I live!
(Frankenstein moment. Who hasn't had one?)
I give you yet another piece of something about something.
I need sleep.
Warning: John Cusack makes yet another unnecessary appearance. 'Cause I'm writing this baby.
-x-x-x-
Seika High's decision to start a school band could perhaps best be categorized under the word impulsive.
Or perhaps, more fittingly, regrettable.
It was no secret that Seika High was an institute of little means, both in consequence and material wealth. Half the size of neighbouring schools, worn brick, under-funded and blessed with the quintessential charm of Before Common Era Neanderthals, Seika's newly assembled band had settled itself to perform ritually in a fifteen-minute niche in school assemblies that should have been dedicated to napping by the student body.
The band, thus far, had a repertoire of two songs. Two songs they seemed hell-bent on performing at any cost at any given opportunity. The guitarists found it necessary to hum the painfully familiar tunes in the lines of the cafeteria. Those on the flutes liked to whistle in toilet cubicles. Percussions simply liked to smirk at passer-by's in the halls: I know you know it. You know I know it. We're a knowledgeable bunch.
Bullying had finally seemed to enter an era where the majority of the pain was inflicted by quart-notes divided into thirds.
It was more than a case of pure and simple bad taste. Granted, People Get Ready and Tequila had hit a record breaking low in musical history since Seika High decided punishing rebel students by making their ears bleed was extraordinarily more effective than the usual threat of detention. Nevertheless, things might have been substantially more bearable had the student body not been forced to endure the band's weekly bleed fest during Monday assembly. Mondays, internationally, are Bad. Mondays, coupled with Seika High's school band, reached new lengths and breadths of Bad.
Misaki Ayuzawa could not count the number of times she had been approached, hassled, guilt-tripped, bribed and pleaded with by her fellow students to do something about what was quickly being dubbed as The Issue. Being the epitome of student influence and downright fear-factor-ness, it was only natural for Misaki to become something of a scapegoat.
"It's god awful," her friend, Sakura, surmised.
"Destructive," her friend, Shizuko, decided.
"Unavoidable," Misaki sighed. "School policy is school policy."
And everyone understood, when Misaki Ayuzawa sighed, things could not be changed. Her sigh – even more so than her words – was the mark of their defeat. The class turned around and filed back to their respective classes, thoroughly dejected.
And so, another Monday rolled in, marked by trepidation that surpassed the fear induced by an overdue History test, or cursed exam results.
Assemblies were usually organised by class, with each group standing in single file before the elevated stage. It was an uncomfortable arrangement, even more so when a fifty-year-old Latin jig was blasting from a group of twenty-eight young, inexperienced musician-would-be's.
Which was why, for the sake of the student body and teaching faculty alike, Misaki had convinced the principal – a wrinkled old man with coffee breath – to allow the assembly to sit on the floor wherever they liked during the proceedings.
Which was how it all began.
Misaki Ayuzawa knew well enough of Takumi Usui. From the T to the I, she knew enough as she would ever need to, let alone wish to. She knew his grades, and had access to his attendance records. She knew which class he was in. She knew he was one of the few taking intermediate sociology exclusively at Miyabigaoka Academy.
She could probably get her hands on his credit card details if the fancy so took her.
(Or should she be short on change.)
But in all actuality, he was just one-one hundredth of Senior Seika High. One out of the three blondes in their year. One boy in a sea of ninety-nine others just like himself.
And currently, he was sitting in the back row in assembly, third to the left, exactly behind Misaki Ayauzawa, hoping to some orifice in the heavens she would block the teacher's view of him snoozing.
Why didn't girls wear hairspray anymore? It was like trying to hide behind all three strands of Homer Simpson's hair.
"Hey, you."
A distinct hissing.
"Hey," the voice repeated, frustrated.
Hissing was usually associated with snakes.
"I'm talking to you."
Snakes were usually associated with the female gender, in its entirety.
"Damn it, quit goofing around."
The female gender (in its entirety) usually meant trouble.
"That's it."
Trouble usually meant-
Ah.
-getting hit in the face.
Reluctantly, Takumi Usui opened his eyes, blinking heavily. He touched his face briefly, idly making sure it was still there, intact.
And was met by fierce, yellowed eyes, as if the face had been constructed in sepia.
Snake.
He was never too far off the mark, after all.
"You hit me," he whispered, not entirely sure if it had really happened.
