesn’t bother asking. She isn’t sure whether or not she wants to know why all the people she’s hearing about today have such strange names.

“It’s cool,” she says instead. “I’ll see you after.”

“See you then!”

They part ways in the lobby. Jaida finds Nicky in her dressing room, saying something in French to her phone, adding a slow emphasis to every syllable as though she is talking to a small child. A moment later, a voice parrots it back through the phone, and Nicky visibly winces.

“We’ll work on it,” she promises. Her gaze snaps up when Jaida snickers, and Jaida takes her glare as an invitation to sit down right beside her.

“Hey, bitches,” Jaida says, grinning when she peers at the phone and sees Jackie’s pixelated face looking back. “How’re y’all going on this fine day?”

“Damn, something’s got you in a good mood,” Nicky comments wryly, but her cold facade is broken by the slight quirk of her lips. “Did that meth girl give you a joint or something?”

“I don’t smoke at work, you dumbass,” Jaida chides her playfully as Jackie laughs. “Also, her name is Crystal, and she is so fucking good at her job.”

Nicky raises a playful eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Don’t give me that look, bitch. Didn’t you realise I’m back half an hour early?”

“Nope.”

“You guys, I’m so confused,” Jackie cuts in. “Since when was there a meth girl?”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!” Nicky exclaims. She’d been there when Jaida had received her schedule, and had gawked right along with her when they saw Crystal’s name. “Just this chick Jaida’s working with for the next week. What was her full name again, Jaida? Crystal Meth?”

“Crystal Methyd,” Jaida corrects, as Jackie’s hand flies to her face in a feeble attempt to maintain her composure. Jaida can’t help but wonder if she’d react the same if she met Crystal in person; now that Jaida can put a face — and a personality — to the name, it seems less outlandish and more… quirky.

“So? What’s she like? Apart from being ‘so fucking good at her job?’” Nicky asks, her eyes gleaming with a strange sort of curiosity. “Is she as crazy as you thought?”

“And then some,” Jaida laughs. “But she’s, like, a fun crazy. It’s cool. She looks like a lollipop.”

Nicky nods slowly. “Please elaborate.”

“Blue hair, a fuck ton of necklaces… the whole shebang,” Jaida says. She’s still stunned at how Crystal doesn’t get sick of the constant rattling of the beads. “Like, you know those big ass lollipops we had as kids? The swirly rainbow ones? Imagine one of those, but blue. That’s Crystal.”

Nicky nearly chokes on her lunch.

“That is the single most amazing thing I have ever heard,” she proclaims, mouth still half full. “Calling someone a ‘big ass lollipop’. Have I told you I love you, Jaida?”

“Hey!” Jackie whines, pretending to be wounded by the statement. “I thought your heart belonged to me, Miss Doll.”

“You can share,” Nicky replies haughtily, sticking her tongue out at Jackie.

“No fair.”

“Deal with it.”

Jaida laughs, already all too familiar with Nicky and Jackie’s playful banter. They might bicker like an old married couple, but Jaida always sees how Nicky rolls her sleeves up when she’s nervous, sees how she’ll immediately relax as she gazes at her lilac flowers.

Jaida has known Nicky since they were kids, and she has never seen anyone make her smile like Jackie does.

“Well,” Jaida says, “unfortunately for you, child, my heart will soon belong to an avid One Direction fan. Sorry ’bout it.”

Soon, she thinks, as soon as the words have left her lips. How soon? It’s such a loose term. Soon could be twenty years, or it could be tomorrow. Fate has left her nothing but a string of words to follow, and she has given nothing back - save for the Arabic tattoo, her skin is empty.

“Girl, if they were still a thing, I would sit through an entire concert for you to find your soulmate,” Nicky promises. “And that’s no small deal, Jaida - that’s ten years off of my life, just for you.”

“Luckily for you they’re still no longer a thing,” Jackie remarks.

Jaida chuckles. “Actually, I listened to some One Direction today, in the car. Crystal played it non-stop.”

“Maybe Crystal is your soulmate!” Nicky gasps, bolting upright in her seat.

“Bitch! She’s my coworker!” Jaida can’t help but wrinkle her nose - Crystal is nice, but soulmates is taking it a bit too far.

“That’s how all the best love stories start, you know!”

“Naw, child, I doubt it. We’re too different.”

“Since when has that stopped anyone?” Jackie grins, sharing a knowing glance with Nicky.

“I’ll believe it until proven otherwise,” Nicky insists, slamming her fist on the table emphatically. “Besides, she sounds like the type to get a One Direction tattoo in a foreign language, don’t you think?”

Jaida rolls her eyes, amused. “You haven’t even met her!”

“And also,” Nicky continues slyly, ignoring Jaida. “You have no proof that she’s not your soulmate. You won’t know for sure until she shows you her collarbone.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Jaida deadpans. “What do you want me to do, take her to, like, a strip club or something and hope she takes her clothes off? You can do that, child, I’m keeping things professional.”

Jackie laughs. “Let’s plan a double date.”

“Let’s get through this next week first, then we’ll talk,” Jaida counters, knowing the possibility of her following through will be slim. Still, she can’t help but wonder if by then, she and Crystal will actually know each other well enough for the idea to be plausible.

“Oh, wait! I have something to show you,” Nicky gasps suddenly, swiping off of FaceTime and opening photos instead. She chooses an image before swivelling her phone around for Jaida to see. “Sorry, I know this is going totally off-topic, but you must see this.”

It’s a photograph of Shea Couleé, one of Nicky’s fellow models, standing in a gauzy gown of galactic violets and a shimmering ebony. Jaida recognises the design instantly - it was one of the first things she pitched to Bianca, who, later on, begrudgingly admitted that she liked it so much she’d nearly promoted Jaida on the spot. The top half of the dress is covered in jewelled stars and surrounded by rings of planets, whilst the bottom is layers of tulle and gleaming black satin that shines like the midnight sky. Jaida remembers thinking something like this would be impossible to bring to life, yet now, she’s not only seen it on a mannequin, but also right here, in this photograph of Shea.

And she looks so beautiful, Jaida almost feels herself tearing up. Shea’s warm brown skin seems to glow amidst the glimmering jewels and star-shaped rhinestones. She holds her head high, ink-dark hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, spilling over constellations and galaxies. She looks regal, silver specks like starlight pooling in her obsidian eyes. She’s surrounded by tiny worlds, supernovas and shining stars, and Shea wears them all like she’s the sun. Jaida can’t take her eyes off of her.

“I know, right?” Nicky gushes. “Doesn’t she look so incredible?”

“Holy fuck. Holy shit, child, I can’t. This isn’t real. Pinch me.”

“It’s real!” Nicky promises, grinning from ear to ear. “I saw her at the fitting. She looks even better in person - I can’t wait for you to see her model it.”

Jaida genuinely has no words. They lodge in her throat, sticky with unspoken emotion. This moment feels… powerful. It feels like all her dreams have come true at once. All her late nights designing, sewing, stoning fabrics and adjusting seams - every moment feels worth it. She stares at the image, trying to sear it into her mind so that she’ll never forget it, wears the thought of it like a badge of honour. Jaida feels like anything is possible; like this show might just be perfect.

Jaida finds Crystal sitting in her car, headbanging to music so loud Jaida can hear it from outside — it’s still One Direction — as though the world isn’t passing right outside the windows.

“Hey, bitch,” Jaida greets her cheerfully, sliding into the passenger seat. She has to choke back a laugh when Crystal practically leaps out of her skin, her back stiffening until it’s ramrod straight.

“Shit,” she gasps. “Sorry. You literally gave me a heart attack. Oh my god, don’t ever do that again.”

This time, Jaida can’t hold back an amused snort. “I could tell. You were completely in your own world just then.”

“Such is the power of One Direction,” Crystal replies sagely as she turns the music back down to a more appropriate volume. “By the way, we’ve got another stop after this next meeting - the designers just finished the flyers and stuff, so we gotta go print them off.”

