That feel when you're trying to get back on a regular updating schedule (aka, I wrote this entire chapter last night).
The outlines of my world are a very colorless place.
Sometimes, the colors seem dulled, gray - as if they're fading. It's a split second thing - blink and they vanish, and without fail, I'm always left wondering where they've gone.
My footsteps are muted against the linoleum of the school floors, dulled by the steady hum of the rain against the building. It's been raining steadily for the past few days, ever since that day in class. Any outdoor classes and clubs have been canceled or postponed, but most of the rest of the building is covered, so nobody is too concerned about getting wet. The buildings and the dorms are all connected, so nobody's getting rained unless they want to, regardless.
I don't put it past half the student body, including myself.
It's Saturday; I pass students wandering aimlessly in the hall, dressed down in their normal clothing instead of their uniforms. Half of them seem to be past the point of caring and are shuffling about in their pajamas - it's not like any of us can go anywhere, one way or another. The school's power has already flickered twice. It's a miracle the administrators haven't shoved us into our dorms yet to wait out the storm, but they're probably just sticklers for making us stay in our classes and don't see the point with bothering on a Saturday.
The library door is ajar, as always, when I arrive, propped open by one of the many signs they keep. This time, it has a poster about the upcoming Halloween Bash draped haphazardly over it, as though it'd been an afterthought to the hasty person who'd put it there.
Dismissing the sign, I duck into the library and turn my books back in at the counter, before turning to go look at more.
"Oh," comes a familiar voice, "Honda. How've you been?"
Halfway down the aisle, I turn at the sound of Arthur's voice. I haven't seen him around much - I rarely do outside of the library. I smile faintly.
"Oh, hello," I greet, "I'm doing fine. And you?"
"Good." Arthur says, approaching to reach past and pull a book. "Are you looking for something new to read?"
I nod. "Do you have any suggestions?"
Arthur tips his head thoughtfully. "I haven't read it yet, but I've heard that the Six Of Crows series is good. Wonder Show is a bit childish, but rather good, nonetheless. They're by Leigh Bardugo and Hannah Barnaby, respectively. Just down at the end of this aisle, if you're interested."
He gestures for me to follow and leads the way to the end of the aisle, pulling two books from the shelf and offering them out to me. I take them with a quiet thanks, but my gaze is drawn somewhere past him.
"Who is that?"
Arthur follows my gaze, confused, until he spots the boy I'm looking at - someone with shaggy brown hair, who looks to have fallen asleep at one of the tables with a stack of philosophy books by him. I can't recall having ever met him, but it's not surprising - I'm not exactly the most social one.
"Oh," says Arthur, waving one hand dismissively, "that's Heracles Karpusi. He tends to nap here a lot. Actually, I think I'll go sit there - people don't tend to bother me when he's sleeping nearby. He doesn't generally wake pleasantly if forced out of it, as far as I've seen. You're welcomed to join, of course."
Well, I conclude, I don't actually have anything better to do.
Arthur takes the lead again, crossing the small space to the table and quietly sitting down at the end. I take the seat across from Heracles, who doesn't even stir when we sit. I glance at his books - they all look like they're pretty advanced; he's a senior, no doubt. I don't blame him for seeming tired.
Arthur reclines back in his seat to read and I lean forward, opting to read Wonder Show first. It's thankfully quiet; the quiet is something I haven't gotten so much since I got here - every day is hectic now and it's exhausting. It's nice to sit back and relax for once.
Heracles Karpusi stirs about half an hour later. I notice first, the slow twitch and uncurl of his fingers from beneath his elbows. Arthur lifts his gaze second, watching from over the top of his book as Heracles half lifts his head, blinking slowly, lethargically. He looks between Arthur and I, eyebrows furrowing momentarily and lips turning down at the corners. Finally, he seems to collect his thoughts fully and focuses more on Arthur.
"Arthur," he greets, in a slow, sleepy voice, gaze sliding to me, "and-?"
"Kiku," I introduce myself quickly, "Kiku Honda. Sorry, I'm Arthur's friend. It was quiet here."
"Oh," says Heracles, merely blinking absently.
"In other words, and much less politely, we wanted to avoid other company," Arthur cuts in, rather bluntly.
