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The shrill ring of the school bell pierced the humid air, reverberating through the crowded, chaotic halls of Tokyo High. The sound seemed to bounce off every locker and classroom door, mingling with the rising chatter and laughter of hundreds of students flooding into the corridors.
Grian let out a long, weary sigh, the sound barely audible over the cacophony around him. He adjusted the strap of his worn-out school bag, feeling the familiar tug of its weight against his shoulder. The hall was a sea of bodies in motion—students shouting to one another, sprinting down the passageways, shoving past each other with little regard. It was as though the simple act of the bell ringing had sparked some unspoken competition for who could create the most chaos in the shortest amount of time.
He weaved expertly through the crowd, narrowly sidestepping a first-year who darted past him, waving a stack of papers overhead. Grian barely spared them a glance. It was just another typical morning at Tokyo High, and frankly, he was already over it.
“Are all your classes like this?” The voice behind him was calm but edged with a note of disbelief. Lizzie’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was a flicker of genuine concern hidden beneath her usual poise.
Grian turned his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he caught sight of her struggling to keep pace. Lizzie—Queen of England, for reasons Grian didn’t bother to explain to anyone—looked painfully out of place in the crowded hallway. Her school uniform was immaculate, every crease sharp and deliberate, as if the chaos of the school hadn’t even dared to touch her. She carried herself with the kind of effortless grace that seemed comically mismatched against the backdrop of disorder and teenage havoc.
“Pretty much,” Grian replied with a light chuckle, shrugging as he continued pushing forward. “Welcome to Tokyo High. Surprised you survived that lesson. Mr. Chupa almost got me last week.”
Lizzie’s brow arched, the corner of her mouth tugging downward. “He threw a desk at a student, Grian. A desk. And no one even reacted!”
“Oh, well, George kind of had it coming.”
Lizzie stopped in her tracks, blinking at him in disbelief.
Grian paused when he realized she wasn’t following. He turned back toward her, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, that sounds bad when you say it out loud.” His eyes flicked around the bustling hallway. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Lizzie blinked in confusion. “Wait, what? Don’t we have—”
Before she could finish, Grian reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip firm but not forceful. His fingers curled naturally around hers, and he tugged her forward.
“Grian!” Lizzie yelped, stumbling slightly to keep up. Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at the sudden contact. “You can’t just drag me around!”
“Sure I can. We’re skipping.”
Lizzie nearly tripped over her own feet. “Skipping? Grian, I’m a guest! I can’t just—”
He glanced back, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, sharp and mischievous. “Do you really want to sit through another hour of potentially lethal education?”
Lizzie opened her mouth, then hesitated. The memory of the desk hurtling through the air resurfaced, along with Mr. Chupa’s wild-eyed glare.
Point taken.
Grian saw the hesitation crack in her expression and smirked wider. “Thought so.”
Without waiting for further argument, he led her through the dense crowd, weaving through the tangle of bodies with practiced ease. Lizzie, though initially resistant, gradually allowed herself to be pulled along, her grip on his hand tightening just a fraction as they ascended a narrow, dimly lit staircase tucked away behind the science wing.
The stairs creaked beneath their hurried steps, the walls narrowing around them, muffling the distant noise of the hallways. Grian didn’t slow until they reached the top, where a rusted metal door loomed before them. Without hesitation, he shoved it open with a shoulder, the hinges groaning in protest.
A rush of cool wind slammed into them, sharp and bracing after the suffocating heat of the school. The rooftop stretched out before them, a forgotten space of cracked concrete and scattered debris. Weeds curled up through the splits in the ground, stubborn and defiant, reaching toward the sky. A rusted chain-link fence circled the rooftop’s edge, rattling softly in the breeze. Above them, the sky yawned wide and endless, a soft wash of pale blue with clouds drifting lazily overhead, casting fleeting shadows across the city below.
