Chapter 6

School run

"This is all your fault, wanker!" The two hurried up to the grounds, both out of breath, both on the verge of collapse, and both entirely blaming the other.

"What is my fault? Treating you to a delicious meal? At least one of us has to have a heart, you know!"

"And look where that act of 'justice' got us! If being heartless means being on time, so ruddy well be it, I say!"

"Calm yourself, cher! If we make it in ten minutes from now, there is still a chance to be fashionably late!" Even so, he put in the extra bit of effort to be dashing beside the Briton instead of lagging behind.

"Do you honestly think that matters at this time? I'm arriving at the start of the lecture even if it kills me, as I, unlike you, have a reputation to uphold!"

"For what, being the biggest loser in history? Don't make me laugh!"

Avidly flinging insults at one another, they stormed across the busy streets. They all but shoved past everyone in sight, providing little more of a consolation than the occasional mind if I pop through? Or, in both of their cases, continuous apologies until the victim no longer cared enough to remain furious (Francis had even taken two minutes out of the great rush to sweet-talk a young woman he had bumped into; the only way the conversation could finally meet its end was when Arthur dragged him away by the scruff of his neck).

This tedious cycle continued: barge into someone, apologise, bicker, repeat; that is, until they spotted a familiar pair not too far up ahead. Alfred and Kiku. This was probably the most confusing thing about this morning to Arthur, well, after the drool incident. Not Alfred, no, he was more than used to seeing him arriving late since sixth form, but why was Kiku alongside him? He seemed like a decent student, definitely not the sort to sleep in.

"Bonjour, mes amis!" Before Arthur could get any farther with his thought cycle, there was Francis, grinning like a highwayman and waving. Flinching at the overall brashness boldly exhibited, it took a great portion of Arthur's self-restraint not to give him a well-deserved punch on the shoulder. Fortunately enough for him, one of his verbal attacks could provide the same amount of damage.

"Oh, do raise your voice a tad higher, I don't think the Australians quite caught that."

"I am just being polite to our neighbours, cher, you do not have to be so—"

"Ahoy there, dudes! Man, do you guys argue like an old married couple or what? I don't even need an alarm anymore as long as you bros stick around!"

"Well, if you will keep an ear out at all times, then you have to be prepared for—"

"Oui! And I could sense poor Honda's discomfort from my extravagant boudoir!" He lavished his accent even more than usual, almost completely eliminating the 'H' from Honda.

"It's not as extravagant as it is pompous. If you really want to claim dragging rights then you should start by purchasing some literature that does not involve either copulation or fluffed-up prats on a catwalk."

"Maybe if you actually had a sense of style you would be in a position to criticise my own," Francis sneered, "as it is your tacky clothes are a prime example of how that would never occur even if you had all of the time in the world."

"Dudes! You're totally doing it again." In the middle of grabbing each other's collars to resume the typical row, both Francis and, surprisingly, Arthur acknowledged the source of the comment. As much as they would have loved to continue backbiting, neither wanted to prove an American right. "Anyway, what's with the running? You're gonna be tardy anyway, so what's the big idea?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what exactly the big deal is, Jones." Arthur had now found a new subject to target his contempt upon. "How on earth do you imagine you will find any sort of occupation whilst you remain incapable of simply arriving on time?"

"Speak for yourself, man." Alfred belted out a large dose of laughter, drawing a suitably irked scowl from the Briton.

"Well then." His tone was calm. Frighteningly calm. "I'll just have to prove you wrong, won't I?"

"Save it, brah, you're probs gonna pass out the next step you take."

Seething, he remained silent as he instead opted to speed walk away from the obnoxious scene (which was surprisingly quicker than his previous attempt at running). He made sure to whack into the American's shoulder for good measure on his way past.

It took Francis just a second longer to process exactly what just happened. Even he hasn't seen the 'gentleman' this angry, and he'd had more than enough glares and biting remarks over the course of twenty-four hours to last him a lifetime. "Wait, cher!" And with that, he stumbled after Arthur, wincing at the lack of elegance his current gait possessed. For a second, he could have sworn that the blond had lowered his speed just for him.

He didn't think he would ever really understand what was going through the minds of the English.

"What happened to being fashionably late?" Well, at least now he seemed to be back to normal, albeit a bit too smug.

"Getting told off by that unstylish potato has become a habit for us, non? What would be the fun in only one of us being called into his dusty little shoebox of an office?" Francis gladly returned every ounce of self-superiority previously shot toward him, his tone betrayed that much.

"Terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I intend not to end up back there for a jolly good while, or at least as long as I can postpone it."

"Oh? I thought that you had a reputation to uphold, 007? Why so lax? Do not tell me that somebody has pulled the stick from your butt like the sword in the stone." Well, even he himself hadn't thought of it like that, and therefore snorted at the vivid mental imagery.

"As dandy as that must sound for you, I will have to disagree entirely. I still retain a reputation, just as I retain my morals: the main principles that may just so happen to be why I would never stoop to agree with somebody of your stature."

"Who is it that you are maintaining your reputation to impress? The walking toadstool?"

"As if. That man is almost as obnoxious as you are, which, if you have learnt anything from this experience as a whole, is saying something."

Francis simply smiled, though not by means of sarcasm, or anything of the sort for that matter. Suffice to say, he had actually grown rather…accustomed? No, that wasn't the word, it was more like he had grown rather fond of the constant backchat.

But then again, a reply wasn't exactly necessary, as before either really registered it, they had finally reached the door. And that could only mean one thing. The low-pitched throat-clearing wasn't from a welcome party.

"Ah, boys. Just in the nick of time; congratulations on your half-arsed attempt at a 'five minutes to spare' arrival."

That voice.

That infuriatingly dismissive voice.

In sync, the duo turned to stare right in the face of all that was conniving in the universe. The man Francis had oh-so-cleverly branded the walking toadstool.

"Now, as I'm sure you are both aware…" He cast a glare to Arthur, who returned it with an uneasy grimace. "This university is a prestigious one, we do not accept tardiness to lectures. Lack of will to show up means a lack of will to participate, Mr Kirkland, and those who do not participate have no reason to be here. Your education is no longer mandatory." Francis didn't know how that man did it; he didn't even flinch as Arthur's gaze turned venomous. There was only one thing he couldn't wrap his head around: why wasn't the blame spread equally? As much as he dreaded the man's verbal abuse, he wasn't all that keen on standing back to let Arthur take all the blame for something that equally been his own fault.

"However…" The vile man paced like a baboon in a cage. "As much as I would love to be rid of you two before you undertake any more antics, you were not late. Yet. Though, I do believe you'd find it interesting to note that I couldn't help but overhear your quaint conversation. And we do not, under any circumstances, tolerate such words either spoken or implied towards a member of staff. My office at lunchtime. The both of you."

At that precise moment, their hearts sunk low in their chests, probably hitting the ground with an audible thump if the bell didn't sound to cover up the noise.

"Ah. Off you pop, gentleman." Those words were all they needed to hear before they practically clawed for the handle. They needed to put as much space between themselves and that unequivocal wanker as possible, perhaps another dimension.

Heading toward other sides of the building, the two nodded, and parted for the first time that day.

Is it bad that I really hate that teacher? I know he came from my mind and is technically my brain baby, but aCK. - At least he makes for good fodder to vent their many hormones, right?