Disclaimer- I do not own Naruto, or the characters, or my inspiration. I only own my dreams.
--
Being an underclassman again sucks.
The thought shot through the mind of the dark haired fellow as his teacher droned on. In the hallway, the upperclassmen were making a ruckus, cheering on their self-built robotic cars. The science building made a mistake of putting its required chemistry class next to the experimental robotics room, and cattycorner to the advanced elite physics room. Currently, the door to the room was locked and the crack above the floor was covered with a wadded towel. Apparently, someone had once again spilled something, and now the physics students were placing traps for the robotic cars to occupy their time.
From his vantage point in the back corner of the room, he could see directly out the door, where someone's project had just fallen prey to a recently created hole in the floor. The teacher was in his peripheral vision, still writing out the formula for the neutralization of an acid. There was someone asking the chemical formula for water, that's when he let his head drop to the desk. A wad of paper hit his fallen head, causing the dark haired boy to sit quickly. His seat partner was scribbling frantically (he was never a science-inclined person), but three seats down housed the same girl that had kept him awake in his mandated classes for the past two years. She stuck out her tongue, turned blue by the lollipop in her hand, and during her distraction in her moment of victory, he shot the paper ball back with deadly accuracy.
The hit took her a second to register, but then she rolled her eyes and grabbed the wad of paper that had rolled off her desk and into the aisle. She unfolded the paper, pointing two fingers to her eyes and then to the paper. Oh, he mouthed. I'm supposed to read it… Her nod was sarcastic as she tossed the paper once again across the two people and the aisle between them, going unnoticed by the professor. This time, her aim was off, and it swerved to hit the girl in front of him. The blonde picked the offending paper up off the ground, turning back to glare at the girl who threw it. Something vicious and unladylike might have come out her mouth, had he not at that moment decided to tap her shoulder, hand extended and waiting. The blonde girl blinked, momentarily stupefied, before she let the paper fall in to his hand with a flirtatious wink. She was left unsatisfied, however, since he merely sat back and let his eyes fall to the paper.
The wrinkled sheet was quietly folded back out to its full length. His neighbor, the blond who had been his roommate since their first years in boarding school, shot him a look of utter contempt, but he shrugged it off and continued his unfolding. What was on the paper was not important, it never was, but she kept him intrigued. His eyes followed the arrows that showed the chronology of the doodles. The first had their professor trapped in a guillotine, the head of Mary Antoinette already in the basket, rolling her eyes and a smile on her face. It was more gruesome then normal, so she was obviously in an annoyed mood. The next few followed the same pattern, before it changed to the doodle resembling greatly a political cartoon. It was squeezed in the margin, around the hole in the middle of the paper. A man wearing the Dunce cap was grabbing his throat, a box labeled 'voice' sitting next to him. That would reveal her annoyance- the stupidity of the class.
The rest of the page was filled with doodles of paper airplanes (because she couldn't actually make one, so she just drew them) and the bottom right-hand corner was home to a detailed sketch of her glass bottle of Cola, a rarity to her papers. Instead of the usual half-assed art, it showed the years she'd spent in art classes as the reflection of the light hit it and a smudged view of the oak tree out the window was shown. She let her personality show, as the professors head was wedged between two thick branches, distorted into a hilarious expression.
The dark eyes shot towards her, and she sent a slight smile his way, before flipping the notebook in front of her over and pointing to the back. In her scrawl (which he'd never admit he could pick out of a crowd of writing), was a casually phrased invitation to dinner. It was a question she had sent him many times, but this time it was different and he wasn't sure how. It didn't take long for him to figure it out (he wasn't taking three analytical, Clue-like classes for nothing), and it made him smirk. She wasn't extending the invitation to his seat buddy and sometimes openly declared best friend. Instead, it said a specific time, and the place was not the usual ramen joint, but instead a rather nice sit-down restaurant. Now he might be wrong, but it seemed like an invitation to a date.
