More HaynerNamine? Of course, it's my OTP, isn't it? Enjoy dears.
Another day, another detention. Just another day in the life of being Hayner, regional struggle contender, student and accidental creator of trouble extraordinaire. Not that it was worst of days to be stuck inside. The clouds outside ad been gathering for nearly two days, an ominous threat of the looming rainy season. Storms were predicted, the television had announced as he shovelled breakfast into his mouth, to begin tonight and last until the end of next week. Not the happiest thing to hear when most of your favourite activities included 'go outside and play sports'.
Instead, Hayner, Seifer, Axel and the rest of the cooped up students hiding from the beginnings of the drizzle had turned the hallways into their own personal playground, running around with sports equipment firmly in place. The pent up energy of a dozen teens used to having fields where they now had a cage was enough to distract from the clear sign of 'caution: wet paint' and the scaffolding set up down the science hallway. The exact details had been foggy for any of the group hauled down to the office to recall. All they knew for certain was that the once white hallway was now fluorescent pink and as the least paint soaked member of the troupe, Hayner was suspected to be the perpetrator.
So there he was now, an hour after the building had emptied out for the afternoon. Mopping floors. What kind of school made students clean the building for a detention? Didn't they have janitors or something for that? Maybe if it had been closer to where his struggle bat had knocked over the paint cans, Hayner could accept the punishment, but this was just cruel. Anything would have been better than heading down an echoing hallway with grey water to sweep up and down as though it would make a difference. They'd only be coming in with muddy shoes tomorrow.
The only benefit of the ordeal was the lack of supervision and hall he'd been assigned. A rather long one, with only two doors interrupting it, but it was where they led. One, to a locked storage room filled with noxious chemical paints and hideous design projects, and the other to a classroom. Not of a class he took, due to being utterly incompetent in artistic endeavours not of the pink hall variety, but one that had his head popping in or whatever reason he could come up with second period. Extra pens needed? Art room. And extra desk? Art room. A random opinion on evolution by a member of the staff who had bottlecap earrings? The picture was rather clear. His reasons, though running against the code of a good student, were for one very good, very pure reason he could more than accept.
Her.
Poking his head around the corner of the door as he dragged the fraying mop behind him, Hayner smiled briefly at the sight inside. That was great. His luck had actually paid off, judging by the figure sitting in the corner. Long, straw coloured strands of hair fell over her face, much like a porcelain doll's as she drew, careful to keep the lead from landing on the white outfit she wore. Frills adorned the dress in a rich cascade, a black satin ribbon at the waist seemingly the only thing keeping the girl from simply being swallowed up. Pretty, sweet and everything the girl seemed to represent in real life. The childhood friend of his partner-in-crime, and occasionally, the only reason he agreed to get out of bed and head to school, hollering decibels over a healthy limit be damned.
Of course, there were the days he was distracted so much by thinking of talking to Naminé that he didn't quite muster the courage to do so. Other days, he ended up embarrassed at her inviting expression and burst out this whatever awkward conversation topic he could think of. Normally something about struggle, sports statistics or the weather. "Er..." he began, walking into the room as she watched him expectantly. Think of something, his heart demanded, soaring as he perched on the desk across from her. Anything... "What are you drawing?"
There. That was a good start. Breathing a sigh of relief, Hayner waited for the answer, curious more than he normally would be over a simply sketch.
"That table," the girl's reply came, pointing to the desk beneath him. Nodding as though he understood the deeper meaning entirely, the male of the two watched Naminé pause herself, staring in confusion at him before speaking again. "If... you wouldn't mind moving?"
Shooting up as though he'd been electrocuted in the behind, Hayner quickly moved away as the girl resumed her drawing, hunting for some distraction. Spotting a piece of paper seeming to have been hastily shoved into the sketchbook, the boy slowly drew nearer, the mop still in his hand acting as a balance. There wasn't much to make out beyond the edge of a shoulder and a smattering of hearts, but he figured he could guess what it meant. All girls had that in common he supposed. A ditzy older sister had taught him that much.
"Is that Roxas?" the question came, a hot in the dark as he tugged on the page, acting as nonchalantly as he could before tacking anything on. "Looks like you like him, huh?" he asked, smirking while his heart threw itself off a cliff and onto the jagged rocks below.
"Ah! Don't!" the girl managed, flushing a bright pink, hands scrambling to retrieve the page as it fluttered to the floor. Really, this was when he ought to act the gentleman and hand it off without looking, or simply allow her to snatch the page out of his sight. A young man scorned however, is rarely ever a gentleman, especially if his heart has just been dashed against the bottom of a metaphorical cliff. Instead, Hayner did the least gentlemanly and cruellest thing possible, using years of athleticism to grab the paper and move it quickly away from the girl. Much as the constricting feeling in his chest demanded that he pretend that the girl he liked's secret crush was not his friend, confirming it seemed necessary. Demanded by some obscure section of the bro code maybe, though he doubted it would make the cut.
Having made it to the realm of safety- the other side of the art studio from the girl- Hayner glanced down at his prize. What he saw though, wasn't the bedhead like hair and mild frown of Roxas. Nor was it the smug smirk of Axel, or the cheerful, friendly beam of Sora. No, what he looked down on was a blond teen, struggle bat in hand, grinning out at him, brown eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief and a whole lot of pride. Staring down at the vest sported by the image, hastily looked down at his own clothes. A perfect match. "Wha-"
Eyes snapping up, he took in the trembling, pale girl in front of him, blue eyes shuddering with each breath. So it wasn't Roxas then, that the girl had drawn. The picture she'd doodled hearts along the edge of wasn't of his friend. It was of... him. Whoops.
"Sorry I just kind of thought... you know, 'cause Roxas was your friend since... forever it'd be... well, him," he managed, resisting the urge to slap his own face. Smooth, really smooth. First he annoyed the girl, then he teased her, and now he tried a lame explanation to apologise? What kind of man was he? "You know, you didn't have to be so secretive or anything. I mean, I am pretty great."
Looking back over the next week, Hayner would regret the words more than he had ever regretted anything in his life. Bruised pride though he might have from losing the fight that had resulted in his detention, taking i out on the girl he liked- really liked, a lot- was unfair and wrong, and in most cases, would have resulted in some sort of violent retribution. A bop on the head, being whipped with a skipping rope, spontaneous electrocution over the course of a month. That sort of thing. Naminé wasn't most girls though. Had she been, he would never have wandered down this hallway, mop in hand, hoping she'd still be there.
Instead, the girl's reaction was the thing that destroyed what man was left in him, destroying any optimistic vibe he still had of salvaging the situation. Whipping her pencils and sketchbook up into her arms, Naminé fled, a single hateful, tear filled look tossed over her shoulder as she dashed out the door and down the hall, frilly white skirt swinging round the corner as though it was waving goodbye to him for the last time.
Watching the empty doorframe a few more minutes, oblivious to the various posters tacked across from it, Hayner numbly leant back against the desk that had started the dreaded conversation, waiting for her to return.
Five hours later, Miss Gainsborough released him of his detention, sending him, still lost as to what had transpired, to walk home in the fresh pouring of rain.
Feedback would be lovely, but I'll be continuing with it whether people respond or not. Toodles!
~ Josiyx