Chapter Text
Haru woke up to the distant ring of her fathers alarm clock, his tired moans accompanying them before the ringing abruptly stopped. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched, back arched, and arms bending behind her head. Flipping her covers off, Haru stood up barefoot, heated floorboards complementing the house's cozy interior.
Stepping into her bathroom, she made quick work of clipping her hair back and washing her face with warm water and cleanser; using a soft toner; and then applying a lightweight, moisturising cream to end off. She fanned her face dry then unclipped and brushed out her hair, some strands lightly sticking to her cheeks. Haru brushed them away. A light layer of gloss was applied before moving back to the bedroom.
She moved to where her uniform was hung up, clean, fresh, and ironed the night before. She slipped on her long skirt, amaranth purple in colour, and reached for the matching sailor top next. After tying the blue neckerchief neatly, she sat on the plush, baby blue chair in her bedroom corner, slipping on white socks that ended on her lower calf.
Haru grabbed her gakuran and bag, leaving the room and closing it with a quiet click. She decided to walk to her dads room. It showed her he was still sleeping, his thin button up and black work pants were still on - based on what Haru could make out with half his body uncovered from his blankets.
He must have overworked himself again , she thought. Working on a stupid case gone cold over the years. She stayed still for a moment, thinking. She slid closed his door and walked off through the hallway, down the stairs, and to the front door. Deciding to skip breakfast and quickly slide into her shoes. She strode out the front door.
:]
Haru walked briskly down the road to school, the morning frost nipping at her nose and ears, her lipgloss already dried up from early temperatures. The air was refreshing and most of the town still slept as the sun peeked over the trees onto the road, doing little to melt away the ice. Every breath in was met with the sharpness of the humid cold. Haru could feel the frost in her eyes and every blink gave just a tiny bit of warming comfort.
The trees lacked vigor and their amber leaves had long since either fallen or were ready to, browned and dead. Small twigs perfect for nesting littered the ground and water dripped off from the suburban houses. Each confident step was stained with the sound of wet squelching, common to cooling seasons and Haru’s breathing was shallow and pained, visible fog with each exhale.
The front of the school was seen hidden behind the naked branches of cherry blossom trees, windows faintly dusted with condensation. Haru pulled her gakuran collar over her red-tipped nose and quickened her pace when she spotted the gates of her school, crushing wet, warm-toned leaves and twigs under her loafers: relatively new very little scuffs and blemishes, damp and shimmering.
Stepping through the entrance had calmed the chill just barely and she made her way to her locker, slipping off her shoes. Haru perked up when her name was called not far from her.
"Yama-Chan," Someone voiced.
Turning around, Haru saw her friend, Sato Mayumi, hand raised up in her casual, yet chipper, greeting. Her wavy hair tangled in her cream scarf and thin brows raised in delight at her friend. Haru hurried to put away her shoes before returning the gesture with her usual, early morning vigor.
"Hey, Sato-Chan!" Haru greeted, eyes creasing slightly. Sato wrapped her arms around Haru lazily, nuzzling into her shoulder and dragging the poor girl down. Haru moved to grasp her hands around Sato's waist to accommodate for the extra weight, her bag hooked over her shoulder threatening to slip off with every added pound.
Sato's pleasure at her presence was masked with a light frown as she gazed up at Haru, grey eyes only just visible through her lashes and auburn brown hair: messily curled around her face and down her shoulders. She didn't seem to care for her bag, awkwardly squished between the two of you. Sato groaned faintly and grumbled tiredly under breath, slurred and muffled speech only decipherable to Haru herself. She listened to the girl's interrogation on where she'd been these past three days, giving a guilty, crooked smile.
"I was away sick," Haru said lightly, laughing. "Sorry I didn't call, my phone line’s been down for a while,” she shrugged. “My dad's been trying to fix it."
Accepting the excuse, Sato lifted herself up and searched her crinkled bag, pulling some papers out and handing them to the girl.
