Uproar of Teacher and Girl
Chapter 1: It Takes Two to Play
A/N: This will be a short story roughly based upon Trial 2 of the song series "Uproar of Teacher and Girl" by Wonderful Opportunity, singers being Hatsune Miku and Kagamine Len in each of the two songs. If the title itself didn't warn you that this will be a teacher x student fanfiction, then you're more than welcome to leave if that is uncomfortable. Being honest, I wasn't even all that keen on writing this type of relationship out, so as you read the story you will probably notice some tweaks I made to the plot so I would be more comfortable writing it. Other than that, I am excited for how these few chapters will turn out and I hope you will like my interpretation of the songs.
I hated it.
I hated the sickly feeling of his eyes latched onto me as I quickly duck my head away, back into the warmth of my arms. Whether it was to avoid our gazes meeting or the sudden ache that exploded in my chest as the teacher spoke, I wouldn't know. I could see him in the corner of my eye finally turn to the other side of the room and I let out a breath, the fog in my head subtly clearing.
He continued to announce to the rest of the class how greatly everyone did on yesterday's test - only making the numbing ache worse as I hack to its beginnings of choking me - and how proud he was that they mastered something his previous students simply didn't understand at all, and suddenly I feel out of place as I find myself slowly digging my head deeper into the heart of my desk.
As if the students surrounding me weren't enough. Already I feel so outcasted compared to everyone else that I might as well be the gum they immediately recoil from under their rotten desks, and now I'm the only one who had no idea what was on the test that he holds in his hands. I already knew from the moment I woke up yesterday morning that I was going to walk into this classroom completely and utterly sick. Of course not literally, but I knew thoroughly and blandly well that if I didn't pass it, my final grade for this term would be a failing score. And I had patently failed.
I can feel the abrupt sting of a light burn bloom from under my fingernails, more than likely leaving small marks on my arms - but I don't care. I have a failing score for this semester. That's exactly what Dad said not to do, didn't he? Perhaps I misheard him, perhaps I dreamt that he barked so coldly and sharply to me that if I didn't score well, I wouldn't be able to visit Mom for a month. Yeah, it had to be a dream. There's no way I can be related to such a disgusting monster. Maybe -
No. I can't hope for something that is so clearly impossible. Hope is a delusion created from weak minds. So instead, I want to scream. I don't care about the classmates that surround me, ignoring my constant fidgeting and always looking right past me. That's okay, I can deal with them discriminating me; that's fine. But if I scream, I'll give in, and I don't want to fall apart yet. One day I will, it's inevitable, but not now. Perhaps it won't be until the day I realize I can't give flowers to Mom. On that day I'll allow myself and break and shatter, to cry and howl into the thin blankets that sleep on my bed, but not now.
I only pick my head up when I feel a fragile tap on my shoulder, its thump so weak and gentle that I almost miss it. For a second, the thought of completely ignoring it hits me, and I hate how tempted I am to just eat up that small little thought. Surely it's the demons inside of me that made me think this way. An average person doesn't avoid contact with, well, everyone, right? It has to be these nasty monsters that tear apart my mind, because I surely can't be this sort of person naturally. I only look over to the person who tapped me when I realize I want to prove a point to myself that I'm stronger than these little demons, that I still have some sort of backbone... though by now, after these past few months, it's probably chipped apart and cracked, caked in dry blood. How terrifying it is that I'm losing, but sadly it simply doesn't mean anything to me like it once did.
When I finally manage to pick myself up, I stiffen as his cool eyes lock with mine, their color calm and quiet. I want to snap away, to avoid his gaze even longer, but of course I know I can't run away from him forever. Ever since yesterday after the test I dully wrote on the back page, I'm sorry. Due to personal issues I had failed yet another one of your tests, but I blame myself. Now reflecting back on it, I don't know why exactly I wrote that. Maybe it's because I didn't want him to think he was a bad teacher because of my lack of understanding or participation in his class. Maybe it's because I glazed through the test and repeatedly read each question over and over again until I realized I knew not a single answer, so I closed my eyes and gave up. I couldn't give a specific reason as to why I even bothered to write that note, because by now I'm sure he's used to my failed tests and probably doesn't even give a damn anymore. It's impressive, how patient this man really is with me, and I have respect for him for that.
