Weeaboo {Ereri}

III.

My eyebrows raised in surprised delight. I lowered the rosin onto the stand with my bow, and swiveled my head to the voice. It's owner took a seat next to my right. "Petra."

She smiled. Petra had long, ginger hair, and amber eyes to match. A finger whisked away bangs. "Levi! I didn't get a chance to come to school yesterday; I was still on an airplane. On the first day of school, of all days!" She laughed.

A bell rung. I hummed in agreement, spirits lifting. My day could actually be enjoyable, for once. If only I wasn't forgetting something. Or someone.

The door banged open. "Oops." Papers scrambled in every direction. "Sorry." A burning red face among blank ones. "I'm sorry. I have a pass." Eren, the embodiment of a migraine, was currently on all-fours, swishing about his hands in a manner that not only failed to pick up papers, but further made a mess of them. A rather large, encased instrument lay on it's side nearby.

"I don't remember seeing him last year?" Petra told me questioningly.

If my eyelids could sink any lower, they'd be closed. My brows were no longer raised. "He's a freshman."

Wide eyes regarded me. "This is sophomore orchestra-!" Her mouth was a perfect o.

"Exactly," I accented slowly, grimacing. Petra frowned in confusion. She opened her mouth wider, to ask a question, probably.

But Eren had already stood, the mess finally cleaned. He handed the deadpanning teacher a pink tardy slip, asked breathlessly where the bassists sat, and joined two males who gave each other a nauseous glance. Class resumed as the freshman unpacked his bass.

At the end of class, Eren made no mistake as he edged closer to Petra and me. I loosened my bow, ignoring the two as she introduced herself prettily to him. Their laughter ground against my soul. A finger poked into my shoulder. I glared up into two, unproportionately bright eyes. "What?"

"I didn't know you played that!" Eren exclaimed happily.

My hand brushed the large object between my legs. "The cello?"

Petra smiled. "It suits him, all right. Have you heard him play, Eren?"

"No!"

"It's wondrous-" Petra began, nothing less than a sly glint in her kind eyes.

I zipped closed the cello case, grasping the handle. "You wouldn't hear me play if you were stuck to my ass," I snapped.

The bell for C-lunch rang as instrument lockers clicked. Eren followed us into the cafeteria. Petra asked nervously, "Don't you have friends in your own grade, Eren?"

"He's not my friend," I chided.

"Hai*!" Eren cried, making me wince. "I'm meeting them now," he added, hurrying off.

Petra turned to me. "Was that Japanese?"

"Extremely so."

We sat at a table, the ginger unwrapping a lunch bag, and I not eating, pulling out a phone from my back pocket. Hanji, goggles on her head and holding a tray, pulled a busy-looking Erwin along with them. Immediately upon seating, Erwin pulled out a pen, notebook, and Physics book, and began studying silently; Hanji tore into a slippery piece of what seemed was pizza, greeting me in between muffled bites.

Erwin was big. In every way. Height, muscles, eyebrows. He's got the body of a jock and the mind of a child genius. There was a big, irritating Valentine's Day last year, where each time he'd opened his locker, love notes and chocolates flew out. Compared to the big blond, anybody looked scrawny and unattractive.