Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It turns out that trying not to run into someone while looking at the ground is a harder than it seems.

As the businessman whose shoes she had stepped on cursed and shouted at her, Fuuka quickened her pace, dispersing deeper into Paulownia mall's afternoon crowd, all the while being keenly aware of the confused gazes she drew towards her odd outfit and demeanor as she passed by; she just distracted herself by looking at her feet like they were the most interesting thing in the world. Underneath her off-brand long sleeved hoodie she was by now drenched in sweat, her hood was tightly drawn over her head to hide her hair and the late summer heat wasn't doing her any favors, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make as long as no one saw her, or worse, what she was about to do. Her hands itched in the pockets of her sweatpants and the pit in her stomach grew larger by the minute, but still she pressed on, her feet guiding her almost on their own towards her destination.

She reached said destination faster than she expected, and, gaze still pinned on her shoes, she tried (and failed) to steady her irregular breathing and calm her beating heart. How bad can it be? Just one visit won't hurt you the rational side of her mind reasoned. Her embarrassment and shame almost made her turn tail and run back to the dorm but she forced her feet to stay planted where they were and obey her commands.

How bad can it be? Just one visit won't hurt you. Fuuka thought as she swallowed her sense of self-loathing.

How bad can it be? Just one visit won't hurt you. Fuuka thought as she walked through the doors of Game Parade Arcade.

The arcade, huh... So this is what it looks like on the inside... As the loud sounds and garish lights invaded her senses, almost begging her to take a look around, she kept her gaze fixed on the brightly colored carpets that littered the floor, only occasionally sneaking a glance forward in order to find what she was looking for. Navigating the labyrinth of arcade machines and games she made sure to avoid the crowds of teenagers looking to pass the time with their friends on one of the last days of summer break; she couldn't afford to be recognized by any of them at all costs, if word of her being there spread around she would never see the end of it at school: she didn’t want to take any chances.

She passed the fighting games, the DDR pads, the on-rails shooters and puzzle games, deeper and deeper into the arcade she ventured, it really almost felt like venturing into a Tartarus of her own creation. Eventually she reached the back wall of the arcade, where the storage locker and old, unpopular, games were stored. Since not many people hung around in there, Fuuka felt it was safe enough to raise her head; the girl craned her aching neck around, spying for the game she was looking for, her only reason for having come here in the first place. It must be here somewhere, I heard those boys talking about it at school and-

There it was! It was a bit hard to spot, what with the dim lights of the backroom and the cabinet itself being completely devoid of any art on the sides and front, really she might have missed it had the title not been currently on displayed on the screen.

Darius 外伝 (Gaiden)

©1994 Taito

Fuuka's gaze was enraptured by the cabinet's screen, her feelings of embarrassment and shame were suddenly drowned out for a moment as she stood before one of the games that had defined her childhood; the automated preview had by now started to play, showing off the player’s spaceship navigating around game's first level, Zone A. For a brief moment she felt... younger, almost reliving the trepidation of booting that same game up on her childhood PlayStation for the first time all those years ago and thinking that the old shooter was the best looking game she'd ever laid her eyes upon.

Fumbling in her pocket she pulled out her coin purse and, in no time at all, she had a 100 yen coin ready to be inserted into the machine. Before starting up the game, Fuuka tried out the controls to see how they felt in her hands: the joystick was a little on the big size for her hands and a lot more awkward to use than an analog stick but she could work with it, the buttons were large and felt amazing to press even though the red paint was beginning to chip off and flake, a small piece of it got stuck beneath her fingernail, she didn’t even notice.

It really does look better on here that on the PlayStation, doesn't it? The coin slipped effortlessly into the arcade cabinet. She slipped another one in, then another one for good measure, 3 credits total, good enough.

Fuuka trained her finger over the start button, mumbled something under her breath and pressed.

The first level, Zone A, opened with a vast pixelated cityscape that loomed behind as her spaceship gracefully glided into view, when she made to move it around and test out the weapons and bombs Fuuka was struck by just how awkward her spaceship felt to control, whether it was because of her rustiness or her unfamiliarity with arcade controls, it didn’t bother her much, in fact she though it almost refreshing, and kind of exciting in a way, like seeing an old friend from long ago, changed yes, but deep down the same person.

When the first waves of enemies came on screen however Fuuka’s mind was suddenly struck by an errant memory; the game’s enemies were based around various fishes and sea creatures, all turned into fearsome looking mechanical spaceships for the player to gun down, however, a ten year old Fuuka had, upon her first play-through, thought that she didn’t quite want to hurt those fishes, I like fishes, they're cute! She’d almost burst into tears when she killed the first level’s miniboss, even though it had until the prior moment been shooting flames at her.

Fuuka’s train of thought lingered on the memory: it’d been something five or six years ago that a grinning little Fuuka had rushed though the front door of her house excited beyond all belief that her dad had finally bought her a real videos game! As she still childishly called them even at the age of ten.

Fuuka remembered how, Back then, her parents had signed her up to gods know how many cram schools, afternoon clubs and private tutoring lessons so she could bring home the absolute highest grades possible. It had been a brutal ordeal for her, there was no other way of putting it, it had been brutal and she’d hated it so much. And so, to get her to study without fussing and crying so much about it, her parents, in one of the few instances in which they did some good to her, had promised her a reward if she was able to score in the top percentile of her fourth year elementary school class, a video game console.

