WHY AM I STILL SICK AHFKJEFKEF... is a rhetorical question because I know exactly why I'm still sick. This is what I get for not getting a bunch of rest and going outside into the cold. So one of my friends used a twenty one pilots picture on me earlier. It was some lyrics to Semi-Automatic ("I kinda like it when I make you cry") and I just, "me in a nutshell." Ah, well. Anyways, here's chapter nine, we get to see Kik over this entire "date" thing. Wee lamb.
I have never in my life despised a Friday the way I despise the one that follows the Thursday of the sketchbook incident. It drags on painfully slowly, practically mocking me. The inevitable Saturday outing looms like a shadow over my head and my mood gradually sinks increasingly lower, until I'm practically berating myself for managing to get in this situation in the first place. If my friends, or any of the other people I speak to, have actually noticed, none of them are commenting on it. I suppose it isn't the most uncommon thing for me to get in these odd moods, though, so it isn't surprising.
Now that I think about it, I've started becoming a bit more social since coming here. I can't say I mind it, but I still need my alone time to recover from people. Spending all my time around others wears me out, but I suppose it's expected. After getting involved with Ludwig and Feliciano, I'd begun wondering what my reason was for rarely associating with other people back at my last school.
I remember that reason, now.
If I'm being honest, the whole date – even the word just makes me want to wither away in pure embarrassment - thing tomorrow isn't even the scariest part. No, I can tolerate that, with a bit of suffering. I'll just treat it as though I'm hanging out with a friend and not who was possibly the most flirtatious and touchy student in the entire school. This whole date thing isn't looking too appealing either, now that I actually think about it. But all in all, that's not the worst part. True, I can't back out, but I got my sketchbook back. Besides, maybe I can run faster than he can. Then again, while Francis doesn't at all seem like the athletic type, I already know – regretfully, through experience – that he spends a lot of his time running and escaping from angry teachers. And still, the outing thing isn't even the worst part.
No, the worst part, by far, is Francis.
Francis Bonnefoy is hardly a subtle person. He's a very amorous man and he makes it known. I've seen girls and guys and every gender in between swoon over him. Admittedly, he's very handsome and he knows it, but sometimes it just gets out of hand. He clearly wants to spread the love and doesn't seem to know when to stop.
I may just be bitter over the fact that he continuously winks at me every single time I happen to look up. It's barely into fourth period – I've never realized how many classes I shared with him until now and I am going to scream – but I've already lost count of how many times he's winked at me. It just terrifies me now. I know he's a flirtatious person, but this is really just growing ridiculous and somebody is going to question it soon. If there's one thing I just don't want anybody to know about, it's this – I refuse to call it a date anymore – outing thing.
I'm deeply regretting my decision of the prior day. I should have kept stalling a little longer; Ludwig and Feliciano had come in right after I agreed. Granted, it means I have my sketchbook back now and not later. All that's left is to psyche myself up to survive an hour or two with Francis. Hopefully he isn't planning anything absolutely terrible or too long. I'm not sure I could handle an entire day.
The so call date – outing with an only-kind-of-not-really-friend – is scheduled for tomorrow and I have yet to actually mention it to Ludwig and Feliciano. Granted, I've informed them I'll be busy Saturday, so I won't be able to hang out with them. They probably have plans of their own, I conclude. I probably won't tell them at all. I really just don't even want to talk about it. I'll call it taboo and move on with my life.
I find I'm too grateful this class is a study hall, because I keep worrying myself into a stupor. Everyone else is too busy talking to pay too much attention, but in my position I can just see Francis, a few seats back, looking directly at me.
One day, I swear I'm going to slap that irritatingly handsome grin right off of his face. I really will. Then I'll probably apologize afterwards. I sigh; this whole threatening thing really isn't going to work out for me. The most I can threaten is Yao's spot as valedictorian and perhaps throw his salty attitude right back into his face. Now him, I'll give a run for his money.
My opinion of Yao Wang is very conflicting.
I suppose that's rather irrelevant though, so I don't really dwell on it. Maybe if I can keep this up, acting as though Francis' staring isn't bothering me at all, I can trick him. And myself, but that's irrelevant too. With another forlorn sigh, I pull out my recently reclaimed sketchbook to draw until the bell releases me from this dreadful period. None of the Bad Touch Trio know the meaning of the word whisper and I can hear them talking about me from here.
It becomes a game to see how many times I can say dreadful in my head before the bell rings and effectively silences my thoughts. It's no wonder I don't draw and overthink at the same time. Turns out I'll start writing what I think and the end result is an entire piece of paper in my sketchbook covered in the word, 'dreadful.'
How dreadful.
I would laugh if I wasn't internally losing my mind right now.
Fifth period, unfortunately, flies by. I spend my lunch time in the library, quickly finding that I have no appetite. Arthur joins me, and he doesn't bother questioning my motives. Sixth period crawls by far too quickly and I'm dropped into my last class, one that I yet again share with Francis Bonnefoy.
It's painfully slow.