But now, as it feels like his eyes are so set onto mine while he looks down to me from next to my desk, it seems as if he is searching for something so deep inside me, and I wish I never wrote him that note. He has kept staring at me ever since yesterday, and I already know it's because he read it, and I regret ever bothering to come up with an excuse to begin with. There's a quiet tension that begins to rise between us, and I wonder if he's waiting for me to say something. Instead he softly smiles and places a paper onto my desk, turning back on his heel to hand out the rest of the previous day's test papers to the class. I didn't even hear him come up to me, which is odd since I'm normally extremely anxious and on edge when he hands graded work back, the sound of his footsteps approaching me usually louder than my own heartbeat. I stare at the paper on my desk for a few moments, lazily glancing over all the questions I never answered and the few I did poorly on before I drift to the top of the page, and my eyes widen.
I feel myself jolt back slightly as my desk and the desk behind me clash, a faint noise pouncing off between them. I can feel a few gazes drift to me from the other students, but other than that they don't say anything. I ignore them as I find myself blankly staring at the high B score of an '87' marked at the top left corner of the page, the numbers written in red ink with a circle around it. Almost absentmindedly I flick the paper over to the back where I wrote the note, and under it again in red is written in small, neat handwriting, See me after class.
I almost choke, immediately raising my hand to my mouth. I can feel my ears softly heat up, something that happens hardly ever - something that happens only when I'm nervous. I flip the paper back over so quickly that my pencil rolls to the other side of the desk, hoping that no one else saw the notes that we exchanged. Not because I feel like it should exactly be private or anything, but it's embarrassing - what if the other students saw? It would only give them another reason to dislike me, to avoid me. I shouldn't care about their opinions and for the most part I don't, but I want them to not mind me. I want to simply stay out of their lives, not as a bother or an annoyance.
For the rest of the hour I couldn't find myself focusing properly, and it was more aggitating than distracting. Normally I would be left with simple day-dreaming, allowing myself the freedom to dive into whatever thoughts I wanted. But today however, I was left to be assaulted with the thoughts of his reply on my test. They wouldn't leave me alone, no matter how many times I poorly attempted to think of something else, to drift away to a much more appealing topic. I didn't want to let my mind wonder and dwell with why he wants to see me after class, with what he wants of me. Honestly, I want to go home and sleep the rest of the years I have here away, never to return and only face the memories of the high school I never held a liking to.
Every once in a while, as I attempted excruciatingly hard to try and knock away my thoughts by focusing in class, my eyes would meet with blue and the thought would suffice again. He would hold my stare for a few moments, stopping for just a second in whatever he was lecturing to the class before finally breaking it and continue teaching.
I've heard the rumors about Mr. Kagamine Len.
I've never payed much mind to him despite how long I've had him as a teacher already, and I never cared for what he was saying or teaching really. Not that he himself wasn't interesting or anything of the like, but his long lectures about our country's history never intrigued me. Despite never listening to his words, I did however find myself occasionally listening solely to the sound of his voice... It was a gentle melody, his voice deep and clear, soft and hushed. I would sometimes find myself so distracted with the rhythm of his voice that all other sounds had dissipated, his words becoming like a foreign language and I would close my eyes. It was hard to see such a person with a memorizing voice like his be such the mysterious, cold, secretive individual the rumors set him out to be. Yes, he is rather self-kept and hardly seems to reveal any personality at all - if I had to be bluntly honest, he seems more dangerous than anything else. Not including his drawls of explanation of the subject in class, he normally remains rather quiet, his lips hardly ever curving up into a smile. It's times like these I wonder if he even enjoys his role as a teacher, but I rarely ever think about that for too long before my mind drifts off in another direction.
I hardly even notice the final bell's ring, interrupting one student I don't particularly remember the name of in the middle of his question, before everyone around me slowly stands up to leave. It's the last bell of the day, finally dismissing everyone from school and granting them to go home and greet their families. But I hate the final bell. I hardly ever crave the desire to go home, instead stopping by the library or aimlessly walking around town. I hate home; I hate going to the house I've grown up in and come with terms that it's no longer the same as it was months ago. And it will never be.
