Enjoy.
Chapter 2: Amu's POV
She didn't get a single ounce of sleep last night. Of course, it was mostly her own fault for being out at such a late time; why she even attempted to go to sleep was beyond her. Maybe she wanted to humor herself. When she'd gotten home earlier this morning, her parents were thankfully asleep and the house was the kind of quiet she appreciated. But even with laying so comfortably in bed she still stayed up longer than she should have, mindlessly watching videos on her phone until she'd fallen asleep with it in her hand.
And then her cursed alarm rang, the blaring noise unapologetically ripping her out of her sleep. I had to have just gone to sleep five minutes ago... She cursed. Regardless, she gingerly took herself from under the warmth of her blanket and shifted her body forward until her toes just barely touched the ice-cold hardwood of her bedroom floor.
Absolutely not.
She laid back down, burrowing herself back into her pink comforter, wanting to ignore every single one of her responsibilities. Some time passed and she wasn't sure how long of silence it was, but her brain had already awakened enough that sleep just wouldn't grace her with a second sleep and pull her back in. Amu struggled to come to terms with that and tried desperately to keep her eyes closed without twitching before she just fully gave up trying. She threw the comforter back off of her with a dramatic groan and braved the cold floors to make it down the narrow hall and to the bathroom to start getting ready for school.
~#~
Amu ended up missing the entirety of the first period when she got in and chose to pick up a late breakfast from the cafeteria. She grabbed a breakfast turkey corndog from the line, the breading on it a maple pancake that smelled heavenly. Along with that, she picked up an apple and a carton of orange juice. Compared to lunch, breakfast tended to be a little less disappointing for school food and so she took advantage of it every morning.
Each of her class periods after breakfast was full of energy. Students chattered and goofed around, and with every break in active teaching, a swarm of voices filled the silence followed by an irate scolding from the teachers. It's a Friday, Amu thought. The heavy helmet of sleep that clung to the sides of her head had cleared ever so slightly with the realization that after this, she would be able to sleep the entirety of the weekend away. Despite Amu feeling like she'd rather be anywhere else and dead inside, she could appreciate the pick-me-up oozing off of her classmates.
She arrived before the second bell to her seventh period and began making her way to her seat. She sat at a singular desk in the back of the room. She found that she enjoyed not having eyes on her back but instead having hers on everyone else's and being free to smile and laugh at groups of people fooling around in front of her without looking as nosy as she genuinely was. Geometry was just about the only class she had all by herself, so to speak. She knew everyone there, but she had no interest or thrill about starting and perhaps even worse, holding a conversation with any of them. It felt like a chore to try and build relationships that would only be taken at face value.
Tapping her pen on her desk, she stared down at the scribbles and blotches of ink left on her notebook where her pen had exploded the other day. Maybe I write with too much pressure, She thought idly, running her fingertips over the top of the stain.
It was now the seventh period, the second to last of her classes before school ended, and before the other students laughed at their cars and school buses. Our teacher, Mr. Nikaidou, stood tall and lanky in front of the class. He wore the standard teacher's fashion, always business casual with a splash of wacky. Today, he wore black slacks, and shiny brown loafers and paired an outrageous, orange and brown colored wool sweater along with it. Silver earrings dangled from one ear, and whenever he looked down at his desk, his glasses picked up a glare that made him seem devious. He'd once told the class that he was what we would call a 'dresser' back in his high school years, but we could all tell that there was probably a learning curve back then.
"You need to try a little bit harder, Mr. Nikaidou." Said a girl sitting nearer to the front of the class. "The sweater was a weird move."
"Well," he began in retort, "I don't think I need to try too hard. Good looks go a long way, you know. And anyway, you don't need to concern yourself with how I dress, Sarah. Focus on your wardrobe." He sucked in a breath through his teeth and scrunched up his nose, shaking his head. "Was that a burn?"
The class giggled in response and Sarah made small 'whatever' gestures to brush off the attention. Amu thought it was actually kind of cool that Mr. Nikaidou was bold enough to try and relate to the students but also keep the boundary of being his self. Although she enjoyed shopping, fashion, and trying new styles, she didn't know much of anything about being fashionable. She differentiated well between 'absolutely raggedy' and 'trying too hard' and that was good enough for her. That strange man and his tunic though, she thought. No one in their right mind would wear anything like that in this day and age.
