"Honesty is honestly the hardest thing for me right now…"
Somehow, you got through the rest of your morning classes. They passed by in a seemingly-endless cycle of blurs, homework, catch-up assignments, and students.
It was only mid October—the school year had started two months ago—and you already were drowning underneath the weight of assignments you needed to make up in order to be on the same page with the rest of the class.
Time check was near noon. It was finally time for lunch. Coincidentally, Yamamoto had the same lunch block as you. So did Tsuna and Gokudera. You were starting to dub the group The Trio, since they happened to have all the same classes.
Being his friendly self, Yamamoto sforced/s invited you to eat lunch with him and The Trio. You didn't want to, but what other choice did you have? It was either grit your teeth and bear it or sit alone. The latter didn't sound promising. Who knew which bullies would pick on you if you sat by your lonesome?
You hadn't had time to pack yourself a lunch this morning. Luckily, Namimori had a lunch system, so you merged with the line of students awaiting plate lunch.
The main dish was some sort of beef patty surprise. It was a mess of ground beef, gravy, beans, and what looked like shoe lace. Normally you were fine with most foods, but your stomach rolled at the sight of the dish. There was no way you'd be eating ithat/i.
To be healthy, you grabbed a salad and a cup of tossed lettuce, black olives, and tomatoes. You quickly debated over the beverages; you settled for carbonated water over orange soda. Then you decided to indulge just a little and moved over to the dessert line to see what there was.
One look at the desserts and you were suddenly angry for not having brought a brown bag lunch. Cookies, brownies, chocolate…the list went on and on.
Your stomach tightened. Frowning, you fisted your hands and pressed them against your thighs.
Over the course of the last five years or so, you had worked hard to establish and maintain a body image everyone approved of. You often had to suppress sugar rushes. Any and all chocolate cravings were immediately squashed. At most, you allowed yourself a tiny inch-sized square of dark chocolate a day.
But all the self restraint you had practiced seemed to diminish now. Your skin crawled as you continued standing there, staring at the fatty enemies.
You reached out, making a last-minute decision to double your indulgence serving for today and devour that yummy-looking chocolate fudge brownie square.
You had just set it onto your plate when someone behind you scoffed loudly. "I don't get it. You took a salad and a brownie. The two contradict each other."
A drawling voice, arrogance dripping from each word. You knew the voice.
"What do you want?" you said flatly, not even turning around to look at Gokudera.
He snorted quietly. A quick exhale of his nose. The nerve. "I'm just questioning your eating habits, is all."
"Mind your own business," you snapped, not liking the way your stomach curled in on itself at his words.
He scoffed again. It was all you could do to keep from whacking him upside the head.
"What do you want?" you repeated, pushing your tray along the line.
"I'm buying myself a lunch. Is that a crime?" Gokudera spread his hands mockingly in front of him. His olive eyes sliced into yours, a challenge.
You'd love to go at it, but backing down was the better option. "Whatever," you muttered.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. "Women," he said under his breath. "I'll never understand them."
This wasn't the Gokudera you remembered. With clarity, you recalled an angsty, somber boy, with haunted eyes and a hard jaw, with a defiance that told the rest of the world to fuck off.
In the lunch line, right here and right now, there was something almost nonchalant about the way he spoke to you. It wasn't flirting, but he wasn't ignoring your existence completely. It was a somewhat casual conversation.
And it was weird.
You paid for your lunch quickly. Behind you, Gokudera did the same. You didn't want to have to speak to him anymore than you had to.
Grabbing your tray, you set off for the main lunch hall at a brisk pace. But you took three steps and stopped—you had no clue where your table was.
"Need directions?" Gokudera was smirking ever so slightly when you glanced back at him. He moved past you. "Follow me."
With no other avail, you did as told, threading around others to stay behind the silverette. You still couldn't see Yamamoto or Tsuna anywhere.
Keeping his eyes turned forward, Gokudera said, "So, you're from Italy?"
"Yep."
"Which part?" he inquired, and you told him.
"Coincidence. I was there, too," he murmured quietly, looking deep in thought.
You clamped your mouth shut to avoid more talking, among other things. Over his shoulder, you finally spotted the spikes that belonged to Tsuna's head. Relieved, you pushed past Gokudera to head on over. As you moved to the table, you felt eyes drilling into your back. You didn't dare look.