A part of me is glad I get to stay after school, even if it's just for a few minutes. It'll give me an excuse to give to Dad as to why I'm arriving late again. Even if it is only minutes, I'll tell him it was hours. But then again, that dread of curiosity of what Mr. Kagamine wants to say is greater than any excuse I can give to my father. Perhaps it's because I've become aware I am an overthinker that is making me nervous. With my father, I can infer what his motives are, how he thinks. It's always been rather easy to tell what's on his mind, not only because he's rather obvious as is but also because he has never noticeably changed. Even if I'm not there, one foggy glance my way and I can tell he's been drinking. With Mr. Kagamine, however, I have absolutely no idea what the foreign page he offers reads.
As everyone around me packs their things and loudly exits out of the door, the chatter gradually disappearing as they make their leave, it isn't long until I'm the only one in the classroom. Mr. Kagamine doesn't even glance over to me as he messes with some papers at his desk, so instead I remain quiet and pack my things as well. I stay seated at my desk, awkwardly messing with the straps of my bag, wondering if I should start the conversation. I quickly dismiss that thought though. I'll feel rude for interrupting whatever he's doing, and if he called me here he should be the one to start.
I can't imagine what he wants to talk about, and I think that is what's driving me crazier than anything else. Of course it's about the test, so perhaps he's planning on scolding me, lecturing me about my future since I'm not meeting his standards. How strange, though, that he would even bother to care. So can that be it? I settle on that it wouldn't make much since, so instead I sigh and pretend I'm preoccupied with these straps. Soon enough, it's dead quiet throughout the entire building - the loud buzz of the student's departure now nothing more than the numbed buzz of the air conditioning. It feels as if it's just him and I on this entire campus, but surely there are other teachers here and students staying after school as well. Slowly, I find my gaze lifting to him, watching as he flips carefully through a stack of papers with a pen at his lips. Even if we aren't the only people here, it doesn't lift the tension at all I can feel engulfing us. Perhaps it's only me that feels this way, and I wonder if he sees this as something as meaningless as a crack in the wall.
Just as I start to fidget wondering what I should do to further distract myself, Mr. Kagamine sighs and stands up, walking over to me with a single pen in his hand. He sits down in the seat directly in front of mine, swinging one of his legs over the chair so he is sitting completely backwards in the desk to face me. For a second I find his position a little unprofessional, reminding me more of a student than a teacher, but it somehow relieves some of the tension due to his lack of formality. I find it more amusing than uncomfortable, but I keep my mouth closed and stare at him.
"Now, Hatsune," he starts, his voice strained and husky, completely different than how it sounded in class. A sudden feeling of guilt ingests into me, wondering if I'm a bother for staying after school. I don't exactly favor him in any way, but I don't want to be of any trouble for him either. But that wouldn't be right - he asked me to stay, so I can't be a bother for him if it was under his own request. Right? He finally locks his gaze with mine again for the first time since school ended, his eyes as cool and dull as they were all day.
"I assume you've noticed the grade I gave you on your test," he says blandly, not seeming to be interested about this at all. I bite my lip, sitting back in my chair and placing my hands in my lap, awkwardly not quite sure what to do with them. Lazily meeting his gaze, I dully reply, "Was it out of pity that you gave me a higher grade? I can't seem to think of a reason why you would do something that could risk you getting fired, especially something over me, Mr. Kagamine."
He pauses, the pen in his hand once again at his lips as he seems to be studying me. Something in my stomach turns, and I find myself looking away from his eyes.
Despite his one sole act of informality sitting in the chair, everything else about him is extremely professional. Even the aura that drowns him is sharp and heavy, his maturity surpassing any other adult that I know of, which is rather strange since he isn't that much older than I am. A handful of years, yes, enough to where I have to look up to him, but no other teacher in this entire district can compete with this man, though he started only as an assistant teacher in the beginning of the year. He's below normal teachers, yet he had surpassed and outrun them all in only a few months. Perhaps now it's alright, since our original teacher has been out and Mr. Kagamine had to take his place. By this point, the class had simply brushed him off no longer as an assistant but as the teacher himself, despite his deficiency of qualification.
