Hehe, a Sorato. I'll probably write a Taiora soon though :)
Season: 02.
Character Focus: Matt, I guess.
Time Period: Doesn't really matter.
POV: The all-knowing super narrator.
Observation
Alright, this guy has completely lost it... Yamato groaned inwardly, putting his head on the desk and using his arms as makeshift pillows while his psychology teacher informed them on their instructions: "I'll pick two people. One of them is the child, the other a parent. I'll give you a scenario and you have to act it out. Sound simple? Good."
He felt a tap on his shoulder, but he failed to pick his head up. And he still refused to acknowledge the fact that he should be awake even when the teacher asked the students if anyone had a bottle of cold water to pour on his head. Only running on two hours of sleep seemed to have that effect; it was like a car with no gas in the tank. It wasn't his fault that his concerts had the potential of running late into the night; the teacher should be grateful that he even came to class.
"Since he seems so enthusiastic today," the teacher paced around the room, which was some weird habitual nervous tick, Yamato concluded. "why doesn't Ishida go first?"
His head popped up upon hearing his name, blurry eyes scanning the classroom. Everyone's stares seemed to be aiming at him, waiting. Still sleep-drunk, he said "Um, no thanks. I'll pass." But then, of course, the teacher kept on looking at him, as if saying: You don't have a choice. Go on, do it. You don't have a choice.
Yamato sighed, walking up to the front of the classroom and lazily plopping down in the chair that was set up there. The teacher called the next student to go up; Sora. She smiled warmly at him as she sat down the in the chair placed directly across from him, trying to offset his obviously horrid mood. He reminded her of some old cranky widower, screaming for kids to get off his damn lawn.
"Okay, here's the scene," Their teacher read from a card. "Yamato, you're playing the role of the father and Sora is the daughter. Sora, your mother just left and you're talking to Yamato about why they got divorced. You think it's your fault and his goal is to prove to you that you had no involvement in the separation."
Freakin' fantastic! Yamato's conscience growled sarcastically, not enjoying this one bit. My favorite subject... A little voice in the back of his mind was almost certain that the crazy teacher knew about his personal life, therefore incorporating it into a lesson plan just to make sure the always-hibernating student would 'get something out of it. Psh, not in a million years, mister. That little trick only worked in clichéd movies.
Sora immediately knew that this was definitely the wrong scenario for Yamato, hoping with all her might that he wouldn't try to suckerpunch the teacher in the jaw, which seemed quite likely at that moment with the way the blonde's eyes glinted with a spark of anger.
"And... begin!"
Sora looked down, then up again before commencing her acting. "Hey, uh, dad... Why did you and mom leave each other? Is it something I did?"
Yamato sighed, turning his chair around and sitting in a rather casually improper manner. He felt as if the entire classroom knew of his past, which casted a thick haze of dread over him like a storm cloud that tagged along no matter where you went. All right, you can do it. Just play it off as a joke... "Well, honey, I caught your slut of a mother in bed with our neighbor, so I-"
"Enough!" The teacher commanded, looking a little exasperated at Yamato's words of choice. He huffed. "Back to your seats..."
Yamato shrugged, making the chair skid as he got up, which made a rather unpleasant noise. Sora just giggled a bit, almost not believing that he had actually said that. On the other hand, it was Yamato she was dealing with. He wasn't afraid to do anything, besides get a haircut.
A few more scenarios played out, none of them amusing to Yamato at all; therefore, the process of dozing in and out of consciousness continued uninterrupted. All of the skits seemed to circle around some type of "teenage drama", such as drugs, pregnancy, and the discovery of piercings (which Yamato found quite amusing, as his father still had yet to come across the gauge in his son's left ear.)
"One type of observation is when the subject is unaware that he or she is being watched. Now, what you're going to do is pick someone to observe, but you can't let him or her know that he or she is being recorded. You will turn these papers in, so no funny business. You may begin."
Yamato dug into his bookbag for a piece of paper and a pen, overlooking and completely ignoring the teacher's rule of no ink. He scanned the room like a robot on a hunt for his target, but came up short. No one was honestly worth "observing", as the wacko psychology teacher had put it. And frankly, Yamato felt like a complete creep just watching someone and recording microscopic details about them and their actions that he honestly couldn't care any less about. He looked around again, not finding anyone even appealing to look at; that is, until his radar caught sight of a female in the second desk of the fourth row.
Target locked.
Sora was absentmindedly tapping on the gum-lined desk with her pencil, Yamato noted, writing it down. She bites her lip when she's concentrating, he furiously scribbled that onto the paper as well, wanting to get back to gazing at her and finding her special little habits that no one ever noticed. Like the fact that she tapped her foot on the floor or held her pencil in a peculiar way. Maybe how her eyes had tiny speckles of black swirled in with the soothing shade of brown, like an artist blendling paint. Or even how the sunlight illuminated her skin in the most elegant and angelic of ways. Yamato found himself not even comprehending what he was writing down anymore, just mere words that his subconcious apparently concluded about Sora, a looming haze in his mind that overcasted his sense like a dreary day. He just wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Needless to say, he was quite flabbergasted when he finally looked upon his paper, cocking an eyebrow at words such as beautiful, breath-taking, perfection, and mind-blowing. Not implying that these things weren't true about Sora; Yamato found her strikingly attractive, but what about the paper? He had to turn that in at the end of class, and obviously, it wasn't in acceptable form. The psycho psychology teacher would probably embarrass him with it later. He might as well crumple it up like a failed blueprint and take a zero on it. He wouldn't care too much anyway, there were plenty of more important things besides the complete waste of seven hours they call school.
But there was always the option of turning it in to someone else…
Ring, ring, ring!
The tolling that released the students from their dreadful 'learning experience' signaled the end of the hour, causing a stampede of teenagers into the waiting halls. As everyone gave their papers to the teacher, Yamato just stuffed it into his pocket carelessly. The middle-aged man cocked a graying eyebrow at the rather slothy and underachieving pupil, and said-pupil just shrugged. He was an a dire mission; he needed to find Sora, and she was the very first one who jetted out of the class, as if it were a race to the locker bay.
Scouring the halls of wild untamable animals known as students, Yamato's eyes searched for his target much like before. He weaved through bodies like grains of sand through spread fingers, slipping through cracks and spaces without even muttering any 'excuse me's, or 'pardon me's. He cursed his sluggishness; he lost her! Indifferently, he turned the other way, a part of him hoping that he saw her after this next class and another section of him was scared to death of revealing that fateful little piece of paper to her.
With a sigh, he parked himself at his locker, which always seemed to get stuck at the most convenient of times, usually roughly a minute before the bell would ring. Something attracted his eye, somewhat of a sore thumb. Sticking out of the thin horizontal slot-like crafting of the locker was a piece of paper, neatly folded up in a rather feminine way. Curious, he unfolded the paper with complication, unnatural creases that paper should never have lined it like a scar. As frustration started to make itself noticed, the paper unraveled and returned to its normal state. Reading it, he grinned.
It was Sora's assignment.