Chapter Text
You didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat there on the cracked leather bench near the DDR machine, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, a half-dead slushie melting beside you.
Senku was across from you, slouched in the booth like he had all the time in the world, absently spinning a half-token between his fingers.
The arcade was too loud for your brain to relax but not loud enough to drown it out either.
You stared at your shoes. “I don’t even know what happened.”
Senku didn’t answer.
“I’ve never done that bad,” you said. “I literally guessed on the last ten. There were these functions with a graph that looked fine—like, not even tricky—and then it wanted me to select three statements that were true, but I swear to god none of them were.”
Still no response. Just the click-click of his token.
You looked up, annoyed. “Are you even listening?”
“I am,” he said flatly. “I’m just letting you spiral before I say something, so you don’t bite my head off.”
You blinked.
“That’s usually how this goes, right? You’re smart, you did worse than you expected, and now you’re stuck in that what if I peaked sophomore year panic loop.”
You glared. “Shut up.”
He shrugged, unbothered. “You did bad. So what?”
You stared. “So what?”
“You heard me,” he said, tossing the token at you. It hit your knee and bounced to the floor. “It’s a test. A dumbass, state-mandated, algorithm-ridden standardized test that’s literally designed to throw curveballs.”
“Yeah, but I’m good at math.”
“I know you are.”
“So why did I suck so hard?”
“You’re human. Or maybe the room was cold. Or maybe the algorithm just randomized your questions harder. Or maybe you overthought. Or maybe you were tired. It doesn’t mean anything.”
You rubbed your face with both hands. “Everyone’s gonna think I just got dumber overnight.”
“Who the hell is everyone?” he asked. “Seriously, name names.”
You hesitated.
Senku tilted his head. “Exactly. The people who matter already know you’re smart. And the ones who don’t? They’re too busy doomscrolling or complaining about the reading section.”
You slumped back against the seat. “I’m in lyceum. I’m literally known for being good at this stuff. What if I get flagged or something?”
“You won’t,” he said, picking up your sad slushie and sipping it uninvited. “Worst case, you get called into a meeting, and they ask if something was wrong. You say you were menstruating or dissociating or spiritually decaying, and they nod and send you back to class.”
You snorted. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Absolutely. But I took the SBAC too. Trust me. No one in admin gives enough of a shit to remember your score after two weeks. They’ll move on to the next kid who can’t explain exponential growth.”
You stared at him. “...Why are you kind of good at this?”
Senku gave a lazy shrug, setting your slushie back down. “Because you’re melting down, and I happen to like you.”
You blinked. Hard.
He didn’t elaborate. Just stood, shoved his hands in his pockets, and nodded toward the air hockey table. “Now, if you’re done catastrophizing, I’m gonna destroy you at something with actual stakes.”
You snorted. “Like air hockey matters.”
“It does when you’re compensating for a shattered academic ego,” he said with a smirk.
You rolled your eyes but stood anyway. “You’re buying me a churro after this.”
“Only if you don’t cry over the math section mid-match.”
“No promises.”
You walked toward the air hockey table together, shoulder bumping his briefly. He didn’t move away.
And it wasn’t a whole fix. You still felt like shit. Still had that gross hollow feeling in your chest that came with disappointing yourself.
But Senku didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t treat you like you were fragile glass.
He just stayed.
And maybe that made it suck a little less.
The air hockey table lit up with a neon buzz, and the puck spat out with a clack.
Senku snatched his paddle, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward. “Ready to get your shit rocked?”
You scoffed, grabbing your paddle and gripping it way too tight. “Just hit the damn puck, Ishigami.”
“Big talk for someone who tanked the state math exam,” he smirked, practically oozing smugness. “Geometry’s gonna kick your ass here too.”
You flipped him off. He laughed.
Then the puck was airborne, smacking the rails with a sharp crack. You lunged, but the puck was slippery, bouncing hard off your paddle’s edge and slamming straight into your own goal.
Senku let out a bark of laughter. “Wow. Actual trash.”
Your face burned. “It slipped, dumbass. Shut up.”
“Excuses, excuses,” he drawled, resetting the puck. “Maybe there’s a kid’s table if you wanna practice first.”
“You talk a lot for someone who literally failed his driver’s test twice,” you snapped back, teeth gritted as you smacked the puck back into play.
He paused, eyes flashing for a half-second. “Irrelevant.”
“You almost hit a curb in an empty parking lot.”
“Quiet,” he muttered sharply. The puck flew back at you, harder this time, and you barely managed to bat it away, adrenaline spiking.
The round turned chaotic fast—puck rattling violently, paddles smacking plastic. Senku was aggressive, movements precise but way too forceful, eyes locked onto the puck like he’d die before losing to you. You matched him move-for-move, heart rate climbing with each desperate save.
