#anoiaa

[anoiaa]

A Day Late and a Dollar Short

A classroom of the elite fanfiction, Manabu Horikita/ Kiyotaka Ayanokouji

I ​ lost a minute everytime I blinked. I had been working on a proposal for a new student council policy, and I wanted to make sure that it was perfect. But the effects of the long hours started to wash over me. The tree branches; curious against the window pane, urging me to take a rest. I had been going over the proposal to make sure that every detail was correct, I hadn't even noticed how late it had gotten. My eyes were starting to droop, and my head was starting to ache. my thoughts immediately drifted to my sister, Suzune. She was in Class D, the lowest-ranked class in the school.I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I couldn't afford to dwell on such whimsies.

I worked for another hour, until the pile of paperwork was finally gone. I sat back in my chair, feeling drained. I had done it. I had finished all of the work. But even though I was tired, I didn't feel satisfied. I knew that there would be more work tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.

I stood up from my desk and grabbed my blouse to leave. Upon locking my door, I heard a sound emerging from somewhere down the hall. It got louder and louder until clearly heard. It was a violin. But I had never heard anyone play the violin in school before.I followed the sound of the quivering violin, the strings were plucked once more then sounded like

 a ripping galvanized iron roof, a shriek, and then a deep tone that sounded like a dying wolf. It was a captivating piece, beginning and end played on the cello.​I ​hesitated for a moment, but then pushed the door open and stepped inside​. The performer played as if the room was empty except for himself, It felt like I was the mirror inside his room. Then as the last strokek left the strings, I foundn my hands clapping.

​"That was good."

Ayanokoji lifted himself from the stool. It was an empty music room, except for the two of us​. "I didn't know that you played the cello."

​"I was just practicing." how easily humbled he would make himself sound. "I see, maybe then later you could show me your calligraphy skills, as a secretary of the student council"

He lifted his head ever so slightly, that uninterested feeling still reflected in his eyes.​ "Of course, you already declined my offer."

​"I'm sorry" his hollow voice echoed in the space between us. I silenced, waiting to feel it disappear whole through the walls. ​Whatever it was between us, I wanted it gone like that echo.

​"There's no need to be" I stepped closer, so he could hear my whisper. "How about a proper duel with me next time?"

​His eyes were still unmoved. I chuckled, "It's usually empty around 6pm."  Ayanokoji, those eyes of yours will look at me with more interest. "I'll be waiting".

[anoiaa]

Burning Passion

Horikita Manabu x f!reader

A classroom of the elite fanfiction

He regrets.

It’s written all over his face. After all, who wouldn't regret the failure to bring a promising genius under his wing? Anyone. I wonder what made him special, he was plain with a straight poker face and didn’t like to have much social interactions with people. He looked normal and yet, he was such a mystery.

Ayanokouji, he was just too different.

Manabu shuffled through the last couple of papers with a sigh, rubbed his his temples and then proceeded with work. He would be tired on orange skies like these, especially on Friday.

Holding the kettle gently, I watched the hot liquid flow into the porcelain cup until the last drip. He would often skip meals and later prohibit me from bringing in any kind of takeout in the council room, complaining that “the smell made me nauseous”, and it’s only when I get to hear him sigh with discontent and an expression full of distress that I get prompted to do these sort of things for him.

It was my way of showing affection.

“No thank you.”

He stood up before I could lay it down on his table. It wasn’t his first time rejecting my offer, but I was often hit with a sudden melancholic feeling, and perhaps― Perhaps if it was you he would have accepted it with a warm smile. But he left without much as a single word.

I still held it gently, as if it would drop at anytime and scatter with everything in it on the floor, which would make it sour. I was burnt from the incandescent heat sliding down my throat and blazing every sensitive part it touched as I buried the it in me. My insides twisted. I see, nothing would have changed,

As I thought,

It was bitter from the start,

and I would drink it in the end.