Even though he lacks the years of experience teachers normally have and is mildly younger than an average high school instructor, something about him makes his person a rather consummate character. I would assume that's why most of the girls in my class squeak and giggle about him like elementary children, sometimes repeatedly on a daily basis. It's honestly rather annoying since he is just our teacher, nothing more and nothing less, and it's as if they don't know that. Like they're completely unaware of the fact that it's impossible to grow a relationship with him. It's quite disturbing and unsettling that despite his rather cold and dull personality, they still flock to him solely because of his appearance. If I had to honestly admit it myself, I couldn't lie and say he isn't attractive - no, in fact it's the exact opposite with his mildly unkempt blonde hair and calmly blue eyes, it's hard to say he isn't beautiful. But I also have to admit that I'm relatively proud of myself that I don't stare at him all day long, hoping that something between us will blossem, like my classmates. It's a useless thought. And useless doesn't need to partake in my life.
He sits back as well, his arms crossed over his chest. "I never intended to work here fulltime, so being fired is no big deal. If losing my job helps me understand why you're failing this semester but passed with an A in the previous, then I'll happily bend the rules more often." My eyes find his once again, but this time when they meet, I don't feel as if I have to look away almost immediately. His expression lacks any life at all, his features poised to appear rather bored, his eyelids only half-opened to meet mine. He said it with a voice so monotone and absent that I am almost shocked with how quick he was to admit something like that. So perhaps I was right, and he doesn't favor his job? I feel like I'm diving too deep into his personal life, which I have no real interest in if I had to be honest, but I need something to steer the topic away from why this semester's results are a complete opposite grade than the last.
"Why did you accept to work here fulltime with the absense of our original teacher if you look at it so... insignificantly?" I hesitate on the word, trying to come up with a proper term to my bland assumption. A part of me feels like it isn't quite what I was going for, but as Mr. Kagamine inhales briefly, exhaling only when he turns to stare out the window for a moment, I let it go and guess that he understood what I meant. It's quiet between us for a while, the air around us thickening and I gradually begin to feel like I should take it back, that I shouldn't dive into questions like that. But to be fair, he did ask me why I'm currently doing so terribly in his class, and that's personal as well.
"I'm afraid that's none of your business, Hatsune, so I must apologize for not being able to answer you. Now, back to the original topic - what is keeping you from excelling in my class?" he asks, his voice still empty. I've never realized how disinterested he really seems to be until now, or maybe it's just because of me. Either way though, he appears to want to leave as much as I do, but he is choosing to stay when he can easily leave - not just being in this room with me, but his entire career here as well.
"I'm afraid it's none of your business, Mr. Kagamine, so I cannot answer that question," I mimic back flatly, almost inattentively as I mean to only say that in my head, but soon I realize that my lips formed those words and my eyes widen, snapping my alarmed gaze down to my hands in my lap. I can feel my ears heaten again, and I clumsily try to quickly retort, "No, what I meant was that if you aren't going to answer my question about you, then I won't answer with your question about me." I keep my stare down to my hands, praying I didn't do something wrong. It's not that I didn't mean it. In fact, I was just voicing my opinion, and I wouldn't take it back even if I get scolded for it. It's just that he is my superior, and it'll cause me more trouble than I ever intended to get myself in to begin with. With this past failing test and all the issues at home, I'm terrified that if I make just one more mistake, I'll break down right in front of him. Everything will rush and slam right into me, knocking any strength I might have left to hold onto for the next couple of days. I don't want to cry and shatter in front of anyone, and Len Kagamine definitely isn't an exception.
He leans forward again in his seat, his arms folded onto my desk. He remains quiet for a few more moments, his voice linted with subtle amusement which somehow shocks me, since this whole time so far has been rather flat, "Fair enough, I'll play along. So your question is why I take my job so insignificantly?" He emphasizes the word, seeming to make fun of my hesitation for when I said it myself.
"And why you gave me a false grade on my test," I jump in, not even hesitating. I don't realize how close he actually is until now, when I see him face to face with him leaning over onto my desk. Well, honestly, it isn't too close to where it would be questionable, but it's definitely near enough to be uncomfortable, rather. He shakes his head.
