Chapter Text
The rooftop of the reserve course building gave a panoramic view of Hopes Peak. A major upgrade from the stained window Hajime was used to; or at least, he assumed it would be. He yearned for the feeling of being on the same level as Hopes Peak. Perhaps literally being on-level would give the same feeling.
He walked heedlessly up the hill of stairs, envisioning how different his life would be if he were special— or ultimate— or something. Like Chiaki.
He felt an involuntary tug at the corners of his lips as he thought of her. The world felt as though it suddenly shifted. It felt brighter, more hopeful, and smoky—
“Ah.” A gasp escaped Hajimes mouth as he realized: he was no longer climbing the mound of stairs. That smoky sensation was born from the rooftop, not the imaginary Chiaki that lived in his mind and oversaw every thought he mustered up. Of course not. He shook his head sharply before turning back to the cause of the smoke. He peered at a hunched over girl on a seemingly out-of-place bench in front of him. There was no mistaking her.
“Dammit—“ His voice was creaking. Before he had a chance to turn away, he was immobilized by her glare. It was impossible not to be— when you’re stared down by the daughter of the Kuzuryu Clan’s Oyabun.
“Jeez, don’t scare me like that. I thought I’d have to put someone in the ground for tattling on me again.” Natsumi’s milk-sweet voice echoed through the air before Hajime’s nerves finally gave way and allowed him to breathe again.
“I scared you?” His voice came out shakier than intended.
“Don’t tell me you’re seriously scared of me.” Her plush lips curled into a sly smile that reached her threatening eyes. Her golden hair glimmered through the evening sun as she nodded for him to sit. He begrudgingly accepted.
“Can you really blame me? It’s not like I come face-to-face with the yakuza often.” He could feel his blood pressure rise at the abridged distance between them. He stared at the cigarette sitting idly between two manicured fingers. If the fear of being adjacent to a mafia princess wasn’t enough, the scent of the smoke was making his stomach churn.
Natsumi’s slouch intensified as she took a puff. Her demeanor visibly changed as she inhaled the tobacco. Hajime thought she looked… serene? Yeah, that fit. She looked serene as the smoke filled her lungs - her leather jacket-covered back puffing in and out as she smoked. Her sharp eyes were uncharacteristically calm while her face was flushed from the chill of the February sunset. With pink hues coating her otherwise pale skin and her plump cheeks somehow even more colorful than usual - Yes, she certainly did look serene. Almost doll-like, Hajime thought. (and then quickly disregarded at the realization that he had dared to say that to her face, he would likely be found in a ditch somewhere the following evening. Better to just sit in silence, he supposed.)
“Yeah, well, you’d better get used to it.” Her words cut through his inappropriate thoughts like a knife.
…What had they been talking about again?
She continued her banter, unaware of her companion’s ignorance. “You’re the only lug in this trash dump that’s actually worth my time…” She brought her cigarette to her lips. “…Just barely.” Hm. Praise (or at least Natsumi’s version of it) from her felt weird. Out-of-place, even.
Ignoring the paranoia at the back of his mind, her previous comment did lighten the mood, and for that his nervous system was thankful. For whatever reason, she had deemed him amiable enough for her standards, and he guessed that made them friends in a way. His internal moral compass wasn’t too sure how great befriending a yakuza was— but his need for someone to distract him from the looming inferiority complex he was facing was stronger. Even if that someone happened to have a superiority complex… But they say two wrongs make a right, no?
“…Right. I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” The brunette chose his words carefully. He still wasn’t fully certain she thought of him as a friend. The blonde tilted her head, intrigued. Her lips curled into a wicked smirk.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna ask if I’m single! Jeez, I didn’t take you for the sleezey type, Hinata.”
“What— No! That’s not what I—“ He was cut off by a cloud of smoke being blown towards him. Did she seriously just—?
She giggled and tapped the ash off the butt of her cig.
“God, you are so easy to tease!” She turned away from him for a moment, putting her lipstick-stained cigarette out before throwing the remnants off the roof. “I hope it lands on that bitch Sato’s head and her stupid seaweed hair catches on fire.” She placed her head in her hands and adjusted her hair for a better view of the boys face.
“Isn’t that a little… drastic? Even for you.”
“Hmph. She deserves it. C’mon, you’re
supposed to be on my side. You saw how deranged that bitch acted today! I had to come up here and take a smoke because of all the stress she piles on me.” She pouted, her voice almost pleading for validation. She stared, wide-eyed as ever, at Hajime. When he gave nothing but a disappointing frown in return, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and retreated away from the boy with a huff. “I can’t keep wasting my cigs on that skank.”
Hajime tapped his foot. This was a new side of Natsumi. She was being vulnerable… in a way… She had expected him to agree with her, but why? He let out a dejected sigh and glanced at his feet. Girls are complicated.
The pair sat in silence on the rooftop for what felt like hours. It wasn’t comfortable silence, like when Chiaki would be too focused on the game they were playing to communicate, it was tense. Hajime watched the sun set behind Hopes Peak. He was suddenly reminded of why he came here in the first place— Not to play friends with the arrogant girl from the reserve course— and certainly not to enjoy banter with her. He was here to wallow in his own self-pity of being a no-good, talentless student who paid his way to get into the shadow of Hopes Peak.
His throat burned at the reminder. As he stared at the school in front of him, he felt anger. His fists clenched so hard they turned white. Why wouldn’t he be good enough? All the stuff Nanami said about talent not being everything— How would she know? She had no idea how it felt to be no one. No title, no importance, just another person who’ll go on to do nothing special with his life and will die a meaningless death. What was stopping him from just running forward right now and jumpin—
Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt! Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt!
“Oh, shit—“ He looked over at the girl next to him frantically digging through her school bag, spilling the contents around her feet until she retrieved her cellphone from the depths of the bag. She shot up upon seeing who was calling and meandered across the rooftop, far enough so Hajime could hardly string together her words.
“Yeah— No— School— Yes— Okay— Bye—“ Her shoulders slouched after she hung up. She turned around, clearly surprised to see Hajime had been watching her.
“What are you looking at?” She hissed.
“Nothing. Everything okay?”
“Why do you give a shit? It was just my brother. I have to go. Y’know, yakuza stuff or whatever.” She hovered above him, crossing her arms and puffing her chest. They kept eye contact until Hajime slowly turned away, embarrassed. She yanked her bag from the seat next to him and practically strutted through the swinging doors, keychains jingling all the way.
When she was finally out of view, Hajime let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He glanced at his watch.
“I should probably get going, too…” He begrudgingly stood and started towards the door when something caught his eye— a metal eyelash curler with an expensive brand name engraved in the upper bar. He sighed upon realizing who it belonged to, shoved it in his pocket, and left. He now walked with a scuff in his step at his newfound understanding of who he’d have to talk to in order to return the contraption to its rightful owner.