“No trouble.” Jaida can’t say she’s enthusiastic about having yet another task on her itinerary, but this one is so minimal effort that she can’t complain.

“Right, cool.” Crystal shifts the gearstick as Jaida leans back in her seat, surrounded by the generic pop melodies of One Direction and her own thoughts.

She can’t help but reminisce on Nicky’s words from earlier. What if all this is the work of fate? Are these car rides — and the fact that Crystal has, so far, played absolutely nothing but One Direction — destiny?

It sends an undeniable shiver up Jaida’s spine. To think that this moment was fated to happen no matter what she does feels… strange, to say the least. But if they are fated to fall in love, why doesn’t Jaida feel it?

She chances a sidewards glance at Crystal, and realises that she must have taken her denim jacket off sometime during the lunch break. Now, the jacket is loosely tied around her waist, and the T-shirt she’s wearing above it leaves her arms bare.

Bare enough for Jaida to see her tattoos.

There’s one on her right bicep: Jaida can only see the lower half of it, but it looks intricately detailed. She notices a small cat and a pair of legs before her gaze lands on the inside of Crystal’s other arm, where two circular symbols are inked onto her skin.

A weird combination of disappointment and relief washes over Jaida. Crystal isn’t fated to be hers after all - there are her tattoos, not one but two of them, likely both tied to a mysterious, predestined love.

You haven’t seen her collarbone yet, Nicky’s voice whispers in Jaida’s mind, but Jaida shoves it away. She doesn’t care. This is confirmation enough.

It’s incredibly common for people to get their soul tattoos in obvious places, like these tattoos on Crystal’s arms, or the flowers on Nicky and Jackie’s wrists that led them to one another. Jaida still remembers how Nicky would refuse to cover up her tattoos when she went outside, because “today could be the day, Jaida!”

Jaida almost laughs at the memory. She wonders if her own soulmate has spent as much of the last four years as possible with their tattoo showing. That might make things easier.

But Jaida has decided that she doesn’t care for easy. She’s grateful that her tattoo — her fucking One Direction tattoo — is in a place that she can cover up, and that in the meantime, her freedom is still hers. She doesn’t even need to think about her soulmate if she doesn’t want to. The words on her collarbone are the only things binding them, and right now, that bond can easily be ignored.

Her thoughts drift, momentarily, to Gigi - the girl she met years ago, with the honey-gold hair and skin as smooth as flower petals. She thinks about the image of the little doll on Gigi’s ribcage: the only trace of ink on her pale skin.

They had briefly asked about each other’s marks, and that was it. They didn’t match, but it didn’t matter. It had never mattered, even as they watched the spark die out and realised that maybe it was just destiny.

They’re still friends. Jaida sees Gigi sometimes, and it still makes her smile. Even if it’s over — even if it was never meant to be — they shared something special, regardless of their mismatched tattoos.

Jaida glances over at Crystal again. She’s focused on the road ahead, but she’s still quietly murmuring along to the music. She’s undeniably beautiful, Jaida thinks, with her sandy freckles and cerulean hair. She chances one more look at Crystal’s tattoos and fires off a text to Nicky.

I was right!! She’s already tattooed, so… no chance there.

Nicky’s reply comes instantaneously.

Seen her collarbone yet? ; )

Jaida leaves her on read.

Jaida and Crystal are the last customers in the print store.

It’s nearly closing time, and the girl behind the counter looks rather irritated to see them there. Ordinarily, Jaida wouldn’t have been too happy to be waiting around this late either, but today, she has Crystal. Talking to Crystal is easy; conversation flows between them like bubbling spring water, and Jaida soon forgets about the time.

She picks up one of the flyers as a staff member deposits a pile of them on the counter. Beside her, Crystal looks like she’s about to vibrate right out of her skin with anticipation.

“You good there?” Jaida asks, her brows furrowing in concern.

“Oh, yeah, totally.” Crystal shoots her a self-assured grin. “Just waiting to see what you think.”

Jaida’s gaze darts back to the flyer in her hand, and she almost does a double take. Looking back at her is a gorgeous model, dark skin shining a brilliant topaz in the gold lights and falling glitter.

And she’s wearing Jaida’s galaxy dress.

The drawing of it is almost better than the real thing. It no longer looks like a garment - rather, the model has become one with the universe itself, as though she carries worlds in her palms and constellations in her eyes. She looks powerful, commanding, ethereal.

Jaida’s gaze travels down the line of the model’s body and there, in the bottom corner, is a tiny signature of swirling script and looping letters. Jaida peers closer at it, making out an elegant C and the long tail of a Y.

“…Crystal, did you draw this?”

“I did!” Crystal seems to brighten, her face alight with pleasure, at Jaida’s realisation. “Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? Child, this is amazing!” She traces the outline of the perfect silhouette, still in awe of the work of art she’s holding. Crystal’s talent is immeasurable.

“I was given some photocopies of the designs that are gonna be in the show,” Crystal says. “And I just liked this one so much I knew I had to draw it. Do you know who designed it? The sketch didn’t look like one of Bianca’s.”

“Yeah. It’s not,” Jaida replies, almost shyly. “It’s mine.”

“No way!” Crystal gasps, slamming her palms onto the counter and wincing at the noise she makes. “How are you not, like, head designer? Hell, you could probably take Bianca’s job if you wanted to.”

This gets a laugh out of Jaida. “Bitch, I’d have to pry it from her cold, dead hands!”

“Okay, okay, true. But holy shit, Jaida. This dress is gorgeous. What are you even doing running these silly errands? You should be with all the designers. Why aren’t you with all the designers? I bet Bianca’s just scared you’re gonna outdo her.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Jaida snickers, “but it’s really just that we don’t have enough people yet. We’re still a small brand, so it’s very, like, all hands on deck. Everyone’s gotta do a bit of everything.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Crystal nods slowly. “How long have you been working with Bianca?”

“A year now,” Jaida replies. “It’s a good job. I get to do a lot of stuff - I’ve designed, sewed, and I did some of the models’ makeup one time.”

“Wow,” Crystal breathes, and Jaida warms at how impressed she looks. “You’ve gotta show me more of your dresses when we do the run-through in a couple days.”

Jaida smiles. “Sure.” There’s a pause before she adds, “what about you? What got you into event coordination?”

“I wanted to be a freelance artist for the longest time,” Crystal explains, shrugging. “But it’s just… not easy making a living like that. So I found some jobs where I could do some art here and there, and this was the first one that stuck.”

“I get that,” Jaida agrees quietly. It’s easy to have big dreams, but making them come true is another story - she feels lucky to have met Bianca when she did. “But with a talent like this,” she continues, gesturing to the flyer in her hands, “I can see you going places. Big places.”

“Aw.” Crystal’s face softens in a smile. “That’s so sweet. Thanks, Jaida.”

“That’s everything,” the girl behind the counter interrupts before Jaida can respond. “You’re with Del Rio, right?”

“Yep.”

“Right. All yours, then.” She gestures to the boxes of flyers and programs before turning away to shut off the printers.

“Welp, let’s get moving,” Crystal says, grunting as she heaves a box off the counter. Jaida follows, pretending not to notice the way Crystal’s tattoos flex as she moves. They load the boxes of flyers and event programs into the car before Crystal slams the boot shut, turning to face Jaida and smiling triumphantly.

“All in a good day’s work,” Jaida says, grinning.

“We were amazing today,” Crystal agrees, putting her hand up for a high-five. Jaida smiles and hits Crystal’s palm with her own.

Crystal tuts. “That was weak,” she tells Jaida. “Come on, you can give me more than that!” She raises her hand again, waving it in Jaida’s face. “Go! Go! Go! Show me what you’ve got!”

“What the fuck,” Jaida laughs, but she complies, whacking Crystal’s hand with as much strength as she can. “Better?”

