Chapter 1: sidewalks
Chapter Text
Warm drizzle scatters on the sidewalks, rolls off of mat umbrellas, clouds the windows of the tall buildings guarding the road. The sun is long gone by now, leaving solely the ghost of its hot embrace to linger in the air, as the world falls into slumber; it’s up to the neon advertisements and flashing traffic lights to guide the last souls amidst the darkness of the night. It’s quiet, save for an occasional car that would whoosh nebulously through the empty highways, or the low buzzing of the streetlamp that can only be heard at these ungodly hours. And Gen can hear it clear as day.
Sat on the sidewalk, with his definitely not rain-proof jacket hung over his head as a makeshift shelter, Gen is scrolling aimlessly through his phone, only stopping to check the time. 1 AM, read the fluorescently white numbers on the edge of his screen, and his lip trembles in response. The night isn’t getting any younger, the rain isn’t getting any lighter, and he still hasn’t gotten anywhere with his plan. And what a plan it is, really—
Throwing a disheveled backpack with more empty space than items over his shoulder, emptying his mother’s wallet and running off into the sunset with music blasting in his headphones.
Movies manage to make it so romantic somehow—with the chatter about freedom and independence with the mandatory cheesy montage of the same person walking painfully slowly through empty roads. And that’s exactly how it felt while he was still in the metro taking pictures of his little escapade smiling as bright as the sun outside. Yet now, stranded in the middle of nowhere in particular, he can’t bring himself to push that grin back to its full length
He laughs to himself a little, bitter, quiet huffs, and switches apps on his phone. His twitter timeline greets him with a flood of meaningless rambles, debates, thoughts; but the soft, almost imaginary raindrops are slowly growing to prominent splashes on the denim above his head, while the freezing touch of the night finds its way deep under his skin, and Gen sneezes through the silence.
I swear if I get sick it will be my last straw, he mumbles to himself, because the rattle in his brain neither stops nor leads anywhere, and keeps scrolling his little battery left away.
Until two words, words that ring like church bells at a wedding in his mind, catch his rumbling attention. Looking. Roommate.
Gen nearly drops his phone, breath stuck somewhere down his throat, and with his hands shaking and heart jumping in and out of his ribs, he rereads the tweet:
Ishigami Senku @a_fierce_scientist ● 1h
Looking for a roommate. If you live in this x x x area, call: x x x
The time of posting is merely an hour ago and the likes are very few; Gen double-checks with himself that he knows where he is currently, then runs full speed to the person’s account making mental notes of every little detail. In short:
Their profile picture is a photo of a star on HD level for twitter’s standards.
Their bio states that they are an “astrophysics student” in their first year of college, written with grammatical correctness and not a single silly symbol to hang around the words.
They have barely any followers, but two of them are mutual with Gen—Luna, a med student Gen met while trying to figure out how to work out a vending machine once, and Kohaku.
Bingo.
Gen stands up so fast that black fog engulfs the space around him for a few good seconds, yet he wastes no time getting his vision back, already hearing the rings of a number being dialed.
“Gen? What the fuck do you want—it’s ass o’clock in the morning?!”
Sleepy shouts greet him from the other end of the line, followed by the rustling of sheets.
“I know Kohaku-chan, I know. But please, listen for a second,” Gen takes a deep breath, now impatiently pacing around his backpack propped on the wall behind him. “I’ll tell you the details later, but I’m kinda not home right now and can’t really go back so I need you to tell me—”
“What? Where are you?”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll tell you tomorrow, just,” he copies the person’s profile link and sends it to Kohaku. “Do you know who this is?”
He only hears muffled groans and rapid tapping for a bit, before Kohaku finally answers.
“Yeah, that’s Senku. I met him when I was hanging out with a friend. Big science nerd, loves to ramble, but he’s alright.”
“Per-fect!” Gen has to bite his tongue not to shout from the relief slowly overwhelming his senses. “Thank you so much Kohaku-chan!”
“You better explain yourself tomorrow.”
“I pinky promise, lioness.”
“Don’t call me a—”
“Sweet dreams!”
The red button beams under his thumb and the line cuts back into the silence of the night. But somehow, amidst all the chaos that followed him throughout the whole day, the pieces gradually begin falling into their places. There is light on the other end of the tunnel, and it is safe enough to try and grasp it, it seems; just one more thing left to ensure.
A few rings later, a new and unfamiliar voice answers.
“Hello? Who is this?”
On the contrary to Kohaku, Senku doesn't slur his words or mumble curses in his direction. Gen lifts his eyebrows, mischief once again finding its way along his Cheshire grin. Time to see if he can pull this one off.
“Hi there, sorry to bother you so late! I’m just calling regarding your roommate search.”