She very quickly became enamored with her console, the simple fact that she could wind down in the few hours of the day when she wasn’t studying like hell had finally given her something she’d been lacking for a long time: a reason to wake up in the morning and wade through the mundane hell that was her life, a means to escape. At school she had no one to hang out or chat with, the only times she wasn’t totally ignored was when someone was picking on her and pulling awful pranks or when they wanted her notes. Fuuka would give them to anyone anytime they asked, she hoped it’d make them care about her, or notice her, really.

Much later Fuuka learned that her dad had bought the console and the games it came with on the cheap, getting them from a yard sale. The owners of a house in the neighborhood had died a few years before in an accident of some kind and the relative that had taken over the property had decided to sell off both the house and the personal effects of the old owners, among them a PlayStation console with two controllers and a handful of games, or so her dad had told her.

She always had few games for her system, though that was all the more reason to replay them to hell and back ‘till she knew every nook and cranny: she beat both Metal Gear Solid and Crash Bandicoot with little trouble and when she bought herself a used copy of Final Fantasy VII, the only game she bought in addition with what came with the console, she was also able to beat it in less than a month. There was only one game of her collection she was never able to beat:

Darius Gaiden, the game she was currently playing.

As a kid she tried relentlessly to reach any of the final levels, getting better little by little, day by day; the task of completing the game just spoke to Fuuka on a deeper level, the need to sharpen her reflexes to evade danger, the tenacity needed to persevere through failure after failure and the need to plan out which route of the many possible she could take stimulated her much more than the monotonous memorization they expected of her at school.

The first level’s boss went down and Fuuka had by now burned through an entire credit’s worth of lives, shoot I’ve gotten so rusty these past three years, it was no problem though, she still had two of the credits she’d inserted. The game prompted her to choose the next stage she wanted to traverse: Zone B, the top path, or Zone C, on the bottom path, each of them leading to different zones and different final bosses later down the line.

She flicked the joystick down and, with one press of the fire button, she was on her way to Zone C, her preferred route from when she was a kid.

A long time ago, the first time she had died with a score high enough to make it to the leaderboard screen at the end of the game, Fuuka was shocked to see that it was populated with dozens of scores that dwarfed the run she had just concluded, the top score had been something like 500,000 points while Fuuka’s had been a meager 20,000. Something else had also caught her eye: all the scores on the leaderboard had been signed with the same name: “M.Y”.

This M.Y. had always taken the same bottom route through the game, always the same stages in run after run, but they’d never made it past the second to last level, Zone U, just one skip before the finish line in Zone V’.

Just who could this M.Y. be? Fuuka was beyond sure they must have been the previous owner of the console, but still, What happened to them? Where were they now? Were they a boy or a girl? Would they be happy she took their PlayStation? Could she one day find them? If she did... could they be friends?

Fuuka was fascinated by the intrigue that surrounded this mysterious individual in her mind, to the point that she had made it her life’s mission to complete what they had started and someday finally beat the final zone and finish the game. She never did.

She’d gotten so invested in the game and her mission to beat it for M.Y.’s sake that her previously perfect record at school began to falter: first she began arriving late at cram school, strike one.

Then one day she faked an illness to skip school and played all morning while her parents were at work, strike two.

Until one day she did the unthinkable and on her sixth grade finals test she scored an abysmal 89 out of 100. Anything less than a 95 was outrageous by her parents’ standards, strike three.

The memory of her father’s rage at her bloomed sharply in her mind for a moment, and felt an involuntary shudder as the memory of her father’s wrath came unbidden to her mind. Her mother took away her PlayStation and all her games after that, hiding them away as punishment for having dared to have rebelled against them. They wouldn’t know real rebellion if it hit them in the face.

From that day onward Fuuka’s life lost that little luster it had previously had, with nothing to balance out the bullying at school and the suffering she felt at home…

Fuuka was taken out of her musings when a torpedo destroyed her ship and exhausted her final credit. The torpedo had been fired by the second level’s boss, a shining blue battleship based on some long-extinct fossil fish that Fuuka hadn’t even noticed she was fighting, and Fuuka had to be quick in putting another credit in: if she didn’t do so in 10 seconds, it’d be game over.

Thinking quickly, Fuuka dug out her coin purse once more from the pockets of her sweat pants, she shook away the pieces of lint that had gotten stuck to it and fumbled to try to get it open in time. once she did she dove her hand inside hoping to grasp a coin or two, but she found only air. I’d brought like six or seven coins with me! Have I really been playing so badly? And I didn’t even notice?? Oh gods, the timer was at 7 seconds she needed something or her entire run would be over for good.

Only then did she see it, a hand emerging from behind her right side dropping a pile of 100 yen coins onto the cabinet’s control panel. Fuuka’s blood turned ice cold when she saw it.

Oh gods Oh gods Oh gods someone’s watching me someone’s been watching me for all this time they want me to continue who are they? Is this some sick joke at my expense? Will they taunt me over it at school and say I play stupid old boy games while they throw my books in the trash? Where is Makoto? Why isn’t he here? He’d get whoever’s behind me to back off like he did that time in July Oh gods someone Help me.

