Daily Meme
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I was doing nothing.
Not figuratively.
Literally.
Flat on the couch, brain dead, soul idling in neutral. I had mastered the ancient art of productive nothingness... a meditative state where even blinking felt like a chore. The TV was on, playing something I was not watching. My phone was in my hand, untouched. My legs were stretched out like I had just claimed the couch as sovereign territory. Peace. Bliss. Nirvana.
Then the couch dipped.
And I felt doom approaching in invisible form.
"You look like roadkill," Toru said sweetly, perching on the armrest like a sparkly demon sent to ruin my serenity.
"Thanks," I muttered. "That was the goal."
She poked my shoulder. "You know what you forgot?"
"To lock the door?"
"To date me, dumbass."
I stared at the ceiling. "We literally had a date."
"That was not a date," she huffed, crossing her arms. "That was emotional community service."
"You made me describe you for your mom."
"You got free food."
"I was held hostage by invisible guilt and a pastel kitchen full of judgment."
"Exactly. So, now we go on a real date."
I groaned. "Define 'real.'"
She grabbed my arm and yanked, like her noodle arms could move me through willpower alone. "I dressed cute. You owe me."
I looked at her outfit.
Winter had kissed her wardrobe apparently. She wore a puffy white jacket, glossy like fresh snow, with little fake fur lining the hood. Underneath, a baby-pink turtleneck hugged her figure like it was scared to let go, and her black skirt was sinfully modest but perfect for the temperature outside, paired with thigh-high socks and those white boots with little fluff balls on the laces.
Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun with little glittery clips shaped like stars and snowflakes, like she had robbed a kindergarten art box mid-fight. And those lips... glossy, pink, too soft-looking for someone who spent half her week creeping people in training.
Damn, she was beautiful.
Something only I got to see.
And no one else could see her.
Only me.
And holy hell, I was lucky.
"You are staring," she said, squinting down at me, lips quirking. "Do I have a booger?"
"Only in your soul."
She grinned. "You gonna keep ogling, or are we going?"
"I am still deciding if I can survive being seen in public with you."
Toru struck a pose, hands on her hips. "Please. I look like a Hallmark movie came to life."
"You look like a walking snowglobe had a fashion glow-up."
"That is a compliment."
"Debatable."
She leaned in closer, eyes narrowing with that teasing sparkle. "You think I am pretty."
"I think you are obnoxiously pretty."
"Still counts," she sang, and then tugged on my hoodie. "Get dressed, caveman. We are going."
"Where?"
She wagged her finger at me, "That is for you to decide. You took Momo to a boring museum-"
I cut in, "It wasn't boring."
She grinned. "Nerd. Tsuyu to Aquarium, Mina to Fight Club, Uraraka to Hidden Noodle Heaven then even hiddenerer coffee shop, and Jiro to concert then some underground ice cream parlor. I want that experience."
"Okay, first of all, hiddenerer is not a word."
"Second of all," she sang, sliding off the armrest to her feet, "You owe me."
I deadpanned, "For what exactly?"
She blushed a bit, clearly remembering good times, "All the times you saw me n-n-naked."
I blinked. "That was not my fault. Your quirk does not come with a privacy clause."
"And yet you benefited," she muttered, pouting, cheeks puffed like a pink squirrel hoarding embarrassment. "Do you know how many people have seen me naked? None. Except you."
"Sounds like a curse."
"Sounds like fate." She leaned forward, poking my chest. "So take me out."
I squinted at her. "You want compensation… for accidental voyeurism?"
She nodded sagely. "Yes. And for being incredibly patient while you avoided asking me out properly. This is reparations."
"I do not remember signing the Geneva Date Accords."
"Too late, you violated the Toru Treaty of 20XX. Article 1: Thou shalt take thy invisible classmate to do something cool before she melts into a puddle of neglected cuteness."
I groaned and sat up. "Fine. One condition."
Her eyes lit up. "Name it."
"No matching outfits."
She gasped. "That was ONE TIME-"
"You tried to put me in a glitter hoodie!"
"With ears! You would have been adorable!"
"Like a cursed Build-a-Bear!"
She shoved me, laughing. "Shut up and dress up."
I dragged myself up, muttering like I was heading to my own execution. "Where are we even going?"
She tilted her head, eyes wide, innocent. Too innocent. "You will figure it out. I have faith."
"That sounds like a trap."
"It is." She grinned. "Now make it a cute one."
As I grabbed my jacket and boots, she twirled toward the door like a goddamn snow fairy on caffeine. I sighed, rubbing my face.
This girl was going to be the death of me.
Probably naked, too.
As we started to walk out of the school, she skipped ahead a little, hands in her jacket pockets, "Too bad I don't get to ride Misery-chan."