“Nah, you’re fine, I wasn’t sleeping. Can you tell me about yourself before we proceed?”
Oh how professional, Gen thinks with a chuckle, picking lightly the skin around his nails.
“Well, my name is Asagiri Gen, just Gen is fine, second-year, psychology major.”
“Alright, Gen. I’m Senku,” his tone is nicely leveled out, and surprisingly deep for a first-year. Gen tugs his bangs aside.
“Unfortunately, Senku-chan, I already know that.”
There’s a second of silence, but Senku seems to quickly get back on track.
“Have we met before?”
Gen stops to crouch by his backpack, shoulder pressing against the cool concrete.
“No, don’t worry, we haven’t. However, we do have a mutual friend, of sorts. Kohaku, if that rings any bells.” Gen crosses his fingers, tossing whatever prayers he remembers to the deities lurking through his brain.
“Oh, yeah, I know Kohaku. Is that how you found my post?”
“Yes, let’s say that.”
“Alright then, we can arrange a meeting time for tomorrow—”
“Actually,” Gen sits up again, determination tapping his foot away, as he glances at his battery reaching dangerously low percentages. “Senku-chan, are you currently living in the apartment? Like the one you want a roommate for?”
“Uhm, yes?”
“Can I just go there, like, now?”
Please say yes or I’ll actually die on the street.
“What?” There’s a low squeak, presumably from Senku’s chair, as he presumably sits up.
It’s a fun little guessing game Gen developed a habit for a while back—it creates the illusion of looking at the other person through the phone and he confidently claims he’s even gotten accurate with his assumptions.
And as Gen concludes, it takes a minute of tapping on a computer’s keyboard, checking some notes, and reunion with the chair for Senku to process a response.
“Sorry, I had to check properly, but it’s nearly 2 in the morning? Is it really that urgent?”
“Well,” Gen takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go until tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation falls flat and Gen waits for Senku to make his decision. He gnaws on his bottom lip, looks around to notice that at least the rain has stopped. With a swift motion the jacket hugs his arms and Gen goes back to tapping the back of his phone in a hurried tact.
“Alright.”
“Sorry?”
“Alright you can come now. You don’t sound like a 30-year-old murderer so I guess it wouldn’t hurt anyone; I wasn’t planning on sleeping anyway. However,” Senku’s voice drops and Gen instinctively holds his breath, “If you are actually a murderer, I warn you, I got my hands on nitric acid recently and I will burn your face off with it.”
And just like that, all tension is cut with Gen’s wholehearted laugh, falling shoulder to shoulder with his backpack. He can hear Senku’s muffled chuckle joining his own, and is far too gone in the moment to acknowledge the mellow comfort that piles in his chest—he allows it to keep him warm as he prepares to roam the frigid streets to his escape.
“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, okay,” he wheezes away his last breaths and ends the fit with a triumphant sigh. For tonight, nobody will be sleeping on the sidewalks, and one man is to be thanked for that.
“Thank you Senku-chan, really.”
“Whatever, Gen,” there’s almost a friendly curl to the way Senku says his name and it doesn’t escape Gen’s trained ears “Text me on twitter so I can send you the address.”
“Said and done!”
The backpack settles on its previous place, dangling off of his shoulder, as Gen pulls out Google Maps to locate his destination.
A blink later, all that can be heard is the streetlamp’s buzz, accompanied by distant steps and the faint music escaping Gen’s crappy pair of headphones.
Gen stares at the panel covered head to toe with different names.
Ishigami, huh?
He presses down, cheap plastic rubbing on his skin, and a prolonged, thundering chime later, the little light on its left switches from red to green. Gen slips inside, careful not to slam the metal door behind him and finds his way inside the humble elevator.
Those few minutes of going from the first to the sixth floor feel like at least an hour to his racing mind. Call bullshit if you will, but time has never been a linear concept, nor one that exists for consistency. A “normal week” is the equivalent of a ten-minute line at the airport; a “normal second” is as long as the vacation you’ve been gushing about a month prior.
But there’s one thing that’s always a given when it comes to time—it ends, eventually.. Because alas, Gen does make it, and pushes through the door clutching on his backpack until his bones threaten to break the skin above his knuckles.
Apartment 603. He takes a deep breath, double checks the instruction message he was sent earlier, and knocks. Twice, just to be safe. The lock immediately turns.
“Gen?”
And his heart jumps up in his throat, because Senku is everything but what he expected to see upon arriving. As far as stereotypes for scientists go, Senku was supposed to be a lanky boy with square glasses and a lab-coat—or that’s just the extent of Gen’s imagination.
