#me showing up years late to a ship and fandom w the worst taste: hey y’all what’s up how’s it going

[henclair]

SOMETIMES the gays in space…. ARE EVIL!!!

[banditchika]

noelle and akarsha’s very fun, very gay (study) date

word count: 4560

fandom: butterfly soup

ship: akarsha/noelle 

author’s notes: i can’t believe i’ve done this? i mean. i can, just as i also know that i stayed up till four to finish this fic, and that w/o my friends i wouldn’t have had completed this at all. thank you @nytenchanter @trashikino @thereforebucket for beta-ing this hot mess!! i couldnt have done this without yall!! anyways please enjoy this fic, it isn’t of course any way associated with butterfly soup canon beyond being set immediately after the game. i really loved playing butterfly soup, n i hope other ppl give it a try too! you can download the game at itch.io!

This is a terrible idea. An awful idea. An idea of catastrophic potential, and she means that in the worst possible way. Just last night, Noelle had sat at her desk and scribbled out a full page of equations to calculate how terrible of an idea this is. Unfortunately, Akarsha is not someone who can be contained within equations.

Noelle drums her fingers against her leg, trying not to stare at her mother from the corner of her eye. The silence presses down on Noelle like a library’s worth of books, and she struggles to bite her tongue. The quiet makes her skin itch — but silence, at least, is bearable. It’s hardly as though speaking with her mother would be beneficial, anyways. Conversations always devolve into screaming matches unless Noelle bites her cheek hard enough to taste iron. No, she doesn’t need that today, of all days. Handling Akarsha in general is trial enough; she doesn’t need an argument with her mother on top of it. Speaking of Akarsha — where is she? Noelle chances a glance at the dashboard, watches the numbers blink green: 12:33, 12:33, 12:33, 12:34…

Her mother sighs and turns the radio on. Mandarin crackles through the speakers of their car. Noelle folds her arms, presses her forehead against the window. She hates this program. It’s news in the barest sense — opinion pieces at best and superstitious fear-mongering at the very worst; and not to forget, a commercial every intermission for beef balls that Noelle thinks Diya would like if Noelle didn’t hate them to the point of refusing to eat them. Noelle’s been listening to that same commercial since she was in fourth grade.

12:53. Noelle squints. Over fifteen minutes past the time they agreed to meet. She scans the front of the library for Akarsha’s ridiculous jacket, or even her stupid buns. Nothing. A few teenagers linger on the steps: a girl with glasses and a denim jacket, a man with spiky blonde hair and a red suit, and someone Noelle vaguely recognizes as an upperclassman.

No sign of Akarsha.

Noelle shifts uneasily. She pulls out her phone and flips it open, keying in Akarsha’s number with practiced efficiency. She could have set her to speed dial like she did Diya, but. Noelle won’t give Akarsha the satisfaction. She can already imagine the teasing that would ensue, and Noelle has better things to do than enable Akarsha’s tomfoolery.

“What are you doing?”

Noelle’s teeth find her cheek. She thinks better of biting down and shows her mom the phone screen, holding her tongue as her mother leans over the console to squint at it. Thank goodness Noelle hasn’t pulled up Akarsha’s contact page. She doesn’t know what she’d do if her mother decides to question Akarsha’s ridiculous icon.

At least her username is no longer YAOI SEME.

“Akarsha is late,” Noelle explains, voice strained. “She’s not here.”

“Then call her. Your friend is so irresponsible.” Noelle bites down. She agrees, but the way her mother twists her words burns at her. So Akarsha is her friend and not competition; but only when it’s convenient? Noelle should be used to this by now, but her patience wears thinner and thinner by the day. It’s worrying. Noelle, of all people, should have control over her emotions.

“How is this girl giving you so much trouble when she can’t even be punctual to a study date?” Noelle’s mother continues. Her teeth cut into her cheek: it’s beginning to feel tender. “You aren’t working hard enough. I’m going to buy new workbooks for you. Finish them when you come home.” Noelle tastes iron. Her mother takes her silence as acquiescence; she turns the knob of the radio with bony fingers. Noelle takes a deep breath and presses call.