You couldn’t tell if you were having fun or genuinely ready to throw hands.
“You realize you’re gripping the paddle like it owes you money?” Senku said through gritted teeth, eyes flicking briefly up to yours.
“Can you shut up and lose already?”
“You first,” he hissed.
The puck ricocheted off the side, barely missed your goal—your heart practically stopped—but you lunged forward and smacked it back with enough force to nearly fly off the table. Senku jerked, the puck grazed his paddle, flipped on edge, spun, teetered dramatically, then fell straight into his goal slot.
The table buzzed loudly. You slammed your palms down, triumphant scream echoing through the arcade. “YEAH TAKE IT RAW, BITCH!”
Senku stood frozen, mouth slightly open, staring at his paddle like it had betrayed him personally. “No fucking way—”
You jabbed your paddle toward him dramatically. “Tell your dad he raised a loser.”
“You got lucky,” Senku growled, slamming his paddle down like he wanted to break the thing. “Physics is bullshit.”
“Now physics is bullshit? Thought you and Newton were tight.”
“Newton can suck my dick.”
You burst into genuine laughter—hard, breathless laughter. Senku glared daggers, but the faintest twitch of a smile betrayed him.
“You’re an asshole,” he muttered, shoulders tense. But the heat behind it was fading. He picked up your abandoned slushie and aggressively stabbed the straw in it.
“That’s mine,” you protested weakly.
He took a dramatic, obnoxious sip. “Consider it a victory tax.”
You flipped him off again, half-heartedly this time. “Don’t choke.”
“Cute.”
Your eyes rolled hard, adrenaline fading, replaced by tired amusement. You leaned against the table, sweat cooling at the back of your neck. The arcade noise felt softer now, less abrasive.
Senku glanced sideways at you, his eyes guarded but not hostile. “Still mad about the math thing?”
You let out a sigh. “I don’t even know anymore.”
“Mm,” he hummed, staring out across the arcade, “it’s whatever.”
It was about as comforting as Senku ever got. Still, it kind of worked.
“Hey,” he muttered after a pause, nudging you with his shoulder. “You hungry?”
You eyed him suspiciously. “You buying?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Cheap-ass,” you muttered, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Fine, let’s go.”
He followed you to the arcade exit, kicking your heel just to annoy you. You stumbled, elbowing him back hard in the ribs.
“You’re violent,” he complained, rubbing his side. “If this is your coping mechanism, you need therapy.”
“Shut up,” you grinned. “Or I’ll bring up your driving record again.”
“You wanna walk home?”
You laughed. “You’d miss me.”
He scoffed loudly, eyes rolled dramatically upward. “Unfortunately accurate.”
You smiled, satisfied, and held the arcade door open for him mockingly. “Ladies first.”
He shoved past you, shoulder knocking into yours. “Get bent.”
But he waited on the sidewalk for you anyway.
And yeah, you were still kinda pissed about the test—but maybe that didn’t matter as much when you had someone around who didn’t sugarcoat things or pretend everything was perfect.
Maybe it was fine to just yell, argue, laugh, and let shitty standardized tests be shitty standardized tests.
Besides, you still beat him in air hockey.
And Newton could still suck Senku’s dick.
Yeah. You’d call that a win.
Notes:
OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD. i think i just FAILED the math SBAC. and i’m not saying that like “hehe oh well 🤪 college board can suck my dihhhhhhh!!!!!1!!!!1!1!!” I MEAN IT LIKE A FULL-BODY SPIRITUAL COLLAPSE. i read the first question and IMMEDIATELY started mourning my GPA like it was a dying relative. And my GPA isn't even affected by this vro 😭
I AM IN AN ACADEMICALLY RIGOROUS PROOOGRAMMM FOR "SMART KIDS". I AM SUPPOSED TO BE SMART. AND MATH, OML MATH!!!!!!! MATH IS LITERALLY MY THING. but today?? today the test pulled out questions written by satan himself and said “select all that apply 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊” and NONE OF THEM APPLIED. NOT ONE. I WAS SELECTING OUT OF PURE INSTINCT. ID, EGO, SUPER EGO, WHATEVER THE FUCK WAS CALLING TO ME.
and the ZIPLINE QUESTION??? HELLO????? WHY AM I DESIGNING A ZIPLINE. I AM A MINOR. I DO NOT POSSESS OSHA-COMPLIANT ENGINEERING CERTIFICATIONS. I AM SEVENTEEN DAWG. BUILD YOUR OWN DAMN ZIPLINE, RHONDA. SCREW YOU RHONDA. YOU SUCK . WHY WOULD YOU STRTECH HTE BUNGEE CORD TO THE MAXIMUM?? ARE YOU DUMB?? WIEOEOI A A A A HEHEHAHAE E E N
so anyway. i wrote this fic because senku is the only man alive (he's died like thrice vro) who would simultaneously call me a dumbass and also comfort me.
goodbye lyceum. goodbye prestige. goodbye 99th percentile. (Okay thats a lie I'm prolly more in the 60-80 I fumbled my freshmen year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
hello… public state college.
hello… computer science major. (I'm in AP COMP SCI i deadass haven't leaned a thing)(our teacher is new and knows nothingjionajs)(solo leaarning, YAYYYY)
hello… unpaid internship in a windowless office with zero outlets.