Then his chin began to sting.
"You hit me," he repeated, angrier. She had hit his face. His face. His wonderful, perfect, sculpted-
The snake just rolled her eyes, apparently adept in the art of ignoring whining men. "Oh please," she snorted derisively. "I couldn't make it any worse. At least you're awake."
Usui smiled triumphantly, seemingly recovered from the small blow. "I never sleep. Constant vigilance – that's my motto." He considered fist-pumping the air, but didn't want to overdo it. Victory was a hard pill to swallow, after all. Especially to those lesser people who weren't used to it.
But she had already turned around again – probably by the hand of some in-built sensor that alerted the presence of higher authority – and was attentively keeping one eye on the stage, and one eye on the student body surrounding her.
A few seconds passed, and he deemed it safe to return to his comfortable daze.
There were the usual announcements, teacher inductions and a few introductions of new students whose names he couldn't remember if his life depended on it. Hinota? Hinasha? By George, he was bored out of his brain. And just as he vaguely registered the Band from Hell being introduced, there was that distinct hissing noise again.
And this time, it was still too early for the music.
"Bloody hell."
Ah.
"Damn it, kid. Open your eyes and pay attention."
Snake.
"I'll report you if you keep this up."
"Oh please, no," he whined lightly, causing the boy on his right to glance up at him strangely. He kept his eyes closed, trying to picture the school band disintegrating in lava. "Don't report me, prez."
"That," Misaki declared dully from somewhere in front of him, "was pathetic."
Usui cracked open an eye. "Has it started?"
The snake blinked dubiously at the swift change. He moved quicker than she could adjust. "What?"
An ominous beat passed.
"Our demise."
Misaki frowned. And then the band started to play after a disharmonious starting note. She grimaced – at the sound and his apparently uncanny knack for morbid foreshadowing. It was a deep grimace.
"Yes. Yes, it has."
-x-x-x-
"This week," Takumi Usui announced grandly as the students were shuffling to find seats near friends and far from teachers, "I intend to stay awake during the whole assembly."
Misaki sighed, and people within her radius unconsciously ducked slightly.
There was a rumpling of clothes from behind her as he made himself comfortable, taking care to nudge her in the back as often as possible with his pointy knees. Misaki gritted her teeth.
"Aren't you proud?"
If being proud entailed being stalked by one blonde half-Englishman for an entire week, she was sure she could pass on the feeling. Her nails dug dangerously into the wearing carpet.
"Can't you sit somewhere else? Say, anywhere else?"
He was far too confident for quarter past nine Monday morning. "You'd miss me."
In one fluid movement, Misaki got up and relocated down further to the right side of the room, brushing past disgruntled students with her knees.
Behind her, there was a distinct grumbling.
"Watch it, buddy."
"Ouch!"
"Do you really have to sit there?"
A moment passed, and there was warm breath at her ear.
"You're cruel."
She recoiled slightly, trying to give her attention to the starting assembly.
"You're ignoring me, aren't you?"
By what cruel twist of fate decided she deserved this? For the past week – ever since last assembly – she had been spotting his blonde head where it shouldn't be spotted. By the drinking fountain. In the corridors. Two lockers down from her own. Always there, with a ridiculous smirk on his face that taunted her every move. And damn her own treacherous instincts for finding it minutely attractive.
You know, in an evil, disgusting villain kind of way.
But sitting calmly amongst the throngs of students, some chattering mildly until she gave them the eye, with a tame Usui behind her (she suspected him either asleep or considering falling asleep), she realised her own paranoia. Her own self-importance, to a degree. She should just relax.
The chances of Takumi Usui giving a damn as to her whereabouts at any point of the day were just about as likely as resigning herself from Student Council President of Seika High.
She felt her shoulders, previously curved to the point of being mountainous, ease of an unknown tension.
"Prez."
Good god.
"Prez."
Not again.
Would the mundane catastrophes never cease?
"What?"
She was pretty certain she had just hissed at him. She hadn't known she could hiss. Suddenly, she felt marginally reptilian.
He didn't say a word, out of either a terribly poor sense of humour, or a sudden teacher-detection.
"What, Usui?"
There it was again. She was certain she would be producing scales at any moment.
A faint brushing by her side. She looked down, and saw his outstretched hand casually nudging her in the ribs. Laying far too innocently in said hand, were two objects she couldn't immediately identify.