Akarsha picks up on the third ring. “What’s cooler than being cool? Iiiiiice cold! Alright alright alright alri — ” “Where are you?” Noelle spits, chancing a glance at her mother. She does not look impressed, but is at least transfixed by whatever story the program anchor is spinning. “You’re twenty minutes late. You said you would be on the steps.”

“… Uh.” Noelle can picture Akarsha’s smile grow strained, eyes flicking away. “I am?”

“You are not!” “Seriously, I am! Come on dude, you’ve got your contacts on, right? I’m in front of the library.”

Noelle frowns. If this is one of Akarsha’s games —

She rolls down the window. The girl sitting on the steps, innocuous in her oversized glasses and denim jacket, raises a hand like a salute. She has a phone pressed to her ear.

“Hey, Frenchman. Missed me, now you gotta kiss me!” Akarsha’s grin is infuriatingly smug, even from thirty five feet away.

Noelle hangs up.

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

“That’s the first thing you say?” Akarsha whispers. “I guess you don’t want none unless I got buns, huh?” She swings her bookbag over her shoulder. Noelle glares at it. A bookbag — an actual, honest to goodness bookbag, without a hint of rainbow or iridescence anywhere. There aren’t even pins decorating it. Noelle didn’t think Akarsha owned anything that wasn’t calculated to be ridiculous and irritating.

“Be serious!” Noelle jabs her in the side. Akarsha stumbles and grabs at her arm, breath whooshing out of her lungs. Noelle doesn’t dare look over her shoulder, where her mother hovers like a vulture over a battlefield. Or Diya racing after a foul ball, or something requiring a similar amount of fervent focus.

“I am, dude, I am.” Akarsha pulls out a seat at a table hidden just behind the stacks and swoops into a bow, gesturing grandly at it. Noelle seethes. “C’mon, where’s the trust?”

She also pulls out a chair for Noelle’s mom. When she shakes her head, Akarsha favors her with a smile that doesn’t turn up the corners of her eyes and sits down. Noelle loathes the sight of it. Akarsha doesn’t look like herself — her foolish, irritating self. She’s wearing pants, for one thing. That should be a good sign. It’s not a good sign. Noelle pulls her things from her bookbag, and Akarsha does the same. Her school supplies are thankfully still her own: there’s Akarsha’s stupid bending pencil, an eraser shaped like a crayon, and — is that one of Noelle’s pens!? Akarsha said she’d returned it!

Noelle’s breath hisses out of her, and she wishes she were close enough to stomp on Akarsha’s toes.

[“Stop that.”] Her mother’s voice is gratingly loud from where she looms behind Noelle. [“You’ll sigh all your virtues away.”]

[“That isn’t scientific.”] Noelle tears a sheet of notebook paper more forcefully than she should. Akarsha doesn’t even lift her head, much less comment. [“It is impossible for virtue to manifest physically, much less have a unit of measurement.”]

[“Still. It’s a bad habit. Concentrate on your work.”] Noelle bites her cheek and writes her name with a heavy hand: upper right hand corner, name, date, and period.

Noelle isn’t one to put stock in miracles — those are for idiots and slackers, and she is neither — but Noelle is almost willing to become a believer when Akarsha — somehow! — manages to restrain herself from doing anything foolish in front of Noelle’s mother. It’s terrifying, frankly. Akarsha cups her cheek in her palm, turns her gaze towards her work, and then scribbles away without pause with Noelle’s (stolen!) pen. She doesn’t lift her head from her textbook, not even once. Her assignment, aside from sloppily boxed answers, is immaculate; no sign of little green men or ridiculously large-eyed anime characters in the margins. Akarsha hasn’t asked a single question: not even if pigeons have feelings.

Noelle is so busy sneaking glances at her that the nib of her own pen skitters across the edge of her paper, leaving an ugly line where a neat three should have been. Noelle sighs — her mother’s eyes bore into her back — and carefully whites it out.

It’s almost terrifyingly easy to fall into a routine. Akarsha is so quiet that Noelle can almost forget she’s there. If it weren’t for the way she flips the pen between her fingers, Akarsha would have blended into the library, just another faceless student against the backdrops of shelves and books. Noelle can almost imagine that she’s alone in her room, with nothing but the snake on her bed for company.

How disturbing. Akarsha is loud, irritating, her very presence like a desperate cry for attention. Noelle doesn’t like this.

