Chapter 3: Testing the Waters
Where the hell did she come from? – was the only thought that ran through Syaoran's mind. She wasn't from here, that was for sure. He had been teaching privileged kids long enough to know the odd one out when he saw one. Not to mention, he was one himself once upon a time.
When he walked into class and saw her in the first row, he ignored her completely, just like he did with the rest – high school girls tend to be a little overzealous – it's not the best idea to encourage them.
He didn't notice the way her wide, innocent eyes took him in. He didn't notice her crimson pout. And he definitely didn't notice the way her body filled out her uniform unlike any other girl her age. To him, she was just another student. At least that's what he told himself.
She didn't look like the rest of them – that was his second though, and it was somewhere so deep in the back of his head, he wasn't sure he had the necessary access to wipe it from his mind.
Syaoran has taught Mathematics at Tokyo Private for nearly four years now, and he knew all these students. Not the names or the faces. The type. The ones who thought they were only as good as their worst grade. The ones who would scheme and plot and betray if it meant being the best, even at someone else's expense.
That's what Headmaster Ayase gives him. The best. The teachers here give them the tools and discipline they need to succeed in whatever careers their mommy and daddy have chosen for them, and they go on to be perfect, little carbon copies of their parents.
With her dirty black Vans and chipped black nail polish, he knew she was different. Either way, he was caught off-guard when she called him out in the middle of class and he was forced to respond quickly. He told her to get her stuff and leave, and almost regretted it, because he wasn't sure what her story was.
She was either rebelling against her parents or a scholarship student. Those were the only two options at this school. His guess was that she's a little bit of both. He knew the type, because he was the type. He fought and resisted his parents every step of the way growing up. He wasn't fit for a life as a robot. He liked martial arts and music and drinking. A lot of good that did him. He's still the black sheep, but somehow, he ended up teaching in the same world he rebelled so hard against, only he was in Hong Kong. Imagine that.
He scrubbed his hand down his face and closed the laptop screen he had been staring blankly at for the last ten minutes. Why the fuck was he even giving her a second thought? He left his belongings and decided to grab a pack of Smokes and a can of Grape Soda from across the street before he came back to finish putting together the rest of the syllabus for the year. See? Rebel. These should have been ready to pass out on the first day.
Then he saw Sakura Kinomoto. And she wasn't alone. She was walking over to a guy who looked like a metal band dropout, and he threw his arms around her. She accepted his embrace. Syaoran couldn't see Sakura's face, but she seemed almost nervous, which he guessed was very out of character for a girl who called out her teacher on the first day of school.
They were basically grinding in the parking lot, and somewhere in his head, he knew he should've put a stop to it. But they were like a car accident that he couldn't look away from. If he wasn't sure before, it was clear now.
She was no Tokyo Private princess.
The man on the bike grabbed her ass, looked over her shoulder, and spotted the blond kid who she walked out of school with. Eriol Hiiragizawa. Syaoran taught him his last period. Obviously gay, but there was no way for the simpleton on the bike to know that from looks alone.
Sakura's gaze followed her biker boyfriend's, and when her eyes landed on Eriol, her whole face dropped in horror. She schooled her features quickly and turned her attention to pacifying him. If the whole scene wasn't so creepy, seeing him fall under her spell as quickly as he did would've been comical.
He handed Sakura a red helmet, and when he turned around to mount his bike, his eyes met Syaoran's for a split second. And that was all it took for Syaoran to recognise him. Syaoran stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from strangling the bastard right there and now.
What the fuck was Sakura doing with this guy?
Hiro Matsuwa.
The man he had been trying to find for the past year.
The man who ruined his family.
The man Syaoran wanted dead.
The school year was about to get a lot more interesting.
Thank you, Sakura Kinomoto
Sakura swung open the chain-linked fence in her front yard and made her way past the collection of empty beer cans and mismatched chairs – they had permanent ass prints from Hiro and his good-for-nothing friends – before heading inside.
The inside, unfortunately, wasn't much better. She lived in the ghetto of Tokyo, where the houses were overrun with bionic sewer roaches, and the streets were overrun with criminals. Ironically enough, all the streets in her neighbourhood were named after universities. She lived on Kyushu street, which she figured was about as close to a university as she'd ever get.
Tokyo Private could change everything for her. And boy, was she off to a great start.
Not.
