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harukimurakitty · 3 months

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Take Me Home, Country Roads (3): We're Going To Be Friends

❥ NakedToaster x Reader

September 7th, 2009

If there was one thing you didn't hate about Ottawa, it was undoubtedly Everything Coffee. Everything Coffee, as the name suggested, was a quaint cafe in the heart of the town- a little over a twenty-minute walk from your house. Sable introduced you to the shop after your first day of school when she took you into town to run errands; you knew from the moment you stepped inside it'd be your safe haven from the surrounding Hickville.

The cafe was visibly rundown from the outside, but it held a charm that no other place in Ottawa could hold a candle to. Flickering string lights hung across the front, from one side of the wood paneling to the other, casting a warm glow over the outdoor seating area. The inside was just as cozy, with a lingering scent of hot chocolate and roasted coffee beans welcoming you the second you opened the door. Overall, the cafe had a rustic feeling that inexplicably cured your homesickness.

With your first week in town officially completed, you felt more confident navigating around than ever. You now had a basic understanding of where the main staples in Ottawa were located, such as the laundromat, convenience store, park, and previously mentioned cafe. You had done a great deal of exploring that weekend with your sister, wandering around town and looking at what the place had to offer. Although there wasn't much to see, it left you feeling more prepared for your trek to school that Monday morning.

You woke up not on a firm, uncomfortable couch, but on your mattress that had thankfully arrived Thursday afternoon with your desk. Unfortunately, you had forgotten to pack your bedsheets, so for the time being, you were stuck with only a bare mattress, bedframe, and an old blanket Sable had stashed away in her closet. Still, it was an improvement from sleeping in the living room. You were already starting to settle into your new living arrangement- not that you were particularly thrilled about it, though. So much so that you had even managed to wake up early enough to walk to Everything Coffee before school.

In Colorado, swinging by a cafe or convenience store before school would've been no big deal. Everything in Denver was, at most, a ten-minute walk or bus ride away. Hell, there were two Dutch Bros in your neighborhood alone. If anything, it might've been more of a challenge to not stop by someplace before heading to class. Ottawa, however, didn't have the same luxury of an in-town Dutch Bros- or public transit, for that matter.

Although Everything Coffee didn't align with your usual route to school, it was in the center of town where an actual road, not just a dirt-trodden path, led to Ottawa High. The walk would be twenty minutes longer than taking the trail and not even half as scenic, but you figured the coffee would make up for it. Double-checking your pockets for your keys and wallet, you slung your backpack over one shoulder and announced your departure. Your sister was likely still asleep, but it made you feel a weird sense of loneliness to just leave.

“Sable? I’m heading out!” No response. You sighed and swung the door open.

Aside from the sounds of birds chirping and trees rustling with the morning breeze, the day was surprisingly calm. The sun had just come into view over the horizon, giving everything a bluish tint. The weird lighting looked like something straight out of the first Twilight movie, which made you giggle. The mornings in the South were the complete opposite of the afternoons; rather than feeling the sun beat down on you from high above the clouds, a cool breeze was always seconds away from gently rustling your hair into your face.

The further you walked, the deeper you got lost in thought. You went over all the usual things, like what you wanted to order when you got to the cafe or how much homework Ms. Roberts would assign that day- but it all cycled back to one person in particular... Soren. By the end of the first day, you were almost positive you had made a lasting impression on him. The next day, however, things between you were awkward all over again, and by Wednesday, you two had nothing to talk about.

You could tell Soren was trying to make conversation, but he could hardly stutter out a "How are you?" let alone ask a mildly thought-provoking question. Aside from him, no one else had bothered to talk to you all week. At the rate your friendship (or lack thereof) was going, you'd be lucky if he could look you in the eyes by graduation. College graduation, that was.

After a few more minutes of walking and thinking about your maybe-friend, you arrived at Everything Coffee. The string lights didn't shine as brightly in the morning as they had the afternoon you first visited, but you liked how the cafe looked illuminated by the morning glow. As you entered, a bell attached to the green wooden door chimed. Unsurprisingly, the inside seemed to be bustling with commuters; some were your age, with backpacks strapped over their shoulders, while the rest were adults shuffling in and out on their way to work. Despite the rush, only two other people seemed to be waiting to order.

While you waited, you scanned the chalkboard menu proudly displayed behind the front counter; at least a third was dedicated to listing every flavor known to man, from caramel to Irish cream to mudslide. Another third was listing a myriad of coffee variants, some of which you'd never even heard of. And on the right, crammed in with tiny lettering, was all the food they had to offer. At the top was french toast, sold for two dollars and twenty-five cents.

Just like that, the thought of you and Soren's strained friendship was at the forefront of your mind again. You were what you'd consider to be an ambivert, almost always ready to initiate a conversation and not nearly as awkward as you used to be. So why was it that you couldn't seem to figure Soren out, and why did that bother you so much?

“Hello, what can I get fer ya’ today?” A middle-aged woman behind the cash register asked as the person in front of you stepped aside, done ordering. You jerked your head back to face her, order-less and unprepared.

“Yeah, can I get,” you scanned the menu over again, “a sixteen ounce (drink of choice)? And a muffin to go?” Although you were finished with your order, your eyes still lingered on the chalkboard menu. Something was missing.

“...’Ll that be all for yer’ order?” The cashier asked, writing down your drink on a plastic cup. You paused for a second, not taking your eyes off of the menu.

“Actually, can I get a matcha latte and french toast too?” The lady smiled and nodded, reaching for a second cup. “It’ll be right up. Total’s $11.50.”

You didn’t know what possessed you to order a whole breakfast for a boy you barely knew, but as you walked up a third flight of stairs to your classroom, you knew you regretted it. Not only was balancing two drinks, two bags, and your IPhone 3GS way harder than you initially thought, but you didn’t even know if Soren liked what you had ordered him. Were you that desperate for friends? What if he was allergic to matcha? Or lactose intolerant?