[“I’m leaving.”] She nearly jumps when her mother speaks again, after nearly — Noelle checks her watch — half an hour of oppressive silence. Noelle says nothing, then startles when her mother presses a thin ten dollar bill into her hand. Her fingers close around it. [“Go buy lunch when you’re finished studying, then come home.”]

[“Alright.”] Her mother is in an unusually good mood. Noelle is accustomed to pushing and pushing and pushing without thanks — only the expectation that she’ll have to do even more, even better, striving for a finish line that moves further every time Noelle thinks she has it in sight. This is… unusual, but even Noelle gets pocket money sometimes. Like during New Years, when her parents parade her in front of their relatives and Noelle plays the violin, then patiently plays even more for curious aunts and uncles, eager to point at her and whisper to their own children. Sometimes, Noelle even gets to keep some of the crisp bills in those scented red envelopes. She saves those for the days that she manages to sneak away to visit a boba shop with Diya and Akarsha.

Noelle folds the bill into the plastic of her binder. Perhaps she’ll do that now. She feels full to bursting with questions as Akarsha lifts her head and politely — politely! — bids her mother goodbye. What. Noelle hadn’t known Akarsha was even capable of basic etiquette — or at least around her. She still remembers that disgusting D-triad fart. Animal.

With Noelle’s mother out of sight, Akarsha sighs and pushes her glasses up to the top of her head. She rubs her eyes. Something in Noelle snaps.

“Alright, that’s enough,” she says, slapping her palms against the table. She regrets it immediately when they begin to sting. Akarsha raises her brows, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. “What’s up, dude?”

“Explain.” Noelle gestures at her, all of her. Akarsha has had her stupid hairstyle since the very day they’d met. Seeing her now, with all of it hanging loose around her face, worries her. Yes, worries, because Noelle’s heart is beating too quickly, and everything about this situation feels off, like coming home only to find all the furniture moved an inch to the side. Noelle is right to be concerned. Everything about the girl in front of her is inconsistent with the Akarsha that Noelle sees every day. She wants to know why.

“It’s cosplay.” Akarsha laughs and leans out of slapping range. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“There are many unknowable things in the universe.” Akarsha strikes a thoughtful pose. Noelle sinks in her seat to kick her shin. She winces. “Look: this is fine, isn’t it? Your mom’s off your back, I get to wear a sweet jacket — everyone’s winning!”

“I do not understand how a change in attire, hairstyle, and behavior would be considered a universal victory.”

Akarsha clutches at her chest. “My kokoro is brokoro, Frenchman! I thought we were buddies, pals, homies!” She wipes her eyes. “Friendos to the endos, homodach — ”

Noelle raises a finger.

“Never,” she hisses, “say that to me again.” Noelle scowls and sips at her thermos. Akarsha’s giggles echo through the stacks, and she only falls quiet when a librarian pokes his head around a shelf and glares.

Akarsha is still smiling. Noelle shakes her head. Though her answer is still less than satisfactory,  Noelle is content with her being normal again.

Akarsha pulls out a pencil bag shaped like a fish. Every scale is printed in perfect detail. It looks ready to flail its way out of her hand, and Noelle scrunches up her face, ready to scold.

Yes, normal. As much as Akarsha is ever normal, anyways.

“It’s hot. Must be my fault.”

“It is not.” Noelle ties her jacket around her waist. Typical Californian weather: chilly enough for a sweater in the morning and scorching hot in the afternoon. Oakland, however, tends to be cooler than other cities in the state. Noelle blames global warming for this atrocity.

“It’s gotta be. That’s why there’s no clouds today, y’see — ” Akarsha squints into the sun. Noelle smacks her. She’s going to ruin her eyesight! “The sun saw me and parted them to say, ‘shizz girl, you fine.’ And that’s why it’s so hot.”

“That is not why.” Noelle takes a deep breathe to explain precipitation, condensation, the movements of the planet and sun — but Akarsha pulls a rubber band off her wrist and Noelle’s explanation dries up in her throat.

Akarsha gathers her hair with both hands, pulling it up to expose the nape of her neck. Noelle stares: because she wants to strangle her, obviously. But gently. Just enough so that Akarsha would stop spouting stupidity like a fountain.