Fuuka turned her gaze toward the coins and the retreating hand that had delivered them to her, the person behind her just stood there, silent and ominous; every fiber of her being was screaming at her to turn around and make a run for it, but her body betrayed her, fear paralyzed her and kept her feet glued on the ground. Her ears were ringing, her forehead was by now covered in sweat, she had 3 seconds to decide what to do.

She popped the coins in the machine and got back to playing, ever mindful of the presence behind her.

And so Fuuka continued to play, though doing so while being fully aware that someone was watching her from right behind her meant that she paid little thought to the game itself. She felt trapped, like a deer cornered by a pack of hungry wolves, after all, who said it was only one person that was watching her right now?

Why would anyone voluntarily offer their coins to someone like her of their own volition? It couldn’t be possible, there had to be some ulterior motive behind all this, Fuuka could think of a dozen different reasons right off the top of her head and was plotting at least as many escape plans, but despite the utter dread she felt she just couldn’t move.

How silly had she been, expecting that things had truly changed since June. Natsuki and her troupe may have stopped bothering her, but it was only natural that someone else would pick up the slack and remind a waste of space like Fuuka of her place. Fuuka just hoped they weren’t filming her, it’d be a small mercy. But what predator has mercy on its prey? Eat or be eaten, that’s just how it works in this world.

Fuuka couldn’t find it in herself to hate whoever was standing behind her, after all it was only natural that the strong would lord over the weak.

She’d been so caught up in her dread that she been completely unable to concentrate on the game. She’d dropped the ball to such a degree that even after four credits worth of lives she hadn’t been able to beat that same fucking boss she’d been at earlier, only now she was once again out of credits, credits that weren’t even her own.

What was her observer going to do to her now that she’d thrown away their precious credits? Her mind became awash with ever increasingly gruesome scenarios of what they could do to her, and Fuuka knew deep down how it would play out: she would endure whatever kind of bullying her observer would dish out like the useless rat she was and all they while she would meekly stand there and take it, sobbing and begging like every single time this had happened before. Fuuka almost ground her teeth together she was so anxious and scared, her legs shaking almost to the point of giving out beneath her.

“Here, you can have some more of mine, it’s not like I’m going to run out of them or something.” The voice behind her said in a monotone matter-of-fact mumble that very much resembled that of someone she… knew? Wait is that Makoto?

There was no doubt about it, it must be him! He was the only one she knew whose voice could be so mumbly and at the same time clear, aloof yet firm, granted she didn’t know that many people, especially boys, but still. Alongside the realisation that it was Makoto that had offered her his coins so she could play some stupid old arcade game, came the equally, if not more, embarrassing realisation that she had freaked out almost to the point of a panic attack because he had just tried to be kind to her.

Someone being kind to her… the thought it still felt foreign to Fuuka.

Wait does he even know it’s me who’s playing?

How could he possibly tell it was her though? Her hair was hidden beneath her hood, she’d made sure to go out in as nondescript an outfit as possible, avoiding any school related garment or any of her usual outfits, and she hadn’t spoken a single word! From his point of view she must surely look like some random middle school kid in the back of an arcade, she even had the height to pass off as one.

In a flash Makoto was already on his way to deposit another pile of hundred yen coins onto the cabinet.

“D-don’t worry, I umm… have to get… going?” She replied in a trembling voice. It’d taken all her willpower to force herself to say as polite a refusal as possible, though her by now flaring embarrassment and shame had quickly betrayed her, hopefully he didn’t notice. Makoto’s outstretched hand pulled back, the coins mutely reflecting the vibrant lights of the arcade behind them.

Fuuka let the on-screen timer run to zero, leading to a game over. When the game prompted her to input her name she almost succumbed to her engrained habit of signing her scores as “FUU”, but as her cursor hovered over the F she realised that she would blow her whole cover off if she did that: Makoto absolutely couldn’t find out about her. Thinking quickly, Fuuka put in the first thing that came to mind: “…”, absolutely not suspicious in any way.

She couldn’t tell if behind her Makoto was getting impatient with her or was in any way miffed that she had expended his coins. He’d always been the quiet sort, the kind of person that just didn’t make an effort to stand out or make his presence know in a social setting, Fuuka would hate to admit that she had always wondered why he‘d become like that, it probably had to do with what happened to his parents, but he never opened himself up to anyone, neither Fuuka nor her teammates quite knew what lay beneath the surface when it came to Makoto.

Whatever lay beneath the mask had however sacrificed his chance to play the game in a heartbeat, despite the fact that he, hopefully at least, thought the person playing a complete stranger; that was something else that set him apart from other people, his selflessness, his willingness to bend over backwards for the sake of others while neglecting his own well-being. Fuuka, however, knew first hand that such selflessness was a double edged sword: after all, anyone, even the lowliest of scum, can feel like someone worth helping when you think yourself lower than dirt.

Oh, there she goes rambling in her mind again, Could you just move aside and be done with it? The treacherous voice within her mind sneered and Fuuka obeyed. Cheeks by now thoroughly reddened and head bent as low as it could go, Fuuka took her leave, awkwardly shuffling to her right like a crab, making sure not an inch of her face was visible to Makoto. She could feel his inquisitive gaze on her back as she bumped into the far wall of the arcade Ouchie. she spun around herself a bit and tuned right again, back still firmly turned towards Makoto as she once more crab-walked her way out of his sight.