Instead, Senku’s carrying lightly toned arms and white hair standing up and proud with light green spiking its ends. And more importantly, there is nothing to shield Gen from the calculating stare of the scientist’s eyes—a shade of red that only the most fermented wines stain glasses with, painted with a few lighter sparkles here and there, like an old laceration ready to rip open again. Gen prepares to write a whole mental essay on the peculiar color of those two eyes, before he notices they have grown a tint darker.
“Yes, oh, Hi Senku-chan! Sorry, it’s been a long night.” Gen finally snaps out of it, stepping forward as Senku gives him space to enter the apartment.
“Tell me about it.”
Senku murmurs something under his nose and locks the door behind them with a huff. In the meantime, Gen lets his eyes scan the place; there’s a bathroom on his right and a relatively spacious room going forward, containing a bunk bed, a wardrobe, and two desks—one with piles upon piles of books and lonely pieces of paper scattered around them.
Gen kicks off his muddy shoes, scrunching his nose at the mess he already made, then skips inside the room to throw his bag on the floor. Senku follows suit, falls with the grace of a brick on the bottom bed and catches Gen with his eyes.
“I can’t believe this decision hasn’t gotten me killed yet.”
Gen stops mid-twirl to return the stare.
“Well, I was planning to,” he tests the waters, a small smile creeping on his face. “but that whole thing about the whatever-deadly-acid you mentioned ruined my plan. It’s your fault we are stuck here now, Senku-chan!”
“Oh, my apologies, but I believe it’s on you for being so poorly prepared. If you want to kill me you have to do it with style.” Senku is fast to tease back, a smirk tugging his lips.
“Very well then. I won’t go so easy on you next time.”
With some strangers you talk as if you’ve known them for years; with some of your closest friends you talk as if you’ve just met at the workplace. Maybe the strings of faith do actually exist—they just happen to be red very rarely.
Gen sits on the floor, gaze bouncing around the room., tapping his leg in tact.
“But seriously, what,” Senku sits up “What is the reason you are here so late?”
The inevitable prominence of reality always catches up. Gen mentally kicks it back right where it came from.
“Senku-chan, we don’t have to talk about it now. If you’re tired we can sleep and I’ll explain tomorrow.”
Gen bites his lip where the skin is already broken, fingers crossed, prayers said.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep now even if I tried to. Too many questions, too little answers.”
Prayers unheard. Senku has shot him down and Gen has to find a way to get back up without feeding him more arrows.
“Alright,” Gen agrees, putting on his shiniest stage smile and easing the tremble in his fingers.
If he’s doing something, he’s doing it properly.
“I moved away to live on my own a while back, you know, independence and what-not. Unfortunately though, there was a big gas leak in the building, and we were all forced to get out. A lot of things got broken, a big mess, really,” he rubs his temples to simulate despair, letting out a sigh of annoyance for good measure “And I had to find a place to stay on a very short notice. Everyone whose couch I could crash lives too far away for me to walk there, public transport doesn’t work this late, and I can’t afford to spend that much money on a taxi. So I called Kohaku to ask her for advice, she told me about you and here we are!” He ends the speech with a clap.
And Senku isn’t as stoic as he lets off, which is exactly what Gen counts on.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Must be a shitty situation.” Senku rubs his neck, unsure of how to proceed. “Do you know when you can go back?”
Never, Gen’s mind screams, but he puts on a longing look and kisses his teeth.
“I’m not exactly sure. They said they will review the damage and inform us tomorrow as to how long the repairs will take.”
Then Gen finally meets Senku’s eyes and pulls off the softest apologetic smile that even manages to feel sincere. The reason behind honesty doesn’t matter, even if it’s to cover up a lie.
“I’m sorry you got somewhat dragged into this, Senku-chan. Once again, thank you for having me, I’ll make sure you won’t regret it!”
The end of the performance is its most impactful part—it is the best time to either baffle or disappoint the audience.
“Don’t be sorry.” Senku refutes, falling back onto the bed and a warm tide of relief washes over Gen’s skin. This might actually work out. “I needed a roommate and it’s better to have someone who I have some common ground with rather than a complete stranger. You can stay here until your apartment gets fixed—I start paying rent next month anyway.”
Applause, lights, curtains. Gen successfully closes off the show with a roof over his head. Now back to our normal program, where he gets to pick his viewers’ brains from behind the stage.
“How are you living here without paying rent in advance?” Gen questions, propping his head against the chair behind the closest desk.
“Byakuya paid the first few months so I could settle in properly. That’s my step-dad,” Senku answers before Gen’s eyebrows can even be pulled into confusion. “But he’s in space now so I decided now is the time for me to start handling it on my own.”
Gen’s jaw hits the floor as he throws himself forward with a yell.
“Your step-dad is in SPACE?”
