Chapter Text
How many times a day can a teacher fantasize about physically assaulting their students before it’s time to consider a career change?
Because you’ve barely just made it to your lunch break without smacking several of your students upside the head today.
When working with high schoolers, it’s no surprise that new trends tend to take the school by storm. But the current craze of the day, MMA or mixed martial arts, is slowly driving you insane.
While normally grappling is reserved just for the school’s judo team, many of the boys, mostly your homeroom students, have started playfully wrestling with one another in the hallways. Unfortunately, playfulness quickly gives way to aggression in a population of highly hormonal, pubescent high schoolers, so you’ve had to intervene in several fights in the past few weeks, even going as far as to call over the PE teacher, Giyu Tomioka, for help with breaking up the scuffles.
A tentative knock on your classroom door while you’re inhaling your bento lunch while grading essays causes you to audibly hiss.
You would gladly erect a barbed wire fence around your door during lunch to keep students away during the only 30 minutes of the day that you get to yourself, but when you realize who is at the door, your face softens.
“( ♥ )-sensei?”
It’s one of your homeroom students, Rengoku Senjuro.
“Come in, Senjuro,” you call out, pushing your half-eaten bento to the side and lamenting the egg roll that you most likely won’t have time to finish.
He bows to you deeply, a gesture of respect that many of his classmates have already started to forego, before entering the classroom and approaching your desk.
You can tell right away that he’s nervous.
“Senjuro, do you know why I asked you to meet with me?” you ask, eyeing the blonde boy whose inconspicuous red tips can be spotted from a mile away. In spite of his eccentric hair and eyes, his shoulders are hunched over as if he’s trying to make himself smaller.
He shakes his head no, keeping his amber eyes fixed on the ground and fidgeting with his green neck tie.
You sigh, considering that Senjuro is one of your favorite students, you were hoping that he would just be honest with you. “You know that I actually read the papers that you and your classmates submit for my class, right?”
He nods glumly, still avoiding your gaze.
“And I’m very good at distinguishing my students’ writing, especially yours. So I need you to explain to me why Insouke submitted a paper on the history of the Roman Catholic Church that you clearly wrote,” you say, arching an eyebrow in accusation. His shoulders jolt and the wideness of his amber eyes confirms what you already knew to be true.
“I-I didn’t…” his voice trails off before his mouth clamps shut.
One of your favorite things about Senjuro, and the only reason you haven’t already reported this incident to the principal, is that he never lies to you, unlike many of his classmates who will swear up and down that they’ve done no wrong.
“How did you know?” he asks meekly, eyes still trained on his feet.
“You really thought I would believe that Inosuke knows the word pontificate?” you ask, brows furrowing in disbelief. “I don’t know whether I’m more disappointed because you allowed another classmate to turn in your writing or because you thought I could be so easily fooled.”
He just rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, cheeks flushing pink.
“What am I going to do with you, Senjuro?” you sigh.
“I-I’m sorry, Sensei. Inosuke t-threatened to beat me up if I didn’t do it,” he pouts, lower lip trembling.
“That boar-headed imbecile,” you mutter under your breath, as the aggravating image of the single most uncivilized student you have ever come across comes to mind. It doesn’t surprise you that the student who is known for running around campus with his shirt unbuttoned strong-armed the soft-spoken Senjuro into writing a paper for him.
However, Senjuro’s grades have been slipping in all of his classes and this incident only makes you more concerned about his unusual behavior lately.
“Senjuro,” you sigh, “I’m going to have to talk to your father about this.”
Immediately, your student’s face hardens into a stony mask, as is often the case whenever the elder Rengoku is mentioned. It isn’t a secret amongst the Kimetsu Academy faculty that Senjuro’s father, a retired professional boxer, has been nursing a drinking problem for years now after his wife passed away in a tragic car accident. Having lost your own parents to a tragedy, you’ve always felt a particular empathy for Senjuro’s circumstances and always try to look out for him.
“I doubt that he’ll even pick up your call,” is all that he mutters, his eyes radiating an anger that no high schooler should ever know.
“Even so, he’s your father and I have to make an effort to inform him,” you say softly, before letting out another exasperated sigh. “Look, Senjuro, if you promise not to write papers for your classmates again, I’m willing to let you off with a warning.”
