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It was the suit that caught Hajime’s eye.
Main Course Ultimates were all the same, at least at their core. They were loud, boisterously flashy as they leapt through the iron gates with all the freedom of children told that, yes, they were special. Truly unique assets to society, the elite who deserved to express their inhuman skill-sets however they wished.
There was the Ultimate Musician, steely punk with candy tipped edges and enough piercings to make a mother balk, the Ultimate Cook with his sous chef cottons and gravy stained linens, even a symbol as self-defining as the kendo sword mounted upon the Ultimate Swordswoman’s back. All special. All chosen. Untouchable.
Hajime needed to know them all.
Guessing and confirming their talents had become a game for him and Natsumi, an evening activity of perching at their dorm window and gazing down at the shared quad that embedded itself between the Main and the RC campuses.
It helped that Natsumi kept binoculars on-hand for the finer details.
“Ooh, look at that one!” Natsumi poked Hajime’s arm. “What do you think he is? Looksee.” She shoved the binoculars into his hands, old shitty camo-printed ones she had found at a thrift shop. “Left of the fountain.”
“It’s getting dark,” Hajime muttered, but took them anyway. His sleeves were cut too tight for his arms, and the fabric pinched whenever he had to reach up to his face. He would have much rather taken the time to shimmy out of his sweaty clothes and sluff off his binder.
Natsumi rolled her eyes. “Not that dark. Stop dragging your feet and look before he gets up and leaves.” She fished out her phone and tapped at it. “While you look, I’m gonna try to look him up on the forums.”
“Fine.” Hajime leaned himself forward and squinted until the fountain’s glassy water came into focus. “Left, you said?”
Benches circled the center fountain, glossy mahogany things that Hajime was next to certain were the result of some of the money his parents had funneled into his tuition. All of them were empty but the one.
A lone boy sat poised, his posture a perfect straight line, head dipped in such a way that kept his face out of sight. There was a book in his lap, too small to be a bulky textbook, but big enough to be a small trade paperback.
But the suit.
“Ooh, I found him, I think!” Natsumi crowed. “I’m gonna make you guess first before I tell you. You’ll never get it!”
Hajime wasn’t listening.
Suits were not usually dyed any color other than black, grey, navy, or maybe white. The boy’s suit was none of these, none but a rich amber that seemed more orange than brown against the setting sun. An interesting color, and Hajime had to strain his eyes to see the red trim that plated the front like the splash of red on a bleeding-heart dove.
“See,” Natsumi mused, “my first thought was like, Ultimate Tailor, y’know?”
White hair went well with amber, Hajime had to admit. Was it long? Short? He couldn’t tell from the distance, only that it seemed to be everywhere at once. Maybe it was more brittle up close, less soft and inviting and oh so perfectly paired with dancer-like hands that fanned over the book’s pages like the fronds of a fern.
“Hajime?”
He was so thin. Willow-like, a tall candle suited for a mantle with that wild tuft of white wick hair. As he turned the page of his book, his fingers pinched at the page as if it were the stem of a cherry, a delicate and girlish gesture that made Hajime’s throat turn dry.
“Uh… Hajime?”
The boy closed his book, bent further to pick up the leather satchel that sat at his feet, and slowly packed it away as he stood. He stood. He stood, and Hajime felt his breath catch and hiccup in his mouth because, from the way the boy turned, he could have been staring right back at him.
“Oh, for crying out… Hajime!”
Green eyes? No, grey. Green-grey. Hollowed cheeks and pearly skin with lips just a little too thin. Something was stuck on his cheek. Gauze? Yes, that had to be it. What had happened?
Hajime flinched as Natsumi tore the binoculars from his hands. “Hey!” He scowled down at her. “I wasn’t done!”
“Please, you were absolutely more than done.” Natsumi danced away from Hajime’s grabbing hands and twirled to her side of the room with a flourish. “I mean, I guess he is kind of pretty, for a boy.” She snickered and plopped herself down on her comforter, hands smoothing the pleats of her skirt. “So? Gimme a guess.”
His chest was so damn tight. Probably from binding all day. Hajime could only try to save face with a shrug. “Dunno. Ultimate Model?” Realizing the irony, he looked away and hoped to god that his roommate would be kind enough to not make fun of his warming face. “Uh… Ultimate… Ultimate Accountant?”
Natsumi blew a raspberry. “Psh, no!” She gave her phone another sidelong glance. “He’s this year’s Ultimate Lucky Student. Makes sense with the plain get-up, right?”
“He didn’t look plain at all.” Hajime winced at the way his voice cracked. Not to me, was what he wanted to say, but he was smart enough to know that Natsumi would give him hell for it.
Hajime glanced back out the window.
The boy was gone.