A/N: As soon as I saw this prompt, I knew it called for some TyHil. Enjoy!

Day 2 | TyHil | Rated: K+

School

"I know you're going with a spring theme, Hilary, but isn't the canopy of cherry blossoms a bit much?"

Tyson realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't need to hear Hilary's annoyed sigh or to see that he'd asked right as they crossed the halfway point of their time-consuming task. No, he'd known Hilary long enough to know he messed up without any physical evidence to prove it.

"You know what, forget I said anything," he amended, taking an obedient step forward as Hilary's legs flexed twice against his neck.

"Smart," Hilary said dryly and ruffled his hair before reaching up, from her perch on his shoulders, to pin more flowers to the ceiling.

Tyson squeezed her knees in response. "And I'm not even the one in college."

While Tyson had taken a more relaxed approach to his future – beyblading, working hand-in-hand with the BBA in whatever capacity he could, and training under his grandpa to one day take over the dojo for him – Hilary had always been destined for higher education.

She was a couple of years into her university experience now, and had recently run into Miss Kincaid in town. The subject of Hilary's future career had come up in discussion and, one thing leading to another, Miss Kincaid had invited Hilary to help out in her classroom for some hands-on experience.

Hilary leapt at the chance, and put her all into it, like she did with everything she set her mind to.

Tyson felt a little sorry for the students and Miss Kincaid alike when he thought back to his own time with her in school. In fact, if their old teacher knew that Tyson was here, alone in her classroom with Hilary, helping drape chains of fake cherry blossoms from the ceiling, she'd probably fear for the integrity of the building.

In Hilary's own words, she'd nearly had a heart attack when she found out her most memorable set of classroom rivals were a couple.

"If I'm getting too heavy for you, just say something, Tyson."

"Huh?"

"I've told you to move three times now."

Tyson snorted. The familiar annoyance lacing her voice took him back to the eighth grade in a way the classroom by itself could never.

"Aye aye, Wicked Witch. Your dream is this lowly flying monkey's command," he teased and stepped forward.

"Ha ha," Hilary answered dryly, unwrapping a length of flowers from around Tyson's neck and reaching up to attach it to the ceiling.

They kept at it, in a constant rhythm of Tyson pacing and Hilary unwrapping and pinning and urging him forward again. Once they reached the edge of the classroom, they started on another row, with a fresh chain of flowers, and so on and so forth.

Tyson behaved for the most part, only pretending to lose his hold on her or pinching her thighs when it wouldn't mess her up too badly. They had less than a dozen rows to go when he noticed Hilary was beginning to slouch.

"Let's take a break," she groaned, pinning one final flower. "My neck is killing me."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

Tyson was strong enough to hold her, but they'd been at it so long that his muscles ached when he switched positions to help Hilary off of his shoulders and onto a nearby desk. When he turned around and held out his arms, she took the hint and fell forward into his embrace so he could lower her safely to the floor.

His hands lingered on her waistline afterwards. She didn't protest.

"Thanks," she sighed and rolled her neck to get the kinks out. "Just let me get a drink of water and then we can get back to work." She slid out of his grip, almost apologetically, and fetched her water bottle from the teacher's desk.

"Well, I could use a deep tissue massage." Tyson said, as he stretched his sore muscles and followed her. "You might think its easy maintaining peak human form and maximum strength, but even World Champions need some upkeep every once in a while."

Hilary rolled her eyes. "Let me guess: that 'upkeep' includes no fewer than five square meals a day?" she asked sarcastically, holding her water out to him in offering.

"Not including snack breaks," he confirmed with a wink. He took a couple gulps of water, before setting the bottle aside. "You know, I think I've missed one of each since we've been here. So, you're welcome."

"Thank you for your noble sacrifice." Hilary rolled her eyes and hoisted herself up to sit on the desk. "Remind me and I'll buy you lunch on the way home."

Tyson grinned and hopped up next to her. "Thank goodness you're nicer on the other side of eighth grade," he said, unable to keep the smirk off his lips.

"Thank goodness the swelling in your head went down so you could fit through the doorway to help me today," Hilary countered.

"I'm just gonna say 'you're welcome' so you don't revert back to your old ways and rescind the lunch offer."

"Well, what do you know – I guess you did learn something here, after all."

Hilary was teasing, but her voice had an oddly nostalgic note to it that made him do a double-take. She was looking out at the desks, and he had the strange feeling it wasn't the present-day classroom she was seeing. Slowly, so he didn't startle her, he reached out and covered her hand with is own.

"Maybe we both did."

Hilary turned to face him with a question in the crease of her brow. Before she could ask it, Tyson captured her lips with his.

She relaxed into the kiss almost immediately and Tyson took the chance to pull her closer over the polished surface of the desk. Miss Kincaid's name placard got wedged between them and he knocked it to the floor in his haste to get it out of the way.

The clatter made Hilary jump. She opened her mouth – to scold him probably – and he took that as his invitation to deepen the kiss. He was rewarded with the feeling of her hands curling into the front of his shirt and a tiny squeak from the back of her throat.

It was weird, Tyson thought, that the person he would have given anything to be rid of when they first met, was the backbone of his life a few measly years later. And how now, he was back where they first crossed paths, making out with her on their teacher's desk. Hilary tangled one of her hands in the hair at his nape and he decided it was a really good weird.

"Tyson…" she whispered against his lips, when they finally parted for air.

He kissed her again, chastely, then once more for good measure, not quite ready to give up the taste of her entirely. She hummed against his lips the second time, and he knew he had to stop if they had any hopes of getting out of the school before nightfall.

He pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against hers on the way, and asked, "Are you ready to finish?"

At the mention of hanging more blossoms, she winced and rubbed at her neck. "You might have been right about it being too much."

Hilary's brown eyes met his, sheepishly, from under the sweep of her eyelashes. Her cheeks were flushed, hair and clothing more ruffled than when she'd first let them into the classroom. The overhead lights shone through the tiny paper flowers, dappling her skin with pink.

Tyson's mouth went dry.

"I actually think it's perfect," he said and, against his better judgment, pulled her in for another kiss.

A/N: I've been enjoying writing these two lately, ngl, so this was a lot of fun! I'm eyeing them for at least one more prompt this month, so keep your eyes open if they're your jam. :) (Also I didn't want to derail the kiss, but I thought it would be funny if Hilary had gifted Miss Kincaid the name placard. Do with that info what you will.)

And thanks for reading!