He shuffles on his feet uncomfortably, seemingly overwhelmed by your confrontation. He has a tendency to clam up whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed, but you want him to really hear you.
“You’re far too gifted of a writer to let others take credit for your brilliance, Senjuro,” you say, which makes his cheeks bloom with color. “Don’t disappoint me again.”
“Thank you, Sensei,” he says, bowing low to you. “I apologize and I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Good, now get out of here. I have papers to grade,” you say, with a dramatic sigh.
He gives you a cheeky smile that makes you think he'll be an absolute heartbreaker when he grows up, one day, and then he’s gone in a flash of yellow and red.
You turn back to your bento while scrawling a large F for FAIL in red ink on Inosuke’s plagarized essay, underlining it three times.
Ah, the joys of teaching.
“Can we please ask Principal Ubuyashiki for a new coffee machine?” Kanae asks, pouting into her mug at the steaming hot cup of questionable coffee.
You've long since resorted to brewing your own coffee at home, never without your insulated thermos that's roughly the same size as a desk aquarium. But Kanae, the biology teacher and your close friend, somehow chokes down the drip coffee from the dusty machine in the faculty room that has certainly seen better days, probably several decades ago.
“It works fine, why should we spend the Academy’s money wastefully?” Giyu responds glumly without turning around from his desk, despite the fact that he doesn’t even drink coffee. As always, his presence makes the room feel gray and gloomy even though it's a brisk spring day.
“I’ll brew you a cup of tea instead, Kanae,” you say, reaching over for her butterfly mug. She smiles at you gratefully, visibly up to her knees in a pile of biology tests that need grading.
At the sink, you take in the fresh air streaming in through an open window. Warm sunlight trails through the leafy green trees and a few children have shed their jackets to play soccer on the field.
“Anybody else want tea?” you ask while rinsing Kanae's mug.
“I’ll take a cup of tea please!” Mitsuri chirps, walking over from her desk and handing you her heart-shaped mug which has small, hand-painted flowers at the bottom of the cup. She’s wearing a white turtle-neck and a purple miniskirt today that complement her bubble-gum pink, green-tipped braids perfectly. “Thank you so much, ( ♥ )!”
You can’t help but smile at the bubbly art teacher, her positive attitude and warm demeanor are positively infectious, to the point that she has somehow melted even Iguro Obanai’s heart of stone. You had only seen the gloomy Chemistry Teacher smile once in the past three years of working with him, and it was when Mitsuri had gifted him a little hand-crocheted sweater for his pet snake.
Kanae is also famous amongst the school’s teaching staff and student body for her ethereal beauty. You’ve overheard several of your male students in the hallways gushing about the biology teacher’s lavender eyes and silky black hair, likening her to a fairy goddess. It’s an apt description, with her pink butterfly hairpins and her pink skirt that flows elegantly past her knees, she really does look like a princess.
You, on the other hand, tend to inspire less pining amongst your students and more fear.
Unlike Kanae and Mitsuri who are always clad in pastel pinks and soft purples, you are always dressed in dark blouses and pencil skirts and your resting face is, for lack of a better word, bitchy. You’re one of the strictest instructors on campus, always enforcing the uniform policy and handing out detentions like candy on Halloween. Unlike the other teachers, you never show affection to the students, only coddling the young kids at the judo dojo you volunteer at on the weekends.
This has earned you the nickname “Ice Queen” which you don’t mind whatsoever. You’re a firm believer in discipline and routine, and you always keep the students’ best interests in mind. Especially with this ridiculous MMA craze that’s taking the school by storm, you believe that now, more than ever, the students need a firm hand (metaphorically speaking, of course) to keep them from veering down the wrong path.
With only Giyu remaining in the faculty room, the three of you settle in to drink tea with the remaining few minutes of the morning break and, as is often the case, the conversation quickly lends itself to discussing matters of the heart.
“So Kanae, I heard that Sanemi is back in town,” Mitsuri coos with a knowing grin, which immediately causes a pink blush to spread across the dark-haired woman’s face.
You only became a teacher at Kimetsu Academy three years ago, while many of the current staff, including Mitsuri, Kanae, Giyu and Obanai, all grew up together so there’s a lot of history between them all that you aren’t privy to. However, you’ve heard plenty about Kanae’s ex-boyfriend and first love, Shinazugawa Sanemi, because she has a habit of crying her eyes out over their dramatic teenage breakup whenever she’s two shots in at the izakaya down the street.