"What the hell is that?" She demanded, slightly horrified at the possibilities. It was Takumi Usui, after all. Who knew where the possibilities ended when he was thrown into the equation.
"Earplugs," he stated simply, giving the two small objects in his hand a rattle – for good measure and good luck.
"Earplugs?" Misaki parroted, unwilling to believe that the word matched the item.
"Earplugs," Usui confirmed, nothing if not lightly humoured. He gave her an enigmatic smile (he had practised in front of the mirror before, and had officially deemed this one enigmatic.)
"For?" Misaki prompted, her tone a pitch higher than usual, or necessary, really.
He seemed to be waiting for something. A few beats passed, when a distinct thumping of feet alerted the audience that students were filing onto the stage. Possibly carrying instruments. No, with their luck, probably carrying instruments.
Usui smirked grimly.
"Our demise."
-x-x-x-
"He's attractive," Shizuko relented, to the shock of those surrounding her.
Namely, Misaki and Sakura.
Outside the assembly hall, students were waiting impatiently for the cleaners to be finished. The three girls were uncomfortably pushed inside a crook between the last row of lockers and the finishing wall. One particular elbow always seemed to find Misaki's upper back at regular intervals. She tried to shove it away, only to find the crowd had readjusted itself again. She might have knocked an unsuspecting first year in the face.
"Sorry," she cried, only to have the face change to a rebellious looking third year towering above her.
"Attractive?" Sakura shrieked incredulously. "Attractive?"
Shizuko shrugged, nonplussed.
"John Cusack is attractive. Nike tennis shoes are attractive. Puppies are attractive," Sakura lectured, listing each detail off with a tick of her finger. "But Takumi Usui? He is hot!"
Misaki winced slightly, instinctively knowing where this was heading.
"That's physically impossible," Shizuko droned.
"With Takumi Usui," Sakura loyally vowed, "anything is possible."
Misaki was fairly certain she was facing the leader of Seika High's Moe Moe fanclub. And by the looks of things, she was armed.
"Just admit it," Sakura turned to Misaki smugly. "You find him sexy."
"I wouldn't know sexy if it hit me in the face."
Shizuko smirked ever so slightly. "She has a point, Sakura." By the strange gleam in her eye, Misaki supposed she was enjoying herself.
The traitor.
Sakura sighed miserably, glancing off into the crowd as if able to spy him at a moment's notice.
"He's not here," Misaki supplied blandly.
Sakura would not be convinced. "He's always here for Monday assembly."
"In body, at least," Shizuko muttered to nothing but her feet.
"What the hell is this?" Misaki glowered at the two of them, growing tired of their ridiculous antics. "Is there a new fan club I haven't heard about?"
"He already has two of those," Sakura frowned.
"Three," Shizuko corrected.
"Oh. Impressive."
"Would you two cut it out and tell me what's going on?" Misaki demanded, one part of her wondering how on earth one apathetic alien could ever manage to procure himself three groups of squealing fan girls. And damn it, why didn't she have a fan club?
Sakura held up her hands in mock defence. "All I'm saying is you're a young, attractive woman who-"
"-is sexually frustrated," Shizuko intoned dully.
Sakura halted for a split second, then nodded wisely to acquiesce. "Who is sexually frustrated with her whole life ahead of her. There is no shame in-"
"Oh god," pleaded Misaki, turning slightly blue at a few curious bystanders who had heard snippets of their conversation. The wrong snippets. "Please stop. I don't want to hear it."
"That's what a lot of girls said. And now look at them; they're-"
"Pregnant?" Misaki suggested, cutting Sakura off cleanly.
"Dead?" Shizuko threw in.
"Ouch," Misaki commented airily.
Sakura glared at the two of them. "Shizuko, just whose side are you on?"
The bespectacled girl just smirked. "Truthfully, I'm just finding this whole thing highly entertaining."
Misaki sighed, only able to find one true silver lining to this monster of a thunder cloud. "At least Usui isn't here."
"I'm here."
Misaki blinked one, twice, but he persisted in existing there.
Takumi Usui was leaning against the lockers behind her, seemingly unfazed by the crowds of pushing, bored teenagers.
She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again and proceeded to turn her back on him in one swift action that stunk primarily of denial.
"I love you," Sakura pledged to Usui, crossing one hand over her heart.
"A knack for timing," Shizuko observed.
