"Hey, why is Mr. Jones up in a tree?" Yong Soo asked to his cousin, who was simply sighing.
"He actually does it all the time, can you believe it? You try asking him." Mei murmured.
"Hey, Mr. Jones!" he called, using his hand to help project his voice.
The cousins were standing, curious, at the base of one of the school's largest old oaks, and simply watching Mr. Jones cling to one of the uppermost branches. He seemed to be struggling and perhaps he was crying, but he was too far away for either Yong Soo or Mei to confirm it.
"What is it, guys?!" Mr. Jones cried down, although his voice faltered and he felt like he was going to start weeping.
"Why're you up there?!" Yong Soo asked, laughing and amused by the silly antic.
"I'm doing some training!" He replied with a shout.
"Aren't you scared you're gonna fall, da-ze?!" Yong Soo smirked, and received a sharp elbow to the side from his cousin. There was a courageous 'nuh-uh' from Mr. Jones, and the cousins laughed (well, Yong Soo did) and left.
About an hour later, it was about time for Mr. Jones's class to start, and his students gathered in the hall like normal. The only thing was, Mr. Jones was not there. He was, in fact, still in the tree. While it rained. One of the sweeter students, Tino, went to the P.E. staffroom after about ten minutes of waiting. He knocked on the door, peeking in with curious violet eyes.
"Hei," Tino hummed softly as the door was opened to Mr. Fernandez. "Erm, our teacher isn't here?"
"Oh?" Mr. Fernandez smiled, crossing his muscled arms. "Is it Mr. Jones?" he laughed. "Yes, he didn't come to play video games during the break."
"Is that what he does?" queried Tino, tilting his head.
"Oh, forget I said that," he laughed, shrugging. "I know where he is. I'll go and get him, I suppose."
And so, Mr. Fernandez went out in the rain to find the oak tree that Mr. Jones had gotten stuck in this time. "Alfred?" he called, seeming not to notice the heavy downpour that soaked him completely.
"Here!" Alfred whined, clutching onto the branch for dear life. "Thank god, Toni, help me down!"
Using his incredibly toned and muscled body, Antonio began to scale the tree to reach the branch that his friend and fellow H.P.E. teacher was latching onto. "Oh dear," he chuckled as he finally reached him, and Alfred scrabbled up and into the Spaniard's arms.
"It's-.. It's c-cold," Alfred stammered, teeth chattering as he was carried down.
"You're just like a cat, aren't you?" Antonio scoffed softly, gracefully dropping back down to the ground and casually carrying the heavy man back to the hall.
"Oh, look, it's Mr. Jones," scoffed Yong Soo, amused by the pathetic man curling up in Mr. Fernandez's arms and crying because he was freezing cold. Alfred wheezed when he was put down, body wracked by tremors of cold.
"I think I'll be taking your lesson today," Mr. Fernandez shrugged. "Mr. Jones climbed another tree."
One of the more saucy students, Lovino, raised his hand and smirked. "Hey, 'Tonio, isn't that wet shirt kind of clingy and annoying?"
"Sí, mi tomate," Antonio laughed, and casually ripped off his shirt. There was an amazed silence from the class, except for that one Italian. "Gracias."
"Eh, grazie." Lovino sneered, crossing his arms now.
"Right, I'll be back momentarily," Mr. Fernandez sighed, taking Mr. Jones by the shoulders and leading him into the staffroom. He quickly rang the main staffroom, and pined for someone to come and help poor Alfred. He then sat the shivering man down, gave him a reassuring smile, and darted out to start the lesson.
"This sucks," whimpered Alfred to himself, hugging his damp knees and trying not to cry any more than he already had. There was a knock on the staffroom door, and Alfred lifted his head. "Come in, Kikster!" he called, voice croaky. The door opened, but instead of being greeted by that familiar dark-haired man, his eyes met a grumpy man of blond hair.
"I'm not Kiku, sorry." Arthur mumbled, walking inside the staffroom and setting down the towels he carried down on a chair. "Kiku has a class right now. I so happened to be the only one with free period, besides your substitute."