“Ah, yes. He has a fight scheduled in Tokyo,” she says, her face-framing bangs hiding the redness at the tips of her ears. The fact that the sweet, innocent Kanae’s first love is now one of the most famous, most dominant MMA fighters in the world, known as The Hound, never fails to blow your mind. “I was hoping to go just to watch from afar, but I’d never be able to afford a ticket.”
“Can’t your sister get you in? I thought she’s his manager,” you ask, sipping your tea. You had heard that Kanae’s younger sister, Kocho Shinobu, was a big-shot manager with an impressive roster of MMA fighters that she wrangled, including Kanae’s ex.
Both Kanae and Mitsuri burst out in laughter at that, until Kanae explains, “Shinobu would probably charge me double if I asked her. She’s the stingiest person I know.”
“I’m sure if you just texted Sanemi, he’d get you in backstage. And maybe you guys could do other things backstage,” Mitsuri giggles, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively which makes Kanae turn as red as the tomatoes she tends to in the school’s garden.
“Wh-What, no way! He probably doesn’t even remember me,” Kanae exclaims, frantically waving her arms. You roll your eyes because, even without knowing her famous ex-boyfriend, there’s not even a cell in your body that believes any man could forget about Kocho Kanae. “And besides, it’s not like I’m still in love with him or anything.”
“Liar,” you and Mitsuri say at the same time, before bursting into laughter which only makes Kanae more flustered until Giyu cuts in somberly and asks the three of you to be quiet so he can focus on reading his manga.
“You know, one of these days, a man will sweep you off your feet and I’ll be the one laughing at you ,” Kanae whispers over to you, her brows pinched in mock annoyance before she turns back to her pile of ungraded tests.
You just shake your head as you take another scalding sip of coffee from your tumbler. “Keep dreaming.”
The last man you dated was back in your hometown in Northern Japan, a three year long relationship that fizzled out pathetically when you finally realized that attraction is not one of those things that just comes around with time. After you moved to work at Kimetsu Academy, you haven’t even considered dating because none of the men around you even remotely interest you.
“I mean it, I’ll really-”
Suddenly, an all too familiar chant erupts in the hallway outside of the teacher’s lounge that has both you and Giyu jolting to your feet.
“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
You follow behind Giyu, whose already out the door in a flash, to break up the commotion. You have a strong feeling that your homeroom students are going to be at the center of the chaos.
“Break it up!” Giyu grunts, while you wiggle and shuffle through the throng of over-excited students that have formed a circle around the fight. “Clear the hallway right now!”
“What the fu- I mean, heck is going on here?” you yell, narrowly biting back a swear while pushing students out of your way.
When you finally reach the center, you only manage to catch a glimpse of blonde and red locks before Rengoku Senjuro land an uppercut that connects with Inosuke Hashibara’s jaw so powerfully that his signature boar mask goes flying off and the now maskless boy slumps onto the ground out cold.
The entire hallway grows silent and nobody looks more shocked than Senjuro himself, who stares down at his bloodied fist with an expression of utter horror.
Their friend, Kamado Tanjirou, who was frantically trying to break up the fight manages to catch Inosuke before his head can hit the ground, while you storm over and wrap a hand firmly around Senjuro’s trembling arm.
“You are in so much trouble,” you growl.
By the time the school day is over, you're in an especially bad mood. Your moderately interesting lesson plan on the fall of the Roman Empire was completely derailed because your students were all buzzing about the fight all day. What's worse, it's the end of the school day and instead of visiting the new dessert cafe that opened up down the street with Kanae, you're leaning on your desk, partially sitting and partially standing while you take in the sight of the trembling boys in front of you.
Tanjirou is sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck while Senjuro is just staring blankly at the ground, as if he’s still in a state of shock over the events that transpired in the morning.
Honestly, you’re equally as shocked, although you mask your surprise behind a stern face. You have no idea what could have compelled one of your gentlest, calmest students to assault his friend.
“I want the full story right now,” you say.
They both start frantically speaking at the same time.
“SENSEI, INOSUKE STARTED IT-”
“IT WAS REALLY INOSUKE’S FAULT-”
“Really?” you interject, snapping your head to give the blonde boy a firm look. “Because it looked to me like you threw the first and only punch, Senjuro.”
His head falls in shame.
