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The stiff and overly embellished uniforms that must be worn “just so,” the halls filled with gateways into the numerous classes that lay beyond them, the ceaseless chatter that was so constant it could be seen as little beyond background noise: it was all so…boring.

A single figure strode confidently down these well-worn halls, his demeanor hardly able to do anything but draw eyes to him. His stance was firm, confident, and mature, yet at the same time flirtatious: a near impossibility for one who, if examined closer, was revealed to still be in the Elementary division. His uniform, with the white-colored accents that denoted an elementary student, was immaculate, yet unbuttoned to entirely reveal his neck in a place where it was not permissible to have even one button loose. Strands of chocolate hair just barely pushing the acceptable male length, slightly above his shoulder, framed the face of a bishonen, or rather a bishota as he may be called, and those he passed without fail looked again, their stares following him down the hall. Should he be present in a manga or anime, he would doubtless have either sparkles or flowers surrounding him, or perhaps both.

This was especially astounding to those that new the child’s normal demeanor: especially his teachers. The top scorer in the last placement test, beyond academically it was as if the boy did all he could not to stand out: he remained quiet and reserved and spent most of his free time hidden away in the library. His hair length, which generally would be chastised by such a traditional school even if technically within the rules, was permissible due to his unceasing good behavior, and certainly not hindered by his wealthy Mother’s contributions to the school. And, in addition to keeping his head down and using his hair to mostly hide his face, he usually wore glasses that only a select few faculty members knew were fake. So, needless to say, such an outgoing, talkative, attention-grabbing, and above all “shiny” version of him was something no one was used to or expected.

Even when he’d deigned to step into his class, class 5-3, for a time everyone had thought he was a transfer student. When they’d finally recalled that another child with almost shoulder-length brown hair usually sat where he was sitting, they’d made quite a fuss: such a bishonen, and the top of the charts in test scores too! The girls had gathered around him the entire class period, chattering incessantly and attempting to learn every tiny thing about him, as well as secure a date. He’d grinned, flirted, and encouraged them.

Now, as he stood leaning against a pillar during break, bored by the school, he grinned inwardly to himself, thinking ‘That will certainly make it harder for you from now on, onii-chan~ <3’ Strangely enough to anyone who might hear his thoughts, his inner self answered. ‘It certainly will make things difficult. Why does this entertain you? And…I don’t recall ever being your onii-chan.’ This made the chocolate-haired boy grin. It certainly was fun to bother him. And this would bother him for some time.

Of course, who but Kaoni could be called? The teacher eyed him doubtfully: this "child" slouched in his chair and drawing stares of males and females alike (though, admittedly, the males were far hastier to look away) was hardly the quiet, reserved, and, while not antisocial, unsociable wallflower the child usually was. If one looked closely, the features were the same, but it was hard for even the teacher to believe they were the same person. The doubt on her face, even the mere half of it he saw from his position as the other obscured by her hair as she turned slightly away when accepting the phone call, made Kaoni grin again. Oh, this certainly was deliciously entertaining. Even more so to contemplate all the difficulty he could cause for that stuffy and studious “self.”

“Right away,” was all the teacher said after an uncomfortable pause, and she turned back to face the class, standing from her swiveling chair. “Kaoni Argentae: you’re requested by the office. Take your bags; it is unsure how long you will be.” This statement brought about no small amount of muttering. Kaoni, that Kaoni, called to the office? Normally, there would be no question that it was a good thing. But today, his uniform “untidy,” his behavior was hardly befitting of what was accepted of him, there was the slightest chance that it was not for praise or assistance, but rather to be reprimanded. And that small chance was certainly something to gossip over. As Kaoni stood, a faint grin pulling the edges of his lips, a few of the girls that were his new “friends” even faintly called out, as if willing him to stay. ‘Heh. We’re already called to the office. And I haven’t even done much…yet.’ Kaoni thought smugly to himself. The other seemed to be straining in his effort to resist retort, and this merely increased Kaoni’s satisfaction in the situation.

He grinned back to the class a moment before he stepped out the door, parting with a quick yet somehow “heroic” wave and a “See you,” as if he were a brave hero off to an epic battle. With that, he stepped from the room and walked calmly down the hall. The usually outwardly cool one he was almost had a spring in his step. It certainly was fun to disrupt that stuffy self like this. Even if it meant the drudgery of school, it was better than merely watching quietly (or, more often than not, quite vocally but to no effect) the entire day.

When he stepped into the office, he was sent to the side of a single boy to whom he was directed by a secretary that did not even look up. He leaned against the doorway and watched the anxious boy for a moment before speaking calmly, in the velvet tones that suited this self so well, “A transfer student so late in the year?” He did not move from his position as he spoke, one arm, pressed against the doorframe, holding his weight and the other hand at his waist. His posture was hardly something befitting a student of such a school, much less the top of his class, and his stuffy top seemed to have been unbuttoned one further in the long and tedious walk to the office from class 5-3’s room. All in all, he was not the depiction of a student the school would at all wish to give. Opposite him was an auburn-haired boy his age, wearing glasses and obviously rather nervous. The type the other self would likely get along with immediately, as they were the same sort of person: studious, rule-abiding, and loyal. “I’m to show you…the ropes.” This could certainly prove fun, should he play his cards right. It was proving to be a good day to choose for himself.

"Dinnye, eh?" Kaoni said, continuing his saccharine tones and not hesitating to call the boy by his first name. "Wonder what brought you here so late in the year." Kaoni smiled and winked flirtatiously at the secretary, who seemed affronted, or at least, who did her best to act affronted, and wrapped his arm conspiratorially around Dinnye's shoulders, pulling his charge close and guiding him from the room.

"Mmm," he said, invading Dinnye's personal space even further in a very suggestive manner, to all but bury his face in the other boy's hair, "You smell delicious. Good enough to eat." His actions and suggestive tone implying that the eating was certainly more figurative than literal were too much for his other self to bear quietly. ‘Stop, now! Do you know the kind of trouble you’re going to get me into! I can’t bear the thought of what people will think of me when I come in to school tomorrow!’ The loud protests merely made Kaoni’s grin larger. Still overly close to Dinnye, he thought rather pointedly, ‘That’s the point, my dear aniki.’ For a moment, he contemplated leaning in closer and pecking Dinnye on the cheek before separating, but that went too far and would probably frighten the poor boy witless: not enough of a reason not to do so in and of itself, but he’d hardly be so popular if he was thought to be gay.

…speaking of the boy…Kaoni removed his arm from Dinnye’s shoulder and looked him up and down. “Don’t talk much, do you?” He commented, realizing he had not yet heard the boy speak a word. “Oh, yes, I’m supposed to treat you with respect…” he commented to himself, recalling the secretary’s words. With an exaggerated boy and a flourish of his hand, he said in a pompous tone, “Well, monsieur New Student, where might you wish to see first?”