When you reached your class, you awkwardly shuffled the bags and matcha cup in between your elbow and forearm and rattled the door open with your free hand. You got it open just wide enough with your limited range of motion to slip inside, careful not to drop anything. The drinks interrupted the peaceful quiet of the room with a sloshing sound as you made your way to your desk, capturing a couple peoples’ attention. What? Have they never seen a fucking drink before? You thought as you finally sat down.

You glanced over to your seatmate, ready to get rid of the deadweight you’d been carrying since you ordered. Soren had his head down just like every other morning that week, but he sat up when he felt your shift next to him. It took him a moment to rub the sleep out of his eyes and put his glasses on, which you found amusing. You took the time to grab his food and hold it out to him.

“Here.” You presented once Soren turned back to face you. His eyes widened in surprise; whether he meant it in a good or bad way, you couldn’t tell.

“Oh. Oh- uh, thank you.” Soren’s voice cracked as he plucked the food out of your hands. His face flushed when he looked down at you, a small smile on his face. “I, um, how’d you know I like matcha?”

“Totally didn’t.” You barked out a laugh that was a bit louder than necessary. “Er- I just figured you’d like the green color? And I got you french toast, too.” You gestured towards the bag.

“T-Thank you. Really.” He said, opening the brown paper sack. You pulled your muffin out at the same time, and together, you took your first bites.

The flavor was pretty good by plain muffin standards, albeit a bit dry, but it was Soren’s reaction you were most focused on. After biting into the pastry, his eyes lit up and he let out a small groan at the taste. “ Mmf- This is,” he took a second bite, “ so good!” He spoke with his mouth full, which under normal circumstances would’ve completely grossed you out. This time, however, you couldn’t help but laugh and grin.

Soon after you started eating, the minute bell rang and Mr. Neale promptly started class. As he lectured about types of aquatic biomes, you and Soren happily munched down on your breakfasts. You figured if buying him food made him so happy, you’d have to do it again soon. You made a conscious resolve to not look too deep into that urge. After various notes, homework reminders, and powerpoint slides, the second period bell rang and you and Soren walked out together.

“I really don’t think I’ll be paying much attention to Environmental any time soon. I mean it’s one of the easiest AP’s anyway, and besides, when am I gonna need to know trophic levels in the future?” You ranted as you walked down the hallway to AP Lang.

“Mm, are you planning on going into geosciences?” Soren asked.

“Nah, I’m not too keen on collecting dirt samples for the rest of my life.” You shrugged and turned into the classroom. Soren stopped and pointed somewhere behind him.

“I, uh, actually have to pick up some stuff from the office, but I’ll be back soon. I think.” you nodded and walked into class by yourself. You would’ve offered to go with him, but you didn’t think Ms. Roberts would’ve been pleased if you accompanied him without reason.

You took your seat at the back and pulled out your journal, earbuds, and phone. Ms. Roberts had a paragraph projected on the board as a warm up activity at the start of every class; your job was to identify the theme and examine the supporting evidence in the text. Boring, as per usual, but at the very least you were allowed to listen to music.

You put your earbuds in and started working, not bothering to actually play anything on your phone. That day’s paragraph was a brief excerpt on Oscar Wilde and his novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, a book you were vaguely familiar with. You were far from a bookworm, but you enjoyed an occasional fiction book. As you wrote, you could hear the two girls in front of you snickering about one of the lines in the text.

“‘ His homosexual tendencies are reflected in the novel.’ How weird is that?” The girl directly in front of you whispered to the other. Admittedly, you had suppressed a laugh too. You knew you were probably laughing for different reasons, but “homosexual tendencies” wasn’t something you were expecting to read that morning.

“Oh my god, shut up! Someone’s gonna hear you!” Her friend giggled back.

“And? Who cares.” She shrugged

“Probably the guy behind me.”

You shot up defensively at that comment and immediately slouched back down when you realized you had been eavesdropping. Fortunately, both girls were too busy doubling over in laughter to notice your reaction. What the hell did they mean by that? A part of you wanted to say something, wanted to stand up for what might’ve been your only friend in that town, but another part was morbidly curious. Were you already killing your social status? And did social status matter if you were only surrounded by assholes?

“I mean, what normal guy dyes his hair pink? If it’s purple or blue, fine, maybe he’s just one of those emos. But pink has to mean he’s… y’know.” She elaborated, grinning.

“I don’t think his hair is dyed though? We went to elementary school together at Davenport and it was the same exact color it is now.” The girl in front of you said.

“God, was he always creepy or is this like, new for him?”

“Always weird. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he became a serial killer or something one day.”

As if on cue, Soren opened the door to the classroom with a hallway pass in hand. You watched as he turned it in to Ms. Roberts, and looked down before he could turn back to see your staring. From the corner of your eye, you could see the girls give each other a look before moving on to gossip about other things. You felt a pit forming in your stomach as you contemplated your next course of action.

Aside from the mild bigotry in their conversation, you couldn’t help but feel as though their claims had some validity. What if he was weird, like creepy weird, and you just didn’t know it yet? And as shallow as it sounded, you also didn’t want to be a social outcast your senior year by befriending him.

In Denver, you never had to think twice about your status. For the most part, everyone was friendly toward you and vice versa. You didn’t have major issues with anyone, and the worst thing that had happened to you reputation-wise was that one time your sophomore year when you fell down the stairs. Other than that, you were a well-rounded, rule-following, average student. In Ottawa, however, you were nobody.

“H-Hey. Everything alright?” You jumped at the sound of Soren’s voice, somehow too lost in thought to have noticed him sitting down. Your face flushed, partially due to being caught off guard but also out of… embarrassment? You knew it was a bitch move to not want to talk due to his social status, but you couldn’t help but hope the girls in front of you wouldn’t notice you associating with him.

“Yeah. Just working.” And with that, you turned back down to your journal.

You didn’t talk to him again until the bell rang and the girls in front of you left. Although it felt obvious, you hoped he wouldn’t notice your sudden coldness. After gathering your stuff, you bid him a brief goodbye and headed to Pre-Cal.