“BE QUIET,” Senku shushes him incredulously, and a slight powdery blush colors his face. “It’s still the middle of the night, idiot, and we have neighbors. Yes, my step-dad is in space, but I don’t think they care enough to lose their beauty sleep over it.”
Gen slaps his mouth instantly and after a few seconds of silence Senku pulls his hand away defeatedly.
“I didn’t say to not talk at all, just lower the volume. God, you’re such a pain already.”
“Sorry, sorry, just messing with you, Senku-chan. But again,” this time he whisper-shouts, shielding his mouth as if he’s sharing a scandalous rumor about the popular girl in school possessing a suspicious amount of designer bags. “Your step-dad is in SPACE?”
Senku tries to convey annoyance by covering his eyes, but Gen can see that the rose tint of his cheeks is still there. He can’t help but smile about it, as well as snap a mental picture.
“Yes, the old man is a scientist too (sort of),” Senku smudges that addition, Gen snickers at the friendly fire. “And has been wanting to go since forever. Heck, a few years back he failed the stupid test, so I built him a whole suit to swim instead of him.”
“You build a what?!”
“It doesn’t matter, he never ended up using it; he worked hard and now he’s up there with the stars.”
Senku tilts his head back and Gen catches him staring out of the window mounted above the desk; a stare lost far far away, beyond the horizon, beyond the clouds, and beyond where most can reach.
“I’ll visit them soon enough.”
The last part is barely a whisper, before Senku closes his eyes, then abruptly sits up.
“Anyways, enough chit-chat. What’s the time?”
“Uhm—” Gen drops the sentiment of the lingering moment and opens his phone with the last bits of battery he has left. “A little past 4 now. Whoops.”
“Whoops my ass,” Senku groans and runs to the desk where a laptop lights up once he starts clumsily typing something. “Okay Gen,” he shoots Gen a look, who is just standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. “You’re on the top, feel free to—”
“WHAT?” Gen barks back a laugh, once again slapping a hand over his mouth to try and not wake up the entire building.
“On the top BED, idiot,” Senku facepalms indignantly which only fuels the flames of Gen’s giggling fit. “You have the sense of humor of a 12-year old boy.”
“You were the one who said it like that!”
“I am ten billion percent sure you knew exactly what I meant.”
“Source?” Gen quirks an eyebrow up, a shit-eating grin tearing his face.
“Trust me... bro.”
Gen falls onto the floor, now with two hands covering his mouth, and Senku gives in with an airy cackle; no one can take a proper breath for a good minute.
The ambience is soaked in something oddly familiar, as if this is yet another night of a tightly set routine and Gen didn’t just fortuitously invite himself to this stranger’s apartment an hour ago as a cherry on top of the cake of impulsive decisions he made the entire day. But impulsive decisions are always the most bitter sweet and Gen licks his lips to relish in the taste.
Then, after giving his teeth a quick brush and finally putting his phone out of its misery with a charger, Gen finds himself sprawled on top of the upper bed, fingers tapping lightly on his chest. He can hear Senku roll around after murmuring a sleepy “Goodnight”, his breaths gradually evening out and leaving Gen to stupidly smile at the ceiling, childish excitement rocking through his body.
This might just work out.
Chapter Text
Something is burning.
Gen turns around and scratches his nose in an attempt to push the tickling smell. But it doesn’t go away, persistently piling inside his lungs, coming back no matter how deep into the pillow he buries his head.
Since when are dreams so realistic anyway?
Then a loud ring thunders through the room and Gen’s eyes fly open as he shoots up, hands tightly gripping the sheets, eyes blinking away the haze of sleep.
“Oh shit—”
Slowly, the room clears before him, and Gen notices someone running off to somewhere, most likely where the smoke is coming from, and takes a moment to regroup his thoughts.
So I’m really not home anymore?
He has had that dream so many times before, the one where he wakes up in an unfamiliar place and restarts his life anew, that he doesn’t even question at first why he isn’t laying a few inches off the ground, surrounded by candy wrappers and half empty water bottles. But this place isn’t one he’s seeing for the first time, is it—he walked in here yesterday, he sat on the floor, he brushed his teeth in the bathroom. And now, he needs to find where Senku disappeared to and why the whole room smells flammable.
Gen jumps off the top bed to discover an open door at the back of the room, which he swears wasn’t there yesterday.
“Is the building burning down?!”
Gen runs into what seems to be a small kitchen, which leads to a humble terrace with a sweaty Senku holding a pan above the glass rail.
“Morning to you too,” Senku doesn’t even look back at him, just keeps blowing the pan and waving his hand around to cut through the smoke. “And no, I was just making breakfast.”
Gen deadpans him and glances back into the foggy apartment.
“Smells delicious.”
