Chapter Text
No.
No no no no no.
Why did the bus have to be early now of all times?
No way in hell was I going to close the distance between myself and the bus stop in time. I wasn’t that naive to think that I was going to make it as I was perfectly aware that being unathletic paired with short legs was the worst possible combo facing this situation. The only thing that kept me going was my vanity. As long as there was the tiniest, most improbable glimmer of hope-
I tripped. So this was how it ends.
Instead of seeing my life flash before my eyes as I fell in slow-motion, reevaluating all my life choices leading up to this very moment, I found myself collapsed on the pavement rather unspectacularly. Standing on all fours, held captive by what felt like impenetrable walls of pouring rain, I could hear the roaring engine of the bus passing by.
I didn’t know if I had to endure this as some sort of atonement for evil deeds from a past life, but in this life, in this timeline, I certainly didn’t deserve this…
“Are you alright?”
I lifted my head. In front of me stood a girl, looking down on me. Since she was wearing a high school uniform similar to mine, she must’ve been around my age. How humiliating. If she were an adult, I would’ve persuaded myself into believing that I’m simply still figuring out this whole “adulting” thing; offering such a pathetic view to someone who’s probably facing the same hardship of growing up, however, was nothing but disheartening.
“Let me help you,” she added before I could give her a response. Kneeling down, a bright red umbrella in one hand, she mindlessly put the book she’d been holding in her other hand on the wet pavement to help me up.
“Thanks, I can do it myself,” I said abashedly, grabbing the book as I stood up. Only now I paid attention to how badly my knees as well the heels of my hands were burning. From the corner of my eye, I saw parts of my scraped off skin.
Truly, this was the worst day.
I recognized my glasses laying on the book I’ve picked up from the ground. As I didn’t need them to see in the first place, I hadn’t realized I had lost them when I tripped earlier. Although last time I'd checked myself in the mirror, they sure didn’t look this… misshapen.
“You might want to clean yourself up,” the girl interrupted my thoughts, taking a paper tissue out of her bag.
“That’s not necessary, I’m fine.” I didn’t want to show any more weakness than I already had. “Umm, are these mine?” I asked superfluously as I handed over her book, my ruined glasses on top of it.
“My apologies.” She took the book into her hand but for some reason decided to not hide it right away, perhaps to keep her notebooks inside her bag from getting dirty. “I was immersed in my book, and when I was about to board the bus, it was like they appeared out of nowhere, so it seems I have stepped on them…”
It didn’t seem that way, it was a cold hard fact that you did step on them!
Internally, I let out an exasperated sigh. “You shouldn’t have missed your bus because of me.” My voice came out a little too brusquely, but honestly, I didn’t care.
“It’s not like I can change it now,” she replied apologetically with an odd gentleness to her voice. “Please bear with me.”
I wasn’t sure where this conversation was supposed to go, and I didn’t have the least bit of interest in finding out, either. I started fidgeting around with my glasses, trying to bend them into shape. “You don’t need to be so polite with me, you know. We’re the same age.” Being spoken to in such a respectful manner made me feel uneasy. Why was this girl still standing here, anyway? Go home already.
“Sorry, you’re right.” She paused as if she was thinking about something meaningful to say. “Are you sure you don’t want to wipe off the blood? Your stockings…”
“My-?” I looked down, greeted by the sight of my initially white stockings being covered with red stains, like ink blotches on clean paper.
“Aaah, shitshitshit!” I instantly crouched back down and rummaged around my bag for a tissue.
“Here.” She offered me one of her own once more.
“Thanks,” I muttered admitting my defeat. I dabbed the blood off my shins in a hasty manner, as if doing that quickly would let me get out of this situation sooner. After I’d managed to wipe the blood off my skin, I inspected my stockings, and let out a groan. Worse than them being ruined was the insight I had to use public transport to get home looking like that. In a futile attempt to perform damage control, I slid my stockings down to my ankles. If anyone would call it into question, I’d say it’s called fashion. Except nobody would ask, because I must’ve looked like I'd climbed straight out of a low-budget horror movie.
It wasn’t until I was done with the procedure that I noticed the girl had been standing there unyieldingly, guarding me against the rain. From what it looked like, she’d been waiting for me to finish before picking up on where we’d left off.
“About your glasses-”
I cut her off immediately. “Forget them. I don’t need them to see,” I confessed.
“Oh. They’re a fashion prop?” Her face was openly showing her astonishment.
That reaction was relatable. My glasses were way too clunky to look fashionable on my small face, but as a matter of fact, that had been exactly the look I was going for. “Yeah. I don’t care about being cute, I rather try to look like an intellectual,” I proclaimed, sounding maybe a bit too haughty. No, wait! I wasn’t trying to look like an intellectual; my motive was to accurately convey the vibe of being the intellectual that I was!
“Hm, I don’t know about the last part,” she said. Ouch. “But even though you’re looking a bit haggard right now, I can tell that you’re cute, be it with or without glasses.”
It was my turn to blink with astonishment. My gaze met a patient smile that left me confused about its intentions. Did this girl have any ulterior motives, or was that something she just did, showering random strangers with kindness? Not being able to see through her made me feel somewhat uneasy. I put away the blood-soaked tissue - I couldn’t have cared less about my school supplies right now - and stood up straight, her umbrella still protecting me from the downpour.
It hadn’t been apparent to me before, but to face her properly, I had to look upward as she was almost a head taller than me. Nevertheless, nothing about her seemed out of proportion: her waist-long hime cut hair was complementing the silhouette of her physique perfectly; smooth, silky strands framing her face neatly, flowing like ink over her shoulders, gracefully, and giving her a certain sense of impeccability. Even her squinted eyes emitted warmth amidst her pale face’s kind, relaxed expression.
Without envy, I had to admit that she was beautiful, handsome, leaving me in awe. Everything about her emanated the impression of a yamato nadeshiko. If she were a flower, she’d be a white lily - and I’d be a freesia growing in the grass by her feet.
Rapt with her beauty, I suddenly became overly conscious of my own shortcomings, and my out of control impertinent attitude. I ran my hand through my hair as if to fix it, reminded of that unruly mop I was carrying around on my head. Getting a compliment from someone who was the polar opposite of me was inciting my feelings of inferiority towards her.
“Whatever.” Albeit averting my gaze, I forced myself to speak with some confidence. “There are more important things to life than looks...” Speak of the devil, my aforementioned attitude was showing its hideous face. For the first time in my life, it dawned on me that maybe my subliminal hostility towards others was the reason I couldn’t have anything nice. I bit the inner side of my lip to keep myself from any more unnecessary comments.
The girl didn’t seem to mind - or she was this good at not openly showing when something bothered her. “I guess you’re right,” she said, her voice as amiable as ever. “Say, are you free right now?”
“Huh?”
“I know this is a selfish request, but I’d like to make up to you and treat you to some coffee or cake.”
If I said I’d expected this half-hearted conversation to take this turn, I'd be lying. I didn’t want to show my surprise, at least not yet to save some of my dignity - presuming there was any left -, so I pretended to ponder. “I don’t really like coffee,” I answered before conceding sheepishly: “...I could go for some Calspi, though.”
She seemed deeply satisfied with my answer. “Calspi, it is.”
“…And strawberry shortcake.”
“Haha… Alright, Calspi and strawberry shortcake.”