I shrugged, adjusting my scarf. "Misery-chan does not like cold weather. I have to wait till spring for her to work again."
"Ugh, tragedy. That bike is mascot of nice Ryuu dates."
"She is not a pet, she is a machine with commitment issues."
"She growls like a tiger and looks like she eats smaller bikes for breakfast."
"That is because she does... probably."
Toru pouted, puffing out her cheeks. "I bet you just don't want me riding her cause you are scared I will look cooler than you."
"You are invisible. You look like nothing. A fashionable, glitter-clad nothing."
She smirked, sidestepping to fall back in line with me, boots crunching the light snow on the sidewalk. "So you admit I would look better on her."
"Absolutely not."
"Too late, admitted. Checkmate."
We walked through the district, the streets buzzing with winter air and people dragging themselves through the weekday haze. Toru kept pace beside me, mostly quiet, occasionally humming something under her breath. I caught fragments... some pop tune mixed with something suspiciously close to a lullaby.
"Do you even know what you are humming?"
"Nope. Just vibes."
Then we walked in quiet. Too bad, they never last long enough.
"So," she said after a minute, hands swinging slightly, "where are we going, Ryuu? And if you say 'library,' I am calling the cops."
"You would call the cops on a romantic outing?"
"If you define romance as government buildings and dead air, yes."
"Good thing I was not planning that."
"Uh huh. You better not."
"I am taking you somewhere where only people with refined, mature tastes go."
"...If this is about soba again, I swear-"
"Nope."
"Good, I want different from others." She leaned closer. "So where?"
"You will see."
She narrowed her eyes. "That means you are winging it."
"Absolutely."
"Goddammit, Ryuu."
We turned into a quieter side street, away from the main shopping strip. The wind cut sharper here, brushing past us like a nosy ghost. She stepped a little closer.
"Cold?" I asked.
"No. I am made of internal sunshine."
"You are made of sarcasm and bubble wrap."
She laughed. "You say that like it is not the best combo ever."
The place came into view. Tucked between two nondescript buildings, a narrow stairwell descended underground, lit by old neon letters half-buzzing out of existence. She tilted her head.
"'Palette Drop'?"
"It is a themed dessert bar."
"Ryuu..."
"It has rotating art installations. All edible. Think candy mixed with urban gallery vibes."
She stared. "You took Mina to Fight Club. You take me to sugar Louvre?"
"You wear star-shaped glitter clips."
Her entire face lit up. "...You do pay attention."
I deadpanned. "I suffer attention."
She practically skipped down the stairs. "Come on, this better be Willy Wonka's illegitimate child's club or I riot."
"It is. If that child had anxiety and a black card."
As we entered, a mature woman with too much class came quickly and looked outside, quickly closing the door like this was not a candy shop but a drug base. Her heels clicked like punctuation against the tile floor. Her lips were done up like she could murder a man with a smirk alone.
"You did not bring her, right?" she asked, voice so sharp, it to cut fondant.
I blinked. "What?"
She narrowed her eyes and marched straight up, grabbing my cheek between two perfectly manicured fingers and pulling like she was extracting a confession from a war criminal. "Answer me, brat."
I slapped her hand away. "No, damn it!"
She squinted at me, judging my soul, then nodded like I passed a sacred exam.
Toru looked between us, confused and fascinated. "Who is she talking about?"
I rolled my eyes. "Eri."
Toru gasped. "Oh my god, what did she do?"
The woman muttered, "That walking sugar vortex nearly burned down our strawberry sculpture a week ago."
I coughed. "To be fair, it was already melting."
"She was climbing it like a damn jungle gym!"
"She thought it was a playground made by gods."
Toru wheezed. "I have never respected her more."
The woman ignored us and waved toward the inner chamber. "Come in, then. You brought glitter, but at least it is silent glitter."
"Rude," Toru muttered. "I am a delight."
Natsumi turned to the floating clothes next to me. "I saw you on TV. First time seeing floating clothes can fight gave me quite a scare."
Toru chuckled awkwardly... not that Natsumi could see her expressions, but from the way Toru's arms folded behind somewhere around where her head should be, Natsumi could guess exactly what was happening. Head tilt, sheepish grin, the kind of self-aware shrug only Toru could pull off without a face.
"She is laughing," I said.
The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "I figured. I assumed your taste in women matched your taste in sugar. Loud, volatile, and probably terrible for your health."
"Accurate," I replied, deadpan.
Toru snorted. "She is savage. I like her."
"Please do not encourage her," I muttered.
Natsumi blinked slowly. "She always like this?"
"Worse," I said flatly.