Chapter 2: SAT scores and Starbucks
Summary:
You and Senku sit in a crowded Starbucks, checking your SBAC and SAT results. Your own scores are a relief: you exceeded standards in science and English, and met standards in math—after panicking unnecessarily.
Meanwhile, Senku is in full meltdown mode over his SAT: maxing math but intentionally sabotaging the English section because he refused to read the passages.
The roles are reversed from your earlier panic: now it’s your turn to awkwardly comfort him while he overreacts.
Notes:
YIKERS okay uh
talk about AO3 author curse
anyways uhhhhhhhh I swearrrrrrrr I'll stop dying
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The Starbucks was packed with students clutching laptops, caffeine, and quiet despair. The espresso machine screamed in the background like it was actively dying, drowning out the soft indie playlist that was supposed to make the place feel cozy instead of cluttered. The air was thick with the bitter tang of burnt coffee beans and sugar syrup, and every available surface was crowded with half-finished drinks, open textbooks, and the collective stress of a dozen overworked young adults.
You sat at a tiny, wobbly corner table tucked between a flickering outlet and a crooked corkboard covered in faded community flyers. The chair creaked every time you shifted, and your knee kept knocking against the sticky underside of the table. Your drink—a caramel frappuccino you’d barely touched—was already melting into a sad, watery swirl.
Your hands shook slightly as you scrolled on your phone, thumb hovering nervously over the “View Results” button. The world seemed to narrow down to the glowing rectangle in your grip, the chaotic coffee shop fading into a blur of noise and motion.
And then there it was.
Your SBAC results.
“Holy—holy shit,” you blurted, nearly dropping your phone onto the sticky table. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
Across from you, Senku was sprawled in his chair like he’d been poured there, lazily spinning his untouched straw between his fingers instead of actually putting it in his iced Americano. “What now?” he asked, sounding about two seconds from a nap. “Did they, like, upload someone else’s scores to your account or something?”
“No!” you hissed, way too loud, judging by the death glares you got from the nearby keyboard warriors. You slapped a hand over your mouth and ducked your head, lowering your voice to a frantic whisper. “I—Senku. I exceeded standards for science and English. And—oh my god—I actually met standards for math. Met!”
Senku finally blinked, expression completely flat. “So… you didn’t swan-dive into the pit of academic doom after all?”
You flailed your hands dramatically. “Do you understand what this means? I panicked for literally nothing!”
“Yeah,” he said dryly, sipping his drink with zero enthusiasm. “Told you so.”
You ignored him, grinning like an idiot at your phone screen. “I’m actually kind of amazing. I was convinced I bombed the whole thing. Like—you don’t get it, dude, this is huge!”
“Mm.” He slumped further down in his chair, looking like he’d just received a terminal diagnosis.
You froze, joy faltering. “…Why do you sound like you just got rejected from Waterloo?”
Senku dragged his hands down his face. “Because I might as well have been,” he muttered bitterly.
You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, dramatic much? It’s literally just standardized test results. Yours probably came back fine. You’re you.”
“Fine?” His head snapped up, eyes wild. “Fine is for mediocrity. Fine is for casuals. I do not do fine.”
You squinted. “…Senku. What happened.”
He shoved his phone toward you with the same energy someone might use to hand over a cursed artifact. “Behold. My shame.”
You took the phone warily.
SAT Score: 1300
Math: 800
Evidence-Based Reading and Writing: 500
You choked. “Senku.”
“Don’t,” he said immediately, holding up a hand like he could physically block the incoming judgment. “Do not speak.”
“No, no, no.” You were wheezing now, clutching your stomach. “What the hell happened here? How do you literally max out math and then get this for reading?”
His glare could have cut glass. “Because,” he said slowly, enunciating every word like a threat, “I decided to calculate the answers instead of reading the passages.”
Your brain short-circuited. “You—you what?”
“Reading comprehension is beneath me,” he snapped. “Why waste time slogging through some boring, pretentious literature excerpt when I can just reverse-engineer the correct multiple-choice option through logic alone?”
You gaped. “Senku, this is the English section. You can’t brute force a Shakespeare sonnet like it’s a physics problem!”
“Clearly,” he growled, slamming his head down on the table with a thunk.