Ignoring the mountain of dishes in the sink, Hiro's random tools lying everywhere, and a suspicious wet spot on the old green carpet, Sakura headed straight to her room.
Let's be honest – this place wasn't ever The Versace, but when her dad goes out of town, it goes from bad to worse. And she couldn't bring herself to care today. She paused to look at the giant corkboard full of photos above her dresser. She saw her mum pregnant with her. Her dad taking her for a ride on the back of his scooter, rocking a cheesy grin and ratty light brown hair.
Then the more recent ones of Tomoyo and Sakura smoking weed in her car on an old back road while they were supposed to be in school.
And Hiro. So many pictures of Hiro.
Teaching her how to skateboard, sitting with her in the hospital after she broke her ankle on said skateboard later that week, putting their tent together on their camping trip with dad, selfies from concerts they snuck into, and tons of sunsets and scenic shots from the countless times they drove around just to escape the hellhole of Tokyo.
Sakura flopped facedown onto the pale blue comforter on top of her old twin bed. She slipped her shoes off, not moving from her face-plant on the bed, thanking her lucky stars that Hiro had plans.
He disappeared right after dropping her off. Again. She wasn't sure where or what he was up to, but right now, she was grateful for the silence. She rolled onto her back and stared blankly at the popcorn ceiling above and counted the revolutions of the fan blades.
What a day.
Mr. Li's face flashed in her mind, unbidden, and she cringed. Of course, she'd have the hottest teacher to ever grace a classroom, and of course, she managed to make him hate her twenty seconds into meeting her. Not that she blamed him. Her verbal diarrhoea was in full effect today. It wasn't all bad, though.
The rest of her classes were fucking hard – as to be expected – but it felt good. Really good. She was totally overwhelmed and out of her element, but at the same time, she felt like she was exactly where she belonged.
Meeting Eriol was a plus, too. Sakura padded out to the kitchen and snatched an ice cream out of the freezer. After she wolfed that down, she decided to call it a night. She peeled off her knee socks, skirt, and shirt and folded them carefully. She only had the one skirt and one extra shirt, so she would need to keep them as nice as she could for as long as she could.
She was too tired to even take a shower, so she threw on a big, white, cotton T-shirt – either Hiro's or her dad's – and hopped into bed.
She focussed on the sounds outside to distract her from her thoughts. She could hear the bass thumping from a car a few houses down, a group of teenage boys heckling each other, sirens in the distance, and the rhythm sounds of wheels on a skateboard hitting the cracks in the sidewalk.
And before long, the soundtrack of her city lulled her to sleep. She didn't know how long she had been asleep when she felt two strong arms around her and a nose nuzzling into her neck. Hiro.
Lately, he only slept with her when he was fucked up. She could smell the alcohol seeping through his skin, but somehow, it was still comforting.
"You can't leave me, Kura," he whispered into her ear, his voice as rough as his touch.
The desperation in his words broke her heart and reminded her of the wounded boy that he once was.
"You're almost done with high school." He continued, "And soon, you're going to go off to college and leave and leave us behind. I can't protect you if you're not here."
"Shh, it's okay," Sakura soothed him, rubbing his arm like she always did when he was like this and avoided the topic altogether.
She knew she shouldn't lead him on like this. She knew that this was going to blow up soon, but now – when he was drunk, vulnerable, and unstable – was not the time to serve him a healthy dose of reality. Sakura had the defusing the bomb that is Hiro down to an art form, and nothing she said right now would go over well. Not when he was in this state.
He squeezed her tighter, and a few minutes later when his breathing evened out and she knew he passed out, she succumbed to the security of his arms and drifted back to sleep.
Sakura reached blindly for her phone on her nightstand, knocking over a water bottle off in the process before she could finally feel the cool plastic of the case in her hand. She opened one eye and tried to focus on the time. Once her eyes adjusted, she sprung out of bed like it was on fire.
School started ten minutes ago.
Shit.
Why the hell didn't her alarm go off? She was kicking herself for not showering when she had the time last night. Sakura yelled Hiro's name on the way to the bathroom, but she didn't get a response. She brushed her teeth while she searched for him in the house. The place was a shoebox, so he shouldn't be hard to find.
"Hiro!" she yelled around a mouth full of toothpaste. "Where are you?"
She shoved his door open, only to find his empty bed. Jesus Christ. She was late for her second day of school.
