Work Text:
Kakeru has been staring at the same sentence for at least 20 minutes now, brow furrowed and frustration growing with every second that passes. He really needs to finish this sociology paper, but he just can’t seem find the right words to put down. An increasing pain grows behind his eyes, his shoulders ache from stress-induced tension, and his lower back feels like it’s being drilled into by a power tool from sitting still for too long.
Happy finals week.
He grumbles in irritation as he hovers his fingers over the keyboard. Another 20 minutes later and a thought is finally, finally, starting to formulate in his head, he quickly sits up to write it down before he loses it when suddenly, a loud burst of laughter explodes from his left. He thinks he can actually feel the vein in his forehead pop in annoyance and he whips his head so fast in the direction of the disturbance that he nearly pulls a muscle in his neck.
It’s a group of five people surrounding a table of textbooks and notebooks, but from their carefree smiles and boisterous mood, Kakeru knows they’re not actually doing work.
“Goddamn first years,” he mumbles to himself.
Well, okay, he’s a first year, too, but he’s not stupid and inconsiderate enough to go to the library to hang out with your friends under the facade of doing work.
He takes a deep breath and counts to 10 to calm himself down. The thought, before it was so rudely cut off, begins to come back to him and he leans forward to begin to type it out.
Another obnoxious burst of laughter. “And then, oh my god, THEN-”
Kakeru actually stands up this time and looks directly at the rowdy first-years with a glare so sharp it could probably disembowel them. A few other innocent students look up, too. The group’s chatter about one of the guys confessing to some fourth-year literature student in lieu of his female friend dies down.
“Excuse me,” Kakeru says sarcastically, “I hate to interrupt your enthralling conversation, but no one really gives a shit about your friend’s failed confession to a fourth-year. So if you could kindly shut the fuck up so everyone can pass their finals, that’d be fantastic.”
The first years look at him stunned, eyes wide. They huddle their heads and seem to quiet down. Kakeru takes his seat, stares at his laptop, and wills himself to calm down. He begins writing and he’s actually started to find a decent rhythm when a screech and an “ARE YOU SERIOUS,” shatters his focus.
There’s no sudden movement this time. Kakeru calmly gets up without alerting the first years’ attention and walks over to their table. He slams his hand on the table so hard it echoes throughout the library.
“I was very serious,” Kakeru says, deadly calm, “about shutting the fuck up.” He clenches the fist that’s hanging by his side and in one quick motion, cleanly swipes the groups’ schoolwork off the table. The textbooks make an avalanche of thudding noises and all eyes are on Kakeru.
He can vaguely hear the sound of clacking footsteps approaching him.
The librarian. Kakeru pinches the bridge of his nose, already knowing he’s in trouble. A twinge of annoyance tugs at him since he’s not the one who should be getting in trouble in the first place.
“Excuse me, but this is the library. You need to quiet down.”
Kakeru internally groans and rolls his eyes, but after that stint in high school with his track coach, he knows better than to lose his temper on an authority figure.
“If something like that happens again, I’m afraid I’ll have to kick you out for the rest of the semester.”
Kakeru nods once and exhales as the librarian turns around and scuttles off on her little legs. He can feel the tension of tautly-pulled silence from the group behind him, but Kakeru doesn’t give them a last glance as he starts walking back towards his table.
Halfway there, someone steps out from the bookshelves and blocks his way. Kakeru, nearly running into this seemingly sudden apparition, stops short. The person in front of him is barely shorter than him, with medium brown hair that perfectly matches the color of his eyes. His eyes twinkle with warm openness and suspicious, but good-natured mischief.
Honestly, everything about him seems kinda plain. But somehow he’s still cute a small voice whispers in the back of Kakeru’s head. And what captivates Kakeru’s attention the most is his smile. Just like his eyes, it’s warm and friendly and incredibly inviting. The kind you can’t say no to when its owner asks for something.
The stranger cocks one eyebrow, “Finals got you stressed?”
Kakeru huffs and looks to side, knowing he’ll let himself get lost in soft brown if he makes eye contact. Who knew brown could be so pretty?
“Yeah, but not as much as those nuisances behind me.”
The brown-haired boy snorts endearingly and Kakeru blushes, suddenly embarrassed that his little bitch fit had been witnessed by a guy like him.
“Well, if you’re looking for a quieter place to do your work, I know one where no one else goes. I’m actually headed there now. You can study with me. I promise I won’t be too loud,” he says with a wink.
Kakeru burns red and he hopes the man in front of him can’t see it. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.
Kakeru starts to say something, but stops himself short. He doesn’t even know this guy.
As if the stranger can read his thoughts, or maybe just the expression on his face, he supplies, “Haiji. Haiji Kiyose. Fourth-year literature student.”
Ah.
Kakeru nods. “Kakeru Kurahara. First-year sociology student.”
Haiji smiles, wide and genuine, and with a playful lilt to his voice, says, “Well, Kakeru, are you coming or what?”
Kakeru gathers his stuff and follows Haiji to the place no one else goes to study. It’s just him and Haiji. Kakeru doesn’t get much work done, but noise isn’t the culprit this time.