𝐞𝐮𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚 || 𝐡𝐪 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐜

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

somebody once said that high school held the best days of their teenage years.

that high school, low and behold, were the golden years.

don't know who said it, don't know why they said it.

and it was something you'd never believed, before. because, if we're thinking about it logically, nothing is appealing about high school. everyone is figuring shit out, it's awkward, it's confusing, it's stressful...

but at the same time, you get through it.

you live.

and that's probably why there are so many beautiful memories of this short period of life.

and that's probably why people hold high school so close to their hearts, no matter how dreadful, how awful, how unbearable the moment was.

it's been seven years since your teenage days of high school.

there's no sugar coating the words, there's no euphemism.

the truth is that it's been seven years since your graduation at shiratorizawa, and...

it should've been nice. it should've been beautiful, moving onto a new chapter of life. university was supposed to be the second chance—the chance of even more golden years after high school.

to put it lightly, it was the exact opposite.

the more that time passes, the more everything blurs.

it doesn't feel alive, it doesn't feel nice.

it doesn't feel like living.

oh, shit.

you checked your watch, realizing that you were about to be late, again.

(not that you really cared that much, anyway. with the blurring motion of time, it took too much effort to do, anything, really.)

time is poison.

it chokes you, and it suffocates you until you're cornered, and it doesn't pity. time doesn't slow, doesn't speed up, and it doesn't let you breathe.

it seeps into your veins, and stays there.

even so, you carried on. you walked forward, towards the blurring abyss.

because nothing stops time.

⚘

"and that's a new record."

you sighed. "sorry."

"bro, this is like the one time we visit tokyo and you're late? not to mention—an hour late?"

you cringed.

okay. so it does sound kind of really bad when he puts it that way—

"sorry," you smile apologetically. "i got distracted."

"from what?" the boy with dark olive-brown hair asked with an unchanging expression.