Kaidou glared at the piece of paper. Too casual. He crossed it out and moved to a fresh line.
My favorite doubles partner,
Too revealing. Inui didn't have enough doubles partners to stay anonymous that way. More crossing out.
To a dear fellow student,
Kaidou grimaced and tore the page in half. Way too formal.
Dear Inui,
That should do. He turned back to the dozen tabs open on his computer screen. "How to Write a Successful Valentine," "Love Letters in Six Easy Steps," "Your Guide to Confessing to Your Crush," and so on. They were all agreed on the next most important part of his message.
"Tell him how he makes you feel," Kaidou muttered.
The examples onscreen were less helpful. "You make my heart skip a beat." "My stomach flutters when I think of you." "You take my breath away." If he tried any of those, Inui would be concerned. He didn't want to be subjected to a new and improved variation of Inui Juice. He'd drink it, for Inui, but why invite it?
I see more clearly around you.
That should do. How many lines to go?
Two hours later, he held the finished card in trembling hands. The wastebasket beside him overflowed with discarded drafts and typo-ridden cards. All that remained was to seal it in its envelope and slip it into Inui's locker the next day without being noticed.
He was halfway through licking the envelope when he stopped. He'd written the card. Inui had seen his training reports. Inui knew his handwriting. Inui would know the card was from him.
He cursed under his breath. Already past 2am. He was running out of time.
His eyes landed on the unwieldy pile of biology handouts on the corner of his desk. No other class generated as much paper. No one would miss a few words from the lecture notes and lab procedures. He dug a pair of scissors out of the bottom of a desk drawer and set to work.
To a data-driven researcher, What is your blood type? Are the types compatible? The retina transmits images to the brain through the optic nerve. Seeing is a complicated process. Scientific research is cooperative. Peer review and collaboration strengthen the scientific process. The heart is a muscle. Muscle fibers become stronger through use. In various historical traditions, the heart was considered the seat of the soul. from a research partner.
Perfect. Inui would never know. He waited for the glue to dry before folding his letter and sealing it into a clean envelope. He cut the letters of Inui's name out from the titles of lecture slides and glued them on the front. Finished, and with nearly three hours to spare.
The next morning, he waited for his opening. At least Inui's locker was not being swarmed by hordes of girls like some of the others. His chance came when Fuji drew everyone's attention to other way with a dramatic reading of old poetry outside of Tezuka's homeroom door. Fuji couldn't possibly know, could he? He made his move, shoving his letter through the front of the door as he casually walked past. He dried his hands on his pants and made his way to his classroom. No one seemed to notice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Inui stopped him outside of the club room that afternoon. "AB. B," he said.
"Huh?"
"My blood type. Your blood type. Not a match, but not entirely incompatible either."
Kaidou could feel his face flushing. "You knew?" he mumbled.
Inui held out the letter. "Your biology notes," he said. "We reviewed them together before your last exam. The intersection of students in the class that gave out these notes and those who would address a letter to "Inui-senpai" is one. You."
"Sorry, Inui-senpai," Kaidou mumbled.
"No need. Probability sentiment expressed in the aforementioned letter is not unrequited: 100%."
Kaidou's head jerked up. "Really?"
Inui smiled. Usually an alarming expression. Not this time.
Encoding: Prince of Tennis, InuKai, G
Kaidou glared at the piece of paper. Too casual. He crossed it out and moved to a fresh line.
My favorite doubles partner,
Too revealing. Inui didn't have enough doubles partners to stay anonymous that way. More crossing out.
To a dear fellow student,
Kaidou grimaced and tore the page in half. Way too formal.
Dear Inui,
That should do. He turned back to the dozen tabs open on his computer screen. "How to Write a Successful Valentine," "Love Letters in Six Easy Steps," "Your Guide to Confessing to Your Crush," and so on. They were all agreed on the next most important part of his message.
"Tell him how he makes you feel," Kaidou muttered.
The examples onscreen were less helpful. "You make my heart skip a beat." "My stomach flutters when I think of you." "You take my breath away." If he tried any of those, Inui would be concerned. He didn't want to be subjected to a new and improved variation of Inui Juice. He'd drink it, for Inui, but why invite it?
I see more clearly around you.
That should do. How many lines to go?
Two hours later, he held the finished card in trembling hands. The wastebasket beside him overflowed with discarded drafts and typo-ridden cards. All that remained was to seal it in its envelope and slip it into Inui's locker the next day without being noticed.
He was halfway through licking the envelope when he stopped. He'd written the card. Inui had seen his training reports. Inui knew his handwriting. Inui would know the card was from him.
He cursed under his breath. Already past 2am. He was running out of time.
His eyes landed on the unwieldy pile of biology handouts on the corner of his desk. No other class generated as much paper. No one would miss a few words from the lecture notes and lab procedures. He dug a pair of scissors out of the bottom of a desk drawer and set to work.
Perfect. Inui would never know. He waited for the glue to dry before folding his letter and sealing it into a clean envelope. He cut the letters of Inui's name out from the titles of lecture slides and glued them on the front. Finished, and with nearly three hours to spare.
The next morning, he waited for his opening. At least Inui's locker was not being swarmed by hordes of girls like some of the others. His chance came when Fuji drew everyone's attention to other way with a dramatic reading of old poetry outside of Tezuka's homeroom door. Fuji couldn't possibly know, could he? He made his move, shoving his letter through the front of the door as he casually walked past. He dried his hands on his pants and made his way to his classroom. No one seemed to notice.
Inui stopped him outside of the club room that afternoon. "AB. B," he said.
"Huh?"
"My blood type. Your blood type. Not a match, but not entirely incompatible either."
Kaidou could feel his face flushing. "You knew?" he mumbled.
Inui held out the letter. "Your biology notes," he said. "We reviewed them together before your last exam. The intersection of students in the class that gave out these notes and those who would address a letter to "Inui-senpai" is one. You."
"Sorry, Inui-senpai," Kaidou mumbled.
"No need. Probability sentiment expressed in the aforementioned letter is not unrequited: 100%."
Kaidou's head jerked up. "Really?"
Inui smiled. Usually an alarming expression. Not this time.