She got dressed in record time and threw her unwashed hair into a messy fishtail braid. She swung her backpack over her shoulder and ran outside to see if by some miracle Hiro had got up early to work on his old school car that had been sitting on some blocks in the driveway for the past year.
Nope.
No such luck.
And even worse, his bike was gone. Today wasn't the day to fuck with her. It was way too late to catch the bus now. Sakura weighed her options in her head – all zero of them – when she heard the rumble of his motorbike in the distance.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
Hiro swung into the driveway and lifted one leg like he was about to get off his bike.
"No, no, no, don't you dare! I have to leave, like, five minutes ago! Where were you?" Sakura screeched, scrambling toward him.
"Back off, Kura, and get the fuck on. I had some shit to take care of early this morning. I'm fuckin' tired, and I don't got any patience for your tantrums right now."
Sakura didn't know what could have possibly gotten him out of bed before noon, short of the world ending, but she didn't have the time to hound him for answers. She snatched her new helmet off the old metal patio swing and hopped on behind Hiro.
He took off like a bat out of hell, and she was forced to hold his middle tighter. He weaved in and out of traffic and somehow managed not to get stuck behind one single red light. They pulled into the parking lot, and Sakura didn't know what time it was, but the horde of students outside told her that second period was about to begin. She thought Hiro was going to let her off, but much to her utter horror, he kept going. Straight for the fountain. Straight to where half the school still lingered.
He romped the sidewalk and slid to a stop parallel to the fountain, effectively creating a scene.
"Here you go, princess," he taunted.
Sakura rolled her eyes while she unbuckled her helmet and started to slide off, but his huge hand gripped her thigh, keeping her in place. Sakura arched an eyebrow in question.
"Say 'thanks', Kura."
"Thanks, Kura," she gritted through clenched teeth.
"Say it sweetly, baby doll," he insisted.
All eyes were on them, and to them, it probably looked like nothing more than a little PDA. But Hiro's hand squeezed her thigh so tightly that her eyes began to water. Who was this person?
"Hiro. Enough. I'm already late."
"Not until you thank me," he said with venom in his voice and pointed at his cheek.
Fuck this, she thought, and once again, tried to get off the bike.
His fingers crushed her leg, but it was his thumb digging into her inner thigh that caused her to cry out in pain.
"What the fuck, Hiro!" she practically screamed, and she was thankful that most of the other students had gone inside. The fear of being tardy trumped drama – yet, another different between Tokyo Private and Tokyo High School.
Hiro pointed to his face one more time with a malicious glint in his eye. He's an asshole, but Sakura had never known him to be cruel. This was not the Hiro she grew up with, and this new realisation hit her right in the stomach.
Gone is the boy who made her ramen and reluctantly let her tag along with him and his friends to the skate park, the boy that she idolised and worshipped. This was a stranger wearing her stepbrother's face. And this guy played by different rules, so she better adapt, fast.
She smacked a quick kiss on his cheek, but he gripped her chin in place and turned to plant his lips on hers. Sakura squealed and jerked back, but he simply laughed.
"Fuck you," she spat. She jumped off and scrambled toward the front doors.
She was almost inside when she heard him yell out, "Bummer about your alarm, Kura. You should be more careful next time!"
She never told him that her alarm didn't go off. That motherfucker.
After Sakura made a quick stop at the office for a late slip, she ran through the hall, not even stopping at her locker. Strands of hair came loose from the ride to school, and she rubbed the tears that were starting to dry on her face.
She was a mess.
She skidded to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Li's class and took a second to gain her composure. Every second she wasted was another second she was late. She took one deep breath and opened the door. Not one person looked up. No one, except for Mr. Li, of course. He scowled in her direction as Sakura duked her head down and scurried to her desk.
"Miss Kinomoto, a word?"
Fuck.
He was sitting at his desk while the rest of the class flipped through a packet of some sort. He was wearing a plain baby blue dress shirt and black slacks. His hair was pushed back off his face, and his eyebrows knitted together as he took her in.
His eyes seemed to soften for a fraction of a second, but then the severe expression was firmly back in place so quickly that she wondered if she was imaging it.
"I'm so sorry," she started. "About yesterday, and being late. It won't happen again," she promised.
He handed her a packet. "See that it doesn't," he bit out. "I don't tolerate tardiness. Now, today is a fresh start. Tell us something about yourself. You didn't get the chance yesterday."