When I'm finally allowed to stumble back into my dorm, my head is spinning and I just want to bury myself in tea and video games. It's going to be a restless night. They're not particularly uncommon for me, though. Everybody always tells me I'm usually so calm, but my mind is constantly racing at a hundred miles per hour and it rarely shuts off long enough for me to get an adequate amount of sleep. It's something I've become used to, I suppose.
A few hours drag on, full of video games and music and shows and two or three cups of tea. Ultimately, I worry myself to sleep, curled up at the foot of my bed in a hoodie, sweats, and socks that I probably could have slid around the bathroom tile on.
The screaming of the birds and the warm sunlight filtering through my curtains – it seems I forgot to close them the night prior – wakes me in the morning. It's only seven, but Francis never specified a time and could easily show up in the next five minutes. He would just have to wait, in that case. Maybe he already showed up and left when I didn't answer.
It's doubtful.
Reluctantly, I drag my pitiful self out of the comfort of my bed – I'll be back, my love, I swear it – and go about getting ready. First things first, a shower is definitely in order. I shed my hoodie and dump it in the hamper, where it's joined by my socks. A part of me is glad I thought to bring my small coffee maker from home. I don't drink coffee very often, but the quick caffeine kick will do me well today. Usually, I'd settle for tea, but that takes a bit longer so coffee will have to do today.
I set it up to brew while I shower.
I don't like western style clothing that much. Hoodies and sweats I can live with; they're very comfortable, but I don't suppose they'd be appropriate for a day out in the local town. I could probably get away with a hoodie, actually, but it would probably get hot.
Ultimately, I decide I'll just bother going through clothing after I shower. It isn't like I have very much to choose from; I only bought a few outfits before I moved here.
In and out of the shower and back into my room, I don't take too long to figure out an outfit. I have one pair of sneakers, so I suppose I'll be wearing those. I settle for a pair of dark jeans and a light gray short sleeve shirt beneath a loose, thin, red flannel. I start to button up the buttons and ultimately decide to leave the top three and the bottom one unbuttoned. It isn't at all comfortable to me, but it isn't like I brought much Japanese style clothing with me. Regardless, it probably would have been weird to weird a yukata into town and I don't want to be stared at more than I'm already going to be.
It's nice enough, at least, and Francis isn't allowed to complain because this is his fault in the first place. I put the excuse in the back of my mind for later use, because if I'm doing this thing, I'm not doing anything that makes me uncomfortable.
I'm gulping down my coffee when the dreaded knock sounds. I could break my word, honestly. I really, really could. I'm beyond tempted, but I've never done such before and I don't intend to start now. Besides, I obviously can't escape through my door and I honestly don't think I'm capable of leaving through the window. My dorm is too high up and there's no trees or anything I can use to climb down. With a sigh, I turn to open the door a crack.
"Just wait a moment," I tell him, dropping down on the edge of my bed. "I've got to put my shoes on."
He hums in acknowledgement and I know he's watching me without needing to look up. I tug the sneakers on – western style shoes are so uncomfortable and I didn't know how they always managed to wear them – and get up, looking up at Francis.
His posture is as relaxed as always. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame patiently. It didn't seem as though I'd ever had a chance to get out of this.
Francis' hair is swept back into a ponytail that currently falls over his right shoulder and his side fringes are swept aside and one is tucked behind his ear, but I feel as though they fall forward a lot. I take a brief moment to observe his outfit. He's clad in a white shirt that has an enlarged form of the 'Hello, my name is' name tags on it. Trouble is filled in where the name would typically go and I resist the urge to roll my eyes at this. There's a pair of headphones around his neck and I nearly miss the necklace that rests under it, but it vanishes into his shirt so I can't really see what the charm is.
Francis has suspenders attached to his low rise, dark, denim jeans, but they're hanging down around his thighs instead of in their rightful place over his torso. The bottom of said pants are tucked into a pair of black boots. The flaps stick out slightly. Another quick glance when he straightens and unfolds his arms reveals a terry wristband around his right wrist, decorated with what I recognize to be the French flag. I have never met anybody more French acting than he is.
Actually, I've never really met anybody that was French until him. I do hope he isn't a very good example of his people.
I have a nagging suspicion that his necklace is the same Eiffel Tower one I saw him wearing the first time they harassed me. It turns out Francis is a very predictable person, actually. I'm not going to ask about the charm, of course.
"Ready to go?" He asks, grinning.
I sigh, wondering how many time I'd done so in the past three days. "Do I have a choice?"
"Nope!"
"I didn't think so. Lead the way."
Kiku's like whatever at this point idk. Could be better. Okay, okay, but like hear me out. Agender Liechtenstein. OR GENDERFLUID LIECHTENSTEIN. My friend and I were discussing that the other day and I'm like yes yes much genderfluid very agender. And I headcanon Kiku as a taoist actually, but like I don't really go into religious stuff 99% of the time. I have quite a few headcanons, to be honest, but they constantly change around depending on the fanfic. None are really permanently set. I considered putting something about it in this chapter, but eh. 3/6 done I got thiiiis. I'm so glad I didn't decide to do NaNo this month or power writing through these chapters would be a lot harder. Wow, so I'm too lazy to rewrite A/Ns I wrote in November, so.
