Isekai dump

Blue-haired Tatsuo pt. 2

"Look, I got C's and B's!!" He smiled while holding the papers to show Masato.

"I'm impressed considering you procrastinate," Masato lifted one brow up, whistling.

"Yeah, I know, me too," he put the papers down on the desk leaning forward on the back of his chair.

"But you probably got all A's, Mr. Perfect and Mysterious," he grinned teasingly.

Masato only huffed at that, a buzz from his phone interrupting their conversation. He picked it up and looked at it, before smiling sickeningly. Tatsuo raised a brow in confusion before smoothing his face out. He slowly took the papers and slid out of his seat. He didn't want to deal with that.

"Well, I'll be going, the girls call," he said boisterously with a smirk.

Being a player was a stereotype he played well, and not even his best friend thought differently about him. Usually, if he wanted to be in character he probably would tease Masato but he found that it was too much energy. Whatever was going on was too real, and a first, considering this wasn't a side he saw of his friend. His friend hummed noncommittally to his words. Tatsuo left the classroom with a hop in his step, a sharp contrast to how he actually felt.

He was late-night grocery shopping. 'Should I get some eggs? Yeah, I should get some eggs,' he thought to himself. Putting the carton of eggs in the basket.

Coming out of the store should've been easy.

"Ugh," that sound didn't come from him, he winced, staring at the kid at his feet. The kid seemed to be around the same age as him, flaxen hair illuminated by the light from the storefront. A green puffer coat hugged his body.

"Uh, sorry, do you need help?" He held out his hand, even though he knew it wasn't his fault.

" Uh, uh, Thank you, sorry, sorry about that," The teen's response was clumsy.

He pulled both their hands up until the teen seemed to be standing, getting a good look at his face. It was boyish and... surprisingly cute, he couldn't see it clearly but his eyes seemed to be an astonishing blue too. He was caught off guard by his own thoughts before nonchalantly getting back into the moment; it didn't seem to be noticed by the equally awkward teenager.

"Oh, it's nothing, be careful next time," he said before walking away.

"Uh, wait, let me make it up to you," he felt a tug at his sleeve, he looked back raising his brow.

He had made eye contact with the peering teen. Which had made the teen blush. It was a shock, a wave of deja vu.

He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, "Sorry but it's late, you'll have to repay me some other time."

He pulled back his sleeve and kept walking, leaving the teen awkwardly standing in front of the store. The plastic bag with the eggs rustled at his side.

"Tch, now I have to check if the eggs are good."

Of course, he didn't fall as he had a good hold on his own body but that didn't mean his groceries were the same. He rubbed his face, he always had an identity crisis on a daily, feeling lost but this time it was different. That teen was trouble even if his appearance didn't seem like it. Within that moment of eye contact, he had gained some unnecessary knowledge, like, how this isn't his first life. He sighed. He was a junior living by himself, a rich playboy, he cringed. Oh, God, he was a fictional character. He stopped, staring at the ground. His ability to have an identity crisis was innate but now he had an even bigger reason for it.

"Ugh," he groaned, "what a bitch."

He arrived at his ugly door mat decorating the entrance of his apartment complex, rustling with his pocket to get the keys, and unceremoniously opened the door.

"Honey, I'm home," he said to no one in particular. Plopping the eggs at the counter, he took his shoes off and put them back in their place at the entrance. He washed his hands. He felt dirty and too calm about how simple eye contact gave him a whole new set of memories. Putting his groceries away he caught sight of the unopened pack of cigarettes.

"What the hell, I'm such a cliche," he gritted out.

"Mind as well," picking the packet up and opening it, the sound of crinkling plastic floated in his house. He went to his terrace and lit the cigarette, coughing a few times with the first inhale.

"Yeah, I'm definitely throwing you out of my life," he spoke to the burning cigarette in his hand, taking another drag. He stared at the street below, the asphalt black, the only light source being the corner street and the dim glow of the stars, given how much pollution in a city. He exhaled the smoke.

"So, that blond boy is Masato's lover, and I'm a bl otome game character..." It sounded dumb coming from his mouth, not that he was paying attention to what he was saying.

He stared at his cigarette in melancholy, the smell reminded him of his parents, his first set of parents, and wasn't that a weird way of saying things? He had to give himself some credit or maybe the revelation just hadn't settled in yet. He snubbed the cigarette, leaving a burn mark on the railing. Getting inside the apartment he promptly threw the packet in the garbage. It felt a little like defiance toward fate.