"Ah, but then that is two questions on your part. To be fair on your terms, then I should ask two questions as well," he counters, and I smirk. This man is rather intimidating and is enlightened with the mind of an adult, but he's also hard-headed and stubborn like a child. I've only seen this within the couple of minutes talking to him, but I wonder if it's just that obvious after a while or if I'm the only one that has noticed this side of him? Or perhaps everyone already blandly knows and I'm just slow to catch up, since I can't seem to focus anymore during his class. Of course, it's not just his history class, no. It would be mistaken if I were to say that it's him alone that I can no longer pay attention to. Last semester I passed with A's and B's in every class, never once having a failing grade in my entire life. However, now it's not only his class, but every one I'm currently in has dramatically dropped. No other teacher of mine seems to care, so I assumed that Mr. Kagamine would be the exact same way, filling out the role of a teacher to teach and nothing more. But I suppose I was wrong, or I wouldn't be sitting in this room with him now.
"Why my job as a teacher seems to mean so little to me," he starts, his gaze dropping for a second, as if he has to think about it. He hasn't outright put me down, claiming that my question is ridiculous and his role as a teacher is absolute, like I would assume any other lecturer would. But by now, I have already figured out he isn't like normal teachers. Not just by his position that was supposed to only stay as an assistant, but also his attitude toward me is extremely different. Of course, I am only assuming this within these few minutes of talking to him alone. I could be coming up with false visions in my head of this man and be completely mistaken, since even after teaching me for roughly a year, he is still only a stranger.
I nod at him, indirectly pressing him to continue, but I don't say anything else. Finally, after a few moments of him flipping the pen between his fingers, he lays it down right in the middle of my desk and looks straight at me, "Personally, I absolutely despise teaching."
He seems to stop for a second, observing me, waiting for a reaction, and I can't seem to prevent myself from giving him what he wants. I freeze, my attention fully attached to him and him only, but he simply shrugs and continues, "Some days it's the work itself. Others it's the students, the staff, or maybe even me. I'm working a job that I'm not quite fit for yet, but this damn school is so desperate for its high ranking that they can't risk hiring a teacher that doesn't know what they're doing in place of your previous one." He bites the inside of his cheek for a second, holding his stare on me. "They offered me the role to work fulltime, already well aware that it shouldn't even be authorized yet. At first I was going to decline, pursuing the rest of the college courses I needed to officially become a teacher. You would think that already planning on going into this profession that I would be exhilarated to start working early, but it's more drama than I asked for coming in this young - already dealing with a bunch of immature, petty highschool girls and jealous superior teachers. But..."
His eyes narrow, Mr. Kagamine only slightly leaning forward so he can get closer to me, only about a foot apart from where I sit in my chair. I don't know why he would bother since we seem to be the only two in this hallway, perhaps maybe this entire building - but that thought is gone within a matter of seconds, my focus solely on him as his voice hushes, his words only a husky mumble, "...But it's students like you that convince me to stay."
Before I can even reply - before I can even properly process what he had said - he already jumps to the next subject, opposing further discussion over his confession. I blink, still holding back to his reason for his behavior as my teacher. I open my mouth to protest against his continuing, to put a hault on going any further as if he had not said anything at all to me, but his voice reaches our ears first and I simply, dumbly close my mouth, defeated. "Now, as for your question about the test, I curved your grade up to a B because at least with this, you'll pass this term with a low D. Obviously it's not good, but you failing a class is highly questionable - especially since you were one of the brightest students in my classroom only a few months ago," his voice is low, and with this something flickers across his dark gaze, it disappearing before I can quite name what it is. "I suppose you can give me a proper explanation nevertheless since you now owe me. I am going wholely and completely against the rules for you, Hatsune."
Between the glint in his eyes and the slightly, almost menacing tone in his rhythmic voice, at that moment I noticed I had suddenly felt the atmosphere around us change, its dense humidity drowning me out and I could no longer focus properly. Perhaps it was unintentional, but what he said sounded like a subtle, quiet threat, like I actually did owe him for this false grade. Maybe not a threat exactly, but the strong aura around him told me that what he was saying was intended to be taken seriously. Despite this sudden shift in attitude, maybe he's right. He saved me from failing his class, and the least I can do is explain why so his justification can be reasonable.