“‘Shizz girl, you fine.’”

“What?” “That’s what you’re thinkin’ right now, huh?” Akarsha puts a fist to her chin, denim creaking across her shoulders. Noelle scowls. “And so the Frenchman learned to love, the spell cast upon her castle thawed, and the faithful servants of the Eiffel Tower knew humanity once again.” “Shut up! This isn’t a Disney production.” Noelle steps on Akarsha’s foot. It feels bizarre. Shoes! She’s wearing actual shoes, like a sane person! Noelle glowers at Akarsha’s feet, cursing her flip flops as much as the lack of them. “And how many times do I have to tell you to stop saying that!? I don’t live in the Eiffel Tower. I am not French. This is misinformation.”

“How mean,” Akarsha sighs, sticking her hands in her pockets. She hops up to sit at the foot of a statue overlooking the steps and peers down at Noelle. She glares right back, defiant. “So, what are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t understand. Please rephrase the question.” “I dunno what other way I can say it, dude.” Akarsha’s fingers fan out, shoulders hunching as though to shrug. “Like, we’re done here, aren’t we?” She gestures at their book bags, the papers and textbooks and supplies neatly tucked away. “Study date’s over. What are you gonna do now?”

“… I’ll purchase something to drink, then call my mother.” Noelle traces a finger along the slit of her binder, where the money hides behind a copy of her schedule.

“You’re skippin’ lunch?” Akarsha squints at her arms. “They say you are what you eat, but you don’t gotta take being a noodle so religiously. Relax. Smell the roses. Feed the Beast. Del Taco.”

“….” Akarsha seems to be making up for her docility tenfold, every infuriating quirk magnified now that they’ve left the library. Noelle doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. She starts down the steps without Akarsha, only turning to wait once she’s reached the bottom. The tell-tale sound of feet skipping — and slipping — follow her down, until Akarsha thumps right next to her. “Woah.” Akarsha’s arms pinwheel. Noelle grabs her by the shoulder and steadies her, eyebrows raised. “Converse — minus two to acrobatics.”

“And here I thought that clowns were supposed to be good at gymnastics.” “How mean!” “I only speak the truth.” The banter and tomfoolery is comforting, in its own way. Despite the memory of the quiet, somber Akarsha that Noelle can’t burn from her mind and the new hairstyle and attire, it’s still her. Still the same idiot fool.

Noelle glances at her watch. 1:36. Her family won’t expect a call from her until at least three thirty. She looks at Akarsha: Akarsha, her hair tied in a knot at the base of her neck and glasses sitting atop her head, looking almost respectable with her mouth closed and her perpetual slouch hidden by a curtain of denim.

She can work with this. Noelle folds her arms across her chest, a smile tugging up at the corners of her lips. “Akarsha. Did you bring money with you?”

“Hi, can I get a… uhhhh…. Taro milk tea with pudding?” Akarsha glances over her shoulder. Noelle tilts her head, then winces as the weight of her ponytail pulls at her scalp. She needs a haircut — to thin it out, if nothing else.  

“A milk tea with boba, please. No ice.” The cashier rings them up. Akarsha pays. 

They seat themselves as far away from the incriminating table as possible, but Noelle still scowls at the leg that Min-seo had broken. It has since been repaired with liberal amounts of tape, but Noelle won’t forgive. Noelle won’t forget.

“Dude, I can’t believe that worked.”

“We were disguised, last we came.” Noelle counts change from her coin purse and hands it over to Akarsha, along with a few folded dollar bills. Akarsha takes it.

Noelle bends at the waist, tugging her hair free from its tail. It falls in a curtain around her face. Noelle grimaces as she straightens up again, sweeping it back from her eyes. She turns to see Akarsha grinning. “What.”

“For a second there, you looked like the Grudge.” A clicking groan grinds out of Akarsha’s throat. She croaks for a full ten seconds. Noelle stares, unimpressed. “You should wear your hair like that next Halloween. I bet you could make a little kid cry.” “And since when were your costume choices credible enough for me to take your advice?” Noelle crosses her arms. “All you did for Halloween this year was remove your windbreaker.”

“What are you talking about Frenchman? I should have gotten an award for my costume, it was so terrfyin’. I was…” Akarsha grins. “A heterosexual.”

