~In the Morning~

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"Hey. You."

A demanding remark right off the bat. The cool young girl was standing in front of me as I tried to read my paperback, her skirt dangling over my very attentive eyes. Of course, Temptation did little more than tease me; not a single flash of white was available for my sights to gorge on.

"You're Nobunaga-kun, right?"

It was now all but flashing in giant letters that I didn't know this girl. Nor, apparently, did she know a thing about me. People that knew me were distinctly aware of the fact that I hated my name. People that I knew were immediately detailed about that fact to such thoroughness, perhaps they'd come to believe I was simply in denial. I have no relation whatsoever to Oda Nobunaga, but who else do you think of when you hear my name? The preconceived notion is set amongst my peers; the name permeates a strange aura around me, as if I am indeed this Nobunaga person. Which of course I am. But not Oda.

"Sorry. I think you have the wrong person."

"Huh. So it's true. You are picky about your name."

Now that was a shock.

"I'm not picky. I just prefer people to not act so friendly with me," I say, closing my book shut. Whether or not this girl is willing to agree by my conditions is far beyond me, but the fact that she seems to have preceded my actions is enough to gather my attention. "Especially a stranger that seems to have done a nosy, but informed background check."

"Stranger? We're classmates, aren't we?" she asks, looking down at me. Ah, if only she would bend a little more.

"Classmates? Are we?" I ask.

"Now you're just being rude."

"Well, people tend to do that when they don't want to talk with someone."

"I've been polite, haven't I?"

"Oh? Is that sarcasm or are you just trying to get on my nerves?"

"A little bit of both," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. Ah. Cute.

"Sorry, but I'm rather enjoying myself, sitting here," I say, opening my book again. But remember, this is just a pretense. I have other objectives on my mind right now.

"What're you reading?" she asks. Ah, the human psyche. It's such an instinctive ponderous fool. Just like a normal person, the girl leans her head to look down at my book. Now, you can understand just what the implications of this action is, right?

"A novel," I say, turning the book to its cover. However, it is not just a simple turn. Its one that lowers the book even further towards the ground. The girl's eyes, even if they are picture perfect, will have to come closer to examine the small-print title.

"I see. Is that all you're looking at?" she says. Suddenly, I find myself staring right into her eyes. "Smart, but you need to keep your eyes unfocused."

I look at her, bemused, as she picks up my book, reads the cover, then stands up while tightening the length of her skirt.

I really have underestimated her, after all.

"Muto."

"Hmm?"

"I prefer being called Muto," I say, conceding.

"Muto-kun, then," she says. She extends her hand out to me. "Narumi Hira."

"Narumi-san."

"Hira, if you don't mind."

"Heh. Now you're just being annoying."

"I don't mind."

"So, Hira, what can I do for you?" I say, closing my book a second time. A second time. That's possibly a first. Has anyone interested me this much? Probably. But not lately.

"I need your help."

"Sorry, but I'm not a social worker."

"It's something simple," she says, sitting down next to me. "I don't think you'll have a problem with it."

"Simple, I judge for myself."

"I mean it."

"Why ask me, then? No, wait. Nevermind. Random?"

"Haha. You're really smart too! I guess all the rumors are true, then."

"Alright. Stop the jibes. I know you're not stupid."

"What if I am?"

"If you are, you're lucky. I haven't noticed yet."

She laughs and sweeps aside her bangs. At this point, I notice that this Narumi Hira is indeed my classmate. She sits in the middle row, her head the only thing visible to me, aside from her school uniform. I had never found anything impressive about her, until now that is.

"Anyways, it really is something simple. You just need to do one thing, actually."

"And that is?"

Her response comes as normally and carefree as the average gossip, distributed over a group of lunch tables pushed together. And like that moment, where your hunger for knowledge (at least, the kind that you assume matters) and your physical hunger is satiated, her response completely satisfied my curiosity. And, like the student, who is plagued with the fidgeting. subconscious aggravation born during assemblies, I was at a loss at how to vent my own reaction.

"Be my boyfriend."

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