“But I-Inosuke said that I punch like a girl and that’s why my d-dad doesn’t talk to me.”
You blink. “What?”
“Yes, Inosuke was being very mean and I was trying to tell him that it isn’t right to talk to Senjuro like that but he wouldn’t listen,” Tanjirou says, a grave expression on his usually cheerful face.
Giyu had to carry Inosuke to the nurse’s office to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion and you haven't seen the boar-headed boy since, but you make a mental note to give him detention until he graduates. If he can make it to graduation without being expelled for his rambunctious behavior, that is.
“And so you decided that the best way forward would be to knock him out?”
“W-Well, I wanted to show him that I d-don’t punch like a girl. I’m a R-Rengoku,” he sniffles, despite the fact that tears are welling up in his eyes.
His explanation only makes you feel more irritated. You know that these boys are all trying to live up to society’s warped standards of masculinity, the ongoing MMA craze is only reflective of how they conflate violence and brawniness with "being a man".
But you hadn’t realized how his family's legacy in the MMA world was affecting Senjuro's sense of identity.
“Violence, especially on school grounds, is unacceptable. I realize that his words were hurtful but you could have seriously hurt him. He could have cracked his head on the floor!” you say, voice tinged with exasperation. You’re exhausted from all of the fighting that’s been going on at school, but having your own homeroom students involved makes you feel like you’re failing as their teacher.
Senjuro’s head falls even lower, but you can't help but feel like you're talking to a brick wall.
“Your father needs to come and pick you up, Senjuro. I need to have a word with him,” you say with a sigh.
“Actually, I wasn’t able to get ahold of him, but I called-”
The shoji door to your classroom slides open with a resounding slam and when you look up in annoyance, your eyes land on the largest man that you have ever seen.
Muscles. So many muscles are rippling and shifting beneath a tight white t-shirt and brown cargo pants as he saunters past the rows of unoccupied desks towards you and the boys.
He has the exact same hair as Senjuro, a crimson-tipped mane of wild, disheveled blonde locks and the same blazing, four-alarm-fire eyes. But the comparisons between your student and the absolute Goliath of a man in front of you stop there because his father is built like an absolute brick house with a tree trunk for a neck. He’s sporting a black eye on an otherwise flawless face as if he’s just had a fistfight in the parking lot, yet his relaxed, cocky gait suggests that you don’t want to see what the other guy looks like.
“R-Rengoku-san!” Tanjiro yells excitedly as the man approaches, sprinting over to him like a puppy greeting it’s owner at the front door.
“Young Kamado! Good to see you!” he booms, ruffling the student’s burgundy hair affectionately. Then he turns to his son and gives him a toothy grin. “So did you win, Sen?”
An audible scoff escapes your mouth before you can purse your lips firmly. You’ve sent countless emails to Senjuro’s father about the boy’s slipping grades and behavioral issues, and the first words out of his annoyingly pink, plush lips are to find out about the outcome of Senjuro’s first fist-fight?
As if he’s only just noticed you, he looks up in surprise, those fiery eyes trailing across your face and down your body without even a hint of subtlety, before he has the audacity to grin at you.
And what’s worse is that your heart stupidly flops in your chest like a fish out of water in response to that lopsided smile of his that’s all pearly white teeth and crinkled eyes.
He looks to be around your age so how on earth can he possibly be Senjuro’s father? And regardless of how old he is, why the hell is your heart on the verge of cardiac arrest at the sight of one of your student’s parents?
“Boys, I need to have a word with Rengoku-san alone. Can you please wait in the hallway for a moment?” you say, through gritted teeth.
Smart enough to know that you’re pissed, both Tanjiro and Senjuro scurry out of the classroom quickly, shutting the door quietly behind them.
Then it’s just you and the massive man who hasn’t stopped smiling since he entered your classroom.
“You must be ( ♥ )-sensei! Senjuro’s told me a lot about you!” he booms. His voice is as loud as it is deep, dripping with masculinity and a smokiness that, were you still in high school, would make you instantly blush. But you’re not a teenager, you’re the teacher of his misbehaving son so your lips immediately purse tighter, disappearing into a firm line.
“Is that so?” you ask, arching a brow. “Then, is there a reason that you haven’t taken a single one of my calls or responded to any of my emails for this entire semester, Rengoku-san?”
