I wrote this twisted little ficlet to lift myself out of the glums on a dark and gloomy July morning (O British summer, how I love thee.) Having thus brought it into the world, I could not resist sharing it with you, unfortunate reader.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gokusen or any of its characters and content. I've just borrowed them for a little while.
This is set in the Dramaverse.
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It was a beautiful spring morning at Shirokin Gakuen. The birds were chirping away merrily in the nearby trees, little puffy clouds were floating prettily in the pale blue sky, and the sun was casting a benevolent smile on the whole scene.
However, all the trouble Nature went to that day was entirely lost on Yankumi as she made her way, quiet and pale-faced, toward the school.
Even her pounding headache did not stop her fevered, troubled mind from returning again and again to the night's events...
It was just the two of them - and the beautiful, silvery full moon suspended overhead like a Japanese lantern, dimming the stars.
How ironic, Yankumi thought, as she gazed longingly, adoringly, into the eyes of the man she loved. Yes, the old saying that one often ignores that which is right under one's nose had held true. She had been looking far and wide for him, running around all over the place, searching the town - and her heart - for him, and he had been right there beside her all this time!
She knew he felt the same, too. That underneath all the bickering and the arguments he cared for her as much as she cared for him. That a lot of it, these days, was just for show - a way of keeping people off the scent. If anyone knew they were involved, in their current situation, they would be in so much trouble... She could not bear to think of it, to think of Him in pain, worried, harried.
He gently took her hand. Her heart skipped a beat, she could feel herself going weak at the knees... And then, right on cue, to make this most perfect of nights even more perfect, a nightingale started its enchanted singing from the nearby cherry trees.
He came to rest his cheek on her head, and she closed her eyes in pure bliss.
How long they remained like this, enclosed in each other's love and warmth, bathed in silent happiness, she could not tell. Time had stopped, the world and its cares had melted away, and it was just the two of them - and that lovely spring moon.
Softly he said her name:
"Kumiko-chan..."
She nestled closer to his chest and gently squeezed his hand.
"Goro-suki..."
As she sat, bolt upright in bed, clutching the shredded remnants of her pillow, Yankumi slowly became aware of the cold, clammy sweat that drenched her pyjamas, and of the sick feeling twisting unpleasantly in her stomach. This grew worse as she slowly retrieved memories of that all-too-recent, horribly vivid nightmare from which she had just awoken.
That quiff. These glasses. Those teeth.
Oh. my. God... No.
And come to think of it, the nightingale looked uncannily like Washio-Sensei, too.
This was all too much, and for the first time ever since her arrival at Shirokin, Yankumi, fourth-generation Yakuza heiress and kick-ass teacher extraordinaire, Yankumi, who had faced armies of thugs, daily put-downs and veiled insults in the staff room without so much as a twitch, Yankumi seriously wondered whether resigning would be a good option at this juncture.
The alternative was giving up her night time saké. Now that was just unthinkable...
Aha. Wait.
When at two o'clock in the morning, having downed three bottles of the house's best, she complained she still could not sleep (Shinohara-San had a lot to answer for on that score), Minoru had suggested she had a glass of hot milk to help her relax.
A vision of the Headteacher made an unwelcome apparition in her mind and Yankumi was sure of it.
It was definitely the hot milk did it.
She made a mental note to slap Minoru's head extra hard in the morning. Keen as she was to do it there and then, she did not think she would make it to his room, the way the walls were swaying around like that.
Bloody hot milk.
Better try to sleep some more.
Yankumi sighed and turned over.
... Stupid dream. If she tried running her hands through the Headteacher's hair (perish the thought), they'd probably get stuck in all the gel anyway.
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Writing this had me laughing and gagging pretty much in equal measures :)
The challenge I had set myself was as follows: take one of the worst and least likely pairings in the story and find a way to make it work. I hope you enjoy it... if you can...
Reviews would be much appreciated. I try to reply to all reviewers with the exception of those who post flames - there can never be any excuse for rudeness or personal attacks.
Thank you for reading!