Was he for real? This wasn't kindergarten. High schoolers didn't need to play ice-breaking games anymore. But the expectant look in his eyes told her that he was more than serious. And he was waiting for an answer.
"I, uh," she began, articulate as always. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I like to take pictures." This time more firmly.
Some kid mumbled something about nude photos under his breath, but Mr. Li either didn't hear or chose to ignore him.
"What kind of pictures?" he asked, seeming genuinely interested, and it threw Sakura a loop. Yesterday he was callous and aloof, and today he still seemed frosty, but almost human.
"I don't know." She shrugged. "Sad things. Beautiful things. Everything."
Mr. Li studied Sakura for long seconds before he jerked his head in the direction of her desk. She took that as her cue to take her seat. Once she was seated, sakura turned her attention to the papers in her hand. It was a syllabus.
Mr. Li stood up and walked the class through the outline for the year, and Sakura knew she was meant to be paying attention, but all she could focus on was the way his full lips moved when he spoke, the perfect amount of stubble on his face, and the casual way he ran a hand through his dark hair as he leaned a hip against his desk. He's such a fucking man. And even though it was clear that he had more class in his pinky finger than Sakura did in her entire body, she could just tell that deep down, he was a bad boy.
Or maybe a reformed bad boy.
But he reeked of sophistication and wealth. So, why was he a teacher?
Sakura's mind worked overtime trying to make sense of this dichotomy before finally settling on "does not compute". She wondered if he was married. She wondered what his wife would look like. Sakura hated her already. Then she imagined him and his perhaps non-existing wife rolling in bed, him eating her out while she tugged at his perfect hair, and Sakura crossed her legs, squeezing the soft damp fabric between her thighs.
Sakura's eyes roamed all over his body with shameless appreciation for the way his shirt hugged his chest and biceps. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbow and who knew forearms could be sexy?
She was perving on her teacher approximately two seconds after being manhandled by her pseudo stepbrother.
Seems legit.
Sakura shook those thoughts out of her head and attempted to focus on the words coming out of his mouth once more. When she looked up to his eyes, they were trained on her.
"Write down any questions and fill out the back page," he addressed the class, but he was still glaring in her direction.
His jaw hardened, and his eyes narrowed as they drifted down her body. Her heart was racing, and she felt her ears go hot under his attention. Sakura dragged her teeth across her bottom lip and crossed one leg over the other. His eyes weren't wavering from her legs, and his expression morphed into one of… anger?
Sakura glanced down and immediately knew exactly what he was looking at.
Fuck.
Hiro left a little present in the shape of his goddamn hand on her thigh. It was bright red, and four obvious finger marks left little question as to what made them. Sakura tugged her skirt down and shifted in her seat, hating that he was thinking of her as some helpless victim.
Sakura avoided eye contact for the rest of the class, and when the bell rang, she practically ran toward the exit. But Mr. Li couldn't make anything easy for her.
"Kinomoto, hang back. I need a word." There was no question in his voice.
Sakura froze in place, not wanting to defy him, but definitely not wanting to stay behind and face him. Sakura was a street-smart girl. Maybe she hadn't seen it all, but she has seen most of it, and God knows, she has dealt with a lot of people. Scarier people than Mr. Li. But somehow, he scared her more than any of the criminals and creeps she has encountered over the years.
It didn't make any sense.
She turned on her heels and stared him straight in the eye, because even though she was uncomfortable around him, it wasn't in her nature to let this kind of thing show.
"Yes, Mr. Li?" There was a bite to her tone. She couldn't hide it. She wasn't sure if she even wanted to.
His hands were tucked inside the pockets of his black dress pants, he was standing at his full, impressive height, and his eyes glided up her body, from her toes to her head, halting briefly on her thighs. Sakura sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.
Goddamnit, Hiro.
"Riddle me this." He took a step in her direction, rounding his desk, and her heart was in her throat.
Danger rolled off him, and she didn't know how to stop her body from responding to his. Because it was there. The electricity. The attraction. The lust. She couldn't be the only one who felt it. It felt too big to be one-sided. How pathetic would that be if she was the only one who burned under her clothes.
Mr. Li continued, "Yesterday, when I saw you for the first time, you appeared to be in good shape, except for the shoes, of course. Today, I found something different. You're a smart girl, so you don't need me to spell it out for you. Tell me, Miss Kinomoto, is there a reason to worry about your safety?"
