≪cleaning up≫ ( Natsume Sakasaki has never once, not once stayed behind to do day duty.
...That isn't entirely true, but he's skipped class enough times that it may as well be so. He doesn't see why today should be an exception, especially with as many hands on-deck as there are, so he ignores the halfhearted shouts of Get back here and help, Sakasaki! as he always has, even in a school both familiar yet unfamiliar to him, and rubs the sleep from his eyes as he walks.
He notices the red steps rather belatedly, and it gives him pause; he kneels down to touch the footprints, eyes narrowing at their viscosity, and he inelegantly wipes his fingers on the wall beside him to clean them. )
Something isn't RIGHT, ( he murmurs to himself, his voice turning up and out of key on the ends. That's putting it lightly, he knows --
so he sets off to investigate the school, giving what other students might be around a wide berth. The doors to the outside being closed and near-impossible to open give him a significant amount of pause, and. Look. Please don't make fun of him if you see him slouched beside one looking put-out, tired, and a little pink in the face.
He might've tried a little too hard to open one of the doors. )
≪gorinto≫ ( He opens his eyes, and —
it is a perfectly ordinary day. Like any other day, he's elected not to attend class; he's decided to take to the library instead, stacks of books of all manners of things beside him. He isn't reading any of them though, not even the one in front of him, opened to page three-hundred-seventy-eight; he flips it idly to page three-hundred-seventy-nine, then back again.
Natsume is, instead, watching a couple chat at the end of an aisle. There isn't any sound to it, not even when the girl's shoulders raise like the hackles of a wolf and her face reddens in anger. He sees the knife before the boy does; he doesn't get up quick enough, because it finds itself planted in the boy's back when he's turning to turn, and Natsume is quick to sit back down among his books before the girl notices he's been watching.
That's when sound decides to chime in, in the form of the girl's hyena-like laughter as she backs off, and the boy's groans of pain. Natsume keeps his eyes steadily on the words he can't read, his heart pounding in his throat. He closes his eyes to get rid of the image, but it sticks like gum to air, and
he opens his eyes, and there's the window he'd been trying to open for the last five minutes. There's the gorinto he'd been trying not to knock over, but had incidentally brushed.
...There's whoever's drawn him out of his trance. Did you think he'd be grateful? He's glaring instead, feeling a little mortified that he'd been caught in some sort of stupid trance and still reeling a little from the ghost of a memory he'd been treated to -- )
Don't touch ME, ( is what you get instead of a "thank you for helping me out". Sorry. )
≪spring break≫ ( It's nice to have the school to himself. Mostly himself. He avoids the library despite it being seemingly the best place to find him, still thinking about the unfortunate memory ("memory") he had, and instead winds up in the cooking Home Economics room, taking mental stock of what they have. Stick around long enough and he might treat you to a small lunch, considering the utensils he's taking out.
He might. No promises. Many promises that he won't stab you with the knife he's inspecting though. (He's relieved it isn't the same kind.) )
natsume sakasaki | ensemble stars!!
( Natsume Sakasaki has never once, not once stayed behind to do day duty.
...That isn't entirely true, but he's skipped class enough times that it may as well be so. He doesn't see why today should be an exception, especially with as many hands on-deck as there are, so he ignores the halfhearted shouts of Get back here and help, Sakasaki! as he always has, even in a school both familiar yet unfamiliar to him, and rubs the sleep from his eyes as he walks.
He notices the red steps rather belatedly, and it gives him pause; he kneels down to touch the footprints, eyes narrowing at their viscosity, and he inelegantly wipes his fingers on the wall beside him to clean them. )
Something isn't RIGHT, ( he murmurs to himself, his voice turning up and out of key on the ends. That's putting it lightly, he knows --
so he sets off to investigate the school, giving what other students might be around a wide berth. The doors to the outside being closed and near-impossible to open give him a significant amount of pause, and. Look. Please don't make fun of him if you see him slouched beside one looking put-out, tired, and a little pink in the face.
He might've tried a little too hard to open one of the doors. )
≪gorinto≫
( He opens his eyes, and —
it is a perfectly ordinary day. Like any other day, he's elected not to attend class; he's decided to take to the library instead, stacks of books of all manners of things beside him. He isn't reading any of them though, not even the one in front of him, opened to page three-hundred-seventy-eight; he flips it idly to page three-hundred-seventy-nine, then back again.
Natsume is, instead, watching a couple chat at the end of an aisle. There isn't any sound to it, not even when the girl's shoulders raise like the hackles of a wolf and her face reddens in anger. He sees the knife before the boy does; he doesn't get up quick enough, because it finds itself planted in the boy's back when he's turning to turn, and Natsume is quick to sit back down among his books before the girl notices he's been watching.
That's when sound decides to chime in, in the form of the girl's hyena-like laughter as she backs off, and the boy's groans of pain. Natsume keeps his eyes steadily on the words he can't read, his heart pounding in his throat. He closes his eyes to get rid of the image, but it sticks like gum to air, and
he opens his eyes, and there's the window he'd been trying to open for the last five minutes. There's the gorinto he'd been trying not to knock over, but had incidentally brushed.
...There's whoever's drawn him out of his trance. Did you think he'd be grateful? He's glaring instead, feeling a little mortified that he'd been caught in some sort of stupid trance and still reeling a little from the ghost of a memory he'd been treated to -- )
Don't touch ME, ( is what you get instead of a "thank you for helping me out". Sorry. )
≪spring break≫
( It's nice to have the school to himself. Mostly himself. He avoids the library despite it being seemingly the best place to find him, still thinking about the unfortunate memory ("memory") he had, and instead winds up in the cooking Home Economics room, taking mental stock of what they have. Stick around long enough and he might treat you to a small lunch, considering the utensils he's taking out.
He might. No promises. Many promises that he won't stab you with the knife he's inspecting though. (He's relieved it isn't the same kind.) )