the roommate contract - todomomo

thirty-three \\ "black dahlias"

Denki Kaminari was a quitter. At everything. He gave up at boardgames the second someone starting getting even slightly aggravated, he gave up on ninety percent of relationships because girls obviously didn't want him long-term, I mean, he literally gave up trying to attend history class in the fourth grade because he couldn't remember the room number. Yup, Denki Kaminari was a quitter of the highest order.

The only two things he would never give up on were getting a degree in Material Science, and a certain girl with a bad attitude and dark purple hair.

It had been two weeks of absolute torture. Pretending they were all right around their friends, pretending everything was normal between them, that they were, simply put, friends. Watching movies and playing games and going places together and getting forced into awkward situations because the one friend they had in common would leave them together because she had to go "make sure Shouto doesn't have alcohol poisoning." It was two weeks of arguments behind closed doors that ended in quiet discussions of what they were in small, inconsequential words.

It had been two weeks of torture, but Denki wasn't giving up yet. Because he may have been a quitter, but Kyoka Jirou wasn't a board game or a history class or a girl he'd met at a bar that he had nothing in common with. Because she was more than that. Because she was beautifully indignant at the world and her voice was like the stunned hush at the end of a rock concert. Because she always smelled like peppermint and her hair was never perfectly brushed out, always making her look like she'd just arrived from the night of her life. Because when they laid on the floor of his room late at night and talked about politics and social justice and the universe, it didn't matter that they weren't "good" for each other.

So he was okay with her thinking they weren't right for each other, but he wouldn't stop trying until the day she told him she didn't want him. And that day hadn't come yet. Which was why he was standing outside her door with a bouquet of deep purple flowers to match her eyes even though she said flowers were for saps. Because he was a quitter, just not for her.

"You brought me flowers?" She leaned against her doorframe, looking at him skeptically. If she was being honest, Kyoka hadn't expected him to ever talk to her again after she pretty much flat out told him they shouldn't be together. She had been waiting for two weeks for him to freak out on her and call her a bitch and cut all ties with her. But he didn't.

Instead, he insisted on doing sweet things for her. He bought her a vinyl Elvis record because she collected them as a sort of hobby even though they were rather expensive (she pretended to hate Elvis because it was a secret that she wasn't as edgy as she looked, but yet he somehow figured it out). He'd made numerous house calls when she'd gotten sick with the cold a week ago. He even went to all the trouble fixing her guitar for her. And now he bought her flowers.

And no matter how many times they argued about the status of their relationship, no matter how many times he had every right to get mad at her, he always ended up coming back, and taking care of her, and giving her things she hadn't even realized she wanted until she had them. And it sucked because every time he would tell her "All you have to do is say the magic words," (the magic words, in this case, being "I don't want you,") she couldn't do it. All that came out was, "it wouldn't work."

"Black Dahlias. I had to go to three flower shops to find these, but hey, it's nice out," He smiled easily at her as if it was no big deal. As if it didn't mean a thing that he'd gone to three flower shops to get her the only flowers she had a snowball's chance in hell of liking, and her heart was breaking in her chest. Why couldn't he just be normal and get mad at her?

"Why can't you just get mad at me?" She voiced her inner thoughts as she took the flowers gingerly from him. They were so pretty with their black petals and their slight purple tinge. They radiated elegance and beauty but also darkness and mystery. And they were perfect. They were the only flowers in the world she could imagine displaying in her home without feeling like a different person. "Why can't you just yell? Or get...fucking angry? Or just anything? Why do you keep doing this to yourself?!" She yelled at him. He just nodded pensively, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the door frame.