Guilt continued to eat at you all day, especially during lunch when you sat in silence together on the rooftop. You felt as if he knew what you were doing, like he was interrogating you without ever even having to open his mouth. Soren had been so kind as to show you the rooftop the first day you met, and you repaid the favor by what? Cold-shouldering him? Regardless if it was intentional or not, you were distancing yourself from him just over some stupid rumors. Sure, there was a possibility of him being a creep, but there was also a chance that he was just being bullied. From your experience, Soren had been nothing but nice to you, albeit a bit guarded. For the time being, you figured you’d ignore any uncertainties. After all, who else did you have?

By the time eighth period came around, you were still feeling awkward around him. Luckily, Yearbook was composed mostly of social recluses- people that generally stuck to themselves. You didn’t have to worry as much about being under scrutiny there as you did in your other classes; everyone was quiet, worked hard, and considerate for the most part. You and Soren could talk freely there without being interrupted or ostracized.

“Hey, man.” You greeted, giving Soren a nervous smile when he sat down in the seat adjacent to yours.

“Hey. Um, how was… History? That is your last period, right? ” He trailed off, with the last part of his sentence more targeted to himself than it was to you.

“Yeah, history. It was alright.” You nodded.

“Anything… new?”

“It’s been, like, two hours since we last talked so no, not really. I am mega-psyched for Muse’s new album, though. You?”

“Uh, not exactly. Kinda why I asked you first.” He said with a small smile.

“Right.” You grimaced. Turning back to your work, pieces of scrapbook paper and pictures from school events were littered across your desk. Truth be told, you only took Yearbook for an easy A. You didn’t expect to actually have to do work. Just as you were starting to get into the flow of sorting the soccer team’s page, Soren abruptly turned to face you.

“Y-You mentioned Muse earlier.”

“Yeah?” “Well, what other stuff do you like?” Immediately, what felt like a million bands came to mind. They varied in genre and pretentiousness, from Brittany Spears to The New Pornographers, but you thought about which ones Soren would like the most. If he knew Muse, you could probably find some common ground.

“Mm, right now I’ve been super into The Strokes, Jeff Buckley, and,” you tried to gauge his reaction, “...Weezer?” Weezer was a safe choice. You didn’t know a single white guy your age that didn’t know them. Something about Cuomo’s straightforward lyricism must’ve seriously resonated with teen boys everywhere.

“Oh, I haven’t listened to Jeff Buckley before. Is he any good?” You did a fistpump inside your head. Got another one.

“Not only is he good, he is the best damn musician to come out of the whole, wide Western Seaboard.” You thought for a second. “Aside from, like, maybe 2Pac if you count Oakland.” Soren nodded, a small smile on his face.

You continued talking to Soren about Buckley’s discography before moving on to other musicians. If he was tired of your ranting, he didn’t show it. Every time you looked away from your work, Soren was listening intently and nodding along to every word. If you didn’t feel like an asshole for ignoring him before, you definitely did then. By the time the final bell rang, you were still deep in the midst of your conversation with him. Although you had been doing most, if not all of the talking, it was far from one-sided.

“-Which is why Phil Spector had the power to be such an asshole in the first place. He literally dominated the music industry!” You ranted as you walked next to him down the front entrance of the school. You knew your discussion (or diatribe, to be more accurate) had to come to an end soon, but a part of you wanted to keep talking to Soren. You felt like you had made a breakthrough in terms of your friendship that day. As you walked out of the school’s bustling front doors, an idea came to mind.

“Hey, do you walk home?” You asked, completely out of the blue. Normally, you two would split up and go your separate ways after eighth period. You had no clue what he did after that.

“Yeah, w-why?”

“Wanna walk together? I mean cause. Y’know. We already walk together in school and-”

“ Yes ! Er- yeah, I’d like that.” Soren’s face reddened at his outburst, seemingly startling himself with how eager he was to agree.

“Rad. So, what direction do you take?”

“Uh, I usually walk past this one dirt trail behind the school,” you froze, “but we could take the main road if that’s more comfortable.” You walked next to him wordlessly. What were the chances of there being a second trail that you didn’t know about? “(Y/N)? I mean we could walk to your house instead if-” Soren sputtered, backtracking.

“No! No, it’s not that. Uh, how many paths are there behind the school, exactly?”

“...One?”

A beat passed.

“I think we live in the same neighborhood?” You said, looking up at him. “How the hell haven’t I seen you around before? That trail ain’t exactly big or anything.”

“You live on Pike Street?” Soren asked, astounded. You hesitated at the question.

“I don’t know my address.” You confessed. He gave you an unimpressed look. “I moved here like a week ago! What do you expect?” You threw your hands up, exasperated.

“Ok ok, sorry!” Soren laughed. “So, trail it is?” You nodded.

You walked and talked until you reached the start of the trail, when you remembered the moral dilemma from second period. With all your talk about bands and neighborhoods, you had almost forgotten about nearly ghosting him that morning. As much as you wanted to clear things up directly, you didn’t want to risk putting him on the spot, either.

“So...” You started.

“So.” He parroted.

“Not to be presumptuous or anything but, um, I noticed you don’t talk a lot to other people. Why is that?” You looked up at him, trying your best to maintain a low key expression. Soren glanced in the opposite direction, nervously.

“Right. That.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to! I was just curious, that's all.” You waved your hands in front of you, panicked.

“No it’s fine, really. I just never got along with others, I guess. I mean, no one ever made an attempt to branch out, but neither did I. I’ve just always been alone, more or less.” Soren took a couple seconds, his eyebrows pinching together as he contemplated what to say next. “Which sounds… a lot angstier than I meant it to be.”

“Well, I think you’re pretty cool. And I also think if you reached out, other people would see that too.” You smiled. Soren gave you a hesitant stare in response; not a mean one, but it was obvious he didn’t agree.

“T-Thanks, but in Ottawa? No one here is worth reaching out to, quite frankly.” He paused. “Uh, aside from… you, of course.” You couldn’t help but grin.

“Word.”

“Pfft. Yeah. Word. But, uh, how does it feel moving your senior year? That must suck.” Soren looked down at you expectantly. Oh great, your turn to be vulnerable.

