"...ane. Takane? Hey, Takane?"

The voice, laced with a special kind of bubbly buoyancy, felt all too familiar as her eyes fluttered open, albeit hesitantly. It seemed to be far too early in the morning to deal with the embodiment of sunshine otherwise known as Kokonose Haruka, with her memories clouded from the events of the night before.

Only a single thought lingered in her foggy mind, along with a muzzy feeling she couldn't quite shake off— Why the hell is Haruka at my house? In my... bedroom?

It had taken her a moment to realize that it didn't sound right at all; not in the least bit.

Takane propelled herself upwards in an almost springing motion, though perhaps not in the most graceful gesture she could manage. She found herself standing, palms pressed against a smooth, wooden texture that didn't quite capture the sensation of her much softer bed.

"Haruka?! You— why are you—" she sputtered in a fleeting frenzy, though the rather fractious girl paused mid-sentence as she caught a better view of her surroundings.

In other words, everything clicked. It hadn't occurred to the teenager that maybe she wasn't at home as she previously thought, acting without much of a care in the world in her blurred state. She muttered curses under her breath, blaming her damned malady for the excessive sleep she deemed unnecessary.

Her gaze shifted towards the taller boy adorned by his dark green pullover sweater, and with the presence of that everlasting smile and pale complexion of his, he stood out just a tad bit more in the otherwise insipid classroom.

Haruka hummed, before instinctively pointing at himself in bewilderment. He painted himself a puzzled expression on the canvas of countenance, awkwardly scratching his cheek with a faint, but nervous laugh.

"D-Did I do something wrong, Takane?"

The tetchier of the two paused, at a loss for words as she promptly shook her head. "Never mind, just forget about it."

A chuckle erupted from the man situated up front—Tateyama Kenjirou— as his fingers rifled through heaps of papers at his desk, not so much looking up as his stare remained fixated on rustling pages of documents.

"That's no good, Takane. Making a ruckus like that in the middle of class..."

Although Kenjirou's eyes were heavily glued elsewhere, the volatile teen could practically feel his austerer gaze prodding daggers at her pride; it was an unspoken agreement between the only two students of the class that their professor was much more preferable when he stayed insouciant to most matters.

"Sorry," she mumbled, as embarrassment in the form of dusted pink danced up to her light cheeks. Takane hastily took a seat, heaving a sigh as she drifted off to her muses.

It was detrimental to the remnants of her dignity to admit that she retained little recollection of rising from slumber that morning, much less showing up at school. The longer she contemplated, the heavier her head felt, progressing with a consistent pounding that did nothing but amplify her irritability.

All she could muster was a vague exchange of words between her and her grandmother, most likely trivial greetings and farewells that she couldn't be bothered to remember. Further back, she never wholly invested time into anything that wasn't related to games as a pastime, but Takane strained herself to recall what exactly transpired while engaging in the shooting game that she adored so greatly.

Nothing more than a mere gut feeling within her subconscious dictated that there surely must have been an event worth taking note of, but like the rest of her day thus far, nothing too considerable materialized in her train of thought.

Did I... lose a game yesterday night? I can't remember.

Not that it mattered, of course, had it been any ordinary match. The gamer girl groaned, the inarticulate sound escaping her lips more sonorous than she anticipated. Her rather turbulent fuse was shorter than usual, seeming to rupture at the drop of a hat.

The uncomfortable tugging at the back of her mind persisted, with a throbbing rhythm that failed to mitigate, as if nagging her to remember. Suffocating confinement within the special classroom that she perceived as the netherworld, conjoined with an aggravating migraine, led to her firm belief that she wouldn't survive the day without a miracle.

Takane slowly massaged her temples in hopes of alleviating her discomfort, but before long, she was utterly unable to stifle yet another remark.

"Mr. Tateyama? I can't possibly be disrupting class when you're not even teaching a lesson," she enunciated in a simple string of words slipping off her tongue, not bothering to sneak a peek at her instructor. "Right?"

Another low laugh resounded, while a sneaking suspicion told her that Kenjirou was shaking his head. "You can't just jump to conclusions like that. See, Haruka's being productive and making good use of his time." When he finally seemed to look up from his documents, however, he regrettably ate his own words, "Wait, what?"

Haruka was subtly nibbling on some sweet snacks, a few noticeable crumbs lining the sides of his mouth as his pen lightly scratched against his sketchbook. Upon closer inspection, Takane realized that there was an absence of schoolwork littered across his desk, but rather replaced by everything he needed to draw, including a variety of different pens, pencils, and erasers.

"Mmf?" The proficient artist gulped, tensing up from the sudden notice. He made no effort to hide his work, coming out clean with gentle laughter. "Um... Did you guys want some?" Haruka added, sheepishly offering a dessert item from his arsenal.

She was doubtful that sweets would have helped in her present state. Instead of focusing her stare on his collation, she scrutinized a particular sketch that captivated her attention: a single sable snake, with accentuated scales and prominent red eyes. Though it didn't appear too subdued, the orbs almost had a soft touch to their otherwise ineffable mien, perhaps far from menacing like serpents usually were.

Weird. Did Haruka always like reptiles? God, I can't keep track of things anymore.

"Anyway, this is a free period for a reason. I'm being generous enough to let you guys catch up on some work, and yet these are the results I see... What am I going to do with you two?" Kenjirou helplessly exhaled, pushing up his square-framed glasses.

"But—"

"Don't you want to, I don't know, play games once you get home, Takane? Isn't this the perfect opportunity to work, then?"

She bit her lip, pondering for an instant. "Touché, but that's impossible. I'm not in the mood for drudgery, Mr. Tateyama."

Once again, Kenjirou shook his head in disapproval, practically prepared to give a stern lecture about the topic. "Jeez, youth these days! You're just like that idol. Don't decide that something's impossible before you've even tried."

"Uh huh," she rose to her feet in a solid movement, making transient eye-contact with her educator. "Excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom."

Her statement earned a reluctant nod from her superior, though whether he actually believed her or not was a different story altogether. More than anything else at that moment, Enomoto Takane was desperate to vacate the hell that was her stuffy classroom, desperate for some fresh air in exchange for a white lie.

As she paced towards the sliding door, she glanced back at the rest of the room out of pure curiosity. To her surprise, she found herself staring at the infinite hues of grayish brown orbs belonging to none other than Haruka, reciprocating the gesture.

His eyes appeared pensive, and maybe even forlorn, although she reckoned that the latter assumption was merely supposition. It was an expression that she hadn't seen him wear before, beyond words and comprehension.

The aspiring artist was suddenly startled, however, donning an awkward, yet benevolent smile as he hastily turned his head back.

I don't understand, Haruka.

Bemused, Takane was greeted by a gust of wind as she stepped out of the room, the breeze pecking kisses on her skin to escort her to a state of serenity as she sauntered down the hallway without a care in the world, almost blithely unconcerned.

Even so, she couldn't shake the inkling that perhaps she was being watched.