An eyebrow quirks upward, though his tone of voice lacks most of its usual seriousness. “Hope you don’t think the “me” here’s doing that badly.”
(He's [relatively] sure she doesn’t.)
But at least he has his ass in the chair for his senior year this time, unlike back home. Like he had promised. A promise with Aki he won’t ever be able to keep.
“But I’ll think about it.” He had always borrowed Aki’s notes he had needed them. Though his notes were more concise and probably not as detailed as hers, Shinjiro imagines. He wonders where Aki is, the more memories of him come to mind. He wonders if he’s out in the city somewhere, living a second life. Though he also wonders if she’s here too.
“Still,” he says, blinking away the thoughts with a shake of his head. “Don’t think you should knock it until you’ve tried it at least once.”
As unlikely as that’d ever be.
Skipping a lecture or two is just another constant, he guesses, even here—when he, perhaps, has even less motive to do so. Like Mitsuru’s fencing. He has enough memories of the hours of class he’s skipped, opting instead for the relative peace of a sunny school rooftop until Aki came to find him. Those memories were some of his better ones, he thinks. Ones he wouldn’t trade for a better letter grade. Not for the world and everything in it.
no subject
(He's [relatively] sure she doesn’t.)
But at least he has his ass in the chair for his senior year this time, unlike back home. Like he had promised. A promise with Aki he won’t ever be able to keep.
“But I’ll think about it.” He had always borrowed Aki’s notes he had needed them. Though his notes were more concise and probably not as detailed as hers, Shinjiro imagines. He wonders where Aki is, the more memories of him come to mind. He wonders if he’s out in the city somewhere, living a second life. Though he also wonders if she’s here too.
“Still,” he says, blinking away the thoughts with a shake of his head. “Don’t think you should knock it until you’ve tried it at least once.”
As unlikely as that’d ever be.
Skipping a lecture or two is just another constant, he guesses, even here—when he, perhaps, has even less motive to do so. Like Mitsuru’s fencing. He has enough memories of the hours of class he’s skipped, opting instead for the relative peace of a sunny school rooftop until Aki came to find him. Those memories were some of his better ones, he thinks. Ones he wouldn’t trade for a better letter grade. Not for the world and everything in it.