“Oof,” Crystal groans, shaking out her hand before breaking into a smile. “See? That was much better. I knew you had it in you.”

“You are so crazy.”

“That’s old news, Jaida,” Crystal replies sagely. “Old, old news.”

Jaida snorts, almost in disbelief. Crystal is so amusing.

“I see. Thanks for catching me up,” she says, playing along.

“You’re very welcome.” Crystal grins brightly before opening the car door. “Now let’s take this stuff back so we can go home. I want a warm shower and some food.”

“That sounds amazing,” Jaida murmurs, sliding into the passenger seat beside Crystal.

“Yeah. You know what else sounds amazing?” Crystal asks, grabbing her phone as the car hums to life. “This song. This is the perfect way to end a good day at work.”

A moment later, upbeat, electronic music fills the car, and Crystal immediately begins bobbing her head to the beat.

“Let me guess,” Jaida says, pretending to think, “One Direction?”

Crystal’s brilliant grin is all the confirmation she needs.

They begin driving, and Jaida will admit that while she doesn’t like the song, Crystal’s finally-free-of-work-for-the-day excitement is infectious.

“Baby say yeah, yeah, yeah!” Crystal sings as they’re waiting at a red light.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jaida joins in, and her chest warms when Crystal turns to her, eyes wide and shining with a pleasant surprise.

“If you don’t wanna take it slow, and you just wanna take me home, baby say yeah, yeah, yeah,” Crystal sings, her gaze flicking expectantly to Jaida.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jaida finishes. Crystal giggles, bubbly with delight, as the light changes and she resumes driving.

Jaida leans back into the faux leather of the seat, her skin flush with a strange — but not unwelcome — warmth. It feels like Crystal’s presence has touched her in a peculiar way. Her bluebell laughter, her childlike excitement, her wild and wonderful charisma — all of it feels so comfortable to Jaida already, even though she’s only known Crystal for a single day.

She likes Crystal, she’s decided. Crystal with the strange name and the lollipop hair. Crystal who sings along to One Direction in the car. Crystal with the tattoos painting her tanned skin.

Jaida leaves work that evening feeling light on her feet, a lively melody playing on loop in her head. This day turned out better than she could have expected, and she has high hopes for the week ahead.

She hums the melody that’s stuck in her head as she boards the train on her way home. It’s cheerful, upbeat - where did she hear this again?

With a laugh, she realises it’s the One Direction song she and Crystal had sung together on the way back home. Jaida decides it might not be so bad after all.

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida essence hall #crystal methyd #nicky doll #jackie cox #crystal x jaida #jackie x nicky #fluff #lesbian au #soulmate au #diversity fic #black girl magic fic #one direction to your heart #cheetah #s12 #concrit welcome

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shapedlikeafriend · 6 years

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here is my @danganronpasecretsanta gift for @enddeux !!! merry christmas navis !!!! and thank you for helping organize this lovely event !!!!!! i really hope this is to your liking >u<)/

Fujisaki fidgeted in front of the empty classroom door; or, at least, the classroom door which the message they got claimed would be empty. Of course, there was always the chance they read it wrong, or misinterpreted what it said. "Old building, 1-B classroom, 7AM" was a specific enough description, but it was so quiet and deserted... Their fists clenched tighter the longer they spent frozen before that doorway. It was way too likely they'll just bother a janitor or, goodness forbid, a teacher by barging in. Maybe they should wait. Maybe they should call Ishimaru and apologize for messing up again. Maybe they--

"Oh, g'mornin', kiddo," said, or more accurately, yawned Oowada, who looked an exhausted mess. "Thank fuck you're here; was startin' to think I came to the wrong place."

Oowada ruffled Fujisaki's hair, and they giggled. "Good morning, Oowada-kun! I was afraid of the same thing actually, eheh..."

"So..." His grip slid from their head to their shoulder. He couldn't help but smile when they wrapped their arm around his waist in return. "Any clue what the hell he wants at this hour?"

"No clue. He was pretty vague about it, which... probably means he's in mom mode again."

"Shit, man-- this ain't a good time to be nagged at..."

"You say that every time he does this, Oowada-kun," said Fujisaki, patting his back in mock sympathy.

"'Cause it's never a good time!"

The both of them made their way into the classroom, and the first image that jumped at them was Ishimaru. He was crouching near one of the whiteboard's corners, appearing to doodle little caricatures of the three of them in its free space. He was well into giving Oowada the fluffiest pompadour in the world before the sound of the door prompted him to erase it in a panic. "A-Ah, Kyoudai! Fujisaki-kun! You're late!"

"Sorry, Ishimaru-kun!," said Fujisaki, making their way to one of the frontmost seats in the center of the room. "Heehee, I love how you did my hair...!"

"Oh! Erm, I'm pleased to hear I could do it justice." Ishimaru's eyes darted to the floor, a sheepish smile unbefitting of a 'big tall authority figure' flashing across his face. Not that he seemed to mind. The others certainly didn't either.

"Was gonna say somethin' about how this better be worth it, but it already is," said Oowada, smirking and planting his feet on his desk after seating himself.

Ishimaru cleared his throat. "While I am flattered and thankful, I did not gather us here to discuss my... artistic endeavours."

"Can we, though?" Oowada folded his arms behind his head. "'Cause the way you were doin' it made it look like you do this often and--"

"Anyhow!" The squeak of Ishimaru's boots against the floor was almost loud enough to cover the snickering. Almost. "What I did gather us for is an emergency meeting!"

When Ishimaru next turned around, he was carrying his telescopic pointer (which he literally never left home without), and wore a much more stern expression on his face. "You see, you might not have taken notice of this yourselves, but I have been carefully analyzing your momentum and morale for your activities, curricular and otherwise, and what I've seen has made me concerned."

The pointer clacked against the left side of the board, which was peppered with concise, technical bullet-points relating to their grades and schedules. "One of the main sticking points that have caught my eye is the decline in your workout sessions. The general downward trend I've noticed in the two of you started when you stopped."

Fujisaki shrank onto themself, and they could tell Oowada tensed up as well. Ishimaru's eyes softened.

"Of course, these matters needn't be discussed if it's uncomfortable. However, what we must talk about is what we may do to improve things for you. And I'm not speaking as a Discipline Monitor, I speak as a friend."

"Is that what ya call it? 'Friend'?" Oowada quipped.

Ishimaru leaned forward, banging his hands on the table. "Kyoudai, I'm serious!"

"And I'm not?"

"I'm very sorry," said Fujisaki, fiddling with their uniform's ribbon. "I didn't mean to... mess up like this..."

Oowada tilted his head down and sighed. "It's my own damn business what I do or don't do with my time, but... I know this shit always gets to ya, and it's a dick move for me not to do anything about it."

"No, that's not..." Ishimaru placed his pointer on the desk and made his way over to them, gently kneeling and placing his hands on their shoulders. "I did not call you here to scold you. Your difficult times, whatever they may be, are not a 'mistake' you need to be held accountable for. The only reason behind this direct approach is that I know how... averse to accepting help you can be."

"Oy, I'm 'averse' 'cause I don't need it. I shouldn't need it. You didn't need to drag everyone out here at this hour for this, Kyoudai."

"I respect where you're coming from, Kyoudai, but I must disagree. Isolating yourself with your burdens is what led you here, and it can only get worse if nothing changes."

Oowada snapped his head to meet Ishimaru's eyes. "I don't know what the hell you mean by 'led here' 'cause I'm fuckin' fine,, alright?! I've been fuckin' fine; you're just fussin' over stuff that no one gives a shit about!"

"You aren't fine. You're screaming again," Ishimaru cautioned, his tone soft, yet firm.

"I..." Oowada hesitated. "...Ffffuck. Yeah, you're right. I've been... stressed."

Ishimaru squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, then left him to swallow his pride in the comfort of solitude turning to address Fujisaki. "I assume the same goes for you?"