"I figured," Heracles yawns, lowering his head back into his arms. "So, Kiku. Are you new? I haven't seen you around."
"It's my first year," I tell him, glancing over at Arthur, who has pitched forward in his chair to glare down at his phone screen.
He taps aggressively at the glass and I catch myself worrying about the phone. I can only see the contact name - Alfred. I vaguely recall Arthur mentioning the name before. Arthur lifts his gaze with a half irritated sigh.
"Sorry to pop out so soon," he starts, getting up and gathering his books, "but my boyfriend is apparently having some problems and won't stop bothering me to help him. I'll see you later then, yes?"
Heracles' goodbye is half muffled by his arm and I raise one hand in farewell, watching Arthur whirl on one foot and hurry off. Now, I admit, it's awkward. I turn my gaze to Heracles, who just blinks calmly in return.
"Are you a junior?" He asks, moving one hand to brush his messy hair away from his face.
"Yeah," I nod, "and you're a senior, I'm assuming."
"Did the books give it away?"
"Yes," I smile faintly, "those classes weren't an option for juniors."
Heracles nods, sitting up just enough to prop his elbow up on the table and rest his cheek against his palm. Half of me wonders if he just always looks this tired, or if it's because of the fact that he's only just woken up.
"Do you like philosophy?" He asks. "Or… Cats?"
Cats? The question is certainly out of the blue, but there's something in the back of his eyes - oddly, almost cat-like. I tip my head.
"Philosophy is interesting. I have a dog back home, myself, but I do like cats," I reply, finally, nodding thoughtfully.
He seems pleased, closing his eyes. Heracles is silent for so long that I wonder if he's fallen asleep again. I'm just about to check when his eyes flicker half open again.
"That's good," he murmurs, "I love cats. Philosophy is nice, too…"
I've come to the conclusion that Heracles is rather odd. Then again, most of the students here certainly have their quirks. I bookmark my page quietly and tuck my arms at the edge of the table, beneath my chest.
Heracles and I end up talking for the better part of the hour, conversing about books and theories - and cats. More than once, Heracles seems to nod off, but it doesn't take me very long to get accustomed to his sleepy personality. He's certainly one of the calmest people I've met thus far. It isn't until his head slowly slips back down into his once again folded arms and his breathing seems to ease into that of sleep that I silently slip away, opting to head back to my dorm.
The hall is long and abandoned, quieter than I'm used to, when I walk out. The rain is still thrumming heavily outside, loud and steady. I gaze out the windows as I go, watching raindrops race each other down the glass.
...Somehow, the colors keep getting darker.
Had I lowered my gaze, I would have missed it. Sudden streaks of color cross my vision and I pause, gaze fixing on a point out the window. I spot the familiar blond hair first, and then Francis' grin. He seems to be laughing, one hand braced against his hip and the other draped by his side. He's soaked from the rain, hair clinging to his face and button-down weighed down with water.
He's with Gilbert and Antonio, who are brawling in the mud, dirt streaked faces bright with laughter and hair soaked a different shade with water. They're struggling to get a grip on each other, visibly laughing as they slip, slide, and tumble over each other.
Francis is just dancing around the two, clearly avoiding the mud himself, and just rolling his eyes and shaking his head - his smile gives him away. My shoulders lower as I relax, watching the three. They seem close - it makes me wonder how long they've been friends.
I watch as Gilbert and Antonio exchange a mischievous glance, and Francis' expression turns from amused to horrified in the split second it takes for him to realize that they've already grabbed his arms and yanked him into the mud. Francis shoots back up, thrashing and lobbing handfuls of dirt at both of his friends. Briefly, he looks irritated, but then Gilbert and Antonio start laughing at his state - hair caked with mud, clothing disheveled and skin speckled with dirt, running brown because of the rain. His irritated mask cracks and he smiles, and then laughs.
I'm almost jealous. He looks so free, soaked hair plastered to his face and his clothing bedraggled and splotched with mud. He looks radiant, even as he shoves Gilbert back into the mud puddle and doubles over with laughter as Antonio loses his footing, only for his expression to change to panic as he wipes out himself.
I can't help but laugh and duck my head, carrying on down the hall.
But, for a fleeting moment, the colors almost seem to grow brighter again.