By the time she made it to the other side of the arcade she felt far enough, and safe enough, to hazard a gaze in the Darius Gaiden cabinet’s general direction. Hiding behind an out of service cabinet, she found Makoto slightly bent down, clearly inserting the credits into the machine. Fuuka knew she had to leave this place lest she be recognised by someone, but there was something that kept her pinned in place, it wasn’t fear, as it had been before, rather it was something else entirely, curiosity.

Makoto had never seemed the type to play games, at least from a superficial point of view he didn’t, but really she knew the leader of SEES far too little to ascertain his interests and hobbies beyond his obvious interest in music, though Fuuka had always felt that there was something more sinister hiding behind it. Still, what was Yuki Makoto, student council member, rising star of the track team, poster child of the art club and second most sought after boy in school doing here, playing some obscure old arcade shooter game on such a lovely August afternoon?

As he got up and gripped the controls to begin his game there was no sign that he’d noticed her spying on him from behind. His back was turned towards her, neck ever so slightly leaning forward, silhouette highlighted by the bright light of the arcade screen, she could see the cable of his headphones dangling in the air in front of him. He looked to be completely taken by the game, and this simple fact piqued Fuuka’s curiosity; if he was so taken by the game, maybe it meant that this wasn’t his first time playing, that he actually had more experience with videogames than he let on.

Why did she care so much about whether or not Makoto liked to play videogames? It wasn’t like she’d finally have a chance to-

Wait a minute. Fuuka had barely had enough time to snap herself out of her third internal monologue of the day that she noticed something odd about Makoto.

He was playing like a pro.

He guided his ship like he knew the level layout by memory, knowing exactly where all the enemies would appear and the best ways to destroy them, reacting to all incoming bullets with the kind of reflexes one could only develop on a battlefield. Soon enough, without having died once he’d cleared the first boss in record time, he’d purposefully positioned himself right in front of the robot fish’s mouth, its weak point, and somehow he’d managed to simultaneously avoid all attacks while remaining close to it, and hey how was he even able to press the fire button so quickly?

Fuuka felt like a fish out of water: not only did Makoto of all people know about one of her favourite childhood games, not only did he still play it to this day, but he was even better than Fuuka had ever been in her prime; her cheeks once more flushed a rosy red, though this time there was something else alongside the shame.

As she kept looking, safely concealed from him by her vantage point, Makoto just kept going: level after level, boss after boss. After Zone A, he blasted through Zones C, F, J and O, before making it to Zone U. It was there, right before the final level, that she saw Makoto struggle; the Zone boss was clearly giving him trouble, despite his form remaining as composed and focused as always she could just about see his ship getting hit by multiple attacks at once, decimating his shield and ending his run. As the game over countdown began however, Makoto, instead of using up another credit to continue the game, instead chose to let the timer expire, leading to a game over. It was now time for Makoto to sign his score with a name, Fuuka could just about peek the name he was choosing: he’d put an “M” and a dot followed by a “Y”…

Hold up, M.Y…

M.Y?

No it couldn’t be possible! There was no way in hell that he had been the previous owner of her old console, that mysterious M.Y she’d spent so long wondering about; it just couldn’t.

Fuuka must have made some noise without noticing, maybe a gasp of surprise or something like that, because she saw Makoto turn around behind him and look back at her, his eyes locking with hers.

She just looked back at him for a while, mind blank, breath still and heart so quiet it’d almost given out. It took her a solid few seconds to realise that Makoto was looking at her. At her.

Fuuka ran out of the arcade as fast as she could. In her haste to escape, she failed to notice Makoto’s gaze following her.

Chapter Text

M.Y

Makoto Yuki

How could she have not noticed that until now! The answer had been under her nose this whole time! Maybe the reason why she hadn’t caught on earlier was that he’d put his name before his surname like they do overseas rather than the other way around, but why would he even do that to begin with!

Fuuka strangled a groan of frustration by burying her head deeper into her pillow; upon coming back home just a little more shaken than usual and earning herself plenty of curious gazes from the likes of Yukari-chan and Kirijo-senpai, Fuuka had rushed up the stairs and locked herself in her room, whereupon she’d promptly flung herself on the bed, mind addled by at least five different kinds of shame and embarrassment all at once.

Outside the sun had by now almost fully set, a gentle summer breeze made the curtains of her room flutter gently and among the cacophony of Saturday afternoon traffic she could hear some birds chirping happily in the wind. The almost too-good-to-be-true aesthetic of the day outside contrasted neatly with Fuuka, as both on the inside and on the outside she could only be described as an absolute mess.

Eventually she found the willpower to release her poor pillow from her clutches and tentatively sit on her bed: the blankets were all rumpled up, her little cat plush was lying face first on the ground along side many of his furry companions, My babies! As she picked the little guys back up she busied herself with tidying up her bed as best she could so Mr Mittens and all her other plushes could rest peacefully on an orderly bed. In the closet she found some fresh clothes to put on and so she slunk her way to the bathroom to change and wash up.

Upon returning to her room Fuuka’s head was spinning with thoughts, but if she ever had a hope of coming up with a plan or strategy of some kind she would have to calm down a little. Upon taking a steadying breath she sought out what had recently become an unlikely companion in her short life in this dorm: her watering can.

At the foot of the bed laid a green watering can she’d gotten at the florist alongside her first batch of flower seeds and pots, her recent discovery of gardening had proven to be a godsend when it came to calming her ever fragile nerves and helping her deal with her insomnia: her flowers had by now become sort of her silent companions in this journey of hers, always there whenever at night she couldn’t sleep for hours, her mind paralysed by terrors both old and new alike.

