"Battler, back to work!"
Ugh. Nag, nag, nag. Ushiromiya Battler sat in the dreary classroom for Chemistry. He didn't want to be there, but he couldn't afford to skip detention again with the threat of Mr. Ronove phoning Battlers' parents home.
He wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Beatrice! Her and her group of mindless zombies (what he christened the sisters of hell) wouldn't shut up while he was doing his experiment, and as a result he grabbed the wrong beaker. Which caused an explosion.
Battler could still smell burnt plastic and acidic chemicals one hour later.
The newly imprisoned teen discreetly pulled out a red phone and began texting Beatrice.
To Pafu-Pafu:
You owe me. Now I'm stuck doing these dumb equations with this creepy teacher.
Honestly, Battler would rather have to deal with Ms. Gaap's obnoxious gossip for an hour than have to sit an empty room with this guy. Mr. Ronove didn't even have to do much to be on Battler's 'Avoid At All Costs' list. It was just that this particular teacher seemed to have this menacing I-might-look-nice-but-if-you-look-at-me-wrong-I-might-kill-you-in-your-sleep aura about him. And the monocle didn't help much either.
Buzz, buzz! Battler slipped his phone out from under the textbook to open his messages.
To Worthless Human:
I don't owe you anything, but if you come to Shannon's party tonight I'll try to make it up to you~!
No way. Now he definitely had to go! With nimble fingers, Battler eagerly replied.
To Pafu-Pafu:
Are you offering yourself up? Given in to my amazing charm? c;
To Worthless Human:
As if! I was GOING to help you with that crush of yours, but now I'm not so sure. If you're one second later than 10 I'll make sure George is the one to drive her home!
To Pafu-Pafu:
Wait no, I'll do what you want! Just helppppll,m
And Battler would've pressed sent if it weren't for the screen slipping right from under him. He looked up slowly, terrified that Mr. Ronove's disapproving glare would freeze him to the seat. No such luck (was that a good thing or a bad thing?) seeing as Mr. Ronove took it upon himself to start reading what was on the screen.
"Battler.. are your parents really okay with you staying out past 10?"
.. Is that what he was going to scold him about? Battler scratched at his nose nervously. He'd been really looking forward to this party in particular, and he'd do whatever it takes to go. He didn't like begging but...
"Please don't tell Kyrie, she'll freak! I- I'll do extra work or- something, just, just don't!" Battler reached for his phone but to no avail, seeing as Mr. Ronove was holding it high above his head and out of the student's grasp.
"Texting in detention, sneaking out at night.. I don't know, Battler.." Mr. Ronove turned and scrolled through some of the messages. "And what's this about a creepy teacher?"
To that, Battler froze. Before he could start making excuses, Mr. Ronove chuckled and continued. "Believe it or not, I used to be a teenager, too. So I understand, to an extent. I'll be generous here and only make you do the next chapter's vocabulary."
"Only?!" The teacher gave Battler a look. Battler shrunk under his gaze but refused to break the eye contact. "Fine. Deal?"
"Deal!" Mr. Ronove stuck his glove-clad hand out expectantly, and without really thinking about it, Battler shook it.
Thinking back on it, Battler thought he shouldn't have accepted the deal so easily. At first, the red-head thought he got off rather easy, but then he examined his papers more closely and belatedly realized these were due the next day. As a result, Battler wasn't even able to go to the party because George refused to do his work for him in favor of making sure no creeps hit on Shannon there. The only motivation he had for doing the work was not being under house arrest if his parents found out.
He arrived to school with even messier hair (Battler liked to call it a style) and dark smudges under his eyes, but at least the work was done. Needless to say, Battler behaved more appropriately in Mr. Ronove's class from then on; much to Beatrice's amusement.
But of course, it takes several tries before something sticks in Battler's head. This time, Battler was caught trying to look under Mammon's skirt (to his defense, the skirt was practically nonexistent. It's not like he had to make much effort, anyways) and was hit square in the face with a heavy textbook. Now, Battler wasn't going to take that. No, instead he retaliated by turning the built-in sink at the table on and flicking water towards the sister of hell.
It was at that exact moment when Mr. Ronove decided to look up.
Battler cursed his luck. Maybe he should ask to be changed to a different Chemistry class. Perhaps to Dr. Nanjo's class; he didn't seem too bad. At least then, he wouldn't have to spend an hour and a half with this creeper of a teacher.
Battler didn't get it. How come everyone seemed to get along so great with Mr. Ronove? Were they all that gullible? Battler saw right through it all, he did!