"Y-Yeah..." Their hands curled into fists atop their lap. "To be honest... I loved our workouts. They made me feel a lot more accomplished and strong, but... At the same time, I felt like I was so slow... Even when we made our sessions private, just..." They paused to sigh, shrinking further into themself. "Oowada-kun was so, so far ahead, I couldn't stop the thoughts from making me feel small."

Oowada grunted and shifted to face the both of them. "Dunno if it helps ya any, but..." He sat several moments in silence, as though he were building strength to say what he was thinking. He lurched to the side and slammed his fist into the table, making Fujisaki jump. This seemed to have given him the motivation he needed, and he began talking. "I was feelin' the same thing. Heh... You kept pushing through shit, even though you had the weight of the fuckin' world in your shoulders. Made me real pissed off at myself. Guess not being the strongest person in the room makes my thoughts flare up too."

Fujisaki shook their head. "But you are stronger than me!"

"Like hell I am."

"Everyone, please! It's not a competition," said Ishimaru, trying to take the reins on the situation again. "You have earned the praise and admiration of one another, as well as my own. Surely that means your strengths are at least valid, doesn't it?" They groaned unenthusiastically.

Ishimaru thrust his hands behind his back and began walking towards the whiteboard again. "Hm. Well, we were able to talk about and isolate the problem, and that is enough to consider solutions. We have made considerable progress."

Oowada chuffed. "This kind of deep-rooted shit ain't somehing you can solve in a week, bro."

"Perhaps not!" he exclaimed, brandishing his pointer with great vigour. "However, I have faith that the both of you can begin taking steps forward very soon! You are both resolute and admirable individuals who've accomplished much more than you realize! And I will be here to assist you to the best of my abilities!"

"...Thank you, Ishimaru-kun... It means so much that you're willing to put so much of yourself into this." Fujisaki felt a smile tug at their tired face.

"Why would I not? I love you," Ishimaru said all too casually. Which he only noticed after several seconds of flustered silence had already tightened an iron grip on the room. "I-I, ah..." His gaze plummeted towards the floor.

"I... I love you too, Ishimaru-kun," Fujisaki was barely able to squeak out from behind their hands.

They both turned their eyes to Oowada, whose grunts were slowly rising to a crescendo. Before anyone could ask what was happening, he slammed his fist against the table again, this time breaking it clean in half. The sound of crackling wood ripped though the room, but was immediately engulfed by his screaming. "I FUCKING LOVE YOU TOO, KYOUDAI!"

Nobody had time to recover from the shock of what just happened (least of all Oowada himself) before foorsteps from the corridor and the door bursting open put them even more on edge.

Leaning against the doorway stood a concerned Yukizome, who slowly scanned the room and waited for an explanation that wouldn't come. "Are, uh... you guys okay...?"

Ishimaru stepped forward while the rest of the group fidgeted in silence. "Yes, Yukizome-sensei! We are, ah-- we are just... that is to say, this is--"

She held out her hands as if to show she was harmless and flashed a gentle, if not befuddled, smile. "No, no, it's alright; you don't look like you're up to anything bad, so I'll just leave you all to your... business? Heehee!"

With a quick "please don't break anything else so I can cover for you," she left, leaving the trio all the more red-faced. It felt as if eternities had passed before any of them could unfreeze themselves to speak up.

"...We probably need to work on our PDA, huh...?" asked Fujisaki, all but curled up into a ball in their seat.

"Noted," said Ishimaru, marching towards the teacher's desk with all the grace of a bag of bricks. "All in favour of finishing this meeting posthaste to make time to scream in utter agony and embarrassment in the comfort of our rooms, raise your hands."

Every hand in the room shot up, and the meeting went on, much quicker than Ishimaru had planned to.

Students gathered in droves after the final bell rang, turning the corridors of the school into a suffocating mess; a cascade of blaring footsteps and rumbling voices that made your brain itch. Luckily enough, if there was one thing Ryouma Hoshi was efficient at, it was slipping between the seams quickly enough that the noise wouldn't drill into his skull, and as it all faded out, the outside never felt fresher. He was never going to get used to a school environment again, he mused.

A buzzing in his pocket knocked the thoughts out of his mind. He tapped and swiped at his phone, and its notification took him to a message. A picture of Angie and Akamatsu, giving the camera peace signs, their cheeks sprinkled with the odd bit of chocolate or sprinkles. Beneath it, text read "waiting fr uuuuuu 💗💗". Hoshi chuckled.

He typed a response of his own. "skippin class to eat sweets? naughty naughty," he teased before putting the device away.

A distant voice perked at his ears. "Excuse me!" Surely, they wouldn't have meant him. He kept walking.

"Ah, excuse me!" He walked faster.

"With the adorable kitty hat!"

...Damn, it was an adorable kitty hat. Now he had to stop. "Can I help you?"

A tall schoolmate (if he even was tall. Considering Hoshi's... bias, he might have been "average") with a case of the eyebrows stiffly strode over to him. "Thank you for your time, sir! May I ask if you are Hoshi Ryouma?"

"Depends on who's asking. No offense." He didn't see a reason to be wary of this guy, even after eyeing him over a couple of times, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

"Ah, I suppose it is rude of me to ask before introducing myself. My name is Ishimaru Kiyotaka, Super High-School Level Discipline Monitor! It's nice to meet you," he said, punctuating his sentence by extending his hand with the tenacity one would use to slash a sword.

"Yeah, you got me, kid. I'm Hoshi Ryouma." Or used to be, he completed in his thoughts as he shook Ishimaru's hand. "So, what can I do ya for?"

Ishimaru bowed. "Please accept my invitation for a tennis match!"

"What."

He blinked. "A-Ah, I suppose some context is in order. You see, I've some students under my supervision that are lacking in motivation, and after discussing this matter with them, we came to the conclusion that getting started fresh on a new, unfamiliar activity or two would do them wonders! We decided that one of them could be a sport of some kind. And you are the Super High-School Level Tennis Player, a field in which all of us are deeply inexperienced in! And that is why I come to you with the humble offer for a match! At your leisure, of course."

Hoshi squinted. "Wait, run that by me again. You want to get started with tennis."

"Yes, sir."

"And you want one of your first matches..."

"The first, if that can be helped!"

"...to be with me."

"Yes, sir."

He smacked his lips. "Any reason why, or...?"

"You see, I thought getting them started with an uphill battle would be an efficient way to simultaneously humble and inspire us! Two birds with one stone, as they say!" The hearty chuckle that erupted from Ishimaru just then made it seem that he believed there was a universe in which this was a good idea.

Hoshi stifled a sigh. "You're a strange guy... But you got moxie. And you're earnest, too. I respect that."

"Thank you Hoshi-kun! My motto in life is 'Simplicity and Fortitude', after all!" Ishimaru beamed, teeming with pride.

"But you still got a long ways to go."

Hoshi left Ishimaru blinking in confusion and turned away, reaching for his breast pocket to grab a candy cigarette. He spent several seconds fiddling with it with his tongue before he spoke up again. "It's really reckless to approach a killer like me so casually."

He made it a point not to look at Ishimaru. He kept his eyes on the horizon, trying to allow the sight of blues stained by reds and yellows to distract himself from this awful conversation he had to have with every person that so much as looked in his general direction. But he could still feel the tension in the other's composure. In the way the breath caught in his throat. In the way he muttered as he searched for a response. He should be used to this by now. Why isn't he...?

"It..." Ishimaru paused to gather his bearings. "It would be uncouth of me to pry for details in whatever it is you're confessing to me. And I do not underestimate the weight it carries-- you don't read as the prankster or lying type to me, after all. However, I feel... inclined to remind you that you are not the only one standing here with stains in your past. And the fact alone that this school trusts you enough to have you on campus should tell you that I should be able to follow suit with a clear conscience. Even if it weren't, your being here alone is a step forward!"

Hoshi faced him again, brows quirked in curiosity. "You sound like you speak from experience."