“Here’s the homework you missed,” Sato said. “There isn’t too much and I’ll give you my notes if you want. Though, I’m sure you’ll be fine without them.” A lopsided grin visible on Sato’s face. Haru accepted them with a grateful thank you and they made their way up the stairs to the second year section of the building.
Haru paused after the last step up and turned to Sato. “Let’s stop at the bathroom first,” she said, touching her cherry-stained lips, a faint sticky residue left from the remnants of her gloss: long since dried out. “I need to reapply my lipgloss.”
:D
In front of the bathroom mirror, Haru stared at herself: a small mole under the left corner of her mouth and thick brows shaped nicely after plucking and shaping them the previous night. She brushed her fringe out of the way; dark brown hair framing her face and tied back in its usual, short puff of a ponytail, clips thankfully securing the shorter hairs from flying about. She poked her nose, still faintly blushed from the cold and cheeks: plush and youthful, and cold to the touch.
She looked to her left.
Sato was already applying another layer of mascara, her dark, thin brows raised and eyes narrowed in concentration with her hair pulled away from her face. Haru could see the girl's usually hidden stud earrings glint under the bathroom’s fluorescent light. Haru reached into her bag, grabbing the gloss and applying a thick, smooth layer of clear, flamingo pink gloss (#F9A7B0); the artificial cherry smell thick in her nose. Gently smacking her lips together to even out the application, she glanced to the side to see Sato offering her a packaged mascara: tape still secured.
“Got these two at a sale,” she said, still admiring herself in the mirror, feigning nonchalance and checking for errors in her application; there were none. She pursed her plush lips together and turned to Haru, face still red from the cold. “You... You can have this one.”
:^
“It isn’t too obvious right?” Laughed Haru, nervously facing away when teachers passed but still greeting them awkwardly, the gifted mascara was thicker than her usual one (the one she left behind), thus, having herself feel more likely for stern lectures from the school’s monitoring authority (despite the uniform regulations she was already breaking). Sato let out a few low laughs as well, arm linked with Haru and bag freely swinging in her free hand. They slowed down at the class entrance.
“If anyone asks, say we’ve always looked like this. They wouldn’t question our looks further if we act offended, right?” She chuckled, sliding the door open to the classroom. “Ha! Just say your sickness plumped your lips and grew out your lashes or something!” Turning away from the door, both Haru and Sato laughed loudly, gaining the attention of their peers.
“Yamagishi!” She heard, giving a pause in her laugh. It was one of Haru’s classmates: Iori Ken. His messy, black pompadour bouncing when he moved to tuck his leg under himself. He gave a broad grin, faint and sparse freckles showing on the sharp angles of his face, cheeks pinkened from the weather. His friend next to him: Yoshida Takuya, gave a wave to Haru and Sato. He had short, blonde dyed hair and his features were soft; his round eyes naturally held a teasing glint and his friendly demeanour was evident in the way he casually carried himself.
Sato stomped up to them, ready to tell Iori to get off her desk: a bit away from Haru’s desk, she remembered glumly, looking to the girl. Conversation would have to wait until break after the teacher arrived. “Oh. Hey, Mayumi.”
“Am I seriously just an afterthought?” Sato grumbled, turning back to Iori and throwing her bag by his thigh. “And get your ass off my desk.” She said, kicking his shin lightly while he bitched about ‘ Just washing these pants last night! ’ Iori moved to his desk with little protest, tittering giggles hidden under his breath.
Haru settled into her desk, bag on the ground, opened for easy access to her days books that she was currently pulling out and sliding into the cubby of the desk. She looked at Iori’s friend.
“Hi Yoshida,” she greeted politely, gloss shining with the rising sun hitting her face. But her smile quickly faded when she looked to the door. He smiled and leaned on the desk next to Haru, ready to strike a conversation with her. He looked down at Haru and spotted a shadow, a look of surprise (moreso a wince and grimace of disgust), had slowly crept up her face. Sato and Iori had also quietened down some. In fact, the class seemed eerily quiet.