Grian let out a soft grunt as he plopped down near the rusted chain-link fence, the metal groaning faintly in the breeze. He leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at the sky. The wind tugged playfully at his hair, carrying with it the distant hum of the city below. From up here, the world felt quieter, softer, as though the chaos of the school couldn’t reach them. “See?” Grian drawled, the smirk evident in his voice. “Much better.”
Lizzie hesitated at the edge of the rooftop, her eyes flicking between the cracked concrete and the spindly weeds pushing up through the fractures. She smoothed down the pleats of her perfectly ironed skirt before carefully lowering herself beside him, making sure to avoid any loose gravel. “I guess this beats being crushed by flying furniture,” she muttered, brushing a bit of dust off her lap.
Grian snorted. “Now you get it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled over them like a soft blanket, the kind of quiet that didn’t need to be filled. Overhead, clouds drifted lazily, pale and stretched thin, casting fleeting shadows over the rooftop. The dull roar of traffic was distant, softened by height and space, and the occasional bird cawed somewhere far off.
Lizzie pulled her knees tighter against her chest, resting her chin atop them. Her eyes followed the lazy crawl of a lone cloud drifting across the sky, its edges tinged with the soft gold of the afternoon sun. The sky stretched endlessly above them, painted in pale blue streaked with whispers of white. The hum of the city far below was distant and dull, like the world had quieted just for them. For all the insanity they had just escaped, this felt… peaceful.
Movement from Grian caught her attention. She glanced over just in time to see Grian slip his hand into the inner pocket of his weathered jacket. Within a moment, he pulled out a thin, white object and held it between two fingers.
Lizzie squinted. “Is that… a cigarette?”
Grian didn’t answer immediately. He stared at it for a moment, the way someone might stare at a puzzle they weren’t sure how to solve. Then he casually twirled it between his fingers, rolling it smoothly back and forth. “Yeah.” His tone was nonchalant, but there was something distant in the way he looked at it. He didn’t lift it to his lips, didn’t even move to light it—just kept spinning it lazily like it was nothing more than a stick of chalk. “Wanna try?”
Lizzie’s nose scrunched up in mild disgust, instinctively leaning back. “I’ve never smoked before.”
Grian smirked, tilting his head toward her. His gaze flickered up to meet hers, unreadable. “Meh. Not a big deal. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug so casual it was almost dismissive. From his pocket, he produced a cheap, scuffed plastic lighter and rolled it in his palm absentmindedly.
Lizzie hesitated, her eyes darting between the cigarette and Grian’s relaxed posture. She wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or stubbornness that made her straighten her spine. “No, give it here.”
Grian blinked. His smirk faltered for just a second. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.” Lizzie held out her hand, palm up. “Hand it over.”
A slow, amused grin spread across his face. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Your Majesty. ”
Lizzie shot him a flat look.
Chuckling under his breath, Grian leaned in, extending the cigarette and lighter toward her. There was something almost conspiratorial in the way he did it, like they were about to share some forbidden secret. Lizzie took them both, holding the cigarette awkwardly between her fingers, staring at it like it might bite.
She flicked the lighter. Nothing.
Again. Still nothing.
“You’re holding it backwards,” Grian drawled, voice rich with humor.
Lizzie’s glare could have leveled cities.
Grian laughed, bright and genuine. “Here, let me.”
Before she could snap at him, he leaned in, closing the space between them. His hand came to rest over hers, warm and steady. His fingers curled around hers with surprising gentleness, guiding the lighter into the proper position. “Thumb here,” he murmured, voice softer now, less teasing. “Flick down, not up.”
Lizzie swallowed, focusing fiercely on the lighter rather than how close his face was. His breath was faintly warm against her skin. The lighter sputtered once before catching, a tiny, flickering flame dancing to life.
“Now, bring it to the end. Slow and steady.” Her hands moved stiffly, awkwardly, bringing the cigarette’s tip to the flame. The paper darkened, the end catching with a faint glow.