Yes, that man. Just the thought of him alone nearly bombarded her with the memory of him the night before. How strange he was. She was frustrated to have left so many of her questions unanswered and wondered if she'd ever see him again. And if she did, what exactly would she say? Looking back, she acted like an entire bimbo. Dumbfounded and off her rocker whenever she looked at him. To her, he seemed like... Well... The embodiment of sex. Complete and utter eye candy with a cherry on top. And judging by his reaction when she denied taking his hand, she'd no doubt that he knew damn well what effect he had on her and that he'd made the same move multiple times in the past. Just the thought of him made her body warm up. Her blood and heartbeat rushed and pounded in her ears. Just the way his eyes gazed confidently back into hers was mind-boggling. She wished she would have taken his hand and experienced whatever he had planned for her. She just knew he had something passionate and life-altering in store. She wished she knew what it would have felt like to have his hand hold and caress her body as if she were only his and no one else's. As if she belonged to him and only hi-
Amu coughed, taking her fist to gently thump her chest. "Oh, why?!" She quacked. Her pen clattered from her hand and onto her desk causing a stir and a pause in front of her. Everyone in the class shifted in their seats and looked back at her in a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. Of course. Amu's face reddened and she simply shook her head, putting her hand to her forehead and leaning on the desk to hide her face in embarrassment.
"What was that all about, Ms. Hinamori?" Mr. Nikaidou asked with slight agitation tinged in his voice.
She fumbled to come up with a response on the spot and smiled up to him awkwardly. "I'm sorry; I'm trying to figure out this problem and it's starting to frustrate me." Knowing damn well nothing was drawn or attempted in her notebook. No shapes, no numbers, nada. But she played that part and she played it well because Mr. Nikaidou asked her to keep the outbursts to a minimum and come to him if she needed any help with it after class. Yes sir.
Since when did my thoughts get so... M-rated? She thought. The bell rang and she gathered her things and stood up to head to her final period. She apologized to Mr. Nikaidou on the way out and picked up the pace to escape the classroom before he called her back to question her. She pondered that thought throughout her walk down the hall and even as she found her desk in the new classroom.
Amu sat in the center of the class and talked with Mimori and Seiichiro, two of the many good friends she had made at the beginning of the school year. Her brain, however, was much too preoccupied to intake anything that was said and although she was sure they knew her mind was elsewhere, they just accepted her 'oh wow's and 'that's crazy's with grace. She just seemed to be at a loss to explain the sudden and intense infatuation with him to herself. Not only that but did she think going to see him again was a wise idea? Rationally? Amu knew that something was weird about that man and this situation in general. But her rationale just seemed to have disappeared at the same time she decided to stick around and ask him questions last night. And now, she was barely able to concentrate on anything that happened in school today; everything seemed to just return back to her encounter with Mr. Violin.
The guy who didn't want to give her a name, for starters. The guy who seemed to have seventy years' worth of talent stuffed into one thin body that dressed oddly and wore it confidently. The guy who seemed to make her think something innocent sounded dirty and impure. Amu supposed that the violin thing could've come as a hobby that he was insanely passionate about. But the rest? Not normal. Well. Maybe the innuendos are pretty normal... Ugh. Nothing makes sense! He was full of himself. One of those types who use their attractive charms as weapons.
Her thoughts were cut short when the precise sound of a mono-toned violin, almost on cue with her thoughts, pierced through the Photography room as if the walls were made of butter. The single note was like a knife to Amu's ears. It was an unreal pitch and immediately made a headache bloom across her temples. It made her want to cover her ears and scream.
"What is that?!" Mimori shouted next to her, her voice practically blending in with the noise as she covered her ears protectively in the process.
The teacher, Mrs. Sanjo covered her ears as well and shook her head as if she could knock the noise out, it seemed.
Amu was one of the first to get up and peer out of one of the big picture windows, gazing around the parking lot in search of something suspicious. But the noise stopped as soon as it had started, and Amu hadn't looked out of the window for more than two seconds before she spotted a mop of bluish hair. The sight didn't last long, either, as the strange man and his unusual character flitted back into the small cluster of trees across the parking lot.
"Alright, alright class. Come and sit down for a moment. That was most likely a test fire drill gone wrong." Mrs. Sanjo insisted, trying to talk over the chatter of confused students, motioning everyone to sit back down.
Amu sat back in her seat and stared blankly at her desk. What was that all about? Obviously, that was no test fire drill. She knew that. She knew exactly what it was. There was no doubt in her that told her exactly who it was.
No name. Mr. Violin. The only question she wanted to be answered was 'why'. Why did he have to play his violin so early in the morning? Why did he have to talk to her? Why did he dress weirdly? Why didn't he tell her his name? Why did he decide to show up at her school, for goodness sake? And then there was a 'how'.
...How did he know where she was?
Amu set her hand atop her mouse, the other poised on the set of keys on the keyboard. Maybe it wasn't her he was there for. Maybe it was just an insane coincidence and he was just new to the area. Either way, she was going to find out what was happening, and what was going on. And she was going to find out tonight.
R&R. I would appreciate it.