"My lips are a tomb, but I will confess you might be right," he said, placing his hands on his hips.

"Hm. Well." Hoshi started, but the look in Ishimaru's eyes gave him pause. He was about to brush this entire ordeal off cold turkey, but... he could still feel his enthusiasm shining through his bright red glare, even in spite of the solemn mist that shrouded it. It was the kind of aura that would have surged energy through his body in an instant in a past life. "I'll be busy for a tick, but how's about I keep you updated?" Saying no proved to be too tall an order.

Ishimaru gasped and bowed again, moving so sharply he nearly slammed his head into Hoshi's. "Thank you very much, Hoshi-kun! We will be in your debt!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy, alright? I haven't done anything yet," he said, biting the inside of his cheek.

They exchanged basic social media information and parted ways, as Ishimaru seemed antsy to attend to some non-specific business. Hoshi picked up the pace himself, taking too long for his liking to notice he was leaving the girls waiting. He shifted his saunter into a light jog, legitimately looking forward to talking about this with them. He wondered how Akamatsu was going to feel about this.

"Hoshi-kun, what do you mean?!"

So, not well, then.

"Exactly what I said," said Hoshi, who was tending to the yipping mess Angie had become from eating ice cream too fast. "You know I don't do tennis anymore, Akamatsu."

"Yeah, you say that, but just... You can't let an opportunity that sits on your lap like this just...! Slip!" She crossed her arms and pouted very aggressively at him. He loved it when she did that.

"I don't know where you see an 'opportunity' here. I got invited to something I didn't want to do, and I declined. That's all."

"'Didn't want to do'. You... Have you seen the nice, soft smile on your face when you gush about tennis stuff?!" she exclaimed, not failing to notice how he seemed to sputter at her comment. "Angie-san, help me ooooout..."

Angie jerked backwards, as though she had been jolted awake at the mention of her name. One of her arms drifted to her side, the tip of her index finger squeezing her thumb and seeming to glide in place in sheer concentration, and the other arm lunged at the table and shoveled another spoonful of bubblegum ice cream into her mouth. "Welp welp, God told Angie that yyyyyayayayaya!" She clutched at her temples and crouched back down.

Hoshi scooted over to pat her back again. "...Now to be fair, that's a good point."

"Hoshi-kun, this is serious! You butt!" Akamatsu rolled up a stray pamphlet into a cone and bapped Hoshi upside the head with it. She had to try really hard not to giggle. And as soon as the others did, the attempt crumbled immediately.

He groaned as he shuffled back into his own seat. "Look, this isn't the first time I've done stuff like this. I'm trying really hard to see it from your angle, but you're gonna have to help me here."

"Because," Akamatsu started, making impassioned, wild gestures, "some nice kid went after you and begged for a match, which is exactly the kind of thing that melts your heart, but you're still being too stubborn to just give in!"

"I... don't know about my heart melting," Hoshi lied. "But you have to listen. I'm done with tennis. It's not me anymore."

"You can't! Just drop! Something you spent all of your passion and sweat into for years like that! That's not how it works!" she scolded, poking his sides to punctuate each dramatic pause and knowing full well how ticklish he was.

"Nyahaha-- Kaede's right, Ryouma!" Yonaga joined in on the poking. "'Cause, like, if you don't get the love God gives you out of your system eventually, it overwhelms you so much, you explode!"

"Angie-san, I don't think--"

"Lovesplooooosionnnnnn!"

"...Nevermind; that's cute enough that I can let go."

"Yaaaaay!"

Hoshi gently grasped both their wrists, getting sick of stifling laughter. "Look," he said, jumping a bit when their immediate reaction was to hold his hands. "It's in the past. You're the ones who keep telling me I have to move on, yeah? So I am."

Akamatsu sighed. "That's not the way to do it, Hoshi-kun. This isn't healthy. I'm not kidding."

"Not a lot about me is, now is it?"

"No, it isn't, and that's a problem! Look, just..." Yonaga's humming disrupted her train of thought. "Are you--"

She shushed Akamatsu, which she rarely ever did, and kept at it with her eyes closed. Hoshi sighed, relieved that he could have a break from all the fierce pushing from both sides.

But that relief wouldn't last.

"You should train the both of us! God said so!"

"Yonaga, are you sure that's not just the brainfreeze talking?" Hoshi asked, absolutely perplexed.

"Nnnnnopenopenope! See, God is so serious about this, They're making Angie's head thump and burn!"

"That's definitely the brainfreeze, Angie-san..."

Yonaga put her hands over the other's faces. "Nonono, listen, this is super smart and divine! 'Cause like, Taka is with Chihiro and Mondo right now anyway, riiight?"

"...You lost me, Yonaga," Hoshi replied as he gently lifted her palm off his mouth, which only made her press harder.

"You're following him! Didn't you see his post?" Hoshi just gawked at her quizzically until she continued. "Yeesh, one sec!" She snatched her phone out of her purse, fiddled with it for a bit, then turned its screen towards him.

In it was a photo post; Ishimaru and another short kid were joined at the hip in matching tennis uniforms, arms wrapped around one another. A flurry of happy emojis were sprinkled all about the picture. And beside it, the caption read "HARD AT WORK L O L!!!!!!! AWAITING hoshir3 S RESPONSE TO OUR CHALLENGE". Hoshi was about to say something, probably along the lines of a heartfelt, genuine "what", but as he inspected further, the comment section was a far more concerning monster. Four comments from someone who was clearly Kaito Momota, all posted seconds apart from one another. "WAIT HOLY SHIUT?????????", "is he playing", "hoshir3 aRE YOU PLAYIGN??????????????????????", and, insightfully, "IUSDGHFIUSDHGIOSDJGIS".

"Oh, good grief," he groaned, pulling his hat over his eyes.

"Right?!" Yonaga exclaimed, not seeming to quite understand Hoshi's vibe.

Akamatsu took a gander of her own. "How do you know these guys?"

"Oh, Angie knows everyone! That's how you spread the word and stuffs!" She put her phone away. "So anyhoo, their thing is a group thing! And if our thing is a group thing too, it'll give more people the chance to do... like, things! And if Ryouma's coaching instead of pitching, then he can warm up to it from a safe distance with two cute girls he loves and adores and would do anything for and--"

"I'm not buying you another ice cream, Yonaga."

"But God is so thirsty, Ryoumaaaaaaa!" She wrapped him in a grim, grievous hug.

"And ice cream makes you more thirsty, and it hurts your head. Please spare God," he chided, resigning to his fate.

"Wait, she makes a good point," said Akamatsu, speaking up after being lost in the highways of her mind for quite a while.

"See, Kaede gets it; if we don't feed God, They're gonna get really angry and wreck our houses with rocks!"

"N-No, not that." Akamatsu clasped her hands together. "Hoshi-kun, if you're just watching us over while we learn and giving input here and there, it would just be a hangout like this one, right? And then you can see if you feel like playing with us! And either way, we'd rep you and kick some tail in your name! Doesn't that sound cool?"

He closed his eyes. "Do either of you know... the first thing about tennis...?"

Yonaga and Akamatsu traded looks, in silence.

"...Okay. Have either of you ever cared about tennis before right this second."

The silence somehow got louder.

"...And if we do this at all, can you be sure the sudden physical exhertion on the art club over here won't just kill you instantly."

"Well, if we do die, we could always play tennis with God instead! They told me They use stars as Their tennis balls," Angie chirped.

He leaned back on his seat, resting his hands in his pockets. "Heh, wow. This is the stupidest idea."

Akamatsu clicked her tongue. "Hoshi-kun, please... We're trying to help you. We care about you a lot, and--"

"Didn't say I wasn't gonna do it."

It took a second for the penny to drop. "Wait, really?!" Akamatsu asked, the sparkle in her eye practically lighting up the entire room.

"Hey, since you're pushing for it this hard... Let's get stupid."