Yoshida turned around and came face to chest with a wall of muscle barely masked under a thin purple shirt, stained with the smell of tobacco. Peeking up, he saw the face of Jotaro Kujo; an unwelcoming glare painted his face and sharp eyes narrowed in displeasure. He stepped forward, placing his bag down on the desk Yoshida was currently leaning against. His desk.
Yoshida winced but tried to hide it with a friendly smile, quickly moving to get off the desk. Iori tried to lighten the atmosphere, leaning over and slapping the giants back in a friendly, yet awkward gesture of greeting.
“H-Hey, Jojo,” he tried, lightly flinching at his friend’s (personally dubbed) irked look. “Where’ve you been, man. You missed the whole week.” Jotaro ignored them, head down and eyes closed. He wasn’t one for chatter. That didn’t stop Iori from conversing with him, the topic quickly changing to himself and how his week was. Mundane and mindless chatter filled the room again. The tense atmosphere never lifted; always faintly there, but no one seemed to mind.
Sato scoffed. “No one wants to hear about how you spent your night, let alone your week, Ken. The only time you give a substantial conversation is when you whine after getting your ass kicked. If you can even call that substantial ,” she muttered that last part. “Jojo-Kun, must be bored outta his mind.” She turned around and leaned her elbow on her desk chair, offering a teasing grin to Jotaro. “Right?”
Iori sweatdropped and seemed embarrassed at the cackles coming from Sato as he moved his attention to her, trying to explain how he was interesting and she wasn’t smart enough to engage in any meaningful conversation. As if he wasn’t in the same boat when it came to the topic of intelligence. His augment was shut down with a swift kick to the knee, Iori’s back colliding with the desk behind him.
He turned around, taken aback that both Yoshida and Sato were trying to talk to Jotaro: completely disregarded after his fall. He looked around and realised no one in the class had even paused their discussions. He grumbled under his breath.
“Back-stabbers. All of you .”
Haru looked on at the (frankly pathetic) attempt at solidarity, head resting on her palm. Yoshida chimed in apprehensively; nervous, but still keen to chat to the delinquent, while Sato didn’t care for any input - continuing on without a care on any miscellaneous thing that came to mind. The hypocrite. It was nice of them, though, she thought. They’d been trying to bond with Jotaro since the start of their second year, even though any attempts were met with his stone-faced annoyance.It was a miracle none of the teens stopped interacting with the brooding hunk, or better yet, came in contact with his fist. Try as Jotaro might to ignore them, the boys sat both in front of him and to his left; with Haru on his right side, leaving him surrounded. Despite having no idea why they were trying so hard, Haru would chime in sometimes. But she barely carried much weight in any of their conversations. She wasn’t close to him and frankly, couldn’t care less about him, which he most likely thought about the rest of her group.
He was a classmate; a friend of a friend. If you could even call her peers attempts at friendship that, she mused: lopsided grin, unwavering stare, and aroused curiosity peeking through her dark eyes. She’ll admit, he was easy on the eyes: shapely jawline, thick brows and lashes, and teal green eyes. But that was all he really was. Behind that, his character was rugged and rotten: he was a delinquent; a loner with a foul mouth, pointed glare, and a penchant for violence. She disliked his disobedient nature that rewound all her hard work to make this class harmonious. He never appreciated her efforts and acted out all the time. This year's class was her worst work yet.
You shouldn’t waste your time with rowdy tyrants like Jotaro , Haru thought cheerily, purposefully excluding Iori and Yoshida, two boys who also had a liking for disorderly conduct. She turned back to grab a book from her desk, seeing as class was almost going to start. The bell rang on time to her notion and kids started returning to their seats. You should ignore him. She smiled and tucked a soft strand of hair behind her ear. You’re too good for that .
The door slid open and their teacher stepped to the podium: giving a prompt greeting to the class before looking over to Haru, who had quickly straightened up.
“Yamagishi-san, if you would please start us off.” His authoritative nature flowed through the class.
Haru perked up and quickly begun the classes morning, as her routine called for everyday: “*Kiritsu!”