Noelle almost smiles. She bares her teeth instead, but Akarsha’s eyes crinkle anyways, bright from behind the glare of her glasses. Whatever. Noelle will let it slide, just this once; she knows from experience that pressing the point will result in more terrible jokes than Noelle ever needs to hear in her lifetime. If Akarsha tells her that she’s ‘all bi herself’ one more time…

“Hey, what if we spiked up Min’s hair and like, dressed her up in orange? Do you think we could sneak her in that way?” Akarsha puts a fist to her chin. Noelle glances at the windows, where Min’s face — and Diya’s, to Noelle’s outrage — is plastered for everyone to see. NO ENTRY is scrawled under Min’s picture.

She scowls at it. She’s… well, pleased for them both, she supposes, but no one has any business looking so self-satisfied after getting banned from a restaurant on their first date.

“I doubt it. Her face is plastered all over the store. Disguise or no, any employee that failed to recognize her wouldn’t be worth the air conditioning they stand in.” “How mean! … Seriously, that’s harsh. Remind me never to work at a store you’re managin’.”

“Hm. Well, I doubt either of us will ever have to work in a restaurant. Our grades are high enough.” Noelle’s clawed and fought her way up to the top, Akarsha trailing just at her heels. What else would their hard work have been for, if not to secure themselves a privileged future? Noelle turns her nose into the air and grins. The motion feels plastic when Akarsha’s eyes flick away. “Nah, I guess you wouldn’t. Not that I wanna either — I don’t hate myself enough to work in a fast food joint if I had another choice.” Akarsha takes off her glasses and fiddles with the arms. She is strangely hesitant. “But it’s an option. Options are good.”

“I don’t understand. If you’re the best, then you are the optimal candidate.” Noelle frowns. “You can go anywhere in your field if you are the only option.” Akarsha opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it. Eventually she shakes her head. “I’m just sayin’ that you never know what might happen. Maybe kaiju will descend on the planet and we have to pilot giant robots while having identity crises to fight ‘em. Maybe someone’s gonna leak alien files, and all the stuff that we put stock into is gonna burst around us. Pop! Like a bubble. Or maybe we’re gonna wake up one day and realize that this, all of this?” Akarsha gasps, hand over her heart. “Oh no! All just a dream.”

She tries to punch Noelle’s arm. Noelle leans away.

“Come on, Noelle! If it hurts, then we’re actually here. Unless it’s an elaborate simulation and even our sensory experiences aren’t real — say, ever heard of simulacra? It’s wild stuff — ”

“Shut up!” Noelle, fed up, grabs Akarsha’s face. Akarsha’s eyes are wide as Noelle claps both hands over her mouth. Noelle shakes her head. “Someone with so much to say should put their mouth to good use. But of course you can’t even do that much!”

Akarsha’s brow furrows. Noelle shrieks when something slimy paints a wet stripe along her palm and leaps back, arms pinwheeling. She trips and folds up on herself, landing on the floor in a heap.

Every eye in the store turns to her.

“… Sorry,” she mutters, raising a hand toward the nearest employee. The waitress glares at Noelle as though her fall triggered a reflex to fight and kill.

Akarsha’s whispered ‘yikes!’ pierces the quiet. Noelle wants to wither, and smacks away every attempt Akarsha makes to help her up.

“Dude, that must have been… the Invisible Man.” Noelle wipes her hand on the arm of Akarsha’s jacket while Akarsha isn’t looking, too busy scrubbing her cheek against her shoulder to notice.

“There is no Invisible Man! Why did you lick me!?” Noelle fumbles in her bookbag for hand sanitizer. Of all the disgusting things to do! The Akarsha that Noelle knows and loathes has returned in full-force.

“Uh, ‘cuz you were grabbing my face? That’s a normal reaction to have!”

“No, it is not!” Noelle pops the cap and lets the sanitizer pool in her palm. She scrubs vigorously. “Do you know where my hands have been!?”

“… Nowhere fun, I hope.” Akarsha shoves her glasses on her face, then seems to think better of it and pushes it up above her temple. She grins, so widely that her face scrunches up with it. “That’s not how they flirt in France, right? Grab people and talk like movie villains?”

“For the final time, stop telling people I’m — ”

“Order number 16!”