He cocks his head to the side in confusion, blinking owlishly. “Come again?”
“I’ve tried to get a hold of you several times this year regarding Senjuro’s declining grades and troubling behavior. And what gets you to finally come to my classroom is him decking another student unconscious?”
“Sen knocked the other kid out cold?” he asks, brows knitting together and then he grins wickedly. “Excellent!”
Your mouth falls open, sputtering nonsensically as his dazzling smile only seems to grow wider.
“So I take it that the glorification of violence is one of your family values?” you finally ask, pointedly staring at the bruise beneath his eye which only adds to his roguish appeal. He laughs at that, a deep, rumbling sound from the very depth of his wide, wide chest.
Oh gods, you need to avert your eyes before you start drooling.
“Absolutely,” he says with a proud smile. "We're Rengokus after all!"
You narrowly avoid rolling your eyes, reminding yourself that this man is a parent. Even if he’s an absent father and a total bum, social conventions require a certain level of propriety.
“Well, Senjuro has been a model student for the past three years straight and I’m extremely concerned about his behavior these days. He is absolutely brilliant, by far the most gifted writer in this entire school, but I’m afraid that behavior like this might jeopardize his chances at getting into a good college,” you say, reciting from memory the gist of your last forty-five emails that are no doubt waiting in his inbox, unread.
The blonde man tilts his head to the side in confusion, staring at you with the clearest, most honest eyes you’ve ever seen. “Senjuro isn’t going to college. He’s going to become a fighter like me.”
You audibly scoff at his remark, a sound of total derision and disgust, which elicits another rumbling laugh from the man.
Senjuro becoming an MMA fighter is the most absurd thing you’ve heard today. The boy reads Dostoevsky and writes poems in his free time for crying out loud! And even after technically “winning” his first fist-fight, he was on the verge of breaking down into tears afterwards.
And he’s just smiling at you, like he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. “So I take it you don’t like MMA?”
You scoff again, unable to hold back your disbelief.
“I think that fighting for entertainment’s sake is for neanderthals and that this ridiculous MMA nonsense is why my students are all trying to rear-naked choke each other in the hallways these days.”
His mouth quirks up at that. “And how do you know what a rear-naked choke is, Sensei?”
The teasing lilt of his loud, amused voice when he calls you Sensei should annoy you, instead it makes your cheeks burn and you tear your eyes away from his infuriatingly handsome face to redirect the conversation back on topic.
Do not let the muscular man fluster you, you think to yourself.
“I’m willing to let Senjuro off with a warning because this was his first infraction of the no fighting rule and because Inosuke provoked him. But if he gets into another fight, it will go on his permanent record.”
He just gives you another breezy, light-hearted smile as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “Don’t worry about it, little flame!”
And that pisses you the fuck off.
Because it’s your job to worry about your students, and it’s extremely clear that you’re the only adult in Senjuro’s life who is concerned by his erratic behavior of late.
More than ninety percent of student misbehavior in school is connected to deeper issues and traumas at home. As a teacher, you’re well aware that you cannot control your students’ home lives, but to have a parent brazenly disregard your concern for their students wellbeing and call you little flame while doing so has you seeing red.
Before you can stop yourself, you mouth flies open and spews pure venom.
“Rengoku-san, Senjuro is the most remarkable student I’ve worked with in a long time and it’s extremely frustrating to watch him cope with your absent parenting. He deserves far better than your negligence and apathy, and I’m quite frankly enraged by your indifference towards his academic performance and wellbeing.”
As soon as the words fly out of your mouth, you clamp your lips shut because you’ve totally crossed the line, in fact, you've bulldozed over the line.
Visions of you being fired and black-listed from every school within a 500 kilometer radius flash through your mind. Oh gods, you’re going to have to work at a fast-food restaurant to afford rent. Or maybe you can sell an organ, one of the useless ones. Oh god, your life is over.
But to your surprise, his brows just knit together in confusion until something like recognition flickers over his face. Then, his lips slowly stretch into the widest, most terrifying smile you’ve ever seen, something akin to a lion smiling down at it’s wounded prey. And that pre-evolutionary instinct embedded in your DNA tells you that you need to run.
He suddenly takes a huge stride towards you and you immediately back up, as the terrifying fact that he’s a retired boxer unearths itself from the crevices of your mind. Then, somehow, you find yourself caged against your own bookshelf as one of his hands lands on the wall against your ear with a booming thud.