“It’s the absolute, fucking worst . I had a whole life in Denver! Friends! Family! A 4.0 GPA! And now I’m in the middle of nowhere with nothing but my sister and iPhone- which gets no service, by the way- and I just,” you took a deep breath, “I just wanna go home.” You sighed. Soren frowned sympathetically.

“I’ve basically lived in Ottawa all my life. I used to go to this private school nearby, Davenport, but I transferred hoping to find friends or just someone to talk to. Um, it didn't go too great.”

“Was Davenport any better?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. By this point in the trail, the trees were starting to clear. You were familiar enough with the path to know it meant you were almost home.

“ God, no. I’d say they're equally terrible, but at least it’s easier to blend in at Ottawa. I… got a lot of negative attention at Davenport because our class sizes were so small. There were only some, what, fifty people in my grade?” Soren shook his head.

“Is everyone in Texas an asshole or what? Who would pick on you, man?” You questioned. It was hard for you to wrap your head around Soren being bullied. Aside from his shyness, he was really, really cool.

“Privileged, bigoted guys with nothing to do.” He responded, deadpan. Bigoted. You noted his use of that word in particular.

“Yeah… I knew a couple of people like that in Denver, but everyone there is mostly,” you pondered your choice of words, “accepting, from my experience.” Your eyes locked with Soren. Something about his gaze made it clear that you understood each other, even if it remained unsaid.

A couple seconds later, the two of you stepped out into your neighborhood. Now, you felt, was a good time to end the conversation.

“Um, that’s my house over there,” you pointed to the building a couple yards away, “but I had a really fun time walking together. Do it again tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Soren gave you a warm smile. You started towards your street before turning to face him.

“Godspeed.” You saluted.

You turned back around to see your house, hearing him laugh to himself as you walked away. Yeah, you definitely understood each other.

#blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #blooming panic nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster x reader #nakedtoaster bp

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harukimurakitty · 3 months

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Take Me Home, Country Roads (2): First Day of My Life

❥ NakedToaster x Reader

August 31st, 2009

The following morning, something in the air felt different- aside from the sudden lack of humidity, that was. It was a lighter, breezier feeling that might’ve been enough to convince people more optimistic than you that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t be as bad as you initially suspected. You had experienced that sensation before in Colorado; it was the same feeling you’d get after finally reaching the top of a tall mountain while hiking along the Front Range. The atmosphere was so crisp that it was almost as though you were back on Grays Peak, overlooking the Coloradan wilderness.

As nostalgic as it was, you had little time to reminisce over the fond memories of your home state, thanks to your sister and her prioritization of the pursuit of knowledge. You hated her sometimes- you really did. Rather than sleeping soundly after hours of reading road signs and navigating maps, you were trudging along a dusty path in the middle of a forest with a sore shoulder. You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night, mainly due to how uncomfortable the couch was, but admittedly to first-day nerves as well. If Texas schools were anything like what you had heard, you had every right to be anxious.

The longer you walked, the more your stomach grumbled. You hadn’t had time to eat breakfast at home, so you had shoved a prepackaged muffin and a Starbucks bottle of iced coffee into your backpack before heading out. The sad thing was you hadn’t even woken up late; it just took an hour to find the life force to get out of bed and get dressed. Somehow you had accomplished the feat, but as you dragged further along the trail to school, you were unsure if you could do it again tomorrow.

Although you were reluctant to acknowledge it, the path was quite a sight to behold, at least by Texas standards. The ground was flat, much like the rest of the Coastal Plains region- but there was one section with a rickety wooden bridge that ran directly across a river. The stream itself wasn’t too impressive, it was maybe fifteen feet across at the widest, but it was quite a ways below the surrounding land. That was your favorite part of the trail by far.

You knew you were approaching Ottawa High once you heard the sound of tires screeching and country music. You took the music as your warning to put your headphones on, adjusting them to your ears. After another minute of walking, the trees began to separate and the dirt underneath you was replaced with asphalt- a harsh reminder that sidewalks were no more. The front of the school entered your field of vision not long after, and the sight shocked you.

Truth be told, you were expecting Ottowa to be a small and crumby building, not whatever you were looking at when you stepped into the clearing. Instead, there was a three-story, quarter-mile-long school with a parking lot big enough to fit at least four hundred cars. Your mouth was agape at the sight, and you were quickly starting to regret not moving before orientation day, as Sable had suggested. You pulled your iPhone out of your jacket pocket to check the time, seven-forty a.m., and sighed a deep sigh. You had to be in class by eight at the latest, which left you just under twenty minutes to figure out where the hell your first class was.

Getting through the parking lot was the worst part of your walk- you had forgotten how annoying teenage boys with trucks could be. After nearly getting run over a couple of times, you made it inside what you assumed was the front entrance and began scanning room numbers for 3-234, AP Environmental Science. After five minutes of searching, you overheard a teacher explain to another student that the first number of a room correlated to the floor number. Though you were grateful for the sense of direction, a pit began forming in your stomach at the thought of having to climb three floors first thing in the morning for the rest of the year.

Predictably, your legs felt like jelly by the top of the stairs. The most difficult part of the climb wasn’t walking up the flights, but trying not to sound like you were about to pass out. Your breathing was so labored by the end that you had to take a second and lean across the railing; somehow, you were fortunate enough to be the only person in the stairwell. After catching your breath, you stepped into the main hallway and continued the search for your homeroom. Finally, you stumbled across your class the second the minute bell rang. Putting your hand on the door handle tentatively, you prepared yourself for weird looks and lingering stares- you were the new kid, after all. Then, you inhaled deeply and swung the door open with as much vigor as you could muster.

You stepped inside, braced for the absolute worst, and were promptly met with… nothing. Nobody had even looked in your direction. Lord, you had never been humbled so quickly before. Your cheeks burned as you awkwardly stood at the front of the room, looking for an available seat. The desks were two per row, and the only ones available were toward the back corner of the room. One was directly against the wall, next to a boy with long hair that was hunched over, presumably asleep. The other was further up the aisle, next to an awake emo-looking girl. Neither were particularly good options, but you settled on the seat by the emo girl. The last thing you wanted to do was make an enemy by accidentally waking Mr. RuPaul up in the middle of his nap. As you made your way over to the emo girl, she moved her backpack from the floor to the seat you were seconds from sitting in, all while making direct eye contact.