"Will that be your first question, then? What happened to me that drastically changed my grades?" I ask, and he simply nods. "That's the whole reason as to why we're here, isn't it?" he comments, his tone ending in much more of a statement than a question. I notice that it's my turn to speak, no longer able to push this topic back any longer. Of course I can refuse to answer him, since there's really nothing forcing me to tell him after all. I didn't ask him to change my grade, to help me pass this semester, so I don't have to talk if I don't want to. But, well, it would seem childish to so blandly refuse. He saved my grade, risking his entire job as a teacher in this school. Perhaps if I had nothing to lose then I wouldn't feel the need to explain anything to him, but if I failed this class, Dad wouldn't...
"...My mom's ill."
Dad wouldn't let me visit Mom in the hospital anymore. At least not for a while. I would convince myself to sneak out of the house when I could just so I could see her, but if I got caught, then that would only further my restrictions on seeing the woman who raised me. I couldn't risk breaking the promise I made that I would visit at least once a week. I'm sure she would grow worried if I didn't come like I normally did.
I can feel Mr. Kagamine shift from across me, but I can't read his expression because my gaze had drifted down to the pen he had laid on my desk. And honestly, I'm not sure if I want to see his face or not. Would he pity me? Would he feel bad? Maybe he would regret asking something like this in the first place?
It doesn't matter. Just admitting something like this aloud, allowing myself to hear my own voice forming those words is more weight-lifting than burdensome, which is a drastic change compared to a few months ago.
So I continue, "She grew sick quite a while ago. She hasn't left the hospital for weeks now. Everyone in my family, my dad and my brother, are working just so we can afford her stay to get better. I'm not too depressed over it because it's lasted so long, some days it getting better and some days it getting worse. When I first came to school it's all I would think about. Dad saw how my grades were effected almost immediately, and with his mind set to live life normally and properly move on from his depression over my mom, he hated that I was reminding him that she isn't well. With Mikuo always out of the house working a nightshift, I'm left alone in the evening with Dad. He tries his best, but he's become stricter, and it angers me when he uses Mom as an excuse. Home is no longer a place I can say I feel happy, because it has wholely revolved around the sadness of my mother's condition. It's all I'm reminded of when I go there now, and that's not something I really look forward to."
I exhale, finally lifting my gaze to meet with the man in front of me. There's a moment of silence between us and for the first time since being here, I'm not hoping for him to fill in the empty space. Well, for the first time in this classroom, I feel like I have actually over-spoken. I've always managed to remain hidden, out of the way of everyone in this history class. It's not that I refuse to get close to anyone - no - I used to talk to everyone, smile at every student and greet them as if I were their childhood friend. But that was before Mom. Ever since she had grown ill, I distanced myself, not able to bare the thought of sharing what was going on with my personal life. I would break down, knowing that my classmates once saw me as one of the kindest girls in school but now is slowly and utterly being eaten alive, right before their very naive eyes. I didn't want them to look down on me, to feel bad for something that I couldn't even control. I didn't want them to think I'm broken.
And the first person I have shared this with was a teacher, playing a game with me so we can be even.
When he finally opens his mouth, his gaze chiming with mine, I find myself almost surprised with what he says, his reaction completely different than how I had seen it in my head dozens of times before. "You seem to have rehearsed those lines, having plenty of time to arrange those words about your mother. It's either you have told it so many times that it stuck in your memory," his voice is flat, simply stating what's on his mind rather than providing any emotion to voice his reaction, "or you've feared having to say it to someone to the point you know exactly what you're scared of. And I take it that the latter seems more likely, am I wrong?"
I stare at him. I just... stare at him, having absolutely no idea how to reply. I've pictured this moment for so long, for confessing what's going on in my life to another person. Wouldn't it have been reasonable to think they would only sympathize with me, to tell me empty comforting promises that I'll be alright?
I try to hide my smile, I really do, but as soon as I bite my lip to prevent it, a small chuckle flows out from my mouth. Mr. Kagamine raises an eyebrow, and I feel the need to apologize but instead I shake my head and lean back in my seat. I shrug, "No wonder the other teachers are jealous of you. Not only did you get to start a hell of a lot earlier than they did, you're also very cumulative. And here I spent all this time worrying over my own mental strength about this conversation when it wasn't needed at all. How stressful."