"Yaaaay for stupid!!!!" Hoshi didn't have time to think before his entire body was swallowed by the girls' embrace. Not that he would ever complain.

But he would complain about buying Angie that other ice cream after all.

Ishimaru impatiently bounced his legs. He looked at his wristwatch. 7:13PM. This was excruciating. The tennis court and equipment he went out of his way to reserve was just sitting there, mocking him with how idle it all was. It had been so much trouble carrying all of it here by his lonesome, and now he got to watch it gather dust. 7:13PM. Perhaps he should have put a bit more emphasis on how absolutely important today's practice was. He was sure he already sounded plenty urgent, what with the five seperate reminders he had sent his partners. 7:13PM. Next time, he would erect a banner, with bold red text yelling at them to, for the love of everything righteous and holy on this Earth, move your legs at a reasonable pace. But all things considered, that might not work either. 7:13--

"Ishimaru-kun, we've been here for five minutes..." Fujisaki muttered, without looking away from their computer.

"Five minutes we could have spent practicing, Fujisaki-kun! Every moment from this point on is a precious opportunity for us to grow stronger, and it's foolish to allow it to go to waste!" he replied, crossing his arms in frustration.

They clacked away at their keyboard for a while before responding. "I mean... I get that, but personally I appreciate this extra time we're getting, eheheh..."

His brows shot up. "What are you up to anyway? It sounds like you are hard at work!"

"Ah, well, I'm..." They covered their mouth with a hand. "Actually, on second thought; Alter Ego, why don't you tell him?"

"Oh, yes, Master!" a voice peeped from their monitor. "We are currently in the process of compiling sabermetric data en masse on the top tennis players in the world to parse the most effective techniques and play styles! Then Master can study and emulate them!"

"Ah, I understand!" He didn't understand. "That is very impressive, Fujisaki-kun! And, ah, Alter Ego! You two are doing fantastic work, as usual."

Fujisaki giggled, gently butting their head against Ishimaru's arm. "Thank you so much! We're doing our best for you!"

He awkwardly leaned his head against theirs. They were right-- he really did need to work on this. "And that is more than enough! I am so very proud of you!"

Both students took a moment to enjoy each other's company and wamrth in silence. Ishimaru's worries about the time were all but whisked away by Fujisaki's radiant smile and sugary words. He slowly allowed his posture to relax and his body's weight to drift into theirs as they did the same. He could hear their hearts beating in sync. Something about that put a smile on his face he couldn't wipe away.

"Ah, Master, you wouldn't be able to render your opponents catatonic, would you? Or... turn into a demon...?"

They both shot up in confusion, stammering unintelligibly and making vague gestures at the computer.

"Uh... You guys alright?" asked Oowada, who they hadn't noticed had arrived a few moments ago.

"KYOUDAI, THIS TENNIS PLAYER CAN TURN INTO A DEMON?!"

"WHAT THE FUCK."

Fujisaki snapped the device towards Oowada. "NO SERIOUSLY, LOOK!"

The three of them sat together, yelling progressively louder at the ridiculous athletes Alter Ego was coming across. They had nearly forgotten what they came here to do in the first place until Ishimaru's phone hummed in his pocket, well into their riffing of the 'multiplying tennis balls' match. A message from Hoshi! "hey. uh i dont think im gonna be able to play for a bit but i can send my pupils over for a match whenever. that ok w you?" Attatched was a picture of said pupils, captioned with their names. Ishimaru's eyes widened. After hastily accepting Hoshi's offer, he lurched up.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but we have training to do!" He marched towards his equipment, drilling through a sea of dissappointed groans. "We must impress Hoshi-kun with our performance!"

Oowada paused. "'Hoshi'... Wait, the guy you at-ed for a match was Killer Tennis?! Get the fuck out of here..."

After doing some research, Fujisaki joined in on Oowada's daze. "H-He's... too good...! This is going to go so bad... Uuu, if I had known that empty account you were tagging was his, I would have said something..."

"Everyone, please," said Ishimaru, making his way to the tennis ball machines. "I would like to not waste anymore time, so explanations will come at our first break, but it's not at it seems. I have confidence that things will turn out alright! You can trust me!"

Oowada sighed. "Not like we coulda stopped you, I guess..." He dropped the sports bag slung around his shoulder to the ground, and from it, he took a rough, but embellished looking tennis racket. It was made entirely of wood and had no grip, with its shaft being packed with tiny, bold text instead; the same text that was printed into his jacket. Its bottom curved outward into a sleek diamond shape, rimmed by a small indented ring shape. And its nylon strings were decorated by a minimalistic orange komainu print, but it had enough detail that you could make out the dimples around its eyebrows, and the curl in its hair.

"Oowada-kun, your racket looks so cool!" said Fujisaki, with their own store-bought racket in hand.

He smirked. "Thanks. Thought if I was gonna do this, might as well get into it, y'know? Been a while since I practiced my carpentry or whatever too, and I got an urge... I know Kyoudai is gonna give me shit for skippin' class to make this, but..."

Ishimaru rushed over to place a hand on his shoulder. "I intend to do no such thing! Your craftsmanship is remarkable, and your efforts must be commended! Why, I can already see improvements in your technique!"

Fujisaki took his cue and followed suit. "Yeah, really Oowada-kun, this is really, really amazing! Specially since you made this so quick! I think if you made more stuff like this, people would be all over it...!"

Oowada's grin grew wider, and he pulled the two of them into the tightest hug he had in him. He loosened it a bit after they started gurgling.

"...so the basic idea is that you want the ball to either bounce twice on the other end, or bounce here," said Hoshi, circling around the outside boundaries of the court, "on your end when it first crosses the net, and you get a point, yeah?"

Akamatsu raised a hand. He pointed at her. "Shoot."

"Are we sure we can't do this at school? This place is kind of dirty, and there's people that keep giving looks..." As she said that, she could feel distant figures squatting in the grass turn their heads.

"They might be practicing at school. Would be kind of awkward to practice next to our rivals, wouldn't it?" He shrugged. "And don't worry about the looks, this is just Diamond Dogs' turf. They owe me a favour, so they won't try anything. I promise you're safe," he finished, giving her a thumbs up.

Angie twirls about in place. "Angie just asked God, and They said we can trust this place! As long as Ryouma slams anyone who gets ten feet from us into a garbage can!"

"That doesn't sound too much like trusting to me, but hey, I can do that," he joked, chuckling. "So anyway... The way we try to make that happen in doubles is we keep one person on the back to basically 'go long', and the other is on the front to pull a fast one on the other guys, right? So, remember that and try and get into formation. There's a line in the middle of your field you can use for reference."

The girls looked at the ground and shuffled about for a bit. Akamatsu placed herself at the very back, while Angie was practically shoving herself into the net.

"Is that what feels right to you?" he called out. They nodded in response. "Alright. Let's do a little practice then."

"R-Right now?" Akamatsu stumbled. "We barely know the basics! Aren't we going to just muck it up? Like... Very bad?"

"Yeah," he replied curtly.

"I...! Hoshi-kun!" she yelled, frowning at him.

He slung his racket over his shoulder. "What? It's how I did it too."

"A vote of confidence would be nice..."

"Actually, Angie likes this better! See, Ryouma made God really mad, so now They're going to bless Angie with super tennis powers out of spite! Just watch!" Angie furrowed her brows and tightened her stance with a glint in her eye.

Hoshi started tossing the ball into the air, and Akamatsu, too, steeled herself. "Here goes nothing," she mumbled, aiming her focus on the ball as best she could.

With a booming thwack, it came soaring straight at her. She bent backwards and swatted at it as forcefully as she could. It nearly tipped her over, and she could feel her wrist crackling as she swung it back. It flew in a flimsy arc back into Hoshi's court, who was quick to shoot it back before it ever touched the ground. Angie dove at the ball, smashing it back with a surprisingly mighty swing, but that left her stumbling. And before either of them had time to do anything, it came back, slashing through the air right in the middle of their field, and ended up slamming into the wobbly chain link fence in the back of the yard.

