Chapter Text
At seven in the morning, Yae finds love at her local grocery store.
It’s not something she expected when she stumbled in, in the wake of another argument with her parents about how she’s worthless and knows nothing more than to dress like a whore, and swiped a bottle of sake off the shelves. She should know better than to drink alone, given her past with alcoholism and losing herself too quickly when she isn’t around Sara, the only person who’s ever willing to care for her unconditionally.
Sometimes, she thinks her friend sticks around only because she doesn’t have to deal with the weeping and whining that would come as a result of breaking their four-year friendship, so as Yae slides against the shelves of the cereal aisle, she allows herself to spiral.
The hair on her skin has started to stand on their edges, and the cold air of the overtly strong air-conditioning in the place. She’s a frequent visitor of the place, because Narukami Mart is the only place within the entire city that has her favourite brand of instant udon in stock, that too, not at an exorbitant price like other white-washed Inazuman grocery stores.
She’s wearing a thin, satin dress in ink black, one that’s loose enough to allow her mobility but still look attractive on her figure. Her makeup has gotten smudged by this point, after an hour of crying and dragging her arms against her face to stop her tears—lipstick stains pulled from her lips to the corner of her face. It’s no surprise that her conservative Inazuman parents would scold her about the way she’s taking care of herself after they happened to discover a risqué photo of their daughter on social media, but she’d really hoped they’d move on from scolding her about petty things like this.
Yae turns her head to the employee who’s obviously staring at her from the entrance of the aisle, standing in the middle of his path while holding a box in his hands. He’s been eyeing her since she bought the whole bottle of sake and popped it on the spot, all while looking like she’d been through the worst fight of her life. It’s always this when it comes to her parents—they scold her for a recurring issue that isn’t really so big of a deal, she’ll panic till eventually she freezes up and loses her words, then she runs.
Pathetic, Yae thinks to herself, knocking the edge of her palm against her forehead. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, she continues to berate herself until a sob chokes out of her throat and she’s crying again. The employee takes his leave hastily, feeling guilty for watching someone who’s clearly slipping into one of the worst times of their life. A minute later, an old song starts playing over the radio—one so laughably traditional that Yae wouldn’t have thought she’d hear music like this in a modern grocery store. It’s the kind of classical music that plays at oriental restaurants, but with the glitchy speakers and the louder whirring of the air-conditioner, it’s an experience she’ll never get elsewhere.
Yae pauses her crying to snort at the song of choice, then glances in the direction of the cashier. He’s clearly somewhere around her age, if not a little younger—likely a college-aged student who’s working at unholy hours to make a living on his own. She averts her gaze to the hideously green Koko Munch cereal box sitting immediately in her direct line of vision, squinting her eyes at the sight. Her chest tightens, and the ache in her chest only seems to double with her attempt at remaining silent.
At seven in the morning, it’s not like she’ll have any company to worry about. In this state, she couldn’t care less if someone were to walk in and catch her in a state like this—because of all the incriminating evidence, her swollen, puffy eyes and the scars on her thighs are telling enough of her mental state. She tips her head back against the shelf if it’s possible, toppling a box of sugary cereal in the process.
Yae lifts the nose of the bottle to her lips and drinks, her under eye twitching at the flavour. It’s bland, except for the eventual taste of mixed fruits which sweetens her tongue. She tilts her head to the side, at the floor, which has a couple of cereal boxes that fell over when she dragged her back against the shelf and shook it with her weight. She reaches forward, swiping one of the fallen boxes off the ground. She reads the names under her breath—such strange, alliterated names to catch the eyes of children.
Mentally, she starts criticising their designs—like the awful-looking goldfish that’s on Koko Munch, which by now, you’d realise she doesn’t like very much because of an unresolved personal grudge, and the tacky turtle mascot of a brand whose name she can’t pronounce. Regisvine? she thinks, and blames westerners for having such complicated surnames for her to enunciate correctly. She pities the poor employee who’ll have to clean up after her mess once she leaves in an hour, drunk out of her mind.