Picking up the half filled appliance she began to gently water the pot of sunflowers that rested on the second level of her shelf. Fuuka allowed herself just a moment to let her mind wander and lose itself between the soothing sound of the water and the sight of the many pots of flowers she’d been nurturing, some barely more than weeds, while others in full blossom.

She wanted to get her PlayStation back, she needed a way to get her PlayStation back from her parents; she’d show it to Makoto and finally see whether or not it had actually belonged to him before she’d gotten her hands on it. She also really wanted to play games with Makoto, or just find any excuse to spend more time with him beyond Tartarus outings or schooldays, but that was a problem for later.

Still how would she be able to get her parents to hand it back to her? Last she saw them, the day she decided to move into the dorms they hadn’t exactly been on good terms, the last she’d heard from them was a phone call she got last week from her mother asking her how she’d been holding up: her mother had sounded sympathetic towards her, there she say, almost motherly in her concern, a completely different attitude from the strictness she remembered. She hadn’t heard from her dad ever since leaving the house.

She wouldn’t let her mother’s apparent empathy blind her to into believing that her parents would just happily hand her back her PlayStation and put everything behind them if she asked. There was no way in hell that they’d let Fuuka distract herself from what they thought was her only purpose in life, studying. Fuuka almost scoffed at the thought, her parents just had a way of getting under her skin that she still didn’t quite fully grasp.

She switched from the sunflowers to the still growing lilies, making sure to spread out the water evenly across the whole crop.

Could she perhaps try to talk to her parents and convince them to hand it over? It seemed unlikely they’d listen to her though…

She needed to ask someone for help, maybe someone like Kirijo-senpai, she’d for sure find a way to convince them to hand it over! Though, knowing Kirijo-senpai’s schedule and priorities, she’d probably be too busy to help her out. Same went for Sanada-senpai, with the extra problem that there was a high chance he’d challenge her dad to a boxing match. Asking Aigis or Ken was out of the question and Natsuki… she wouldn’t understand the situation, for all that they had made up after she apologized for her actions, Fuuka had always felt that Natsuki could never come to truly understand her and besides, she was out of town for the holidays.

She then thought of asking Yukari-chan for help, the idea sounded tantalizingly plausible to her: for all her temper and sarcasm, she could be persuasive, charming or even decisive when the situation called for it. But…

Fuuka sighed to herself as she tilted her watering can back, stopping the flow of water. She knew that deep down Yukari felt something for Makoto, kind of like her in a way. There was no objective proof, it was just a hunch of hers, but she’d always known well how to read people, even without Juno’s powers. Every time she hung out with Yukari none of them ever brought up Makoto, it was a line far too dangerous for them to ever cross. She didn’t think Yukari saw her as a potential rival, but… she didn’t want to take any chances and squander her friendship with Yukari over some stupid old game.

That left only one person she could turn to for help right now….

Gods help me, Fuuka thought as she put her watering can back in place and made her way down to the boys’ floor.

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Junpei Iori’s snoring could be heard all the way from the stairwell, standing in front of his door the sound almost felt like a continental subduction. Just How the hell do the guys put up with this every night and afternoon?

Fuuka felt like more of an idiot than usual, resorting to asking Junpei, of all people, for help. But, she just… needed someone to seek advice and help from, she needed someone and she needed them now. That’s how desperate she was to deal with this matter.

Fuuka knocked on the door, but nobody came.

She knocked again, a little firmer than before, but still, nobody came.

She knocked again, and again, and again...

Then, in an uncharacteristic outburst that betrayed just how quickly the pit of anxiety in her stomach had opened back up after her brief flower-induced bliss, she punched the door with all her (admittedly miniscule) might. The impact made her fist hurt like hell and she immediately retracted it, flailing it around in a vain attempt to get the burning sensation under control. She almost cursed out loud, almost.

The punch must have had its desired effect though, as the loud snoring stopped and within a few seconds she could just about make out a tired and muffled “who is it?” coming out of the room.

“It’s Yamagishi, do you have a moment?”

The door creaked open, and from within emerged Junpei, eyes still blurry and unfocused from sleep. He was looking at her like she was some kind of strange and curious creature that had appeared at his doorstep. “Fuuka, it’s a pleasure havin’ ya here and all, but what the-” he paused mid sentence to yawn and stretch his back out. “...hell brings you here?” His tone didn’t sound annoyed, just tired and confused.

“Iori-kun, I just, umm... need your h-help for... something.” Fuuka awkwardly glanced to her left and her right, checking if anyone was around to listen, the corridor was empty. “Could I come in and tell you?”

Junpei looked at her with bewilderment “Umm… Fuuka y’know that’s not allowed by the rules…” But then his whole expression brightened as a huge grin appeared on his face “So come on in and make yourself comfortable!”

The first thing that Fuuka felt upon entering Junpei’s room was the stench: a heady fragrance of sweat, stagnant air and the smells emanating from the not inconsiderable amount of dirty clothes strewn around. Luckily for her though, her nose had become incredibly well attuned to blocking out bad smells ever since she started to cook, somehow her dishes still managed to smell worse.

