❝ I'm hungry for your eyes. ❞
The line between fantasy and reality is faltering, and the two blurs into a malicious game transforming into truth. The erratic clench upon players is firm, while humans alike across Japan yield to the foreign phenome...
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"...ane. Takane? Hey, Takane?"
The voice, laced with a special kind of bubbly buoyancy, felt all too familiar as her eyes fluttered open, albeit hesitantly. It seemed to be far too early in the morning to deal with the embodiment of sunshine otherwise known as Kokonose Haruka, with her memories clouded from the events of the night before.
Only a single thought lingered in her foggy mind, along with a muzzy feeling she couldn't quite shake off— Why the hell is Haruka at my house? In my... bedroom?
It had taken her a moment to realize that it didn't sound right at all; not in the least bit.
Takane propelled herself upwards in an almost springing motion, though perhaps not in the most graceful gesture she could manage. She found herself standing, palms pressed against a smooth, wooden texture that didn't quite capture the sensation of her much softer bed.
"Haruka?! You— why are you—" she sputtered in a fleeting frenzy, though the rather fractious girl paused mid-sentence as she caught a better view of her surroundings.
In other words, everything clicked. It hadn't occurred to the teenager that maybe she wasn't at home as she previously thought, acting without much of a care in the world in her blurred state. She muttered curses under her breath, blaming her damned malady for the excessive sleep she deemed unnecessary.
Her gaze shifted towards the taller boy adorned by his dark green pullover sweater, and with the presence of that everlasting smile and pale complexion of his, he stood out just a tad bit more in the otherwise insipid classroom.
Haruka hummed, before instinctively pointing at himself in bewilderment. He painted himself a puzzled expression on the canvas of countenance, awkwardly scratching his cheek with a faint, but nervous laugh.
"D-Did I do something wrong, Takane?"
The tetchier of the two paused, at a loss for words as she promptly shook her head. "Never mind, just forget about it."
A chuckle erupted from the man situated up front—Tateyama Kenjirou— as his fingers rifled through heaps of papers at his desk, not so much looking up as his stare remained fixated on rustling pages of documents.
"That's no good, Takane. Making a ruckus like that in the middle of class..."
Although Kenjirou's eyes were heavily glued elsewhere, the volatile teen could practically feel his austerer gaze prodding daggers at her pride; it was an unspoken agreement between the only two students of the class that their professor was much more preferable when he stayed insouciant to most matters.
"Sorry," she mumbled, as embarrassment in the form of dusted pink danced up to her light cheeks. Takane hastily took a seat, heaving a sigh as she drifted off to her muses.
It was detrimental to the remnants of her dignity to admit that she retained little recollection of rising from slumber that morning, much less showing up at school. The longer she contemplated, the heavier her head felt, progressing with a consistent pounding that did nothing but amplify her irritability.