"It's 'kay," Alfred huffed as Arthur drew a towel around his bulky shoulders. "I'm cold."
"I'll make you a tea. We're going back to the main staffroom, alright?" Arthur sighed, putting a towel on Alfred's head and tousling it to try and dry his hair. "Oh dear, were you crying?"
"It's rain on my face," argued Alfred, although he wiped his eyes subconsciously.
"Sure, sure," Arthur sighed, taking Alfred's glasses and cleaning them for him. "I said that because your eyes are all puffy."
"I'm allergic to-.. Uh.. Oak?"
"Alfred."
"'Kay, 'kay, I was crying! So what!" he huffed defensively, huddling under the warmth of the towel.
"Oh dear," sighed Arthur. "Whatever are we to do with you."
One arm around his friend's shoulders, and an umbrella in his free hand, Arthur led Alfred back to the head staffroom. Once there, Alfred kicked off his shoes and curled up in front of the heater, sitting on a beanbag and feeling generally chilly. "It's better in here, isn't it?" Arthur huffed softly, going to put the kettle on.
"Yeah.. Thanks, Art'." Alfred sighed, not even complaining when Arthur pulled up a beanbag beside his and sat down. "I think I'm getting a cold.. I'm never climbing a goddamn tree again."
"Hey," Mr. Jones greeted as he poked his head into Mr. Honda's classroom. Students filled up the desks, and Mr. Honda paused mid-sentence.
"What is it, Mr. Jones?" he mumbled, turning from his class. Said class was used to these kinds of visits, and found them quite entertaining. Most of the students thought that the two were a cute couple. Some of them cried about JonHon being their OTP.
"I have a challenge for you!" Mr. Jones declared, jumping in through the classroom door and acting rather flashy, as usual.
"What is it now?" Mr. Honda murmured, putting his hands together in front of him. "I am not going to try imitating Mikasa."
"Nah, nah," smirked Mr. Jones, waltzing over to where his boyfriend was standing and putting his arms around him in a short embrace. "Say 'election'."
"Excuse me," Mr. Honda mumbled, gently pushing the American away. "There is a class right in front of you. Do not do that. And for the fourth time this week, I will not say that word."
"C'mon!" cried Mr. Jones, slumping over dramatically. "Just say it. Do it or you're gay."
Mr. Honda narrowed his eyes. "Mr. Jones," he deadpanned. "I absolutely love your incredible-" he paused, and Mr. Jones looked like he was about to cry. Now, Kiku put on a flawless American accent. "Election." He said smoothly, correctly pronouncing the 'l', and giving a weak smile to his class. "Sumimasen, minnasan," he bowed his head a touch, and pinched Mr. Jones's ear. "Now, please."
"Oww- Ow, ow!" cried Mr. Jones, jumping as Kiku's pinching became worse. "'Kay, I'll go! You should've said erection, it would've been funny!" he wept as he ran out of the classroom.
"Please ignore him," murmured Mr. Honda to his class.
Mr. Jones later headed over to Home Economics. "Biscuits!" he declared as he burst in through the classroom door. Mr. Kirkland turned from where he was currently cutting an onion mid-demonstration.
"Oh, great," muttered Mr. Kirkland, glancing to the erratic man by the doorway. "What do you want, Mr. Jones?"
"Pip pip cheerio," laughed Mr. Jones poshly. Mr. Kirkland's eye twitched. "Jolly day, oh ho ho."
"Mr. Jones," Mr. Kirkland repeated firmly, staring at his fellow teacher with wet eyes. "Either get out or shut up."
"Aww, you're crying 'cos you miss me so much," Mr. Jones cooed softly, running over to Mr. Kirkland to give him a crushing bear hug. "Aww."
"I'm crying because I was cutting an onion!" snarled Mr. Kirkland in defense. "I have a knife in my hand, let go of me immediately!"
"Look at that," gasped Mr. Jones to the student body in front of him, who were all watching with either an expression of fear or amusement. "Your teacher could be a murgerer."