As she carefully navigated the minefield of strewn laundry, manga and shoes that littered the floor, Junpei made his way over to his unmade bed. “Welcome to my humble abode! I know it ain’t much but it’s more than enough for me!” He plopped himself down on the bed in the usual over-dramatic manner. “You can sit by the table and I’ve got some snacks left over in case ya need’em… or at least I think I still do.”

Fuuka sat down by Junpei’s desk, sneaking a glance at what appeared to be a maths textbook with a conspicuous wet mark in its middle. Sleeping on the job again, huh?

“Soo, Fuuka, what brings you here? Feel free to speak your mind, you know you can tell anything to Junpei Iori!” Gods, he’d make a killer actor wouldn’t he?

It took her some time to get herself to stop gnawing at her bottom lip and speak up.

“S-so a long time ago, when I was a kid, I umm… used to have a P-PlayStation? And-”

“Oh! A PlayStation?! Really? Did you-” Junpei then realised he’d just interrupted her and bade her to continue with a guilty look on his face.

“Umm, so this PlayStation was actually used, my dad bought it in a garage sale of some kind and I think that the previous owner may have been... Yuki-kun.” Junpei’s mouth dropped open at that.

“I-I know it sounds odd, but there’s this game I used to play a lot on there, and on the leaderboard I saw that many of the scores were made by someone that went by “M.Y.”, and just earlier, when I went to Game Parade to play the arcade version of that same game, I saw Yuki-kun playing and when he put his name at the end of the run he-”

“He put in M.Y. as his name, right?”

“Yes!” Fuuka replied with hope in her voice, the simple fact that she’d been able to vent out her problem to someone else had her feeling far better than she did earlier.

Junpei’s mouth somehow dropped even lower at that. “No. Freakin’. Way. You’re telling me Makoto’s a gamer? God, now I’ve gotta ask him to play DDR with me! Or, better yet, how ‘bout you bring that old PlayStation of yours down in the lobby? We could all chill out in the evening and play games together! I’d crush you all of course, heh!”

“About that…” Fuuka’s face immediately dropped and the relief within her was pulverised in an instant. “My parents took it away from me a long time ago, they said it was… distracting me from my studies.” She replied with a defeated tone, bending her head downwards and fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

“I see, huh.” Junpei’s tone sounded contemplative, almost reflective. He started scratching his stubble with his hand.

“And let me guess, you came here to ask for my help in getting it back so you can show it off to Makoto, right?”

Fuuka stilled for a moment there, was she really so easily readable from the outside? She focused her gaze and attention on her lap, where her hands had by now moved to fidget, absolutely not because she wanted to hide a creeping blush from Junpei. “Yes.” She said, ashamed.

Junpei’s inquisitive look morphed into a shit-eating grin: “Heh, I knew it! You’ve got the hots for Makoto! My my, things are getting pretty interesting over here.”

At that comment Fuuka’s face somehow grew redder than it had been before, she tried twice as hard to hide it by covering it with her hands. “It’s… i-it’s not like that… it’s just that…”

“Relax Fuuka, I was just teasin’ you a bit back there. Listen: the bro code demands that I tell Makoto immediately, but,” Junpei stood up and took a deep breath, placing his right hand over his heart. “today for your sake I shall renounce the bro code and instead, as an honorary bestie, I shall follow the girl code instead! so fret not! I’m not telling anybody anything and I’ll help you with your troubles to the absolute best of my abilities!” Exuberance of his speech aside, Fuuka could sense the sincerity of his words. She relaxed her posture as she clasped her hands in front of her. Does he think of me as one of his “besties”?

“Thank you, Iori-kun, truly, this… means a lot to me. I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay you back, though.” At her words the boy sat back down on the bed, a confident smirk etched onto his face.

“Oh, come on there’s no need for that,” Junpei waved off her comments. Fuuka, however took a mental note to look for a suitable compensation for Junpei, he must have surely said that out of courtesy rather than sincerity. Everybody always wants something out of you, after all. “though now that I think about it, we must actually find a way to, y’know, actually get it back.” Junpei continued. “You told me they took it away, did you ever find out where they put it?”

“No, I didn’t. Though, honestly, it was probably because I never really tried to find it after what happened, I was just too scared of being found out again.”

“Hmm…” After another hearty scratch on his chin, Junpei responded. “From the way you talked about this whole ordeal, it seems like it was a sore spot between you and your parents, am I correct?”

“Yes. They perceived the fact that I wanted to play games rather than study as an act of rebellion for which I had to be punished. I, meanwhile, was only looking for some respite from the… “hardships” I had to put up with at home and at school.” From the glint in Junpei’s eyes, Fuuka could see he’d understood everything she’d implied.

Junpei scoffed from his place on the bed. “Your folks sound like a joy to deal with, to be honest. I bet they’re also the petty kind, the sorts of people that get mad at you and then, if you don’t come back crawling to ‘em, spend every waking moment rubbing how angry they are back in your face. Heh, don’t give me that look, Fuuka,” He muttered a little more quietly upon seeing her look of surprise at his assessment. “I’m no clairvoyant or anything, just… you could say I’ve got some experience of my own when it comes to shitty parents.”

Fuuka didn’t say anything to that, just those words were all she needed to understand.

Junpei chuckled to himself darkly, she saw his smile growing sad, but in a minute, as quickly as it happened, Junpei was back to his usual, confident, self.