"Fifteen-love," he crowed wryly.

"Angie loves you too!"

Hoshi groaned and hid under his hat, clearly caught off guard.

"Would that make it fifteen-all?" Akamatsu teased, placing her hands on her hips.

He sighed. "...Moving on. Do either of you want to take a guess as to what happened here?"

"Angie thinks you scored!"

"Yeah, but why was I able to, Yonaga?"

"'Cause you're the Super High-School Level Tennis Player, and this is our first time?"

He pursed his lips. "That's fair. Akamatsu, any takes?"

"Well... I guess the ball was harder to hit than I thought..."

"Ooo! Ooo, Angie had that problem too," she said, hopping about as if that was something she should be proud of. The others couldn't help but smile.

"Well, okay," he said, making his way over to their side. "Let's talk about that. The way you're holding your rackets? It's forcing you to compensate way too much if I aim high. And your swings are way too wide; you'll run out of breath in no time if you keep going like that."

Hoshi stood beside Akamatsu and gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, guiding it forward with the tenderness one would have with a glass sculpture. "The sweetspot-- the middle of the strings-- they should be level with your nose. And when you swing..." His other arm folded around her side, and he took a step forward, prompting her to follow. "You swing with your body, and you lean forward. It's easier on you that way."

His touch lingered for a moment before he stepped away. "Make sense?"

Akamatsu flashed a playful smile. "I might need you to show me again."

"Hmph... Let's finish our lessons first, then we can review whatever you like," he said, with a smirk of his own. "Yonaga, did you get that too?"

"Angie would appreciate getting hugs too, but she got it!"

"That wasn't..." Hoshi trailed off, and just held her softly, unable to say no. Angie motioned for Akamatsu to join in again from behind his back, and she complied, puzzled and excited.

He sighed. "...Why."

"God could tell you needed this and were too scared to ask!"

Hoshi let out a deep sigh, seeming to look for words to say. "...Geez. Heh, I think you can take credit for that one, Yonaga."

She giggled. "Angie's just following orders."

"Well, don't you think it'd make Them happy if you were proud of yourself? I mean, you can hear Their voice, but you're still here, on the same boat as the rest of us. And you say They want us to have a good time here, so..." The girls could feel him shrug.

Angie froze. Suddenly her embrace grew much tighter. "You're a very sweet guy, Ryouma." She must have needed this too.

The three of them melted into the embrace for what felt like forever. Hoshi was the one who made to break it, and even then, it sounded as if it was killing him. "We... can pick this back up later."

When they picked their rackets back up, they felt heavier and lighter, all at the same time.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR! FEEL YOUR SPIRIT BURN THROUGH VEINS! THE FIRE THAT IGNITES YOUR CORE WILL LIGHT UP YOUR PATH AND LEAD YOU TO A BRIGHT TOMORROW! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!"

Gears turned and metal roared. The ground shook as walls shattered all around, and nauseating clouds of dust rose and assaulted their senses. It was a warzone. And yet, broken and battered, they stood.

"THE BLOOD AND SWEAT YOU SHED WILL BE THE BREADCRUMBS THAT REMIND YOU OF HOW FAR YOU'VE COME! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!" Ishimaru howled at the top of his lungs as he slammed another tennis ball back from whence it came.

"Bro, why the fuck does this thing even have this setting?! It's going too fast!" cried Oowada, mid-panting.

"I requested their best sports training device, and they delivered!" Three more balls crashed against the opposite wall, just missing the machine that shot them. "And I don't intend on resting until we've returned one million fungoes together!"

Fujisaki picked themself up from the ground. "C-Could... we maybe tone it... tone it down, please...?"

"Fine! A thousand blows it is! ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!"

"T-That doesn't help much...!" They yelped as one of them grazed against their side.

"Come now, this should be no problem! As long as we plant our feet firmly on the ground, no snow, no rain, no tremors and no winds will knock us down! Counting our blessing and holding onto hope will--ah...?!"

Ishimaru froze as the machine came to a grinding halt, taking all of the stress and noise pollution with it. It felt very strange to be able to hear background noise again. But nonetheless, he was dumbstruck. "What happened...?"

Oowada stomped his way over to Ishimaru and hammered his hands into his shoulders. "You need to calm the fuck down, dude. Take a second to think 'bout how that's commin' from me."

Ishimaru cast his eyes to the floor. "I... overdid it again, didn't I?"

"A lot, yeah." He gave Ishimaru a couple of quick pats. "Now apologize like a man, don't ask me to hit you 'cause that's weird, and we'll be over it, 'kay?"

"Right... I humbly apologize for causing so much trouble," he said, with a deep bow.

"Great. Oy, Fujisaki, you cool with him?"

"A-Apology accepted..." they wheezed, a rumpled heap of sweat and strewn about limbs on the floor.

"Everything's cool, then! Now sit down, we're taking five."

The three of them huddled together in silence to recover from the intense physical strain they were put through. All they could hear was each other's heartbeats banging against their chests and the distant cawing of crows greeting the stars that began to twinkle above. None of them would admit out loud, but this had been the best afternoon any of them had had in far too long.

Oowada, who knew what happened to Ishimaru's head after he made a mistake, decided to break the quiet. "So... Any info on who Killer Tennis is gonna sic at us?"

Ishimaru's eyes widened as he fought back a stupor that was taking a hold of him. "Ah, that... Not much. I am aware that it will be Angie-kun and Akamatsu-kun of his class. But I know so little about them, let alone their tennis prowess. I don't recall ever seeing either of them attending any sports clubs or festivals..."

"Maybe they've been training in secret," Fujisaki chimed.

Ishimaru crossed his arms. "What advantage would there be to a secret tennis player?"

"I dunno, dude. Element of surprise for shit like this?"

"Maybe," Fujisaki started while they sat up, "a Tennis Revolution!"

"A revolution against what? People who are over 4 feet tall?" Oowada snorted. "Not too late to defect to their side, Fujisaki."

"I-- hey! That's mean," they whined over Oowada's guffawing.

He pulled them close and ruffled their hair. "Come on, let me have that; it was good!"

"Fiiiine, just because I love you..." they replied, grinning cheekily.

Oowada, to spare them of how sticky he was, let them go with a clap on their back. "Love ya too, kiddo."

They poked their cheek in musing. "Wait, the two of them will play us, right? Is one of us gonna get left out?"

"Ah! I hadn't thought of that... Astute observation, Fujisaki-kun!" Ishimaru cleared his throat. "Well, seeing as how I was the one who extended him the invitation, I suppose it would be fair that I partake in our first match!"

Oowada tilted his head. "Eh? I really wanted a piece of 'em, though."

"Well, surely there will be other opportunities! I think it would be good to impress him in this first outing!"

Oowada's brows shot up. "...You sayin' I wouldn't impress him? 'Cause, Kyoudai, I was kind of kicking your ass a second ago."

"Hah! You would make the mistake of thinking that! How innatentive of you, Kyoudai! Perhaps some private lessons are in order."

The moment the both of them got up, Fujisaki knew where this was going. "Guys..."

"I'm thinkin' you need that more, Kyoudai. Matter of fact, I could school you myself right the fuck now."

"Is that a fact."

"You bet your fuckin' ass it is, bro."

"Guys, what if I sit out this time...? Problem solved...!"

"I would be interested in seeing you pull off that miracle, Kyoudai."

"Why don't you bring it on then. I'm waitin'."

"Guys, I-I'm dead tired... Can we not do t--okay." They were throwing their shirts on the ground. This was a lost cause. They flopped onto the floor, exasperated.

The boys walked back into the field, their rackets gripped so tight they were emitting crackles, and they began a savage volley that went on.

And on.

Even after going back into the school building to get their laptop and a juicebox and coming back, Fujisaki could still feel them grunting while mindlessly pummeling the ball back and forth.