"Murgerer?" mumbled Mr. Kirkland, exasperated. "Don't you mean murderer?"
"See! He just admitted he's a murderer!" Mr. Jones wailed, continuing to tightly embrace the irritated and now-crying Brit.
"Get the bloody hell off of me!" Mr. Kirkland spat, bringing up one knee and bluntly slamming it into Mr. Jones's balls. "Go bother someone else, you arsehole!" And Mr. Jones did that.
Mr. Bonnefoy was next on his list. He strode into the Performing Arts block rather casually, and slid open one of the classroom doors, catching Mr. Bonnefoy mid-Singstar. Yes, Singstar was a popular thing among music classes here at the high school, and Mr. Bonnefoy believed it to be a fun way of sharing talent and pitch. Or something.
"Bonjour, my homie dog." He boogied on into the class, and quickly challenged Mr. Bonnefoy to a Singstar battle. There were mutters of 'this is the third class I've had interrupted by Mr. Jones today' and 'he needs to calm the heck down' but Mr. Jones neither heard nor cared. When the students currently playing finished their round, Mr. Jones and Mr. Bonnefoy took the stand.
"Anything you can do, I can do better," started Mr. Jones, taking the blue mic and giving Mr. Bonnefoy a death stare.
"I can do anything better than you!" Mr. Bonnefoy sang back, beautiful voice coming out much more smoothly than his competitor's. By the end of the song, Mr. Jones was crying because Mr. Bonnefoy had almost tripled his score. He left, wailing about his loss.
By the end of the day, all wanting their revenge, the three previously targeted teachers sought out their last resort for help.
"Hey, Mattie?" called Alfred quietly, knocking on the social worker's office door. "Kikster said you had something to show me?"
"Come in!" boomed a loud American voice, and Alfred was taken aback a second. Um. Cautiously, he opened the door, and was shocked at what he saw. Lounging in Matthew's desk, was.. Well, it was Alfred. He was even wearing clothes from Alfred's wardrobe, and had parted his hair the same way. It took Alfred a good five minutes of simply standing there, frozen, to realise that it was Matthew.
"Oh my god," he said after those awkward five minutes, gasping.
"Look at me!" gasped Matthew, standing up and making flashy arm gestures. "I'm the heroic Mr. Jones and I'm gonna climb a tree 'cos I don't know how to get down and I like it when the sexy hot Spaniard carries me down," he cried, being overly dramatic in every movement. "I have like forty degrees but I chose sport because I think I'm the hottest thing in the world, and I should probably lay off the goddamn hamburgers!" Matthew imitated rather aggressively.
"Oh," whispered Alfred, taking a step closer. "Oh my god," he cooed softly, grabbing his brother's shoulder in one hand.
"I'd probably kiss myself if I could, that's how much I love myself!" Matthew shouted, flexing his skinny arms.
"I totally could, me," Alfred gasped. "And since you're me.."
Matthew's eyes widened and he dropped his voice. "Wait, I'm not actually you-"
But before he could stop him, Alfred was planting his lips against Matthew's.
Matthew kneed him in the balls, before wiping his mouth and letting out a weak cry of distress. "Dude!" he cried softly, ruffling his hair to fix the part. "I'm your brother, what the heck!" he whimpered, kind of grossed out. "You're ick, get out,"
"Oh shit," winced Alfred, feeling kind of scared and confused. "I got confused for a moment and thought you were me, oh shit,"
"And you have Kiku, Jesus Christ! Do you have some kind of thing about kissing everyone who isn't your boyfriend!" Matthew huffed, crudely slapping his brother across the face. "I'm sorry I slapped you!"
"Hahah, shit," cried Alfred, who actually was so embarrassed that he sprinted out of the office, through the staffroom, and scaled a tree to hide in.
Okay. Perhaps a week before that, it was tongue wrestling. Matthew had suggested it as a joke. 'I know something you could totally beat Ivan at' he had said. 'You'll finally win something' he had said. He didn't expect his brother to be foolish enough to actually try it.
