Thursday
You feel the heat as soon as you step outside. Warm water vapor envelops you like a blanket, weighing down oppressively from every conceivable angle. The prolonged rainfall from the past couple of days has finally come to an end, but in so doing has caused humidity levels to shoot through the roof as all of the rainwater starts to evaporate. You've barely even made it a hundred meters through that muggy soup before a thin film of sweat has started to form on your skin. But as miserable as the weather is, it pales in comparison to the auditory torture to which your ears are being subjected. Once banished by the heavy downpour, your most hated enemies have come crawling out of their hiding spots to harass you once more.
Reeeee Reee Reee Reee Reeeee...Reeeee Reee Reee Reee Reeeee...
The fucking cicadas are back.
The incessant trilling of those aggravating hell creatures surrounds you on all sides as you sluggishly trudge along the suburban road on your usual commute. Gaze turning skyward, you watch the beams of morning sunlight piercing through the narrow gaps in the clouds as a sigh of resignation drifts out of your mouth. Less than an hour you've been awake, and this day is already giving you a headache. In an effort to distract yourself from your miserable situation, you take the leash off of your imagination and allow your thoughts to wander freely. Focus shifts inward, eyes glazing over as the mind's eye opens. The procession of houses and street signs slips into the recesses of awareness, each step forward on this well-traveled path spurred purely by rote and unaided by conscious input. The gravid heat flows over and past you. The rhythmic insectoid screeching goes in one ear and out the other. Everything fades away as you retreat into a comforting dissociative haze.
And within the gloaming, a fantasy begins to take shape. Vague and murky at first, little more than a discordant jumble of images, sensations and emotions. But as the chaotic mess starts to assemble itself into cohesive patterns, the vision gradually sharpens. A head of braided blue-and-white hair. Two long rabbit ears. Bright amber eyes glinting with mischievous intent. All the pieces click together, until you can see her as clearly as if she were standing before you at this very moment.
Pekora peers up at you with her hands on her hips and an impish smirk on her face. The cocksure expression of a victor all too eager to flaunt their triumph, and one that you've seen more times than you ever cared to. It would have pissed you off not too long ago, but now the sight evokes an entirely different emotional response. A feeling of fondness, and of longing. Your hand rests atop her head, and you recall the silky feel of her hair beneath your fingers. Surprise flits across her face as her ears stand upright, but the shock lasts mere moments before her gaze softens and a familiar flush begins to bleed into her cheeks. Your digits briefly pet back and forth before wandering downward, past one braided pigtail, fingertips tracing her jawline. As your palm cups her cheek, she tilts her head as if to burrow into your touch. One gloved hand lays over yours, its twin resting upon your forearm. The devilish aura emanating from the petite rabbit has evaporated. No longer does she look at you with the calculating leer of a troublemaker, but the tender affection of a girl smitten. A loving stare that, despite all that you've suffered at the hands of this brat, you can't help but reciprocate. As she leans towards you, eyes fluttering shut, her lips part as if to whisper...
"Sounds like your little buddies missed you."
God dammit.
A familiar and distinctly male voice from behind comes barreling through your consciousness. In an instant, the callous hand of reality clamps down and wrenches you from your fantasy. Damp air crashes upon you like a tidal wave. The shrieks of cicadas drill into your eardrums. And the vision of your beloved nemesis vanishes into the ether. You have been thrust, without your consent, back into the harshness of the waking world. Your dreamy smile twists into a grimace as you address the untimely interruption. "Fuck off, Astel."
YOU ARE READING
Cover High/Pekora
Fanfiction(You) are a second-year transfer student at Cover High, a strange school where the bizarre is commonplace, the insane is mundane, and the rules and common sense of the outside world are null and void. Further complicating your already-eventful daily...
