Vocaloid: ONESHOTS

Miku x Luka AU

M. Luka

An unexpected force grabs me by the upper arm, a firm grip preventing me from moving, and I twist around, alarmed. I can't quite make out who's gripping me through the thick sea of students all rushing in numerous different directions, recklessly pushing and shoving each other out of the way, but I have my guesses.

I attempt to free myself from the stubborn hand curled around my arm, though to no such avail. Slowly, the crowd disperses, seeping into various classrooms and fumbling around their bags for their notebooks and pencil cases. Narrowed azure orbs meet mine, and slowly, she loosens her death grip.

Silence. A brief silence engulfs is as we stand there in the middle of the desolate, monochromatic corridor, staring at each other without speaking a word. The stillness is unusual, maybe even awkward; I clear my throat and force myself to speak up, though my voice comes out shrill-sounding, like nails on a chalkboard.

"Can I help you?" I ask, pursing my lips as I await a response. Several more silent moments pass by, her gaze not leaving mine. I want to look away, I want to scurry to my class — my history classroom is only down the hallway, and I'd hate to get a late mark. But her pale hand is still gripping me, and I feel like if I were to make a wrong move, she'd cut off the blood circulation to my right arm.

This girl is a strange one. She's not popular, though likewise, she's not unpopular. She's well known by seniors and younger years alike, though the majority choose to avoid her, to avert their gazes and mind their own business. But she's not a loner, either — I don't know which category I'd fit her under.

Miku. That's her name, isn't it? The girl with dyed blue hair and a completely ripped up uniform. The girl who drinks and smokes in the back room whilst skiving PE lessons, always landing herself in detentions and never actually attending. People call her egotistical, shady, hell, I've even heard someone refer to her as 'pure evil'. And I suppose I'm guilty also of avoiding her at all costs — up until now, at least.

Suddenly spending so much time around her is strange. I never thought I'd be in this kind of situation; Miku and I are worlds apart. She's dangerous, cunning, mysterious, badass, and I'm really not. I guess you could say I'm pretty average; nothing stands out about me. I have average grades, I'm of an average height. My personality isn't anything special, and my hobbies and interests aren't anything spectacular, either.

Finally, Miku's lips twitch into a smirk. "Going to class, are you?" she asks with a small titter before letting go of my arm and circling around me, hands behind her back, heels clopping against the polished wooden floor. She looks me up and down — I can't tell what she's thinking. Hell, I don't understand a thing about her. Her motives, her goals, her dreams; what does she get up for every morning? To drink and get in trouble everyday? She leads a lifestyle I just can't seem to comprehend.

I can feel a strange sensation tingling in my chest as I search for a response. "Yes, actually," is all I can muster. Is she going to ridicule me? Why can't she leave me alone? Just because we were assigned a project together doesn't mean she has to spend her every waking moment following me around. Doesn't this girl have anything better to do?

"How dull," she responds with a pitiful laugh. "Don't bother with it. Class is a waste of time, and time is limited." She flicks her long twintails over her shoulders, before side-glancing me, an unreadable look in her cerulean eyes. "Come with me."

"Huh?" I squeak, dumbfounded by her vague demand. "Come with you where? And why me, of all people?" No matter how much I try to understand the tealette, her every other move makes the whole jigsaw fall apart. It's almost exhausting.