“And your sarcasm isn’t adding any flavor to my deceased eggs.”
“Right, I’m sorry for your loss, Senku-can,” Gen slips outside properly now, propping himself next to Senku. “I didn’t take you to be so atrociously bad at cooking.”
And Senku really isn’t—culinary is based upon the scientific method after all, trial and error, too much salt, too little sugar, until you figure out you don’t even really need the salt to make cupcakes and can just do with the too much sugar option and tell everyone you have a sweet tooth. But you’re bound to mess up from time to time, and for Senku, it’s usually because,
“I just forgot that I was making them, until it was too late,” he sighs, switching the arm holding the pan. “I’m ten billion percent sure you’ve made this exact mistake before too, idiot.”
Gen huffs at him, proudly pumping his chest in preparation for a speech.
“Unlike you, Senku-chan, I very much enjoy cooking and always give the food my full undivided attention. If I wasn’t as practical as I am, I probably would’ve become a chef.”
When you start getting frequent stomach-aches from the ridiculous amount of instant ramen you consume, you don’t have much choice but to learn to cook properly. Gen is proud of himself for that, creating Gordon Ramsy level dishes out of the week-old cheese and suspicious liquids that haunt his fridge, or at least that’s how they taste after a day of surviving on gummy bears.
“And since we’re on topic, why don’t you let me make breakfast so you can finish whatever got you so occupied. But, I have to warn you, getting addicted to my cooking is a real trap many have fallen into.”
Gen places a hand on his shoulder and pulls off a comically tragic face. Senku lightly hits him with the pan on the side of his arm, which earns the scientist a scandalous gasp.
“How could you hurt me this way,” Gen cries, falling backwards to the other end of the terrace. “After I promised to bless you with a delicacy a la Gen!”
“You are so obnoxious,” Senku rolls his eyes, but smiles back anyway. “Whatever, you can make breakfast if you want, I have to finish my paper anyway. Let’s see if you’re as good as you claim.”
Gen returns the grin immediately, flipping the longer side of his hair back.
“Prepare to be amazed, Senku-chan. But what paper is so important that you set your kitchen on fire?”
“College stuff; I’m writing about binary star systems for a project and it’s due Monday, aka, tomorrow.”
Gen quirks his eyebrows, tilting his head to stare at the scientist.
“You’re telling me there are stars composed of zeros and ones?”
Senku finally sets down the pan and checks his hands for any possible damages. “Not really, in this case binary just means two—two separate stars that are very closely spaced, so much so that they both exert gravitational pulls on one another and end up orbiting each other. But looking at the sky without a proper telescope you will just see them as a singular star. Though a mathematically “binary” star would be a cool concept.”
Likes to ramble, Kohaku’s voice from their call yesterday whispers in his ear, and Gen is now convinced so himself. But it’s different somehow.
Smart people like to force their knowledge on those around them. Intelligent people, on the other hand, know how to show it without belittling their listeners.
And Gen decides that Senku is definitely intelligent.
“Huh, the more you know,” Gen nods along, then moves to get back into the apartment, Senku right on his tail. “Did you know that there was this study where they created a machine to detect binary characteristics in people’s dreams?”
“Did it lead to anything?”
“Not in particular,” Gen opens the fridge, beaming at the vast variety of food that greets him from inside. “But it got me thinking—is it possible to build a machine that translates people’s dreams into binary? You know, through brain waves and what not. Maybe it would help us understand what they really mean.”
Senku pulls out a chair from the small table in the corner, sits on it and strikes Gen with a stare that can cause earthquakes.
Because eyes are the portal to the soul, and many don’t know how much they let on with just a simple glance. Gen wonders if Senku knows how much passion is stored in his right now, if he knows that Gen can see the already jumping mental gymnastics as the scientist brings a hand up to scratch his chin.
“Hm, sounds like a very sci-fi type of concept, but I don’t think it would be impossible. If we can detect the electrical activity in someone’s brain, then interpret the different impulses to be assigned a variable of either two conditionals, a binary representation of the activity itself can be printed out.”
“Like an electroencephalogram?” Gen chimes in, setting down a carton of eggs. “But an EEG wouldn’t necessarily translate what is happening in the dream—just how the person reacts to it.”
“No, it wouldn’t, but it’s a start. Images are a more complicated concept, but again, I hardly believe anything is impossible when it comes to science, so…”
Senku throws theories left and right, Gen breaks an egg into the heating pan. Just a little more of this, of Senku’s train of thought traveling through the air, of Gen throwing passenger ideas on board as they attempt to reach stop “solution”. Then he’ll remind Senku of the abandoned paper; he swears.
Himari
Today
9:28 AM
Did you take money from my purse?