It was only well into what seemed like hours of passing the time playing with Alter Ego that--

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, look at that! You won, Kyoudai."

"Please explain?!"

Fujisaki looked over at them, and saw Oowada rubbing his neck while Ishimaru screamed in confusion.

"You won. Nothing more to it." He shrugged.

"K-Kyoudai, you clearly let the ball whiz past you! I--" Ishimaru made a series of incomprehensible noises as he held his head.

Oowada sighed. "...Fine. I just... The face you were makin' during our game... I wanted to see more of it, that's all."

Ishimaru fell silent, and a deep shade of red crept into his face. Oowada's was not far behind.

"I... Kyoudai...?"

They stared at each other for an embarrassing eternity. And, just like that, Oowada took off. "I HAD A THING WITH MY CREW I GOTTA GO."

"NO PLEASE COME BACK AND EXPLAIN!"

Fujisaki giggled heartily, and closed their laptop to chase after them.

Really was the best afternoon in a while.

When Hoshi came back to the field (with two bottles of water, as he was asked), it took a while to spot where the girls were. He finally spotted them sitting together by the fence.

"Sorry I took so long, there was this kid--"

Akamatsu placed a finger over a lips, asking him to quiet down. He turned his gaze to Angie, who he noticed was slumped over Akamatsu's shoulder, with an earbud in one ear, while Akamatsu had the other in hers. He snorted. "It's so weird seeing her sleep," he said, his voice nigh a whisper. "She's so... quiet and still. And unlikely to pester people to pamper her."

He handed one water bottle to Akamatsu, and she put it aside to pat the ground between her and Yonaga. And so he did.

"She's never out for long, so I don't think you have to worry. But this is also the most tuckered out I've ever seen her," she said, holding Hoshi's hand in hers.

"Hmph. We can let her rest. We've been making very good time, I think you earned this, at least." He grabbed a candy cigarette and popped it in his mouth.

"Don't leave yourself out, teacher," she whispered while nuzzling the top of his head.

"Come now, all I did was just listen for once... I mean." He paused to lock eyes with her. She already knew what was coming, and she was already enjoying it. Damn it. "...You were right."

"Yessss!" She pumped her fist in excitement, hilariously taking Yonaga's with her. Hoshi could barely stifle his laughter, moreso when the sleeping girl didn't even stir.

"No, seriously Akamatsu; I really needed this. This is... the healthiest I've felt in ages. Means the world to me that you'd go through the trouble..."

"It's not trouble, Hoshi-kun. I think you can tell we're all having a good time here."

He closed his eyes. "Hm... I guess you're right."

"Actually..." She paused, clearly mulling something over. "You know what, it should be fine. I think she forgot anyway. Can you take a look in Angie-san's bag?"

"Oh? Well, alright." He sauntered over to where he remembered it being, and sure enough, there it sat. He looked over at Akamatsu again for confirmation, and after she nodded, he began fiddling through it. It didn't take too long to find a suspicious looking box. "This what we're looking for?" Akamatsu nodded again, and he made his way back.

"Open it!" Akamatsu's anticipation was nearly bursting through her, and it made Hoshi pretty chuffed by proxy.

As he lifted the contents from its box, Hoshi's heart skipped a beat. In his hands, he held a glimmering, polished racket, carefully garnished by glitter and beautiful star patterns in blue and yellow against black and orange. It had such a fine finish and it felt wonderful to the touch, top to bottom. It was like no other object had ever felt so comfortable to have in his hands. But what caught his eye most of all was text along its rim that read "Still The Prince, 2011". Hoshi gawked in awe. "I... Akamatsu, what..."

"Just a little something we worked on together! You agreeing to do this was a huge step forward, and we thought it was worth celebrating, so..." He couldn't see her, but he could tell she was beaming. "Well, Angie-san did most of the work, but she asked me to play something from the room over to inspire her! And the text we came up with together!"

Hoshi dared not speak, because all of the emotions in his chest threatened to come gushing right out. He simply clutched the racket closer to him.

"...Hey, hey, Hoshi-kun..." She pulled him close.

He let out a strained sigh and relented to her touch, sinking into her arms.

"You're really strong, Hoshi-kun. We're so proud of you."

At that point, Hoshi couldn't hold it in anymore. A sad smile creased his lips as tears rolled down his cheeks. "Good grief. You're all too good for me."

"I can say the same about you, silly..." She rubbed his arm supportively.

"Hrmnghr... Ang' j'st woke up b't she lov's..." Hoshi felt another arm being tenderly draped around him.

The three of them cuddled together until their felt each other's breath slow. They had never felt this well rested before.

He didn't want this to be a thing. He really didn't. The last thing he wanted was for this to be a thing. And yet, here he was. On the scheduled day of the tennis game. In front of an audience of hooting and hollering classmates and friends. Hell, there were already chants erupting from both sides of the bleachers. 'Go-Oo-wa-da!' 'An-gie-san!' they cried, back and forth and in complete harmony. "Geez..."

"It's such a pleasant surprise to see so many people excited for this," said Ishimaru while he stretched at the side of the field.

Hoshi eyed Momota (who was pushing Saihara to help him) raising an obnoxiously giant banner with 'KICK SOME ASS KAEDE & ANGIE' that flailed in people's faces. He was getting a hefty number of death glares he was all too oblivious to. A red-haired boy and a cohort with long, shaggy hair from the other side were following suit with a sign for Ishimaru. A riot was going to break out in those bleachers in no time. "You could call it that."

"Precisely! And we are going to deliver a game that will meet and surpass all of their expectations! Isn't that right, everyone?"

"Angie just wants to have a good time," Angie said, taking lackadaisical licks off of a pineapple popsicle.

"W-Well... That's a healthy way to go about it...!" Fujisaki filled in for their partner in lieu of his confusion.

"But! We are going to try our best! Right, Angie-san?" Akamatsu tried to save the mood.

Yonaga hummed. "Yeah, God's cool with that!" She locked eyes with Hoshi. "...Oh! Oh, and me too, I think! Right?"

"You got it, Yonaga," he replied, giving her a thumbs up. She flashed a wide grin and swayed on the balls of her feet.

Oowada strode in. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, but you better give my team a challenge!" He yanked Ishimaru and Fujisaki in his arms. "These two are the hardest motherfuckers in the world, and if you let them just wipe the floor with you, we won't let you hear the end of it," he boasted.

Akamatsu cocked her head, crossing her arms with a confident sneer on her face. "Oh don't worry, we're more than enough for you guys."

"God will show you what Their wrath looks like," Angie droned, in what Hoshi sure was an attempt at friendly competitive banter. He was worried, but the boisterous laughter that exploded from Oowada made it clear it went over well.

"I like your team, dude! They're feisty!"

"You dont know the half of it, Oowada."

Fujisaki turned to look at their watch. "Um, I think we're about to start...?"

"Ah, delightful! Let us pay our respects to one another, and prepare to deliver a spectacle!"

Everyone exchanged hearty handshakes and wishes for good luck, and Yonaga, Akamatsu, Fujisaki and Ishimaru made their way to the field, while Oowada and Hoshi sat with the rest of the audience.

Without much cerimony, the game started, and the crowd roared, bursting with applause and whistling with quick escalation.

And as Hoshi watched on, he was sucked right into it. Each point his team scored nearly sent him into hysterics, leaping and screaming his lungs out. And each loss they suffered felt like a pang in his chest, and he berated himself for not having taught them this or that. He had never cared about a tennis so much. His heart was going a million miles an hour, and it was like he could remember what it felt like. To seize the moment, to look forward to tomorrow, and to live in the moment. It made him feel so warm and light.

It was nice to have a reason to live.

#Drsecretsanta2017 #danganronpa #ndrv3 #ryouma hoshi #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo oowada #angie yonaga #kaede akamatsu #chihiro fujisaki #stuff by me

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