Cellanous

chapter eight : music

[ Hey readers! I've entered this lovely fan fiction into the OHSHCWattyAwards! It'll be listed under "Others" since I actually don't know how this fan fiction will end up as . . .]

Time to go exploring into all the unrestricted areas without getting caught!

. . . Joking!

Maybe?

A snort escaped me as soon as I saw the sign above the door I was standing in front of.

Music Room One.

The exact same place I had been trying so desperately hard to get into yesterday. But of course, that plan had been thwarted by a sea of incredibly annoying fan girls. (Not that I could speak, but shut up.)

Inhaling slowly, I tried to calm down my nerves that were shaking with excitement. I was finally going to be able to touch and play instruments, create music. One of my favorite things to do in the world, next to acting.

Hesitantly, I reached out to put my hand on the handle. I was going to be able to play those lovely metal strings and touch those brass instruments again. My mouth edges perked up at the thought and that gave me enough courage to finally allow my hand to land on the handle.

I pursed my lips, before exhaling. Here goes nothing.

"Well isn't this an interesting sight."

My heart jumped, along with the rest of my body and a screech, before I spun around to face the source of the voice. After all, my nerves had already been hyped up from the excitement had made the jump scare ten times worse than it should've been.

Once my eyes finally landed and registered the origin, I raised my eyebrow. "Ootori Kyoya?"

He merely pushed crossed his arms and slid his glasses back up onto his nose, before giving me that annoying smirk of his that screamed 'yes, bitch it's me'. "At your service."

I held back my urge to give a classic eye roll at the statement and instead, let my face go blank as we continued to study each other. He was currently leaning against the wall across from the door. In fact, his whole entire position helped add up to create an aura of intimidation. Tucked under his arm was a peculiar black notebook that looked pretty pristine, but at the same time, you could tell it was well-used.

Then a very odd, but quiet true question hit me.

"What are you doing here anyways?"

His eyes seemed to trace my face, before speaking up. "I spend my lunch in the next room over with the rest of the host club which I presume you've met some of."

Ah. That would make sense. The higher ranked kids gotta stay with the higher ranked kids and away from those lower ranked ones. Duh.

He finished off with his answer with a question of his own. "Now may I ask what you're doing here?"

Now normally, this is the part where I'd probably get flustered and then proceed to excuse myself. But you know what? I'm an American. And I'm annoyed. I mean for god's sake, I was stopped from coming into this room but a sea of screaming girls, let me enjoy myself. So let's be a bulldozer.