𝙁𝙍𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿 | chigiri hyoma

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼

"Come here often?"

"I go to school here."

You nodded stiffly, opting to just continue staring down the hallway you were walking down. More so, being led down. "That's cool, that's cool. I do too—now, I guess."

"I would assume so," Chigiri responded from in front of you. Smartass. He could at least put some effort into the small talk you trying to make. But no, instead, you were forced to (tried to) carry the conversation on your back. "Actually," he perked up, "Do you know Bachira? I saw you walk in with him."

"Yeah. But that seems to have been a bad decision."

"Mhm," he agreed absentmindedly. 

You glanced over at him from the corner of your eye, watching his eyebrows crease together slightly as he stared off like he was piecing together a puzzle. He must have caught on to your staring, looking right back at you with a questioning expression. You didn't let the millisecond of shock make you hesitate from snapping your head back forward, ignoring the weight of his gaze that lingered on the side of your face and the flutters of embarrassment in your stomach with a harsh swallow. 

"You...uh...have dirt on the side of your face." He did not. But it would have to suffice as a scapegoat. 

He hummed and you could see movement in your peripheral, what you could only assume to be his hand attempting to wipe away a half-assed lie. 

You left the rest of the walk up to the tv-static that clouded your thoughts. Thinking nothing at all was better than the shame that was sure to eat away at you if you tried to think of anything coherent. It wasn't really a big deal, but of course it was. The only solace you could take was telling yourself he'd probably forgotten about the half-second incident, it wasn't even the most embarrassing thing that had happened to you today. But what if he hadn't? You might just have to pack it up and retire to your grave a bit early. 

He stopped walking in front of one of the many identical classroom doors that lined the hallways, the only differentiation between them being the small plated signs placed next to each on the wall. "This is 109." He motioned toward the number displayed next to the handle.

"Good to know."

He turned around to head back down the hallway, not waiting for any sort of closure to the entirety of the exchange. You watched his back for a moment. "Thank you, by the way!" you called after him. The only response was a lazy wave thrown over his shoulder before turning the corner. 

Exhaling a puff of air, you turned back to the door. A separate set of problems the day had to offer. It was an experience, really, being the new kid. However, the direction in which your enjoyment would lean on a scale would lay completely in the hands of your classmates. Your first subject was history and, quite frankly, having the dates of old events shoved down your throat at eight in the morning was not exactly ideal. 

The cool metal of the knob pressed against your palm as you opened the door, eyes greeting the teacher at his podium in front of the sea of desks sat facing him. He paused his lecture to check the source of the creaking wood door and cleared his throat upon seeing you standing there cluelessly. 

"Ah, you must be the new student," he said, quickly dusting off the chalkboard at the front of the room. 

Oh. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. 

"Why don't you come introduce yourself to the class?"

It truly was just a lovely way to spend a morning with countless excruciatingly awkward situations. Now, this wasn't a dread rooted in shyness. Simply the fact no one enjoys having a room full of kids your age staring at your back as you drag a stick of chalk across a board. 

You shuffled over to take the said stick out of the teacher's outstretched palm. The class was relatively silent, excuse a few whispers thrown across the rows, as you wrote your name down and gathered together all the sanity you could muster. Setting down the piece, you turned to face them with an awkward smile. "[Surname][Name]. Good to be here."

Is it really?

"Alright, thank you." The teacher picked up a clipboard from his desk, quickly scanning his eyes over the sheet. "Ah," he perked up with a finger pointed toward the corner of the room. "You'll be sharing a desk with Yukimiya back there."

Your eyes followed his direction to a boy with glasses sitting at one of the many wide desks, the others each occupying two people, however, one could figure out with the power of deduction that he was only one sitting at his. Crazy how that worked. 

With some polite words of appreciation to your teacher, you walked over and tried to ignore the gazes of the few students who didn't know when to stop staring. You set your bag down quickly, sitting on the stool to pull out your journal and pens. 

The teacher, who you now realized you did not know the name of (which was quite unfair), wasted no time to start droning back on with his lecture. It was hard to grasp whatever topic he was spewing, the bore of the material really caused it to enter one ear and simply fall out the other. 

"Hey," you heard a whisper from next to you, causing your wide eyes to quickly snap to your right. "This is a bit lame and I didn't really get the chance to introduce myself. I'm Yukimiya Kenyu," your deskmate smiled. 

You may or may not have spent a few seconds too long staring back at him blankly. It was shocking to see someone you could have sworn you've seen thousands of times on countless Pinterest boards. I mean seriously, either he hopped straight out of someone's pins or your mind was playing tricks on you. 

You snapped out of your reverie, nodding back to him slowly. "I don't even know what he's talking about."

He slid his books out of the way to make space for his elbow and held his cheek in his palm. "It's just review stuff we learned last year. Should be over soon, though."

Looking out toward the other students folding over their desks, absolutely no one in the four walls of the room was sparing the attention to focus. Peeking over any one person's shoulder would call for a look at numerous dribbles scratched all over their notebooks. 

How you dearly missed school for the few days you had to help unpack. 

After however many minutes longer of zoning out and snickering with your deskmate about the toupee adjustments the teacher had to make every few sentences, the bell finally rang throughout the room for break, eliciting a collective sigh throughout the room. 

As you were getting off your seat to stretch, the guy with dark hair and a tall stature that made it difficult for you to see the board through his head turned around to face you with a scowl on his face. "Maybe could you assholes not talk through the entire lesson? Some people are trying to learn."

"They are? I thought everyone was kinda over that," you laughed.

He only managed to crease his eyebrows further together and it looked like he was about to blow a fuse until the cyan-haired boy who shared the desk with him whipped around. "I'm sorry! He's sort of hot-heated—you'll get used to it, eventually," he said apologetically. 

"Nah," a boy with white hair and green highlights (interesting style choice but it works) turned his seat around to join the conversation. "Rin's just a major bitch."

"I'll kill you."

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i just listened to chug jug with you on loop for two hours and if im being honest i cant even hate it