it wasn’t a rarity for another student to ram into jotaro, he’s heard his fair share of muttered comments of the experience being akin to running into a pole, something tall, sturdy, and painful. sometimes he didn’t acknowledge it and just kept on moving, sometimes he got angry depending on the person. this was in the middle of both those degrees.
by her energetic movements and speech, he was beginning to rapidly lose hope that she wasn’t one of the annoying type of girls : the ones that screamed and shreaked and begged to let them ‘accidentally’ run into him again, only to brag about how they felt his chest and to lie so much that it’d convinced their own selves that they were supposedly ‘going steady’ because of it. the girls he just couldn’t fucking stand.
hands never leaving his pockets, he simply looked down at the quirky girl with a neutral expression, yet all the same with cold staring eyes, almost as if staring deep into her own soul… or something cliche like that. listening to her every word, taking in her various details, the first thing he noticed was her hands. it was subtle, but he saw it.
without a word he takes his right hand out, a folded handkerchief pinched in between his extended fingers. ❛ your hands… you have scuffs on them. ❜
She could feel him staring, but it didn’t really bother her. Admittedly, it was a bit uncomfortable to be... analyzed, but he was only staring, and she was so used to piercing gazes, glares that could cut to her soul. This was just... watching. She wasn’t used to being watched.
She also wasn’t used to what Jotaro had said. She wasn’t used to being told simple facts, only harsh truths “your hands are scuffed” is a very different statement from “you’re an eyesore and a burden”. She looked to her hands (which seemed to aggravate the dull stinging to the point where she couldn’t ignore it, and she winced), and found they were, in fact, dirty and very much red.
“Ah! Wow, with the amount of times I fall you’d think I’d realize-! I guess I’m just used to it by now!” She thinks back to all the other times she’s fallen been pushed today as she talks. Was her entire outfit roughed up? Yoko quickly slides her skirt around her waist so she’s wearing it backwards, not fully comprehending Jotaro was still there. She sighs in relief upon finishing her inspection; nothing there that can’t be washed out!
“I mean, I like to think despite everything, I’m pretty tough! Or is it because of everything...? Whatever!” She’s checking her socks now, and she’s forgotten to fix her skirt, “I get pushed around a lot, so I guess I figured my clothes would start acting like me! Like, getting tough and stuff! Resistance training! But I suppose my hands hurting after a fall like that means I’m not really getting anywhere, huh?”
Yoko notices the handkerchief as she looks at her skirt, train of thought derailing. Was Jotaro offering her the cloth? She’s never been... offered something like this, if this was an offering. Was she... supposed to wipe her hands on this? Is that what handkerchiefs are for? Usually she goes for the good ol’ fashioned spit-in-your-hands and call it a day. She lets out a laugh, only slightly shaky with a bit of nerves. She can feel those that pushed her watching.
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origamiaround
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