In Theory [Senku x Reader]

0.3 | What He Remembers (And What He Forgets)

Senku gave a noncommittal shrug, while you smirked, crossing your arms. "See, Senku? Not everything needs to be reduced to its molecular components to be appreciated."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Next, you're gonna tell me it's symbolic or some nonsense like that."

You turned back to the window, watching the petals swirl through the air. "Well, actually, in classical literature, cherry blossoms often represent the transient nature of life—impermanence, beauty, and fleeting moments. Kind of poetic when you think about it."

The explanation rolled off your tongue as naturally as breathing, textbook knowledge woven seamlessly into conversation.

Taiju nodded eagerly, the words spilling from him as if he were reciting his lines in a well-practiced play. "Yeah, knowing that, it does make it cooler!"

Senku muttered something about plant reproductive cycles and unnecessary knowledge while you and Taiju turned back to watching the petals drift outside.

Yuzuriha smiled again, softer this time, like she understood something neither of them had said aloud.

And Taiju—he—

The dream blurred at the edges, like ink smearing on paper.

He tried to hold onto it—onto the cherry blossoms, onto the sound of your voices, onto the warmth of that spring afternoon—

But, just like the petals drifting through that distant classroom, it slipped through his fingers.

.

.

.

It was dark.

Not the endless kind. Not the cold, suffocating stillness. No, this was a different kind of night—soft and flickering, warmed by lantern light.

He saw you first, crouched by the riverbank, knees tucked to your chest, fireflies casting golden reflections in your wide eyes. Yuzuriha sat beside you (again?), hands moving with practiced precision as she folded a paper lantern, whispering something Taiju couldn't quite catch.

The two of you were talking—animated, alive—about something, something that made you both smile so brightly.

Further off, Senku stood in the shallows, sleeves rolled up, that usual sharp determination set in his expression.

What were we doing?

The memory blurred at the edges, shifting like water. The sky stretched vast and endless above them, stars scattered across the deep dark expanse. Their reflections shimmered on the river's surface, warping with every ripple.

Then—your voice. Light, teasing, just as it had always been.

"Taiju, if you keep staring like that, you're gonna turn into a statue."

Senku's voice followed, sharp and offhanded. "Don't mind him. The gears in his head haven't been oiled yet."

A statue?

The word caught, lodged somewhere in his mind.

Something inside him jolted.

The thought echoed, sharp and sudden, splintering through the dream like ripples across the water's surface.

The lanterns flickered—

The stars blinked out—

And the river ran silent once more.

.

.

.

He blinked again—or at least, he thought he did.