Today
11:35 AM
Just bring them back on Wednesday.
Seen 12:03 PM
“This place is in desperate need of a carpet, my back huuurts.”
Senku looks up from the computer and raises an eyebrow.
“Maybe it wouldn’t if you weren’t laying on the floor.”
Gen returns the stare, then rolls off to lay on his stomach, propping his head on two elbows that immediately dig into merciless wooden planks.
“And be isolated on the top bed where I can’t hold deeply meaningful conversations with my new roomie? That’s counterproductive, Senku-chan!”
“We haven’t even talked in the past hour, idiot. Laying on the floor has been nothing but pointless.”
For a first morning it really turns out to be a lazy one; a smooth rhythm of this and that, randomized, yet with a lingering sense of routine.
Senku’s computer is melting his fingertips. He can’t even read the titles of the tabs squished together on the top of his screen but he’s convinced himself they are important enough to be left open; or at least he thinks so, since he was the one who opened them in the first place.
Gen was exploring.
You’d be surprised how much a room can tell you about a person that is beyond the obvious details, like Senku being into science. The half full (or empty, but Gen has had this debate one too many times already) water bottles scream lazy, yet not too lazy to forget to take care of himself; the posters whisper how Senku is not as practical as he likes to show (the discrepancy is not that high, he uses a 3 in 1 shampoo after all), but still perhaps carries a notch of sentiment in his heart. Gen wonders what else is hidden in there.
So he looked around, scanned through some of the books with covers he found mildly interesting, then got bored and tossed himself on the floor until he caught Senku’s attention. And now they are bickering about a carpet.
Gen fakes an annoyed huff and sits up, crossing his arms.
“That’s your fault, Senku-chan, prioritizing physics over me! And what’s with the idiot anyway?”
“I’m prioritizing my life over a random person that crashed my apartment, how cruel of me. And I don’t know,” Senku scratches his neck. “You say so many stupid things, so the nickname is only fair.”
“Oh come on now,” Gen shoves back that one dangling piece of white hair that keeps blocking his vision. “I have a very diverse personality from which many more appropriate nicknames can be driven.”
“You cook and talk bullshit. It’s either chef or idiot, and those eggs weren’t that impressive.”
“Pfft, you’ll see very soon how unfitting it is to call me an idiot.”
“Sure, idiot.”
Senku’s victory is as childish as his pride over it, Gen decides, and falls back with a defeated sigh.
“But you’re right, a carpet wouldn’t hurt.”
Nevermind, he won, time to shove it in Senku’s face.
“Told you! Of course it wouldn’t, it was my idea after all,” Gen sticks out his tongue and Senku slams the laptop shut, then sits up, walks to Gen, and—
“Hey, don’t kick me you—” Gen slaps Senku’s foot as the scientist pokes him, biting back the ugly wheeze that threatens to break free. But Gen is laughing. The neighbors can probably hear. Gen hopes they can, because he doesn’t think he has laughed this much in a long while now.
“Your socks are so ugly get them off meee—”
Gen catches the edge of Senku’s black sock with tiny spaceships and star freckles on it, then pulls with all his might. Senku stumbles but catches the desk. Gen is now a proud owner of a space sock and the loudest cackle this building has ever witnessed.
But he does eventually peel himself off the floor and nudges Senku to go get that carpet. Now? Oh yes right now, because Gen is rubbing his back and wiping dry tears from his cheeks, and Senku really doesn’t want his laptop to set off from the desk with how loud it’s whirring.
A lot of shuffling around, hurried typing from Senku to get those last words in, and fussing from Gen over what to wear between the three pieces of clothing he brought, they manage to stumble out of the apartment. Gen hides between a pair of sunglasses, which he occasionally drops low on his nose to raise an eyebrow at Senku, who just shakes his head and prays they don’t look too weird in front of everyone on the bus. It’s only for three stops anyway, and the mall approaches so fast they almost miss their destination.
“Senku-chan, look!”
Senku turns to the right where Gen is plastered face first into a glass window. Behind it draws out a shop filled to the brim with crystals in all various shapes and sizes, some ordered into jewelry, others neatly placed in a line of colors morphing into each other.
“Don’t tell me you believe in spiritual propaganda,” Senku stands next to him and glances into the shop with squinted eyes. “What next, you’re gonna analyze my zodiac chart?”
“Zodiacs are for people who don’t understand themselves,” Gen refutes, already walking into the shop. “So no, I hardly believe in those. Crystals though are a whole different story; plus, they’re so pretty!”