It was a cold afternoon when Alfred decided to try and defeat the communist. He kicked open the door to the Science room that Mr. Braginsky was in, and ran over to where he was standing.
"Excuse me, Mr. Jones," Mr. Braginsky laughed quietly, tilting his head. "You're in the way of the whiteboard. I was just about to write more on Jean-Baptiste Lamark's theories," he chuckled, gently shoving the American out of the way. "Isn't evolution amazing?"
"'Kay, 'kay, so opposable thumbs and hooves and shit okay," Mr. Jones mumbled boredly. "I have a challenge for you, so your dumb sciencey whatever can wait!"
"It's hardly dumb," huffed Mr. Braginsky. "The use and disuse theory was one that Darwin acc-"
"Shut up!" cried Mr. Jones. "I challenge you to a tongue-wrestling battle!"
Mr. Braginsky furrowed his brows. "Tongue.. wrestling?-"
Mr. Jones had a really bad habit of cutting people off with kisses before they could let out a proper sentence. This was no ordinary kiss though, he was forcing his tongue into Mr. Braginsky's mouth, shoving him against the whiteboard in the heat of battle. There was intense screaming from the students in the room, be it terrified or amused. And it seemed to summon our favourite Mathematics teacher.
"I heard screaming!" cried Mr. Wang, opening the door and almost screaming as well as he saw Mr. Jones trying to make out with a very uncomfortable-looking Mr. Braginsky. "Mr. Jones!" he shouted, running over and busting a really wicked kung-fu move and kicking Alfred in the side. He pretty much went flying, skidding across the floor. Mr. Wang then continued to go over and stomp on his balls. To be honest, Mr. Jones was very lucky he was gay, or else he would be very disappointed at the fact that he'd never ever have children because his balls got kicked so much. There wasn't even that much gasping from the class, because they'd been expecting as much. And Mr. Jones kind of deserved it.
"Thank you," wheezed Mr. Braginsky, crying and hiding behind the tiny Math teacher. "I'm not really sure what happened.. Sorry, Mr. Wang," he stammered weakly.
"Wait two seconds," Mr. Wang murmured with a huff, going over and kicking the weeping man's nuts once more. "That's for Mr. Honda!"
"Do you know he kisses lots of people who aren't you?" Matthew asked quietly, hands in his lap as he faced Kiku over his desk. He had come to him for advice today, mostly about how to control his unpredictable boyfriend.
"Yes," Kiku sighed quietly. "It does upset me, but I could never mention it. He's a little dull to grasp it, I suppose."
"You're probably right on that one," mumbled Matthew, rolling his eyes. "Want me to talk to him for you?"
Matthew later headed to the P.E. staffroom, where Alfred was sitting playing Wii Sport.
"Hey," he murmured, sitting down on the beanbag beside his brother. "Can you pause?"
"Nuh uh," huffed Alfred, eyes not shifting from the screen.
"Please? I need to talk to you about something serious."
"Nuh."
Matthew huffed and pulled the Wii's plug.
"My high score!"
"Whoops. I have your attention now, don't I?"
"Hmph. Whadd'ya want, bro?" Alfred huffed, crossing his arms.
"You've got to take your relationship seriously," Matthew chided, following the gesture, but adding a stern glare. "Stop acting so selfishly."
"What're you talking about?" scoffed Alfred, rolling his eyes.
"I mean, stop acting like Kiku won't leave you just because you say you love him," Matthew puffed. "He's sick of you going around and smooching other people. So it'd better stop."
"Oh, crap, you didn't tell him about the time I accidentally-"
"Yep."
"Shit," huffed Alfred, incredibly embarrassed all over again. "Crap, uh, tell him I'm sorry?"
"No, bro. You tell him that you're sorry. For the stuff with Ivan, too," Matthew chided, irritated. "Promise to him you won't do it again."
"Damn it," he flushed, and turned away. "Yeah, I'll do that. I'm not a very good boyfriend, am I?"
"Not really."
ayyyyy teacher au!
basically any fics on my or laveniis' profile with 'teacher au' in the description are in the same universe lmfao