“Sorry, I’m saving this seat for my friend.” The late bell blared through the hallways the second she was done speaking. “Um. She’s running late.” The girl looked away with a bugged-out expression. You laughed out an “It’s okay,” but a deep panic began to set in. You weren’t even good enough to sit by an emo. As you walked to the very back of the class, you heard a couple of snickers and felt the stares you had tried preparing for. What you hadn't expected, however, was being rejected by the reject.

Luckily, the guy at the back had no objection to you sitting next to him. By the time you reached the back, he had sat up and was rubbing his eyes sleepily. Now that you were closer and he wasn’t lying down, you picked up on more of his features. He was a lot taller than you first thought, looking about six feet, but he was scrawny overall. His hair had a pinkish tint to it- not just a strawberry blond, but a light, rose-colored pink that complimented his pale skin. The unnamed guy looked delicate as hell, to put it bluntly. He stood out a lot compared to the other guys in the class, who almost all had mullets and naturally colored hair. While you tried to check him out, you accidentally made eye contact and darted your eyes away. You knew you had to say something after, or else it’d be awkward for the rest of the period.

“Um, do you know where the teacher is?” You gave a small smile and twirled a strand of your hair nervously. He glanced at you, big, blue saucer eyes shining through his round glasses, before looking around the room.

“...I think he said something about going to make copies…?” His voice was meeker than you expected it to be, like glass. Really, really thin glass.

“Oh. That’s cool.” A beat passed. The two of you sat in silence until he reached over to his backpack and pulled out a sandwich baggie. Inside was a singular piece of toast wrapped with a paper napkin. You couldn’t help but give a judgemental stare as he unwrapped his… breakfast, if it even counted, and ate it dry. You hoped it had been buttered at the very least or had a thin, barely visible layer of jam or something. Before you could think about it much longer, a man you assumed to be the teacher walked through the door with a stack of paper in his hands. He passed out the pieces to each row wordlessly.

The sheet itself wasn’t anything interesting; it was a bunch of typical icebreaker questions- favorite food, color, etc. After the teacher was done, he went to the front of the room and introduced himself briefly as Mr. Neale. He did the standard first-day routine of reviewing the syllabus, late work policy, and other house maintenance rules. By the time the bell rang again for the second period, you practically ran out of the room. You had never been so grateful to hear such an irritating sound.

According to your schedule, your second period, AP Lang, was all the way back down on the first floor. As you descended the stairs, you pondered whether it’d be easier to throw yourself out a third-story window or continue your high school education. You settled on the window option but continued walking to your class regardless.

The first floor’s layout was way more challenging to navigate than the third’s and a lot busier, too. You went through the same routine of checking passing door numbers and wandering around aimlessly, but it didn’t seem to work nearly as well as the last time. By the time the minute bell rang, you were on the other side of the school frantically speed-walking around corridors to find your class. It wasn’t like you could ask anybody, either- everybody was already in their classrooms. Just as you felt your chest beginning to constrict from panic, you saw your holy grail- the toast boy from first period. Before he could turn the next corner, you called out to him.

“Hey!” You yelled. No response. You ran up a couple of feet behind him and tried again. “Dude with the pink hair!” At that, he turned around, glancing around as if he wasn’t the only person in the hall, let alone with pink hair. “Uhm, you have any idea where 1-324 is?”

“O-oh, I think we’re both headed there? AP Lang, right?” Toast Boy (you really should’ve paid more attention during roll) said.

“Yeah. Shit, no way.” You lightly jogged next to him and walked side by side down the hall. The late bell rang, but you were just happy you finally knew where to go.

“Are you new this year?” He asked, looking down at you. Now that he was standing right by you, you got a sense of how tall he really was. He was over six feet easily- around six feet three or four.

“Mhm. Did the whole “getting lost” thing give it away?” You chuckled, embarrassed.

“Er- kind of. This school is big, but it’s easy to get around. The first number of a room is–”

“The floor level, right?” He nodded.

“The number after that is the side of the building. The left side is the 100s, the middle is the 200s, and the right is the 300s. This is the 320s hall.” Toast Boy explained. “And that,” he pointed to a classroom down the hall, “is 324.” The door was still wide open, which you took as a sign that you wouldn’t be reprimanded for arriving late. The two of you walked inside and shuffled awkwardly to the back of the class. Inside was a short woman taking roll at the front, who smiled as you passed by to find a seat.

“Mr. Schmidt, you’re just in time. Glad to see you’ve already made a friend.” Toast grimaced, a lot less amused than she was. She glanced down at the roll call list in front of her and back up at you. “(Y/N) (L/N), I’m assuming?” You nodded. She wrote something down and put her clipboard on her desk. if

“I’m Ms. Roberts. I’ll be your AP Language teacher this year- potentially next year, too, if you fail. As some of you know, I was the art teacher until Mrs. Clarke went on maternity leave. Quite frankly, neither of us wants to be here, so don’t make this year any harder than it has to be, and we’ll have a fun time. Right?” Ms. Roberts asked with a forced smile. A few people around you nodded in agreement.

“Good. Now, I was going to review the syllabus today, but the copy machine on this side of the building has been broken since last May, and I didn’t want to go to the library and pay a hundred dollars for papers most of you will throw away by tomorrow, so we’re going to write your first journal entry today. If you did what the school asked and bought a notebook for each of your core classes, you’ll be fine. If not, get a sheet of notebook paper from the front.” Some people stood up and grabbed a sheet from the front. You and Toast Boy both had your notebooks- he had a light green pattern, and yours was the regular black and white print.

“Your assignment is to write about how your first day is going. We’re only in second period, but there’s bound to have been something noteworthy so far. It doesn’t have to be long, just have it turned in by the end of class.” And with that, she sat at her desk and began scrolling through her computer.