Senku’s frowning, but that doesn’t stop neither Gen from entering, nor him from following. Stones are hanging left and right the deeper they dive, Gen stops to ogle at everything, Senku watches and complains under his nose. Yet annoyance is hard to force when the person next to you is glowing brighter than the shop’s shiniest crystal; when Gen is explaining what each one of them is, what beliefs and rumors circulate around it, and whatever other information he can pull from the top of his head, and Senku listens because knowledge is knowledge, no matter how ridiculous the field.
“Check out this one!”
Gen moves swiftly forward, then shifts to reveal a necklace with a single stone caught between silver petals at its center. The crystal shimmers in striking violet and Gen’s fingers are fast to catch it; Senku still doesn’t see the appeal.
“It’s an amethyst,” Gen explains, gently twisting it around. “Which is basically just crystalized quartz that happens to be purple. But it has to be one of the most prominent crystals among those who believe in their power, since it’s very closely tied to both serenity and spirituality. Also fun fact,” and Gen lets go of the necklace, yet his eyes are still caught deep in its shades. Senku’s only staring at him intently. “It is believed to have the power of sobering you up when you’re drunk.”
“What? That sounds so random.”
“Blame the Ancient Greeks for that. But there’s also this myth about the Roman God of wine Baccus; to put it simply, a maiden named Amethyst met him when he was very pissed off and just as he was about to unleash his power on her: BAM!” Gen’s hands fly up in a theatrical demonstration, earning a judging side-glance from the cashier. He puts them back down and returns a sheepish wave, enthusiasm never leaving his grin as he continues the story. “Diana intervenes and turns her into a crystal. Then Baccus gets so upset by that that he pours wine onto her and colors the crystal purple.”
“Huh,” Senku nods, now checking out the crystal properly. “I still don’t believe in any of this, but at least it has a story behind it. As much as you can call anything from Ancient Greece a ‘story’.”
“Quite deranged those old people, weren’t they?” Gen chuckles along.
“Why don’t you get it?”
“What?”
“The necklace,” Senku points to it. “If you like it so much why don’t you get it?”
Gen huffs back.
As if.
“Unfortunately, it’s just a liiittle over my budget,” he turns around, gaze already devouring the crystals on the next aisle. “One day when I’m rich and famous I will spoil myself with as many of those as I want! For now I’ll have to stick to cheap metal trinkets from second-hand stores.”
The tint of disappointment in his voice is just enough to be caught, and Gen wonders if Senku did pick up on it. But it’s irrelevant whether he did or not, since the other doesn’t say anything and they move on in silence.
“What’s this one?” Senku suddenly asks, picking up a ring with a bloody color and polished surface.
“Garnet, I believe,” Gen takes it from him, sliding his index finger through the hole. “It is used for self-confidence and balancing your energies, and it’s the January birthstone. Look, it matches your eyes too!’
Gen takes it off and holds it right in Senku’s face, next to his squinting eyes soaked in crimson and disbelief. The scientist obviously can’t see it, but it does remind him of his eye color, oddly enough. It’s a coincidence, just as is the fact that—
“My birthday is in January.”
“No way,” Gen’s mouth falls open, and he brings the crystal back in his own space to roll it around his fingers. “And you say you don’t believe in any of this! What are the chances?”
“Technically, if we take all the people who were ever born during January and find what percentage of them have this same eye color—”
“You’re unbelievable!” Gen stops him before the science rant turns into a lecture, laughing at him with a shaking head. “I didn’t mean it literally, obviously. And besides,” Gen pulls Senku’s hand, sliding the ring on his pointer; his skin is harsh, bruises and burns painting its rough surface, and Gen wonders how dangerous the chemicals Senku involves in his experiments get. Then he retreats his own hand back, smile beaming, voice lower than before. “You chose exactly this one. That’s what makes the coincidence magical.”
The gesture is oddly intimate and Gen hopes the heating of his cheeks is nothing more than a result of bad air conditioning. Most likely, since Senku’s ears have also brighten up at some point while Gen wasn’t looking;
Was he ever not looking?
“Whatever you say, it’s not like it will change my mind.” Senku finally cuts through the silence and leaves the ring in its original place.
Gen also shakes himself out of the imaginary tension, running back to his comfort zone:
teasing; joking; being too loud for the poor cashier’s nerves who keeps glaring at Gen over the counter. Not like it will stop him from talking though.
“But you are interested in what I have to say about the crystals? Seems like a paradox to me, Senku-chan.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“Well,” Gen starts, a proud smirk already forming on his face. “You ask questions. You look at me when I speak and I haven’t seen your eyes wander into dreamland a single time. You considered buying that ring but decided it would be like admitting defeat to get it after you trash-talked my precious crystals, so you gave up on that. And you haven’t complained more than twice and it was only when we just walked in.” Gen marks a fourth finger down and looks up at Senku expectantly, maybe for applause, maybe to lie and call it a wrong assumption.