He just didn't have the determination on revealing it to the school. He probably could get Mr. Ronove fired buuuut... then he'd have to deal with the flock of girls attacking him for it and he didn't feel like it was worth it.
Still, Battler heavily considered his options as he was sitting there once again.
Seeing as he was seriously formulating a plan in his head, he didn't notice when Mr. Ronove snuck up behind him. A gloved hand attached itself to Battler's right shoulder; not digging in but still with the threat of something. "Battler, my dear. Will you not complete the assignment?"
Battler chafed at the nickname, but didn't complain for the fear of further angering his teacher. Stiffly, he replied, "No, I'll do it."
At that, Mr. Ronove moved to where Battler could see him now (thank god) and sat in the seat across from him (wait, was that any better?). Battler shook his head slightly and moved his gaze back down to the paper. Ah, he remembered this... slightly. All these numbers and rules, they didn't stay in his head for too long. Battler hoped Mr. Ronove would lose interest quickly so he didn't have to pretend to be so focused. To his dismay, he only seemed to get more comfortable in the seat. With a flourish, he directed his voice towards Battler.
"Let's see it, then."
Oh no. Was he being serious? A glance back up to the brunette revealed that yes, he was very serious.
With a shaky laugh, Battler's only response was a muttered, "Well you see..."
Mr. Ronove gave him another look. "May I borrow your pencil, Battler dear?"
Again with the 'dear'. Geez, if the teacher insisted on keeping that up, Battler was going to storm out of there. It's not like he could sock him; he was a teacher... and besides, his face wouldn't look as nice with huge bruises on it.
...
Whoa. What? Where did he get that idea from? Mr. Ronove was not pretty. Ah well, pretty wouldn't even be the right word. Something along the lines of 'elegant' or 'sophisticated' would work. But wait, why was Battler even thinking about his appearance? Mr. Ronove was.. his teacher. That was so not ok. Still. He wasn't that bad to look at. Not that Battler looked at him often. Ok, that was a lie; he looked at him often, but he was a teacher, center of attention during most of the class time. So why was Battler getting so flustere-
"Have you forgotten how to speak in English? Ahora debo que hablar Espanol?"
Battler blinked. "No, no, don't do that. Uh, sorry," The now-timid student handed his pencil over and immediately looked back at the worksheet. Ronove actually laughed this time. Not his small, contained chuckles. It was.. surprisingly less evil than how Battler imagined it.
"I see you're doing well in Spanish class?"
"Well, anyone could figure that question out, really... It's nothing special.." Why was Battler so shy now? He mentally kicked himself.
Mr. Ronove hummed, sounding slightly amused. Then, he leaned over and began writing on Battler's worksheet. Upside down.
Battler looked at the things being scribbled out before him, but he wasn't really processing anything. Instead, his mind wandered to other things. Like, how come Mr. Ronove was wasting his time teaching here? Battler mused if he was perhaps a part-time professor at some top-notch university or something like that. He'd made it into a game a long time ago; to pass the time when he was bored in class. Sometimes he'd imagine Mr. Ronove to be a philosopher, or a writer in his spare time.
He's got to have another job if he can afford clothes like that, Battler thought as he stared at white gloves moving gracefully before him. He probably gets them tailored, too.
All of a sudden, the scritching on the paper stopped, only to be replaced with quiet chuckles. "My, Battler. I do not believe you've made me laugh this much in one sitting."
Huh? Did he-? Oh. He did. He'd said that aloud. Well. Time to use his good ol' technique that never ever failed him.
Change the subject.
"You call that laughing? With all due respect sir, I think you need to get out a little more," Battler quipped.
"Mn. Do I?" The teacher drawled.
"Yes."
"Would you mind showing me how to 'get out'?" Finger quotes in the air and everything.
Wait. Mr. Ronove was asking him for help?
"Of course!"
"Fantastic! So it's a date?"
Battler spluttered. Before he could answer, Mr. Ronove went on. "When and where do we 'get out'?"
Honestly, Battler didn't know what he would've done if it weren't for his amazing brain coming up with lightning-fast, witty responses. Because if it weren't for that, Battler might've stood there all day stuttering and sweating profusely. Luckily, he replied with, "Right here, right now, like this!" And with that, Battler zipped out of that cursed classroom, toppling over his chair and leaving papers flying in the air.
Of course later on, he remembered that he actually needed those papers, and so he made the trek back up the stairs and rushed in to grab them.
Mr. Ronove only barely noticed because he was too busy trying not to laugh too hard.
He succeeded, for the most part.
It was still loud enough for Battler to hear all the way across the room, though.
AN: Reposted from AO3, most likely to update there first. Anyways, let's hope I don't abandon this one too, eheh euo;