Lizzie hesitated. Then, with a breath she regretted instantly, she inhaled.
And immediately recoiled, coughing violently, hand flying to wave the acrid smoke from her face. Her eyes watered as she sputtered. “Oh, God—that’s disgusting!” she choked, her voice hoarse.
Grian burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. “Okay, okay, maybe not your thing after all.”
Lizzie coughed again, her face flushed as she fanned the lingering smoke away. “Why would anyone do this to themselves?” she wheezed, voice ragged.
“Stress, boredom, makes you look cool. Well, most people.” Grian’s grin widened. “Right now, you look like an angry kitten choking on its own tail.”
Lizzie’s glare returned full force, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “Oh, ha-ha. You’re hilarious.”
Still grinning, Grian leaned back on his palms. The cigarette smoldered quietly between his fingers. He took a single, shallow drag, exhaled lazily into the breeze, then snuffed it out against the concrete without ceremony. “Not really my style, anyway,” he admitted, flicking the crushed cigarette aside.
Lizzie huffed, pulling her knees tighter to her chest. “Well, I’m more of a tea and scones type, thanks.”
Grian chuckled, head tilting as he gave her a mock-considering look. “Yeah, that tracks. Queen of England and all.”
She swatted his arm, light and harmless, but the action felt familiar in a way that made her chest feel a little lighter.
The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy or strained but light, like a soft blanket draped over their shoulders. The wind combed through Lizzie’s hair, teasing loose strands and making them dance across her face. She absently tucked them behind her ear, her gaze still lifted to the sky.
“You ever think about how dumb clouds are?” Grian muttered, his voice low, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud.
Lizzie turned her head slowly, blinking at him. “What?”
He didn’t look at her, just raised a lazy hand toward the sky. “Look at them. Just… floating around. Doing nothing. Pointless.”
Lizzie hummed thoughtfully, her eyes tracing the lazy, uneven shapes above them. One cloud stretched thin like pulled cotton, another rolled over itself like a sluggish wave. “I think they’re nice,” she said after a pause, her tone soft but certain. “Peaceful.”
“Lazy.”
“Comforting.”
“Fluffy idiots.”
That did it. Lizzie snorted, the sound sharp and genuine, breaking through the still air. A small giggle slipped out before she could catch it.
Grian’s mouth tugged into a smug grin, satisfied.
He let his eyes drift back to her, lingering longer than he should have. The way her nose scrunched slightly when she laughed, how the corners of her eyes crinkled just enough to soften her whole expression. The wind caught another lock of her hair, brushing it against her cheek, and for a fleeting moment, she looked entirely at ease—untouched by the chaos they had left behind.
Lizzie must have felt his gaze because her head tilted, curious. “What?” she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly but without suspicion.
Grian blinked, caught, and the smirk slid back into place a second too late. “Nothing. Just thinking how weird it is that royalty’s slumming it with us commoners.”
Lizzie groaned, rolling her eyes skyward. “Oh, please. I’m barely royal.”
Grian snorted. “Tell that to your security detail.”
“They’re not even here!” she shot back, gesturing broadly as if to prove her point.
“Yeah, sounds like pretty terrible security to me.”
Lizzie laughed, soft yet genuine, and without thinking, she leaned sideways to bump her shoulder against his. It was a small gesture but warm, familiar.the
They let the silence return, stretched comfortably between them. The breeze toyed with the edges of their clothes, rattled the old, rusted fence behind them, and the distant hum of the city below faded into little more than background noise.
They stayed like that for a while, letting the quiet settle.
Then, after a long pause, Lizzie’s voice broke through, quieter than before. “Thanks for bringing me up here.”
Grian’s smirk softened, fading into something quieter, more genuine. His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back further, gaze fixed on the horizon. “Anytime,” he murmured, almost too soft for her to hear.
And for a little while longer, they stayed there—two mismatched pieces in a world that didn’t quite make sense—as the clouds drifted lazily by.