a/n: lol rewritten hoers
—
oo1. sight
The sun is beating on his back and his mind vaguely registers the warmth of summer that threatens to suffocate him, but Tsukiyomi Ikuto is too occupied to notice this. He is on a mission—an important, important, important (he cannot stress important enough) mission that could cost him his life.
So he decides to call it Operation: Escape Batshit Crazy Sister. Or Operation: Get Through This Damn Crowd I Mean It's Like 90 Fucking Degrees Why Are These Insane People Outside. (He's still trying to decide.)
"Ikuto! Ikuto! Where are you?" The annoying, sugar-sweet voice of his sister comes from somewhere behind him. And then the screaming—always the screaming. Hoshina Utau! Oh my God, Hoshina Utau sing that song you know that one that goes open your shining eyes in the—shut up.
(Shit, son, better run.)
He forces himself to walk, convinces himself that pushing everyone down is bad and will only draw attention to himself and make it easier for Utau to rape him or something. (But mostly because of the second reason.)
Ikuto ducks into a cafe—a pink, frilly place filled to the brim with those stereotypical wannabe-shoujo-manga-heroine chicks with their ordinary, not-badass-like-him boyfriends. And they talk and talk and talk, and Ikuto thinks that the sound of a hundred bees piercing his ears right here, right now might be worse than the commotion outside.
He takes a seat at the furthest possible table from the crowd, from the annoying chicks, from Utau, from everyone. So he's a little surprised when this (hot) irritated pink-haired girl stands in front of him, one hand parked on her waist and the other gripping a magenta notepad. The pages have frilly designs on them, and, judging by her facial expressions and the fact that the bright paper is wrinkled and torn, this girl is forced to work here for some bizarre reason.
(Not that he even cares.)
His eyes scan the frilly, laminated menu and he orders something random. Something that doesn't sound completely gay. Five bucks says this sandwich whatever tastes like his cat's shit.
The (hot, hot, hot) totally not hot waitress walks away and Ikuto keeps his eyes on her (ass), managing to block out the sounds of the bees tittering away everywhere else in this godforsaken café.
(She is kind of sort of really hot.)