You burst into uncontrollable laughter, nearly sliding out of your chair. “Oh my god. You tank the reading score because you didn’t want to read. That is the most on-brand thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s not funny,” he said, voice muffled against the wood. “Do you understand the humiliation? A 1300. That’s pedestrian.”
You wiped tears from your eyes, still cackling. “Pedestrian? Dude, most people would kill for a 1300!”
“I am not most people!” Senku snapped, sitting bolt upright and gesturing wildly like a deranged professor. “Colleges will see that reading score and assume I’m illiterate! I might as well have written my essay in crayon!”
You snorted so hard you almost inhaled a chunk of your frappuccino. “Pfft—oh my god, stop. You’re being ridiculous. It’s literally just one score. You have perfect math. Like, actually perfect. Schools love that!”
“They won’t care if they think I can’t understand The Great Gatsby!” he wailed, slumping dramatically in his seat. “All my genius will be overshadowed by the fact that I apparently can’t tell the difference between metaphor and simile.”
You stared at him, trying—and failing—to suppress another laugh. “…You’re serious.”
He groaned, dragging both hands through his messy hair until it stuck up even worse than usual. “Dead serious.”
For a second, you just sat there, watching him spiral. It was… weirdly familiar.
And then it hit you.
“Oh my god,” you realized, slamming your palms on the table. “You’re literally me from last month.”
His head snapped toward you, horrified. “Take. That. Back.”
“Nope,” you said smugly, leaning back in your chair. “You’re spiraling, catastrophizing, and being a total drama queen. It’s like looking in a mirror.”
Senku pointed at you like you’d just committed treason. “I do not bitch about my grades.”
“You’re doing it right now!”
“This is different,” he insisted. “This is life or death!”
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Senku. Dude. It’s fine.”
“It is not fine—”
“Hey.” You reached across the table and flicked his forehead, hard enough to make him yelp. “Shut up for two seconds and listen to me.”
He rubbed his forehead, glaring murderously. “Violence? Really?”
“Really,” you said firmly. “Because I literally just went through this exact thing. Remember? I freaked out about my test, and you sat there all smug and told me it didn’t matter.”
“That was different—”
“Nope!” You cut him off, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You don’t get to invalidate me and then turn around and melt down over a perfectly fine score. Double standards are illegal.”
Senku froze, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “…Illegal?”
“Yes. Punishable by me stealing the rest of your drink.” You snatched his cup and took a dramatic sip.
“Hey!” He lunged for it, but you held it out of reach. “Give that back!”
“Nope.” You grinned, smug and unrelenting. “Consider this your coping mechanism tax.”
Senku glared, sulking like a kicked puppy. “…I hate you.”
“Liar,” you sing-songed, handing the cup back before he could actually tackle you in the middle of Starbucks.
He snatched it, scowling, but didn’t drink. “…You really think colleges won’t care about the reading score?”
“Dude, you literally maxed math,” you said, softer now. “No admissions officer is gonna look at that and go, ‘Wow, this kid’s dumb.’ They’re gonna be impressed as hell.”
He hesitated, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “…Maybe.”
“Not maybe. Definitely.” You gave him a small, crooked smile. “Besides, you’re you. You’ll probably invent some insane admissions essay that convinces them you’re a misunderstood genius or something.”
Senku snorted, a reluctant smirk tugging at his mouth. “You have far too much faith in me.”
“Someone has to,” you said simply.
For a moment, he just stared at you, expression unreadable. Then he leaned back, exhaling slowly. “…Fine. Maybe I won’t fake my death and start a new life as a shoddy fortune-teller.”
“Glad to hear it,” you deadpanned.
“I’m suing you for intentional infliction of emotional distress,” he said flatly, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Or you can buy me a muffin and we’ll call it even.”
You scoffed. “I’ll take my chances in court.”
“Tch. Byakuya knows some damn good lawyers,” he warned, finally taking a sip of his coffee.
You laughed, the last of the tension bleeding out of your chest. “Do it. Sue me with daddy’s money. I dare you.”
Senku rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. The Starbucks buzzed around you, all clattering mugs and muted chatter, but it felt a little quieter now, like the panic had finally burned itself out.
Maybe you’d both still overthink and stress and obsess over numbers on a screen— that was just who you were. But at least now, you weren’t stuck ruminating alone.
Notes:
Heh
heh
heh
guess who has to retake their SAT
ha
hah
ahdah
dh
hd
a
hunfortunately. despite me being a strong reader and writer, I just DIDNT wanna read allat
okay like I didn't do BAD bad, but 1200 is BARELY above my district average, so I'm retaking it to hopefully improve my 570 in reading/writing and 630 in math.
Blitzo220 on Chapter 1 Fri 18 Apr 2025 08:51PM UTC
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Last Edited Fri 18 Apr 2025 11:11PM UTC
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Last Edited Sun 14 Sep 2025 02:16AM UTC
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