You had your entry done within ten minutes; you weren’t necessarily a fast writer, but you didn’t have much to say. Most of what you wrote was about how much you hated Texas, but you included a bit about Toast Boy, too. Toast had written even less than you had, filling up a quarter of the page compared to your half. After ripping the page out of your journal, you generously offered to turn in both sheets to the turn-in tray at Ms. Roberts's desk. You caught Toast Boy’s eye as you sat back in your corner seat and decided to strike up a conversation.

“Dude, your last name is Schmidt? Like the guy from New Girl?” You asked, leaning closer to Toast Boy. He gave you a blank, unimpressed stare.

“I uh, never thought about it that way, but, yeah, I guess.” You laughed a bit, unsure of what to say next. Everyone around you was talking amongst their friends or on their phones; you felt weird being one of the only two sitting silently.

“So, how does Ms. Roberts know you?”

“I had her freshman year for art. I ate lunch in her room all year because I hated how loud the cafeteria was.” He cringed, presumably at the thought of the cafeteria and not eating lunch with Ms. Roberts. A few more seconds of silence passed before Toast spoke up. “Um, what’s your schedule like?” You grabbed the wrinkled paper out of your pocket and unfolded it, then handed it to the pink-haired boy on your left. He skimmed the paper with his soft, blue eyes and then looked at you again with a gentle smile.

“We have the same fifth, seventh, and eighth periods.” You returned the smile and reached for the paper, reading it yourself. Graphic Design was your fifth period, APUSH your seventh, and Yearbook your eighth. It made sense; Toast Boy looked like he would be involved in nerdier electives like Graphic Design and Yearbook. Something about him just radiated geek vibes, not that you minded.

“And if we have the same fifth period, then we have the same lunch, don’t we?” You asked.

“Yeah.” A beat passed.

“So… wanna eat lunch together?” A light blush settled across Toast’s face, which you took as a sign that you fucked up. “Only if you want to. It’s fine if you don’t.”

“No, yeah!” His outburst slightly startled you; you didn’t know he could get that loud. “Uhm- that’d be really cool, actually.

“Sweet!” You grinned.

The rest of the period was uneventful; you and Toast talked some more about classes, directions, summer, and every other generic topic under the sun. There was still awkwardness between you when you left second period, but significantly less than there’d been in the morning. Your third and fourth periods, Pre-Cal and Culinary, were painfully slow. You had never been the best at math, and cooking was only fun on your own terms, so they were far from your favorite classes. You watched the clock for all of Culinary, waiting for it to hit eleven so you could go to Graphic Design. You didn’t have much to say to Toast Boy- you had used all of your conversation starters in second period, but it was nice having someone else to be alone with.

When fifth period came, you were one of the first people inside the Graphic Design classroom. A middle-aged woman asked for your name, checked something off her clipboard, and told you to sit wherever. Although you had enough self-awareness to know sitting in a corner for three classes made you look like a recluse, you felt uncomfortable sitting in the middle of the room. As you glanced around the classroom, budget cuts were evident. The room looked like a computer lab, with a computer between every two seats. There weren’t desks like in the other classrooms; instead, there were three long tables in a U-shape along the walls.

People began to file in shortly after, with Toast being one of the last inside. Through your conversations, you had picked up his distaste for school in general. It explained why he was fast asleep for the first part of Environmental and why he ran late to class despite his familiarity with the school’s layout. He glanced around the classroom when he entered until his eyes landed on you. His eyes widened when he saw you staring back, and he gave a nervous smile as he walked over.

“How were your last classes?” You said when he sat down beside you. He made a sour face and shrugged in response.

“They were… what I was expecting. Uh, what about you? How bad is it here compared to your last school?” Toast Boy said the last part as though it were a joke, but it lacked humor. If there was anyone in that school who hated Ottowa more than you, it was definitely him.

“Like,” you thought about the most delicate way to phrase your words, “...pretty bad.” You and Toast shared a quick laugh. You made sure to not be too loud so the teacher wouldn’t get you in trouble, but you were hidden well in the corner. “I miss my friends. I miss my old house, especially my room, and I never thought I’d say this, but my old school, too.” Toast nodded.

“Where did you transfer from?”

“It’s a little far from here. You… probably haven’t heard of it before.” You winced.

“Try me. I’ve lived in this state since ever. I probably know it.” He assured.

“...Colorado?” You forced a smile. He gave you a blank, open-mouthed stare.

“Colorado. What in fuck’s name posessed you to move to Ottowa of all places?” Toast said audibly in disbelief.

“Well, it’s not like I chose to come here. My sister moved here for college, and my parents–” oh fuck , you thought, how were you going to explain it to him? “My parents, uh, they didn’t want her… to be alone?” It was the worst lie you’d ever told, but when you glimpsed back at him, it was clear he was eating up every word.

“Well, if no one else says it,” he trailed off a bit, formulating his words, “I’m sorry.” Just as you were going to respond, the lunch bell cut you off. People made a mad dash for the door, except for Toast, who stood next to his seat and waited for you to join him.

“Sorry for what, exactly?” You asked when you stepped into the hallway.

“Having to move here. You’ll get used to it, but it doesn’t get much better.”

“Fun.” You chuckled dryly.

“I know, right.”

You followed him until you reached the cafeteria, which was just as massive as the rest of the school. Toast Boy led you to the line that, according to him, had the most edible food, and you began walking to where all the lunch tables were. You made it a couple of steps before he softly grabbed you by the shoulder. You turned around to see his face flushed pink as if he wasn’t the one who initiated the contact. He stared for a few seconds until he realized it was his cue to speak.

“Oh! I, uh, know somewhere else we can eat. If you want.” You thought it was funny how worked up he got over a shoulder touch.

“Yeah, sure. I wasn’t looking forward to eating here,” you gestured to the cafeteria, “to begin with.”

Toast laughed and walked past the cafeteria and into what you assumed was the courtyard. He turned into an alley between the main building and the natatorium, glancing around every few seconds. Although you didn’t want to get suspended your first day, you didn’t want to pussy out of a potential friendship, either. You two came to a side door on the main building, with a sign on the front that clearly read “FACULTY ONLY” in bold, red letters. He jiggled the door handle with as much force as someone trying to balance a lunch tray in one hand could muster, to no avail. You were about to ask if the door was locked when you heard a quiet click. Toast Boy looked back at you, beaming, as he swung the metal door open.