Sakura gulped and looked away so he didn't have to see what was in her eyes. She wasn't even sure what was in there herself. Fear? Desire? Anxiety? All she knew was that she needed to get out of there, fast.
"No need to worry." She shook her head. "May I be excused now?"
"No, you may not." His voice was so cold, it provided little comfort to the scorching hot waves he seemed to be making inside her body. "What happened? Explain. With words. Preferably an adequate amount for me to make an educated decision on whether to call social services."
"Funny you should say that, you use so little," Sakura whipped out without even meaning to. She had to stop that. Taunting him like that, like they were equals.
Mr. Li lifted a lone eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk found his perfect lips. "Miss Kinomoto," he warned, his ice-cold tone licked at her burning flesh. "You're not getting out of here until you explain."
"I got into a fight with my kitchen drawer handle," she said dumbly. "I lost."
Sakura let the lie roll from her tongue, and Mr. Li's expression told her that he didn't believe her for even a second.
"Put your palm flat against the mark," he ordered.
Her first thought was, fuck, he knew that it was a handprint. Her second thought was even more alarming. His demanding tone was turning her on. She chanced a glance at him, and his eyes were half-mast, so she knew she wasn't the only one who was feeling it. Feeling this. That thought hit her like a ton of bricks. Mr. Li was a grown man, and she affected him. And suddenly, putting her hand on her thigh didn't seem so bad.
Maybe she would put those morals of his to the test. She did as she was told, not breaking eye contact with him. She didn't need to look down to find the mark because it was still searing, even after all this time. His eyes rolled down – slowly, she didn't fail to notice – until they stopped.
Starting just above her knee, she slowly traced her black fingernails upward, bunching her skirt up her thigh in the process. She laid her hand flat on the mark, not giving away the fact that it still stung to touch.
His throat bobbed on a swallow, and he looked up. "Are you going to make a habit out of lying to me, Miss Kinomoto?" He stepped toward Sakura, backing her into her desk.
She sat perched on the edge with her skirt still bunched. She had the urged to push him further, to spread her legs, and to let him see what he did to her.
"Are you going to keep asking me questions I can't provide the answer to?" she asked honestly, letting her skirt fall back into place. "I'm a big girl. I've been taking care of myself for a long time now."
He took his final step toward her, erasing the space between them, and now she could see him and smell him and feel him. So help her God, she needed to keep her knees from buckling and see this thing through, because he made her want things. Things she shouldn't want to do with her teacher. Things a girl shouldn't ever want to do at all.
"That's the problem," he hissed. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Miss Kinomoto. I'm trusting you here. If something happened to you, and I failed to report it, well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you how bad that would be for the both of us."
"Thank you," Sakura said curtly, because apparently, she was done acting like a brat for the day. "But there is no need."
"On the contrary." He turned around, sending one last look on her thigh.
She didn't need to ask if she was excused. She knew that if I didn't leave his class now, she would be doing something that they'll both regret. So, she turned around toward the door, taking tentative steps, both afraid that he would stop her and that he wouldn't.
He didn't stop her.
He let her go.
And he should. Because he was her fucking teacher. But a second before the door closed behind her, she heard him say, "There won't be a next time, Miss Kinomoto. Not to your tardiness, not to talking back to your educator, and not to putting on your little show. Am I clear?"
"Yes, sir," she swallowed as she shut the door behind her and rested the back of her head on its window, closing her eyes.
Holy.
Fuck.
s1983079
This story is rated M now. I made a mistake yesterday by rating it T. There will be sexual content in this story and clearly, there are certain taboos in this story. If you don't like those, then don't read it. I don't want to hear anyone complaining about certain relationships or about how wrong it is.
Thanks for following and reviewing.
Guest - Eriol isn't a hippy, he's gay. There's some insight to Syaoran here and why he was pissed.
Guest - Hiro is written this way to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm glad you are. He doesn't get any better. It was originally first person, present tense but I changed it because third person, past tense is more popular in fanfiction. I'll go back and try to fix any mistakes this weekend, sorry.
Monstar xo - Thanks. I think it's a lot darker than anything else on here currently but as a result of that, everyone is out of character.. woops lol
effybelle - Thanks. I think a lot of people would be put off by the subject and writing style but it's nice to know someone enjoys it.