The paper ball that hit his neighbor made them both jump (the blond had fallen asleep with him pen cap digging into his chin, leaving a dent). The pink-haired girl on the far end of the table next to theirs blushed furiously, pointed towards her dark haired writing buddy. Obviously, the new note was for him, and she had just missed him again. The blond sighed, now awake to catch the closing words of the professor, and tossed the paper at his friend. Casting a quick look at the still blushing girl, he opened the ball of paper and tried to withhold his laughter. His neighbor looked over, reading the words before shooting the girl an incredulous look. She turned a whole new shade of red, embarrassed at having the words read by others and angry that her writing buddy had let them be read.
Eye contact was avoided by the pink-haired party for the rest of class (a whole five minutes), and she was entirely ready to bolt from the class when the professor dismissed them. So, she would love to have it explained to her how she remained in her chair while the dark haired boy sat on her desk, legs dangling off and occasionally hitting hers. Her apple green eyes locked into his, and she spent a few seconds observing their aesthetic quality (the endless color, the way the oak tree reflected in the moisture, the mischievous glint in that seemed to swallow her). Her note, the second one, which was just a line of words, fell on to the table, unfolded, her words glaring at her as though accusing her of a crime.
"Is this true?" His voice was sweet in her ears, she loved it. A light nod sent a few locks falling into her eyes, though most remained back in a tightly bound messy bun. He eyed her carefully, scrutinizing the way her lips quirked in a grin, a little off from the normal. It was more hesitant, and he knew that she was starting to regret the invitation (7:30-ish, the restaurant on the corner of 4th and Landry, the one with the checkered umbrellas for outdoor seating. Yes or no?) and then the blunt note (Yes, you imbecile, I am asking you on a date). After all, they had only hung out alone twice, both accidents because his roommate was too dumb to know how to understand a clock and calendar. Her eyes were downcast, so she missed the upward twitch of his lips that could have been mistaken for a smile.His knee pushed her shoulder lightly as he shifted her to place his feet on the edge of her chair.
"I think I might be free some time after seven. It depends if the idiot really needs my help to study for our final exam tomorrow or not." The eyes shot up at this, and he rejoiced in the elated look on her face. Of course, he only showed this by smirking and letting the hand that was resting on his knee graze her cheek shortly. "I'll text you." It was not a question, but the look in his eyes made it seem like one, so she smiled.
"I always have my phone on me, don't I?" With that, she stood, letting the pencil she had doodled with fall into her messenger bag, along with the notebook she had taken notes in for the first two minutes of class. Then, the hand that was busy with school supplies ran out of things to grab, and it paused for a moment. The line of kids leaving class had dwindled, and now the professor was frantic in shooing away the college students who were begging for help. Among them was the loud roommate he mentioned earlier, and the pair watched as he chased the teacher out, pausing momentarily to free himself from one of the booby trap holes in the hallway floor.
The two sets of eyes, so different in color and owners, shared the same amused glint as they followed him to the door, and into the hall. The manicured hand, hovering lightly over the table, grabbed at the one resting on the male's knee, tugging him down the stairs. She made to let go as soon as he got going, his own backpack dangling off one shoulder, but somehow the fingers were interlaced, and he didn't seem too inclined to let her go.
Her smile seemed to be super glued to her face as she pushed her arm slightly, making their hands swing. The look he gave her made her smile shrink slightly, since it screamed 'Don't try your luck', but she wouldn't be deflated enough to actually frown. Instead, she tugged at his hand, speeding up. "Come on slow poke. If we left your idiotic friend get there first, there will be no food left, and the professor might be dead or mentally scarred or something. And I'm hungry, and want the professor grading my last final exam of my required courses to be at least mostly mentally together."
He didn't let more than a quick breath of air escape his mouth, by it was colored with some noncommittal noise that she took as affirming, and his feet matched her pace. After all, he never followed, especially not a lady. It just wouldn't be polite.
--
Random inspiration: Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year - Fall Out Boy
Don't ask how, I just played the song on repeat and wrote this. You might see some elaborations on this story, who knows. I like it.