Boyfriend Scenario [Rights & (male)Punks]

♢A Present♢

MANAKO

(Keep in mind, YOU still don't know she's a he)

You glare as a few snickering prissy girls walk past your table. You stab the mashed potatoes with your fork angrily.

"Sheesh, what did that potato do to you?" Moriko quips, grinning as she sits in front of you. You let out a sigh, then force a smile.
"Well, it's not delicious enough." You laugh, dry. Your best friend raises a brow. She turns stoic, serious.

"...what's wrong?" She questions, her voice almost menacing. You swallow nervously, resolutely avoiding her gaze. There's no getting out of this now. When Moriko is serious, you better co-operate.

"N-nothing..." You shake your head, taking a spoon of mush into your mouth.

"Well..." Moriko looks down, a shadow falling over her eyes. "You know where to find me if you need someone." She smiles gently, her features softening with concern.

"Thanks." You nod, your smile more natural. You're grateful she didn't press on. Moriko stares at you, placing her head in her hands, her elbows on the table. She observes you quietly, and you blush and shift nervously under her regard. Moriko has a habit of staring at people.

Slowly, a smile creeps into her face. "You know, your smile is cuter when you're not faking it." She grins as your face heats up. You weren't used to being complimented; like, who would? Especially, with your situation.

But, not Moriko. She praises everyone and anyone. You once asked her why she likes praising people so much. She simply answered, "Why not? People like compliments, and I like praisinb others; it's a win-win!"

You remember her words fondly. "Thanks...?" You grin at her sheepishly.
"Well, glad I made your day," Moriko replies, giggling. She stands up and skips away. You can't help but laugh at her antics. She really doesn't fit the image of a girl from a prestigious prep school; but, at the same time, she does. She's weird that way.

"Hey, you're that butler/student!" A pitched voice rings out. You instantly swivel your head to look at the person. As expected, you see a blonde wearing a frilly lolita dress.

Without prompting, the person sits down in front of you. Once seated, she looks you up and down critically--something she apparently does on instinct. You notice some of the other girls looking at the blonde oddly. You start to feel a bit annoyed.

"What?" You ask her, glaring. She doesn't answer; she simply continues her assestment. Finally, she looks at you. "Nothing. Just doing what cats do; silently judging," she answers primly. You grumble in annoyance.

You stab the innocent potatoes again, then shove more into your mouth. The blonde raises a well-manicured brow but says nothing. Her gaze shifts to the food on your plate, her beautiful features turning sour with disgust. And, once again, she doesn't seem so feminine anymore.

"I know that you already paid for this sorry excuse of a meal, but don't you want something that's actually good?" She inquires. You grit your teeth, and glare at her. As you open your mouth, another girl interrupts.

"Oh, you didn't know? That girl's a 'scholarship'. She's probably poor!" One of the girls from the table beside you chimes in. Then, the whole tab--no, the whole cafeteria bursts into laughter. You grip your utensils tightly, shutting your eyes.
Your quite certain you were blushing--out of embarrassment, or anger, you're not sure; possibly both.

"So, in other words, you're a girl with brawn, beauty, and brains?" You peek your eyes open and were surprised to see that the blonde was referring to you. Your skin heats up.
Okay, if someone says you have brawn, you understand completely. If someone says you have brains, you understand; though usually, only the teachers praise you for your intellect--and of course, a certain best friend.

But no one, no one (besides your family and best friend) has ever called you a beauty before. "Uhh..." You mumble intelligently. "And humble too," the blonde laughs breezily. But not sarcastically.

She stands up and holds out her hand. "C'mon." Her deep sapphire blue eyes lock with your e/c ones. Hesitantly, you take hold of her hand, and she pulls you up. She leans forward and whispers in your ear.
"Go to the garden where we met," she whispers. Then she moves away, grabs your leftovers, and catwalks away.

So now, you're sitting on the fountain in the garden--waiting for the blonde.
"Oh, great. You're still here," a voice states. You half-hearted note the slight dash of sarcasm in her voice--but you suppose it's more comedic in it's purpose. You turn your head around. There was the blonde, holding two parfaits in her hands. She sits down beside you.

"Which do you want? Mocha, or chocolate banana?" She looks at you. You look between the two flavours. They weren't very popular because most girls prefer strawberry, vanilla, or the classic chocolate. You've never had chocolate banana, but you do love mocha. So, you point to the latter.

As she hands you the parfait, you look at the dessert closely. There was chocolate sauce dribbled intricately and some crushed chocolate cookies on top. Even two of those chocolate sticks. You scoop a bit of the frozen dessert and take a bite. The soft creamy mocha and rich chocolate taste make you grin.
When you glance at the blonde, she was eating it with little fanfare; hmm, she probably eats this kind of thing often.

"You want some?" The girl questions, holding out a spoon of banana ice cream to you. You slowly move to take a bite, but then the girl takes the spoon and puts it into her own mouth!

"Hey!" You frown at her. She just smirks. "I only asked if you wanted some; you didn't answer. Besides, I never said that was for you," she points out, still grinning. You let out a breath and smile as well.
"Touche." You grin right back at her. Then, at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but wonder how much these ice creams cost.

"Umm, how much do I owe you for this?" You wonder nervously. You may not know the exact price, but you do know they're not cheap.
"Hmm? Don't worry about it. These things aren't really expensive." She shakes her head, her golden locks swaying with the movement. You let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks," you say to her. She raises a brow. "For what?" She mutters. You shrug.
"You barely know me; but, you didn't laugh at me--you even bought me this!" You gesture to your parfait. "So, thanks." You smile, laughing bashfully.

She stares at you for a moment, then looks away. You're quite certain she's blushing.
"Hmph, well don't take it as common occurence. Got that, girl?" She says with a smidge of anger. You pout at the nickname, but it's definitely better than butler.

As you two sit together, silently eating, you smile to yourself. 'Thank you...'