All you see is the band of amber around pools of crimson in his eyes, and it feels like you’re drowning in his scent of smoke and spiced vanilla. He smells downright intoxicating.
“So feisty, little flame!” he chuckles huskily, grinning down at you like an apex predator. His breath smells like minty toothpaste and something sweet which makes your brain feel foggy.
The audacity of this man to stand so close to you and make you feel this … aroused in spite of yourself flusters you to the point of fury, tossing the remaining tatters of your caution and propriety to the wind.
“Rengoku-san, I’d advise you to back the fuck up,” you hiss, fists clenching tightly. You’re so worked up that you’re seeing white spots in your vision, and you hate this feeling of losing control.
His eyes visibly light up at your threat, golden fireworks erupting against the blackness of his dilated pupils, and he takes another step closer until there’s just a whisper between your faces, clearly taunting you.
Your hands instinctively slam against his chest and fist at the fabric of his shirt, landing on a sheet of pure muscle that seemingly short-circuits your brain and leaves you unsure of whether to throw him over your shoulder or pull him closer.
“And I thought violence is for neanderthals!” he laughs, eyes fixated on your trembling lower lip and growing darker with each passing second.
Holy shit, Senjuro’s dad is about to kiss you in your own classroom.
And you’re totally going to kiss him back.
By some stroke of luck, the shoji door slides open before either of you can make a movement.
“( ♥ ), are you ready to go- Oh, hi Rengoku!” Kanae’s bubbly voice calls out, startling both of you away from each other.
The ridiculously muscular and veiny arms that were caging you against the bookcase drop and you immediately take two large paces away from him, until the entirety of your desk separates the two of you.
“Kocho!” he responds with a friendly voice, eyes still trained on you until he turns around to greet your friend with a warm smile. “How are you?”
It’s only when you manage to recollect your thoughts that you realize how strange it is that Kanae and Senjuro’s dad know each other. You’re staring at her with furrowed brows when she speaks up again.
“Same as always! Uhm, I see you met ( ♥ )!” she says, glancing at you with an equally bewildered expression. “Rengoku and I studied together in high school!”
You just blink in confusion.
What?
There’s not a chance in hell that Senjuro’s father could be young enough to be Kanae’s age, which leaves you wondering who the hell the man in front of you could possibly be.
Until it dawns on you that there’s another Rengoku in their family, Rengoku Kyojuro who is the famous MMA fighter that all of your students have been raving about for the past few weeks, the best friend of Kanae’s ex and another former student of Kimetsu Academy.
Which means the man that you just accused of being a negligent parent and then nearly assaulted with your mouth is Senjuro’s older brother.
You immediately let out a startled, horrified cough and his beaming ear-to-ear smile tells you that he knows you’ve just put two and two together, making you feel like the biggest idiot in the world.
“I was just stopping by to pick up Senjuro, but you know, Sanemi and I are fighting at Tokyo Dome in a month!” Kyojuro announces and Kanae’s eyes instantly light up. Oh hell no . “You and ( ♥ )-sensei should come!”
“Absolutely not.”
“We’d love to!”
Kanae meets your glare with wide, unblinking eyes and a clenched jaw, a surprisingly scary expression across her usually serene face.
“Wonderful! Then I’ll have Shinobu send over your backstage passes!” he says brightly, his voice full of nothing but sunshine and genuine, no strings attached kindness. It leaves you scrambling for a flaw of his to hyperfixate on because surely he can’t be that generous without seeking something in return.
“Wow, thanks Rengoku! It will be so great to see Sanemi fight again! A-And you as well! It will be great to see everybody fight!” Kanae says, her voice rising in both pitch and volume as she scrambles to play off her obvious excitement.
Rengoku just smiles at her knowingly.
“Well, I’ll get the boys home then!” Rengoku says, before his fiery gaze finds you again. Somehow, even from across the room, you can still feel his warm breath on your face under those piercing, melting eyes. “See you then, little flame.”
Then he saunters out of your classroom while whistling some horribly off-tune song.
“I never said I would go, you degenerate neanderthal,” you growl to the empty doorway after the embarrassing five seconds it takes you to muster enough brain function to speak coherent words again.
Kanae just smiles at you knowingly, clearly biting back a giggle.
“Sooooo what did I miss?”