“Wao! That’s us!” Akarsha whirls around her and bumps a shoulder into Noelle’s back. Her voice is strained, like she’s trying to fight back a laugh. “Come on, Frenchman, we can talk about your background later. Like your robot roots. Take me to your leader.”

“Akaaaarsha!”   

“We should avoid Snowcastle from now on. At least for a few months.” Noelle pokes her straw at her drink. The pointed end bounces off the plastic top. Noelle glowers at it, then tries again. This time, she breaks through.

“Yeah. I think we left an impression on the cashier.” Akarsha’s sitting on the curb, drink balanced between her knees. She’s already drained a quarter of her taro tea and eagerly sucks up the pudding gilding the bottom. “At least we didn’t get banned in disguise!”

“Don’t say that. The bar is too low; we are not repeating the Diya and Min-seo incident.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit that was hilarious.”

“It was not! We destroyed private property, and technically we aren’t even allowed to be here!”

“But here you are. You’re doing a crime, dude. I’m proud of you!”

“I don’t want it!”

Gravel crunches as a car pulls into the lot. Her mother is behind the wheel; so soon? But she’d only called… half an hour ago. Noelle’s brow furrows. She could have sworn that only half that had passed.

Akarsha stands. Her fingers flex around her drink. The glasses are back on her face, and Noelle still isn’t accustomed to them. It’s likely because Akarsha doesn’t seem to be as well, constantly hooking them off the collar of her shirt or pushing it up onto her head.

“I’m going now,” Noelle says stiffly, then wonders why. Her mother is here; it’s time to leave. That much is evident.

“Yeah.”

And for some reason, Noelle doesn’t go. Her feet are glued to the concrete. She feels like she’s in class and someone’s just solved a problem incorrectly on the board. It’s as if Noelle has something to correct — but what? It’s not as if anything’s wrong.

“Your face.” Noelle gestures at it. Akarsha’s eyebrows raise.

“I sure do got one!” She strikes a pose, index and thumb forming an ‘L’ around her chin. “Compliment me like one of your French girls, Noelle.”

“Shut up.” Noelle snaps her fingers and wishes she could pull out her calculator. There is no uncertainty in math. Akarsha is nothing if not a wild card, and interacting with her always feels like a game of chess. Noelle has to have the right pieces in the right places — and right now, she has neither. “You still look strange.” “That’s not a compliment — ”

“But, it’s not terrible.” Akarsha’s mouth hangs open. Noelle pushes it closed. “Your face is nice without the buns.”

Akarsha doesn’t seem to be able to make noise, much less speak. Noelle counts it as a victory and hurries away without saying goodbye.

For some reason, her ears are burning.

“A drink?” Her mother eyes Noelle’s cup as she folds herself into the passenger seat. Newspapers crinkle as Noelle tucks her feet inside, then closes the door.

“It was with my own money.”

“Did your friend suggest it?”

“No. Akarsha works hard.” Noelle sips her boba. It doesn’t seem as sweet as it had just moments ago, the high of winning a victory withering to ash on her tongue.

“Hm.” Surprisingly, her mother doesn’t protest. The radio is silent, and Noelle lets herself sway with the car as they turn a corner. “Her school supplies were frivolous. Don’t let her be a bad influence on you. You cannot be distracted in your studies.”

“I know. She’s a good study partner.”

“Do not help her too much. Unless you get something back, you’re only helping the competition.”

Noelle is halfway done with her drink. Home is still fifteen minutes away. “She’s my friend,” she hisses, throat tight.

“She is the one you do projects with?” At Noelle’s nod, her mother continues: “Next time you study together, do it at her house. Driving you to the library is too far, and if you are going to get drinks, you are not working.”

“… Her house?”

“Yes. Call her tonight and ask. If you are going to study, do it in a place without distractions.” Noelle’s mother glances at her from the corner of her eye. Noelle does her best not to seem too pleased.

She tries to picture what kind of face Akarsha will make when she calls tonight. Will she be surprised? Embarrassed? That’s an expression Noelle wishes she could see. She can still remember how Akarsha’s entire face had seemed to pale when she triggered the alarm at the school library.

Noelle hides a smile in her palm. Not even an hour after leaving Akarsha speechless, and she already has another victory under her belt.