Yae looks around, her eyes seeing a thousand bright colours but knowing none of them at all, and she indulges in the shining light. She leans to her side and pulls her phone out of her pocket, looking hazily at her contacts. She has Sara’s pinned, and it should be a part of her instincts to call her best friend in times of doubt, but it’s as though her sadness has evolved into absent-mindedness and she simply shuffles elsewhere.
She lifts the bottle again and drinks even more, till all that’s left in the bottle is a quarter of what she started with. Her stomach flips, and for a second, she faces the consequences of drinking too quickly.
In a moment of dazedness, she clicks on one of the numbers she’d recently messaged—one that couldn’t be too good because it’s probably a groupmate. She doesn’t care to look who it is, and instead switches the call to speaker mode. Yae waits for as long as her phone vibrates in her hands, waiting for someone, just anyone to reply to her at a time like this. Her expression stills, but her heart is still churning out a thousand reasons to end it all—then, a voice calls out on the other side of the phone, “Hello?”
Yae recognises it instantly, no matter the drunkenness that could’ve overwhelmed her. Only one person has a voice that sounds as effortlessly confident and condescending as this—Raiden Ei, also one of the most popular people on campus.
It’s not because she wants to be, but because everybody is so collectively in awe with her presence sometimes, that they can’t help but admire her. She’s the top scorer in all her classes, and is working her way towards a Master’s Degree in two fields. She’d gotten her number because they share the same lecture and the entire cohort’s stuffed together into one big chat, but they’ve never talked.
They’ve never met either.
She doesn’t think so far in the state she’s in. She can only care about the fact that there’s someone waiting for her to talk on the other side of the line, actually wanting to hear what she has to say because they picked up her call at seven in the morning, despite it being a horrible time. “I’m at Narukami Mart,” she begins, her words slurred under the influence of the alcohol.
“What?” Ei asks on the other side of the line, sounding concerned more than confused. Anyone would’ve expected that a vague statement like that would’ve gotten on her nerves instead of provided a reason for worry, especially for a groupmate she shouldn’t necessarily care about. “Are you okay?” she asks hesitantly after a moment of pause, like it’s something she’s not accustomed to saying.
“I’m dressed like a hooker,” Yae laughs, combing her hands through her hair. She doesn’t know what she’s saying anymore, but the high of being drunk on euphoria and now, an entire bottle of sake while the sky is still yet to greet the sun, makes it so that she doesn’t care.
Ei seems to pause. “In the middle of Narukami Mart?”
“You’d never guess what happened,” Yae laughs, lying down on the ground. She couldn’t care less about the fact that it’s dirty, or it’s the same place where a thousand feet walk over each day. Her back rests gently against the ground as she picks up a cereal box and holds it over her face, blocking the blinding lights over her head. It must be somewhere around eight now from the way the sky has turned ocean blue, and the clouds are slowly turning white from pale orange.
Ei doesn’t speak, nor does she leave; she listens.
“My parents scolded me again—you know, blah blah blah, I don’t dress like a sober daughter from a reputable family, blah blah, they knew that letting me live alone was a problem, blah blah, they don’t think I’m capable enough because I’m worthless, and pathetic, and a whore.”
Then, all the feelings she’d been trying to compartmentalise come pouring out. She lowers the cereal box against her face and tilts her head away, lying silently as tears stream down her cheeks like a river in the making. Yae’s heart squeezes beneath her chest as deafening silence replies to her from the other side of the call. She wishes somebody were here right now—counting the ceiling lights like they were stars, lying on the dirty floor of Narukami Mart at eight in the morning, half-drunk on a miracle to save her from whatever sorrow she’s drowning in.
Ei takes a deep breath. “First of all, Yae, what your parents say isn’t the truth.”