"I hate Mondays," Misaki muttered to the dirty floor.
"Attention students," a frazzled teacher called over the group, "please file into the hall in a neat, orderly manner."
Naturally, the stampede commenced.
-x-x-x-
"This again?"
Misaki stared down at the earplugs being offered to her as if they were some sort of charity gift.
"It's our tradition," Usui supplied helpfully.
Somewhere to their left, a teacher gave a warning growl.
"We've used them once," Misaki countered. "How can it be a tradition?"
"Come on, prez," Usui coaxed bravely, tossing the earplugs recklessly around his palm. "All traditions need to start somewhere."
"I'm sure Hitler said the same thing."
Usui only smiled.
This one, he deemed whimsical.
And according to his research, it had an 86% success rate on women under the age of thirty-five. 98% success rate on women over thirty-six. Any woman aged thirty-five and six months was simply grey area.
"Nice try."
Usui blinked, then ventured to dangerous waters ."How old are you?"
"What?"
"Never mind."
Misaki would not be bothered by Usui. She would also not be bothered by Sakura and Shizuko's brainless ramblings in regard to Usui. All in all, she would pay no mind to the alien known as Usui, and when all was said and done at the end of the day, she would emerge from this fiasco known as high school unscathed: heart beating and fully intact.
It was only when he took the time to brush a few wayward strands of hair from her ear to push in the earplugs that she began to worry.
"I could have done it myself," she told him, eyes focused on the stage where she could see but not hear the band playing mirthlessly. Or she thought she was telling it to Usui – she might have been reminding herself.
She glanced back at Usui, only to see him casually pointing to his ears in an I'm-sorry-it-can't-be-helped kind of way. He smiled apologetically.
She managed something that may have once been a smile back.
-x-x-x-
"Earplugs?"
"Check," Usui affirmed, patting his pocket with a strange kind of affection. "However, it's more appropriate for the gentlemen to offer them than the lady demand them."
An eyebrow lifted without her express permission. "And when will he be coming?"
"About the same time as the lady," he grinned, not missing a beat.
It was Monday. Again. Everyday seemed like a Monday.
Idly, Misaki wondered when she had begun to look forward to the peculiar day.
"But that's not all," Usui whispered grandly, smirking briefly at an older teacher who had caught his eye.
Misaki, who had noticed the passing, looked somewhat startled. "You're going to get me in trouble," she surmised, not without some astonishment (and perhaps a little awe.)
"Please," Usui rolled his eyes, watching triumphantly as the teacher strolled the other way, ready to lecture a gaggle of giggling first years. "I'm nothing but discreet."
Misaki tried very hard not to snort.
She failed.
Reaching surreptitiously into his school blazer, Usui made a show of glancing about him before he pulled out a small bunch of violets.
Misaki blinked.
And then again.
"Those aren't going in my ears," she hazarded. She could not take her eyes off them.
"No," Usui smiled good-naturedly. "But if the fancy truly is that strong, I won't stop you."
Something seemed to register in her mind. "Good Lord," she breathed, eyes still on the offending horticulture. "You're flirting with me."
"I don't flirt," Usui resolved automatically. "But," he tried his enigmatic smile again, "if you take them, instead of making me hold them and look like an idiot, I might be willing to make an exception."
"You're flirting with me," Misaki repeated, nothing short of astounded. A bit warily, she took the violets from his grasp. "Where did you get them?"
"Stole them from my dead neighbour's garden," he replied cheerfully.
"What?" Misaki grappled with the image.
"I'm kidding."
Misaki smiled. "I know."
"Not about the flowers, though," he added thoughtfully, "or, well, the giving it to you part."
"You've already done that part."
"And did it pretty well, I think," he continued smugly.
"Please," Misaki rolled her eyes, trying to smell the flowers without drawing attention to herself. "We're in the middle of assembly and teachers are staring into the back of your skull. You have an incredible knack for timing."
Usui couldn't help but grin.
Then it faded.
"Oh no."
Misaki glanced up, alarmed.
"What is it?"
"Quick – the earplugs."
-x-x-x-
End.
Meh. How do I write? By farting through my fingers. Nice. Classy.
God, I still need sleep.
Drop a line (or a square). Or a review. Or a few crumbs on the floor. It's cold and damp down here.
X Schnook
p.s. got an idea? Tell me. If the best I've got is a romance during school assemblies, we're all doomed. Nyah.