And Senku’s lips tug downwards, eyebrows raised, head nodding lightly. Gen knows when he’s amused the audience.
“Can you prove it though? That I wanted this ring?”
“I don’t need to prove anything, you did it yourself,” Gen is quick on his feet. “You were checking the price and it took you a good few seconds to leave the ring back after you had already reached forward to do so. And you rubbed the spot on your thumb where it was.”
It’s those small gestures that speak volumes. People love talking, but never about the important things—that’s why we post pictures of the most popular places you find on the map, and not of the small restaurant with nice music and wallflowers that made the vacation actually memorable. We gush to our friends about the statues and monuments, but keep the whispered to strangers confessions in the middle of the night on a random sidewalk to ourselves. So Gen has learned to look for those lines that no one ever writes, yet everyone desperately wants to be read. Senku will catch up on that, sooner or later.
“Damn, okay,” the scientist says and brings his hands upwards defeatedly. “You got me there. I didn’t know you were such a mentalist.”
“There’s many things you don’t know about me, Senku chan,” Gen nods and raises a shoulder nonchalantly, but it’s obvious he relishes in the compliment. There’s no praise like the one coming from someone you admire, and knowing how Senku could probably write a better textbook on quantum physics than the already published ones (with the honors and PhD claims and everything) Gen doesn’t even reject his admiration for him. He takes it by the hand and hopes Senku will take its other one soon enough. “For example, that mentalist is a much more fitting nickname than idiot!”
“Hm,” Senku hums, then reaches out to take the ring with the faintest of smiles; Gen isn’t as subtle with his one. “Okay, mentalist, I guess it makes sense. But don’t expect me to not call you an idiot when your bullshittery strikes again.”
“I don’t remember ever saying anything that doesn’t reflect my intelligence and wit, Senku-chan, so I have nothing to worry about.”
Gen skips to the counter, tugging Senku along (who doesn’t miss the chance to murmur “idiot” under his breath), where the cashier looks nothing less than relieved to send them away with their money in his pocket. Turns out, even Gen has a shame bone in his body because he immediately runs out of the store when Senku has to pay.
For a magnetic field to be created, there needs to be an already existing electric field that is to generate it; this means any charge creates a magnetic field around itself, in addition to its electric one.
Right now, Gen feels like he has created the strongest magnetic field out there to attract clusterfucks.
“Kohaku’s calling.”
The whole day has gone in a blissful haze of pointless debates over penguins and their classification as birds, ice cream which Senku was (forced into) paying for, and Gen repressing the memory of his phone’s existence.
If babies can be excused by not understanding object permanence, so can I, he told himself, switched the thing off, and drowned it somewhere in his backpack to never be found again.
And he did actually forget for a second that he had a life outside of this impulsive adventure, and didn’t dare pull himself out of Delululand when it was starting to seem so real.
Until Senku stopped in front of an underwear shop, and just when Gen was getting ready to be annoying about it, pulled his phone out and answered. That same phone that now is in Gen’s face and the faith waiting on the other end of the line feels worse than whatever punishment he was promised to suffer in the afterlife when he discovered hair dye.
“What?”
Senku’s telling him something, his lips are definitely moving, but all Gen can hear are sirens of questions and prayers blasting in his ears. The nail on his index finger digs under the one on his thumb, his eyes go wide, and he has to manually breathe because his thoughts are so loud and large and chaotic everything else in his body forgets to function.
Who else did she call?
Who else will she call if I don’t answer?
Should I answer?
“Gen?”
He blinks, and it’s quiet. Senku has furrowed his eyebrows. Kohaku’s wiggly, static voice repeats his name. He needs to get it together before this day with Senku becomes his last one.
“Hello?”
Gen grabs the phone suddenly, turning his back to Senku to retrieve to a place where no one can call him on the absurdity of whatever he is about to sew up. Luckily, a bathroom awaits by the corner, with a corridor so long he feels like he’s on the runway; what was that metaphor again with the light at the end of the tunnel? Because this light might as well burn him alive once he reaches it.
“Kohaku-chan, is that you?” Gen locks himself into a stall and whispers.
There’s blood under his fingernails.
We haven’t even looked for a damn carpet yet.
Notes:
Who knew that writing takes time? Anyway, I'm finally home and hopefully will have more free time to work on this because I really want to finish it. This was more of a lazy chapter to set some dynamics and relish in some SenGen fluff before we get to the more serious stuff; patience, my dears! We will get there very soon.
Kudos and comments are appreciated (I crave validation from strangers on the internet) <3
Also tell me if my pacing is shit, this is the thing that trips me up the most I feel like.
Tapazuu on Chapter 1 Thu 13 Jul 2023 11:38AM UTC
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