“Sorry for bringing down the mood just now. Alright, now’s the time to act! Though to be honest, I can’t really think well on an empty stomach, I haven’t eaten anything since lunch…” Junpei began to scan around the room.

“Ah there! Fuuka could you pass me those chips on the shelf? I don’t even wanna know how they got there.”

Neither do I She did as told however and, pack of chips in hand Junpei dove in with his free hand to pick out a single orange chip to munch on. Fuuka just hoped that Junpei hadn’t heard her swallowing out of anxiety.

He ate another chip and his face began to contort in concentration, he seemed to be getting close to something but, with a frustrated sigh he popped another one into his mouth.

And then another.

And then another.

He then stopped, face and body both still as leaves. Fuuka was just about to poke him in the shoulder to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep on her when he suddenly spoke.

“I got it.”

------------------------------------------------------------

“Y’know, I never knew I had the makings of a master strategist in me.”

And what a master strategy that Junpei had just concocted, a plan so reliant on assumptions and circumstance that even the flap of a single butterfly’s wings could spell doom for their plans.

“That always seemed like more your and Makoto’s thing. You know what I’m talking ‘bout, right? You’re guiding us through Tartarus and he’s comin’ up with crazy attack strategies and stuff like that. Gotta be honest, I always envied that about him, but now I know I can make plans just as good as his!”

“You don’t have to always compare yourself to Yuki-kun, Iori-kun. That’s not a healthy mindset to have.”

“Whatever. Though, I’ve gotta ask. Yuki-kun this, Iori-kun that, there’s no need to be so formal and uptight all the time. Why do you stick to the honorifics so much?”

She didn’t answer him. She kept facing forward and smiled sadly to herself. You wouldn’t want to know.

It was by now night as Junpei and Fuuka made their way over to a very familiar part of town. Her old neighbourhood hadn’t changed at all in the little time she’d been at the dorms. Well, it hadn’t, apart from the occasional sightings of apathy syndrome victims, standing rigidly and wandering aimlessly, ignored by the few people walking the streets at night. Many of the businesses that had been in this neighbourhood since before Fuuka was born had closed down due to the epidemic, whether because the affliction had taken a hold of the customers or the owners themselves.

Fuuka and Junpei passed by what had been her favourite toy shop from when she was a kid: the shelves were empty and gathering dust, on the locked door was an obituary for the lady who’d ran the store, she’d taken her own life, a common sight among terminal apathy syndrome patients. The fact that a scene like this didn’t bother Fuuka as much as it should have spoke leagues to just how mundane and common place the affliction had become. It was equally as likely that Fuuka had lost her mind, maybe all of them had long ago.

The two of them traversed the mostly empty streets, with only the sound of their strides and Junpei’s occasional comment to accompany them to their destination. Well, them and Fuuka’s thoughts of course.

It was strange calling dad earlier, I haven’t heard him in so long. He, kind of like mom last week, had sounded… different. Less nervous and imperious than she was used to. Did he miss her? Was it all just an act to get her to come back? I don’t care about what they want, I’ve made my choice.

She could almost imagine her father’s face turn into a frown as she mentioned that she would be coming home to pick up her PlayStation. There are some of my belongings that I haven’t yet brought to the dorm, she’d said, not even mentioning the object in question. Her father’s answer had been curt and straight to the point. We’ve thrown it out.

That’s the dad I remember. The thought filled her with bitterness.

Eventually, following the road, they turned left, towards her childhood home. Junpei stopped for a minute and turned toward the entrance of the apartment complex. “So, is this your place? It looks pretty cool from here.”

“It isn’t my home anymore.” She blurted out with a forcefulness that was unlike her, looking at the entrance to the building dead on, ignoring Junpei entirely as if he wasn’t even there.

“Damn, that was cold. Is there really nothing redeeming ‘bout this place?”

“Maybe there is, maybe there isn’t.” She half-shrugged, her features tensed into an impassive expression.

“Jeez, Fuuka, you sure you haven’t hit your head on the way? I was just tryin’ to liven up the mood and- wait, wait, look!”

Next to the stairs that led to the entrance were several large plastic trash bags piled up on the side. She’d never before seen a greater pile of trash in her life, in the back of her mind she could half remember some news segments about the devastating havoc apathy syndrome was wreaking upon the country’s waste management system, or something like that. While Fuuka’s resistance to foul odours meant that as she neared the trash heap she was almost completely unbothered by the smell, Junpei was instead forced to pinch his nose with one hand and close his eyes to keep the stench at bay. Where would you put a videogame console when you want to throw it out? As she scanned the pile, Fuuka began to think more and more that maybe they’d really thrown it out long ago without her knowing, rather than tonight.

Junpei’s whole plan relied on her parents only throwing out the console today after she called them, the truck would be coming in a few hours after all, just like it always did on Saturday evenings.

Junpei had by now thrown himself quite literally into the garbage pile, checking in between all the bags to see and touching them in order to see whether or not he’d sense anything remotely PlayStation-like, he’d offered to do the dirty deed all on his own, and, for once, Fuuka didn’t feel like shouldering this task. There’s no greater sacrifice than someone else’s. She’d have to repay him twelvefold after this.

