Tastes Like Home | Various!Blue Lock

Sixteen

HOHOHO! Christmas is near! :)

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She had no idea why she was even running.

Since childhood, (Y/n) had been raised with the rules of proper ladyhood carved into her very soul.

Proper ladies did not sprawl inelegantly when they sat.
Proper ladies did not glare viciously at others, no matter how deeply they were provoked.
Proper ladies did not use crude language.
Proper ladies did not linger near conversations that were not meant for them.

These lessons had been repeated so often they felt less like teachings and more like instinct—etched into her posture, her speech, her restraint.

And yet, here she was. Running. Running as though she'd committed some grave offense rather than simply becoming an unwilling witness to a spat between irrational teenage boys.

It wasn't as though she'd done anything wrong. There had been no real reason to abandon the comfortable warmth of the cabin, dressed in nothing but a sweater and flimsy sandals. No reason at all—except panic, sharp and sudden, clawing its way up her spine.

By the name of every god above, she might joke about being accustomed to the biting cold of her hometown, but another minute in the snow and she was certain she'd simply collapse where she stood. Her fingers were numb. Her toes felt like brittle glass. 

Each breath burned. Still, all she could think about was Yoichi.

Yoichi—her childhood friend, the boy she had been so painfully certain no longer harbored any romantic feelings for her—standing there and confessing so plainly, so boldly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She didn't know how she was supposed to face him after that. Didn't know where to put this knowledge, how to carry it without letting it show.

By the time she skidded to a stop at the nearest bus shelter, lungs aching and heart pounding, she could no longer tell whether her cheeks burned from the winter air or from the realization settling uncomfortably in her chest.

Someone else was already there.

Meguru leaned against the bus stop post, one foot hooked lazily over the other, phone held loosely in his gloved hand as he scrolled without much urgency. He glanced up at the sound of her arrival, eyes flicking briefly over her flushed face and trembling hands, before returning to his screen with an easy calm that felt almost surreal in contrast to her turmoil.

"Oh, hey (L/n), what're you doing here?" Meguru tilted his head to the side curiously. "You were serious about the cold not bothering you, huh?"

She bent forward slightly, hands braced on her knees as she tried to steady her breathing.

"I..." Her pale lips clattered against each other as she struggled to fake her composure. 

Still, her physical discomfort were visibly enough even for the enigmatic Meguru Bachira to understand she, in fact, was feeling really freaking cold.

"Wait a sec!" Meguru said, placing his phone in his pocket before he proceeded to take off his oversized, gray puffer jacket. He stepped toward her without much thought, draping it over her shoulders, trying to recall if that's what he was supposed to do.

The warmth barely registered.

She shuddered again, a sharp, involuntary tremor that ran straight through her, teeth chattering despite the added layer. Her fingers curled uselessly into the fabric, as if her hands had forgotten how to work.