"Hatsune," Mr. Kagamine chips, and I revert my attention back to him, my small cackle of a smile disappearing once I notice his serious tone. It falls silent once again between us, but this time I find myself immediately expecting him to speak, to say the next word. Perhaps it's because I had just confessed something rather dear, and I shamefully find myself seeking for more answers. I shouldn't be greedy with wanting him to say just a little more, to match the senario I had painted in my head. I can't quite tell if I'm relieved or not that he gave an unexpected answer, because now I have utterly no idea what's next. I almost find it maddening when he doesn't say anything for what feels like minutes upon minutes of absolutely nothing. I shift, finding myself wishing for the previous feeling I had when it fell silent between us two earlier, so instead I just remain quiet and wait.
"I'm the first person you've told, aren't I?" he asks, but I don't need to reply because I know he has found the answer before he even asked me. He has the ability to read a person with what seems hardly any problem at all, even already well aware of the talk that circles around him when he makes no effort to be a part of it. He recognizes the thoughts and opinions fogging around him throughout the school, ranging from the student's rumors to the teacher's inputs. I envy this aspect of him. I always thought of myself as somewhat competent because ever since I was a child, I would observe and take note of how different people reacted to different things. Since I have grown up with this unconscious habbit, I have slowly learned how to read expressions and body movement when lured into certain situations. I have been inflicted with knowing when to stop saying something or to reply in a specific way just to appease the other person. My father has always been one of the easiest people to read by far, my words almost automatic whenever he speaks to me because I know just what he wants to hear, empty words that I reply with just so he can go away.
However, with this man sitting in front of me, I begin to question this feature of mine. His expression is more so than not heavily caked with absolutely nothing. He hardly has ever changed his countenance with me, and when it has - the very few times that it has - it's more barbarous for his own amusement than anything else. Or perhaps, and this is a possibility, I have completely misunderstood every rare signal he has allowed me to see and I am just thinking too much into it. It's honestly frustrating to know that he is undoubtedly the most difficult person I ever have had to read, and I only get more aggitated when I begin to think that he can read me a lot easier than I can him, for the first time ever in my defense.
I can't help but agree with the rumors that managed to fly by me about this Kagamine Len. At first I lightly brushed them off, almost wanting to laugh. Everyone can be figured out; everyone has a constant pattern within their personality and behavior. And with time, anyone can be distinguished among a roaring buzz of other people, and I thought that this teacher would be no different. But now, as I sit only a desk away from him, confessing to this stranger things I thought I wouldn't have to talk about for a long time, I can't quite laugh at that thought anymore. He can be figured out too, I conclude, but it will just take some time.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Kagamine," I mumble, not quite realizing how susurrated my voice had gotten until it already whisked past my lips, "let's talk for just a little bit longer. Even when we run out of things to say, please let me stay even for a little while. I don't want to wander around town again looking for something to pass the time with before I have to go home."
My father has always been rather strict and harsh, but as soon as Mom was forced to call the hospital her new home, he had only gotten worse. Before, not even my brother held a liking to him, but as our protective father we still love him. Now that I don't see my older sibling as much anymore, him graduating a few years back so we don't get to see each other at school nor after when I come home because of his work, I am left alone most of the time in the house. Dad isn't the best person in the world, but I don't want to sit in my room waiting for him to get drunk just so I have to clean up after him. I pity the man more than anything, and I would rather live by myself, but it's not him alone that drives me mad... it's the silence. I hate the moments when he feels the need to bark at me, but after he's done we are both left to ourselves. I believe it's the silence that made him this way, time eating away at what's left of his happiness. Even though I am well down the road in the direction he's in, I refuse to reach the dead end that has consumed my father. The silence which leaves thoughts vulnerable is the most terrifying thing I have ever had to face in my entire life.
"You have homework, don't you?" he asks, and I meet his gaze. As I feel like I'm about to snort at his reply for asking him if I could stay, realizing it's such a teacher thing to say, what he says next almost immediately takes it back and I find myself back at zero for attempting to figure his person out, to read just what goes on in that perplexing train of thought of his.
"As for my second question," he stands, taking the few steps between us and devours them, limiting the distance between us further as he stands right at my side making me feel extremely small and inferior compared to him, "how about you let me help you? You and I both know that you are an extremely bright student, and if you can catch up on all the things that you have fallen behind on, you'll no longer have those issues at home. If you allow me to tutor you, Miku, then maybe you can help me with a problem of mine as well." He smiles.