Eventually Fuuka’s gaze trailed towards the back of the pile, she passed behind Junpei and went to look at the base of the pyramid of trash. There she found an inconspicuous transparent bag sandwiched beneath two larger ones. Fuuka could swear that she saw cables inside. Once more it was nothing but a hunch that had motivated her reasoning, but still, better to fail than not to try at all.

“Iori-kun, I think I see it, over here!” She exclaimed as she made to point at the bag in question. Junpei scurried over as if his life depended on it and immediately got to work trying to pick it up from its place at the bottom of the pile. The bag ended up being too far away for Junpei to catch so Fuuka was forced to stand on her tiptoes to snap a branch off of a nearby tree, handing it off to Junpei. Branch in hand, Junpei returned to his mission with gusto, poking and prodding the bag as if it were its sparring partner, she in the meantime stood on the side, hands clasped together in front of her to keep her nervousness at bay.

“You’ve done well so far, but up until now I’ve only been using a mere 10% of my power: take this you fiend!” Junpei almost screamed, likely thinking himself far cooler than he actually sounded and looked, and, with one final proud shove, finally managed to dislodge the trashbag, sending it hurtling down onto the street below, Fuuka winced upon hearing the sound it made.

What the both of them hadn’t realised was that removing the bag would of course mean that all those that stood atop it would no longer have a solid support beneath them. Fuuka could barely begin to curse Isaac Newton’s laws of motion before she was faced with the very real possibility of being washed away by the trash.

“Iori-kun, run! Run!” She squealed in surprise. She was sure that, had Makoto been forced into this situation instead of her, he would have let himself be submerged by the pile, maybe he’d even stick around to look for a mouse to befriend or something.

As they made it to the street corner, Fuuka was forced to stop dead in her tracks, not even 100 meters of running had already decimated her legs, she was out of breath and her feet were begging for mercy. Panting heavily, Fuuka leaned her back onto the wall of a nearby building. To bring some form of respite to her legs she eventually made to sit down, keeping her back to the wall and hugging her knees with her arms.

Inside she was completely dejected: not only would her parents and neighbours find the entryway covered in trash, but they hadn’t even gotten their hands on the one bag they were looking for! Oh Gods what was she going to do!

“Yo, Fuuka, check this out! The stick on this controller’s like, chewed through or something, I wonder how it must have tasted.” Wait, What? Raising her head from her knees, she found Junpei sitting on the sidewalk in front of her, playing around with a grey PlayStation controller, the rubber of the left stick chewed trough. In front of him the bag had by now been opened, the treasure within revealed for all the world to see: some CD cases with colorful artwork, some cables, two controllers and one dusty looking, yet intact, original PlayStation.

“God, I stink so bad. The second I’m back in the dorm Yuka-tan’s finally gonna have a good reason to kick my sorry ass on the streets. Though, it’s not like she needed one, she’s hated my guts since middle school.”

“She’s never hated you, dummy.” Fuuka replied in a fond tone, levity and relief in her voice. She’d let the mask of shyness and formality drop for just a moment, and she hadn’t even noticed. As she rested her head on the wall, she exhaled a sigh of relief almost without her mind’s input.

The laugh that sprung from her lips was the first one she’d allowed herself all month.

------------------------------------------------------------

...And done!

Fuuka sat back on the floor of her room, right elbow aching and beads of sweat rolling down her forehead onto her lashes. In her right hand she brandished a dust cloth like it was her very own Excalibur.

It had taken all night and more rubbing alcohol than she’d expected, but finally her PlayStation and all of its related accessories were back in her hands, as clean as the day they came out of the box. The controllers had been covered in gunk that just wouldn’t come off and on the console itself she had to do multiple passes to clean out some stubborn stains, she didn’t even want to think about how dirty the cables had been.

Gazing with pride at her console, she could feel a sense of giddy excitement, tomorrow she would finally show it to Makoto! He’d be so happy to have it back, he’d thank Fuuka profusely, he’d hug her and hold her gently, he’d compliment her, call her beautiful, and then he’d-

Whoa, she’s really been reading far too many romance manga lately, those things were going to be the end of her, weren’t they? Her eyes darted to the Super Secret Section (the SSS) of her collection that held far too many cringe-worthy secrets for her to unveil.

Fuuka had prepared a box in which to put the PlayStation, she’d also gotten her hands on some strings and ribbons to make it more presentable. She carefully lowered the console first, followed by the power and video cables, the controllers, memory cards and finally the games themselves.

She went over her collection: Darius Gaiden, Tekken, Final Fantasy VII, Pepsi Man, Metal Gear Solid, Crash Bandicoot. Yes! She saved all her games from the clutches of her parents, though, there was something bothering her.

Picking up Crash Bandicoot from the box, Fuuka couldn’t help but notice that the paper on which the box art was printed on seemed to be misaligned somewhat: it was angled a bit and it had slipped down the cover, leading to the bottom side of the box art being all worn out and yellowed. Fuuka, ever the perfectionist, decided to take it out completely to put it back into place correctly. Carefully sliding out the cover art from the plastic sleeve that was holding it, it slipped from her fingers and gently fluttered down onto the floor.

It came to rest on its backside, where usually there’d just be blank paper.

Not here.

There was a drawing on the backside, made in different colors of bullet point pen.

As Fuuka checked the drawing she was confused.

As she read a message above it she began to breathe erratically.

Good thing she covered her mouth in time, or the whole dorm would have heard the scream she made upon reading the drawing’s signature.