DEAR TEACHER
Author's note: Well, besides that this idea just popped up in my head, and I've been reading so much British literature lately, the style will seem different from what I usually write. Oh and for the most part…this is my second Kai/Kenny fic, hurrah! This story is just a test run to see if everyone likes this story just as much as my Tala/Kenny pairings. I sort of got bored working on that pairing, and this I find is another pairing that comes to mind often since I don't read about this pairing too often. Maybe I've seen a total of...five? Well, anyway, I hope everyone likes this one too.
Disclaimer: I do not own any Beyblade characters that wish to appear in this piece. All rights, besides the story belong to Takao Aoki. The story is mine, so hands off!
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Prologue
Maybe I'm a little crazy…okay, maybe I'm more than a little crazy, I think sitting here at my desk doing my English work. Well, it's not really work, it's more so me listening to my English teacher as he reads the Romantic poet, John Keats' poem "Ode on Melancholy". My hand continues to inscribe words on the sheet of paper on my desk I stare down occasionally to make sure no words flowed together. When satisfied my cursive script was constant on the pale blue lines, I continued listening.
Or as I said before, I continue to try to focus on those words flowing from that deep, alluring voice. Right now our class is in the Romantic period of British Literature, irony for my train of thoughts at this brief moment, over the poem cleverly chosen. Sitting on my paper is my own ode on melancholy being composed. Such a hard enough task, especially when you have to focus on the poem, instead of the mouth the words are coming from.
Do you want to know my dilemma? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't after all I'm no one really special. I'm just a four foot eleven inches—haven't even broke five feet yet despite I'm already sixteen years old—high sophomore at the local high school. I'm no where near as popular with the mass of four hundred students attending. Hell, I've just got three best friends in the entire sophomore class. On top of that, whenever someone sees me in the hallway, they always assume I'm a freshman and try to assist me, which has to be some testament to just how unimportant I am.
Let's see…besides my short stature, I wear glasses, of course I don't really need to wear them all the time, just for small print and far away objects. Everyone says I should get contacts, even my mother and optometrist. It's always 'you have good eyes it's a waste you hide them behind glasses'. My best friends Max, Tyson, and Rei use to tell me that all the time, but they stopped seeing how uncomfortable I was with the subject. The very thought of putting anything in my eyes besides eye drops gives me a serious case of goose bumps down my back.
Besides my glasses which has put me in that "nerd" category despite the three I hang out with who have no problem being recognized by sophomores, seniors, juniors, and freshmen, there's always my hair. Can you believe that even my hair makes me unimportant? It just goes to show you just how not special I am. Oh don't think I'm overreacting…it's just a known fact that even to my brown floppy roots I'm dull. I have a hair style in the shape of a mushroom. I swear…some sadistic hair dresser must have kidnapped me as a baby and preformed irreversible experiments with my hair, hence why I can't do anything with it now.
Well…this is my life. Unimportant, floppy brown hair that droops into my line of vision, glasses with lens the size of dinner plates, and I'm on the lines of being a dwarf. Yep, if I didn't know me, I would think of no reason to want to know who I was. Which is why I say if you don't want to know me, then that's fine. Wait...I'm already boring you with my ramblings, aren't I? Well, let's just assume that you want to listen to my problems, to why the words insanity and institutionalized are conspiring with each other over my mental state.
Are you ready for my big secret or problem I should say? Well here it goes, before you decide to find something better to do with your life. Okay, here we go.
My secret…
I'm in love with my teacher. Okay…maybe it's not love right now, but I am infatuated to the utmost, have been for two full years. Which one of my teachers you ask? Well, I'm sure you can figure out by my earlier statements.
Yep, infatuated with my English teacher, how sad is that? Well, how pathetic is it would be the correct term? Things would be easier if he was a girl…but no, he's not. Instead, just the most gorgeous guy on the face of this Earth. If there were to ever be disagreement on that subject, I would have gotten in such a heated argument that you might chuckle at the blushing dramatics of a sixteen year old gay sophomore crushing on his English teacher.
But you must understand he really is perfect in every aspect. So beautiful that the Greek gods would have claimed he stole their beauty from under their noses. Yes, that perfect in oh so many wonderful ways. He's tall, I'm guessing about six foot, because he's always looking down when he speaks to me…well…okay, I'm shorter than most…everyone has to look down to speak to me. Still though, he could easily pick me up with no problem, leaving my feet to dangle.
Reason number two why he's so great, not only is he tall, but built in a lean way. You can always see the muscles in his arms when he likes to wear short sleeved shirts. His dress is always casual, a nice shirt and khaki pants of black, beige, or dark blue. His shirts vary from button down, a few times short sleeves, not too often though, long sleeved polo shirts are common most days. He never wears suits, probably because they don't give him much freedom. I do thank the gods above he allows his trim figure to be suggested to under the light clothing. I could bet my allowance for the next year his stomach is as flat as a washing board.