We stepped deeper inside. The place really was a dream someone dared to pour sugar and money into. Jellybean chandeliers. Cotton candy sculptures suspended in frames. Interactive walls where the brush was frosting and the canvas was… edible paper, I guess? It looked like what would happen if Willy Wonka started snorting Instagram aesthetics.
Toru gasped. "This is the prettiest war crime I've ever seen."
"Why war crime?"
"Because I am about to murder every dessert in here with my face."
I sighed, walking deeper, following them. Toru was already prancing ahead like a gremlin let loose in heaven's kitchen, spinning in front of a massive, rotating sculpture made entirely of spun sugar and tempered chocolate. She looked like joy personified... wide-eyed, glowing cheeks, biting her lip like the sight physically hurt her teeth with excitement.
And yeah… it was adorable.
If I could bottle that look and hand it to every bastard who ever made her feel invisible, I would. And then I would shove it down their throats.
"Ryuu!" she whisper-shouted. "Look! The chocolate walls are changing colors! It is like mood lighting but edible!"
"Probably tracks your sugar levels in real time," I muttered. "If it flashes red, it is warning you about diabetes."
She skipped ovee. "You are so dramatic. You bring me to dessert paradise and ruin it with medical warnings."
"I am the voice of reason."
"You are the voice of buzzkill."
Natsumi pointed at everything around, eyes gleaming with something between smugness and motherly pride. "My quirk allows me to create all this. Sugar manipulation. Artistic-grade."
Toru turned to me, both fists clenched at her sides like she was holding back an excited scream. "You did not tell me this was a quirk-themed dessert bar. That is false advertising. That is date fraud."
I raised an eyebrow. "You were the one who said to surprise you."
"This is not a surprise. This is a spiritual awakening."
Toru skipped over to a wall made entirely of what looked like caramelized glass, spun sugar and tinted syrup catching the soft lighting like a damn kaleidoscope. "If I lick this, do I get kicked out?"
"Yes," Natsumi and I said in unison.
She sighed, deeply offended. "I am going to sue for emotional damage."
Natsumi pointed toward the main exhibit hall. "There is a live sculpting session going on. Guests get to sample pieces as they are made."
Toru's soul left her body.
I caught her arm, she was vibrating. Like, literal tremors of sugar-fueled joy. Her eyes locked on the rotating whipped cream sculpture like it was holy grail just for her to pick it up. "Slow down, you dessert monster."
Natsumi gave us both a sideways glance. "You must have incredible tolerance."
"I have trauma," I deadpanned.
Toru beamed. "And taste!"
The dessert hall was already filled with people murmuring, marveling, tasting. Tables lined with edible flowers, mousse towers, chocolate fountains you could write your name into with strawberry syrup.
Toru leaned close. "I am about to eat my way through this place like an eldritch sweet god."
"You eat like that every day."
"Because I have a metabolism fueled by chaotic good and good genetics."
"You are powered by chaos and cream puffs."
She leaned into my side, a satisfied hum leaving her lips. "This is actually perfect."
She then looked up, eyes twinkling. "You should bring me here every week."
I snorted. "That would bankrupt me and Natsumi."
"Worth it." She grabbed a spoon off the sampling tray, holding it out to me. "Try this."
I did.
It was ridiculous. Melted berry mousse over frozen vanilla foam, light as air but punched like fruit-flavored dynamite.
I blinked. "That is unfair."
She grinned. "Right?"
I watched her sneak another bite like she was doing something criminal... eyes darting side to side, spoon held like a thief about to commit dairy treason. Which, to be fair, she was. She was stealing my sanity and every damn ounce of common sense I had left. She made the kind of noise that should have come with a censor bar and a church warning. One more scoop, one more hit. Girl was addicted.
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By the time we left the place, Natsumi printed another prohibited poster and plastered it right on the door with the passive-aggressive flair of a woman three tantrums away from total war.
She pointed at Toru's poster, which was empty, crossed with a giant X, "One more and you are banned for life, Ryuu."
I groaned. "I did nothing."
"You brought the Sin of Glutton incarnate," she snapped. "That counts."
Toru saluted her dramatically. "Until next time, my sugar queen."
"I will set fire to your glitter."
"Joke is on you," Toru chirped as we climbed the stairs, "I regenerate glitter."
Back on the street, the cold slapped us like the universe wanted us to regret joy. Toru zipped up her jacket, cheeks red and eyes glassy from sugar overdose.
"I am full," she mumbled, staggering slightly.
"Of sin," I replied.
She giggled, leaning against me. "That too."
Bonus(Check here)
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Once upon a time, there was a little reader.
They loved stories.
They read every day.
But they didn't vote.
And so…
The author turned into a dragon.
And ate them.
The end.
(This book has no happy endings.)
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