“It leads to the roof. There’s another entrance from the staff room, but it’s usually empty during lunch.” He explained as he stepped into the building. Inside was a stairwell, with another door leading to the staff room he mentioned. You stuck close behind him as you climbed the stairs, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. When you reached the top after what felt like an eternity, Toast opened another door, and you were met with a blinding light from the Texas sun.

“Goddamn, that’s bright.” You groaned, covering your eyes with the hand that wasn’t carrying your lunch.

“It’s way better when it isn’t boiling outside, especially during fall, but it beats the cafeteria any day of the year.” He walked to the nearest ledge and sat next to it, his long legs splayed out over the concrete. You stepped over his legs, careful not to accidentally step on him, and looked out over the railing. It was a sick sight, to be entirely honest. You could see the middle of town and the forest around the school from where you stood. Splotches of green, red, and orange proved fall was just around the corner, even if the temperature made it feel like July.

“So what do you think?” Toast asked in a quiet voice.

“Pretty.” You grinned, looking down at him.

“This guy from my art class showed it to me freshman year. He graduated, but he was super protective of this spot. He was all like, ‘Soren, I’ll kill you if I catch any freshmen up here vaping,’ and then after a week’s worth of threats, he led me up here.” He reminisced.

“Soren?” You asked, confused. You wondered if you had heard him wrong- sore-in. Swear? Swear I’ll kill you?

“...My name?” He stated as if it were obvious. You sucked in a deep breath, a feeling of regret washing over you.

“No, like… is it… Irish. Or something.” You stuttered. Soren’s face turned a bright red, embarrassed at his “mistake.”

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry. I really thought you didn’t know my name.” You laughed nervously along with him, guilt eating you from the inside.

“As if, I mean, we’ve had how many classes together?” You faked a nonchalant shrug and crossed your arms.

“It’s German, actually.” He corrected. Soren Schmidt. Definitely not something you’d heard before.

You slid down next to him and began munching on your stale, cold pizza. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for the rest of lunch, just eating and enjoying each other’s company. Occasionally, a breeze would blow through, and you’d get hit with a wave of nostalgia from Colorado. The environment was completely different, from the temperature to the people. There were no mountains around for at least a couple of hundred miles, or sidewalks, or public transportation in general, yet a feeling of home lingered in the air. The top of Ottawa High School was no Grays Peak, but with Soren, it’d do.

#blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #blooming panic nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster x reader #nakedtoaster bp

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harukimurakitty · 3 months

Text

Take Me Home, Country Roads (1): To The Place I Belong

❥ NakedToaster x Reader

August 30th, 2009

Late August evenings in your home state of Colorado were vastly different than the ones in Texas, that was for sure. By this late in the day, the temperature would’ve gone down to sixty-five degrees at the highest, and the crickets would’ve stopped chirping hours ago. You couldn’t remember the last time the sun had been out for this long, even in the summer months back home. As you carried boxes of your belongings from your sister’s car to the house you’d be staying at for the next year, the only thing on your mind was how unbearable all of this was. Texas was even more disappointing than you expected, from the thick layer of inescapable humidity to the bloodthirsty mosquitoes that followed you every time you stepped outside.

Initially, you had been proud of your older sister, Sable, for getting into Fields University, one of the top research universities in all of Texas. Getting into a prestigious college like Fields couldn’t have been easy, especially out of state. The longer you unpacked, however, the more that feeling began to dwindle. It was replaced with thoughts of why she couldn’t have just gone to a college in Denver like all her other peers or at least picked a school that wasn’t in the hottest, most moist environment known to man.

While you contemplated the dreadfulness of your current situation, one of the three boxes stacked in your arms unexpectedly tilted to the side and burst all over the front porch. The sound of glass shattering effectively snapped you out of your pity party and into a panic. You hadn’t even remembered packing anything glass aside from your desk lamp and perfume bottles. Whatever it was that broke, you hoped it wasn’t anything valuable.

“(Y/N), seriously?” Sable’s voice sounded from behind you. Just great, you thought, another lecture . “How hard is it to carry a box inside? Y’know what,” -she grabbed the other two boxes from your arms and into her own before stepping inside, ”-just stay out of the way. Go explore the neighborhood or something.” You opened your mouth to protest, but she slammed the door before you even got the chance. Looking around, you were lost on what to do next. You hadn’t seen any stores nearby when you first drove into town, and the last thing you wanted to do was get lost this late in the evening.

Stepping off the porch, you did a quick scan of the neighborhood. On your left, there was seemingly a dead end with nothing but single-story houses that looked identical to yours. It was a very picket-fence suburb you had moved into, one that you wouldn’t expect a college student to be able to afford. Sable had upgraded to the house from her old apartment two months before you came along, soon after getting her phlebotomy license and beginning work at a nearby hospital. You didn’t know exactly how much she made, but it was enough to take care of both of you and pay the $1,100 monthly rent for the two-bedroom house. Naturally, she was receiving money from your parents, but that was more of a luxury than a necessity. After you got a job, which was not optional according to your sister, you two would make enough to be completely independent.

Turning your head in the opposite direction, you saw the same thing minus the dead end. The only thing that caught your eye was a dirt trail that seemingly went into the forest behind your row of houses. It wasn’t a Blair Witch kind of path, but rather a Studio Ghibli one. From where you stood, you could see the setting sun illuminate the red and orange trees along the trail, almost as if it was lined with paper lanterns or something. Still, you had more self-preservation than walking into a forest late at night, so you shelved the idea and began walking along the neighborhood’s road.

When you rounded the corner, it was almost as if you had stepped into a different side of town. Instead of the homey, single-story homes that lined your street, there were two-story suburbanite mansions as far as the eye could see. Maybe mansions weren’t the right word, but they were certainly bigger than any of the other homes you had seen in the area. You had no idea how you missed that street when you arrived, but you assumed they were covered by the thicket of nearby trees. Warm light from the windows of the houses shone into the street, casting a warm glow across the asphalt you were walking on. That was another downside to Texas- there were no sidewalks anywhere.