Let's see…what more can be said about my perfect teacher? Ah yes, we can not forget the wily hair pulled back in a loose ponytail in the back. It's the most amazing mass in the world. The front of his hair is slate blue while the back accents with a perfect dark blue; wild bangs sweep his eyes, which are enthrallingly like red wine aged with wisdom and experience. Every time he looks at me, it's like I get drunk without knowing those crimson eyes draw me into an inebriated waltz.
Those sensual eyes placed in a face—body also included in this statement—which had to be craved out of marble by the painter and sculptor Michelangelo before his death, then stored away until the gods above thought of the perfect use for the masterpiece. Hence the creation of this figure before me, talking about the life of the poet John Keats: Kai Hiwatari, currently of the age twenty-four. Even his name rolls off the tongue like honey oriented candy imported from a secret place one could only dream up…much like the teacher this metaphor relates to.
Eight years my senior, and twice my teacher, once a year ago in my English 1 class, which was also his first year teaching here, and now for British Literature. No, it wasn't fate I asked him last year if he planned to teach the course, his response: a slow smile which could easily be a sexy smirk because the transition from one to the other could never possibly fail him if applied. He's smart, witty, sarcastic and cynical without it being overbearing, insightful, and just so damn sexy. Now do you see why arguing with me over his perfection would get us no where.
I've already wasted more minutes of your time than I should. Yell at me if you must, I would not blame you for my hopeless grandeur. So, you see my dilemma, why I sit here writing this letter I never plan to give him. Someone once said that by writing your feelings down, it helps you clear your mind. Whoever that person was…they had to have a shallow mind in thinking up that "clever" idea. To all who plan to try it, the damn thing doesn't work. It just makes me realize just how hopeless a love I have for my Adonis.
And yes, you may note upon the possessive usage of the word 'my' in the previous statement. No girlfriend, or boyfriend—if indeed he acquires a taste for men instead of the opposite gender—I know of, have seen, or heard of by the squeaks of conversations girls in my class carry on about him. Very informative the female population can be sometimes when not giving one a headache for it. Where was I in my ramblings…let's see, ah yes I remember, my letter of confessions.
Of course I shall trash it once finished with this constructive usage of vocabulary the British bestowed upon this Earth. It's quite useful to express things in so many ways, though many at this school come from Asian or European descent. You can probably guess by his name that my beautifully perfect teacher comes from Japan. There I go again in usage with such a possessive word. How I would be scolded upon proper use of the word had anyone the slightest inkling to where my thoughts meandered.
I digressed once again haven't I? Please pardon my habit I usually do not tend to throw myself from one tangent to the next under normal occasions. I'll try to stay on subject from now on, not to agitate your patience with me. So where was I in my musings? What to do with my letter once it's done correct? I would never expect myself to be brave enough to allow this letter out of my hands.
Call me a coward if you wish for my absence in bravery, but the concerns of heartbreak carry my mind farther in rationalization. Too many factors play out this game my heart will not give up. How am I suppose to know that his heart doesn't call for another, whether man or woman I have no clue. Such a foolish notion he would be gay scolds the mind until further truths of it can be found. If he so happens to be gay and single-hearted what short circuit in my reasoning has carried me to the conclusion he would accept my smallest token of affections?
Harsh you think, but I do not. In my beginning comments upon myself, I told how unimportant I am. I will not be so zealous as to say I will turn heads, or that I am dating material by standards because truth makes a better suit than egotism. I am humble in my responses, never have I been asked on a date, nor do I receive letters of confessions from man, woman, or child. I doubt any time within the life span of being in high school shall that happen either. So I do not mourn over my many imperfects, but accept what I have been given without hesitation.
I do not intend to say I have a chance with my exotic love when in truth I know that the distance between us might as well place us in a simile of being like the Earth to the moon: unobtainable by all standards, laws, and rules. Smart, yes I do admit this small vain. All my teachers say the same thing each and every day, though it does not inflate my head with cocky arrogance, yet neither am I self conscious.
Rather, I accept what is there, do not scramble to become someone else, and acknowledge that which I will be; something which infuriates Tyson to the ends of his long blue hair. Many talks have ended with light threats of "gaining a backbone and going for what I want".
Yes, he knows about my obsession to say the least over my English teacher or as Tyson puts it "the devil himself". Many days have been spent listening to Tyson argue over an assignment being too long or similar grievances, which is when wit always rolls in to assess the situation.
Tilting my head to the side, I find Tyson once more nodding off from the lesson. We have been friends since elementary school. I've always tagged along on his misadventures, thinking up ways to get us out of trouble. But you can not hate the guy if you knew him; he's always been easy to forgive, but quickly to forget the lessons learned from one thing or another. I suppose it's due to his abundant supply of hyper energy needing to be burned off by any means necessary.
My dear, dear friend, what would you say towards these random thoughts in my head, and unremitting words printed on my paper? I can assume in sincerity you would thoroughly chastise my humble habits like you always do, then if it weren't for the rest of the class, would march up and tell my deepest affections to my crush. Thankfully you have chosen to nod off while I continue my pursuit of freedom. Though I know that shall never become the case for a love which has incessantly dwelt for such a long time in the corner of my mind. I fear, regardless of everything, this shall never vacate my heart.
