KUSHIDA
"Hey, you! What are you doing here?" a voice snapped, pulling me out of my half-sleep.
I blinked, disoriented, the cold of the floor seeping through my pants. How long had it been? I checked the time on my digital watch,almost two hours since lunch break. That meant there was still an hour of school left.
When I looked up, Mr. Takeda was staring down at me, a frown carved deep into his face and that stupid pointer stick he carried everywhere gripped in one hand. Mr. Takeda wasn't exactly the best person to catch me skipping class,not only because he always found me in situations like this, but because he acted like a high school bully trapped in a forty-year-old man's body.
I sighed, pushing myself up and meeting his gaze, probably looking more like a delinquent than a victim.
"Skipping class and not wearing your uniform," he said flatly.
"My uniform got drenched."
"Oh really? And why's that?"
"Because someone poured water on me."
He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling in amusement. "Now why would someone do that, huh? Why do you keep getting yourself in these situations?"
"I... I didn't want to end up like this. They bully me," I said, my voice cracking before I could stop it.
Mr. Takeda snorted, crossing his arms. "They bully you?" He said it like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "You kids,always with the excuses. You think life's gonna pity you just because someone splashed a little water?"
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.
"I'm telling the truth," I muttered. "They wrote stuff on my shirt and then they-"
He slammed the pointer against the wall, the sharp crack making me flinch. "Then tell it to someone who cares. Because I don't. You think hiding here will solve your problems? Pathetic."
My chest tightened. The floor suddenly looked more comforting than his eyes.
"You want to skip class? Fine," he said, voice dripping with mock cheer. "Since you've got so much free time, you can spend the rest of the day cleaning the cafeteria. Every table, every chair,and I want that floor shining by the time I check it."
My head snapped up. "What? But-"
"No buts, Miss Kushida. Consider it a lesson in responsibility." His lips twisted into something cruelly amused. "Maybe while you're scrubbing gum off the floor, you'll realize it's not the world that's against you. It's your attitude."
He turned and walked off, the sound of his shoes echoing down the empty corridor.
For a moment, I just stood there, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. I wanted to scream that it wasn't fair,that I hadn't done anything wrong,but the words felt useless.
So instead, I whispered to the empty hallway, "It's not my attitude… it's yours."
.....
"Is that Kushida?"
The voice cuts through the empty cafeteria like a blade.
I freeze, my fingers tightening around the mop handle. I turn from the window on instinct, catching the reflection of two girls leaning against the doorway, their smirks sharp enough to cut.
"She's always in trouble."
"The students don't like her. The teachers either... it's like she's living a nightmare."
Their laughter is light, careless-the kind that stings because it sounds so effortless.
"Must be karma. Her mom is a whore, isn't she?"
That one hits like a slap. The mop creaks in my hands as I grip it tighter, my breath catching somewhere between anger and disbelief. For a second, everything in me screams to react,to do something, to make them swallow those words. My vision blurs at the edges, hot and dizzy, and I can already picture the mop swinging out of my hands and crashing against their faces-
But when I turn, ready to do it, I don't see them.
I see him.
A familiar set of light brown eyes, watching me with quiet amusement, blocking the view of the doorway.
"Hinata," I breathe, the tension in my shoulders loosening and tightening all at once.
He smiles, the same lazy, sunshine grin that used to make my middle school afternoons feel less lonely.
Hinata;the boy who used to lend me his umbrella when it rained, who moved away when his mom remarried a doctor. The boy who went on to live a perfect life in the better part of town, while mine kept rotting quietly on this side.
Now he's taller. His voice deeper. The school's golden boy,senior class president, basketball captain, teacher's favorite. The kind of person whose name lives in everyone's mouth for all the right reasons.
He glances around the empty cafeteria before walking in, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets like he's walking into his own home.
"This is the second time this week I've seen you cleaning in here," he says, taking the mop from me before I can stop him. His hands brush mine,..warm, steady. I hate that I notice.
"Well, I'm not exactly Mr. Takeda's favorite student," I mutter, staring at the floor. "And it's his week for detention duty."
Hinata chuckles softly as he dips the mop into the bucket. "Are you any teacher's favorite?" he teases, eyes glinting with that easy humor that's always come naturally to him.
I cross my arms, forcing a half-smile. "Sorry, not all of us are born with your charisma."
He laughs,a short, genuine sound that fills the room, and for a heartbeat, I almost forget how cruel the world can be.
Almost.
Because then, silence settles,the kind that sits heavy between two people who've lived different lives. His uniform is spotless, his badge shining, hair perfectly trimmed, while my tracksuit looks wrinkled, water-stained, and smells faintly of detergent.
Two worlds apart.
He looks at me for a moment longer, something unspoken flickering in his gaze,guilt, maybe. Or pity. I don't know which one I hate more.
I drop my eyes to the bucket. "You don't have to help, you know."
"I know." He keeps mopping anyway.
I want to ask him why,..why he never says anything. Why he never stops Miyu and Yuri when their laughter fills the hallways and I'm the punchline every single day. But the words die in my throat. Because if I ask, and he says he doesn't care… I don't know if I could stand hearing it.
So instead, I say nothing.
The sound of the mop against the tile fills the silence, soft and rhythmic. For once, I let someone else clean up the mess with me.