“Aren’t they? They talk like they’re the only ones right in the world,” Yae laughs bitterly, pushing the cereal box off her face. She turns against the floor till she’s lying on her hip, dipping her head against the floor. She lets her phone rest on the ground as she stares at the Ei’s contact—labelled “pretty girl”, with an icon showing dango milk.
“For one, I don’t think anything they said is true.”
Yae’s heart skips a beat. She sits up, appalled by the sudden sincerity. Her heart starts throbbing in her chest so she starts squeezing her dress beneath which her heart lies. She makes a muffled sound of indignance, her cheeks flushing red out of embarrassment. Ei talks slowly and with caution, like each word is carefully chosen from her mind to express her intention. If it really were so carefully selected, Yae would have to wonder what she’d done to warrant such a sincere reaction.
“I have learned the hard way that parents, sometimes, don’t know their children as well as they think they do. It comes as a part and parcel of tough love, and growing up with Inazuman parents. You can’t expect much more from them,” Ei explains, somehow managing to sound perfectly reasonable. Yae would hate to sit through another talk of being told that her parents love her and just articulate it differently, because after years of crumbling under their expectations, she won’t let a stranger dictate how she should feel. Her smile falls till she’s eventually scowling, but Ei continues, “I won’t try to suggest that your parents love you, or care about you, because I don’t think love is telling someone you care about that they’re a whore. I don’t want to say anything to make you feel bad either, and I might not be as important as your parents are to you, but I believe you have a purpose in this world.”
Yae’s expression softens till tears well in her eyes once more. Goosebumps erupt against her skin at the chills of having been told something with as much gravity as that—as being told by someone like Ei that she matters, and she isn’t the piece of shit that her parents say she is. “Sometimes, I feel like giving it up, because I’m annoying and I’m too much. Don’t you think that way too? Aren’t you annoyed that I called you up at seven in the morning when you could be asleep?”
“I was already awake,” lies Ei, even though she proceeds to let out a yawn thereafter. “Besides, you’re never a bother to me. I have never said that I don’t enjoy your talking.”
Yae wonders if it’s the alcohol or the world playing tricks on her, but she doesn’t think she’s ever felt so loved by somebody in a moment before this. She curls her legs and hugs her knees against her chest, then pressing her chin against them. “I don’t know why you entertain me—you know, because you’re you and I’m me, and I didn’t think someone like me would be worth your time.” Ei laughs at the comment.
Yae scrunches her nose. “What are you laughing about?”
“What are you talking about?” Ei asks, sounding rather amused. “Don’t think of yourself as lower to me because of reasons that likely don’t hold much value. I don’t like to be admired, to begin with, nor idolised. Do you know how troublesome it is to have people you don’t even know approach you while you’re trying to enjoy a bottle of dango milk?”
Yae chortles at the comment, turning onto her back again. Maybe, in a moment like this, while she’s talking to the same person she’s found too intimidating to speak to for a good two years, she doesn’t regret getting into that umpteenth fight with her parents, or running to the nearby grocery store while passersby stares at her smudged makeup and crying face, or sobbing in the cereal aisle.
She can’t see this because she’s here, but Ei’s smiling on the other side of the phone, at the success of making her gloomy acquaintance laugh. Maybe they’ve talked a little too much about themselves to be only acquaintances, but friends would hardly be an appropriate word to describe them.
“You make me feel good about myself, Ei,” Yae confesses. “Thank you.”
I wish you were here with me, she mumbles under her breath, but she elects against interrupting the peaceful ending of a story that has just begun. “On a final note, Yae, could I say something to you?” Ei requests, in a softer voice.
“Talk all you want, pretty girl.”
“If you’re ever feeling down, call my number. And I’ll come to you.”
Yae furrows her eyebrows for a second. Then, she hears the chime of the grocery store and the automated doors slide open, revealing a figure standing behind the glass. Yae falls silent as she sits up and gapes at the towering silhouette in front of her, an army of butterflies erupting from the walls of her stomach.
You came to me, she thinks and she knows now that this is love.