As much as you wanted to continue exploring down that road, you weren’t about to play with God or Texas’s gun laws. The last thing you wanted to do was get shot on your first day in the state for trespassing. You reluctantly turned around and headed straight, not back to your house but to the main road that went into town. As you got closer, you could see a water tower in the distance with the word OTTAWA in big, bold lettering. You knew it wasn’t rare for states to recycle town names, but to use Canada’s capital? The local government must’ve seriously had no shame.

You walked around for another twenty-ish minutes, just looking around all the nearby streets and praying you’d stumble across a convenience store or gas station, with no success. When the sky turned a dark purple, you took that as your sign to start heading home. Throughout your entire walk, you saw little signs of human life aside from the occasional sound of a car slamming shut or a door creaking open. It was beyond unsettling. You concluded everyone probably died from the mosquitoes in the area, and you and Sable were the last survivors. The final girls, so to speak, regardless of gender.

As it turned out, you hadn’t walked nearly as far as you thought. After rounding a couple of corners, you were right back where you had started. Home, or in your mosquito apocalyptic delusion, base camp. Walking up to your porch, you could see Sable inside the kitchen cooking what you presumed to be dinner. Her car’s trunk door was shut, so you assumed all the unpacking was done. You hadn’t brought that much, to begin with, just your clothes, a couple of books, and some keepsakes. Most of your furniture would arrive via FedEx, so you’d have to sleep on the couch until your mattress was delivered. It was the cherry on top of the world’s shittiest cake.

“Ugh, you’re back already? I was hoping somebody picked you off the street already.” Sable greeted from the next room over. You gave her the finger through the open doorway.

“I wasn’t out that long, was I? It felt like thirty minutes, max.” You checked the clock that was hung next to the TV in the living room. 8:20. You had been gone for a little over an hour.

“Time flies when your having fun, I guess.” She shrugged and turned back to the stove, turning it off. You made a sour face at the comment, to which she laughed.

“Oh my god, you’re so fucking corny.” You scowled. “And for the record, I very much still hate it here.” You trudged from the living room into the kitchen. The house was cozy; nothing too big but far from shabby for a high schooler and college student living alone. The kitchen and dining room were combined into one room, with a kitchenette on one side and a dining table on the other. The living room wasn’t the biggest either, maybe large enough for four or so people, and the rooms were a decent size. The house was average but still better than any of the $1,100 studio apartments Sable had previously lived at.

“It could be worse- we could be living in College Station. Anyway, the food’s ready if you wanna eat.” She leaned the pot she was stirring over a bit to show you what was inside. Ramen. You sat down in the seat closest to the front window to look outside. Not that you could see anything, the sun had now fully set, but it was the thought that mattered.

“What the hell is College Station?” You questioned as Sable slid a bowl full of ramen in your direction.

“Imagine a town full of sorority girls and frat boys.” She responded, serving a bowl for herself and sitting down across from you.

“No way.”

“Yes, way. I had a group of my friends try to convince me to go there for spring break. They said it had all the cute guys in Texas.” Your sister rolled her eyes and shoved a forkful of ramen into her mouth.

“Did you go?” You asked.

“Hell no. And hopefully, I’ll never have to see, hear, or think of that place again once I graduate.” She swallowed and looked back up at you, eyes alight with sudden interest. “How are you feeling about school tomorrow?”

“Aw, it’s so funny you think I’m going.” You chuckled dryly. There was absolutely zero chance of you going to school the following day. After driving for sixteen hours straight from Colorado to bumfuck, middle-of-nowhere Texas, the devil himself would have to haul your ass to school for you to go.

“It’s so funny you think you have a choice,” Sable replied. Unfortunately for you, you forgot your sister was basically the devil incarnate. You two got along well enough, but memories of her putting Nair in your shampoo came flooding back as soon as she responded. Technically she couldn’t force you to go, and you could easily win a fight with her if it came to that, but you weren’t too keen on finding out what she’d do if you skipped. “Look, we just had the worst drive of our lives, but it’s important to get a headstart on school.” She reasoned.

“What, do they teach all business majors that?” You glared.

“What the hell does that have to do with my major?” Sable scowled, throwing you a dirty look. “All I’m saying is you’re already gonna stand out enough, what with being a new kid and all. Do you want to draw more attention to yourself by skipping the first day?”

“God, you go to that fancy college, and all of a sudden think you’re sooo much smarter than everyone else-” You began. You loved teasing her by making fun of her education. It was entertaining to see how riled up she could get in such a short amount of time.

“Fuck off- I’m going to sleep.” Sable walked over to the sink and began to rinse it out. “You packed your alarm, right?”

“Yeah, why?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t turn it up too loud. I don’t know how thin these walls are, but I’ll kill you if the noise wakes me up. I just drove across four states, and I need my rest.”

“You’re gonna have to wake up anyway. You have to take me to school.” As soon as the words left your mouth, Sable burst out laughing. “What? What’s so funny?” You stood up from your spot at the table to dump your dish in the sink, side-eyeing her the entire time. After several attempts to catch her breath from her outburst, she spoke.

“I’m not taking you to school tomorrow. You can walk.” You stared in disbelief. You had walked around for how long? An hour? And not once had you seen a single school. Had you missed something, or had your sister actually gone mad?

“No, the hell I can’t! I get you’re busy or whatever, but you were the one who offered to take me in. I walked around for an hour and didn’t see anything but houses and dead ends. How far away is this school?” You couldn’t believe this. You had experienced betrayal before but from your sister?

“Your navigational skills are ass. I’m not surprised you didn’t see it. It’s maybe a twenty-minute walk if you take a shortcut through the trail on the left, probably forty if you stick to the main road, though.” Sable estimated. “Just go straight; you can’t miss it. Don’t forget to wash your plate.” And with that, she unceremoniously exited the room.

The only thing on your mind for the rest of the night, throughout your unpacking, showering, and teeth-brushing, was just how much you were starting to hate Texas and just how long it’d be until you could leave.

#blooming panic #blooming panic x reader #blooming panic nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster #nakedtoaster x reader #nakedtoaster bp

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