Assassination: Sweet [Assassination Classroom x OHSHC]

After-School Time

To say the very least, Gakushuu's relationship with his father was complicated.

Gakushuu liked to liken the relationship to a dance (Dancing was of the more blissful lessons his father had "taught" him. Gakushuu supposed it was because the sound of music deafened him to the thoughts of his father—) It was as if the two of them were bound in a waltz, watching the other for the slightest slip ups, the smallest of stumbles— trying to step on the other's toes.

Gakushuu had stumbled.

His body was crushed under the weight of his father's shoes, his beaten body now the floor for his father to dance upon. He was covered in the footballers' blood, and despite his skin being scrubbed raw, he could still feel the sticky, syrup-like consistency of blood dripping down his skin.

Gakushuu lost.

Lost at the sport festival, lost at the apogee of the battle to gain the student body's faith—

Luckily, the loud, brash ringing of the dismissal bell rang before he had to return to his classroom-- to prying eyes of his classmates, of his companions (He wouldn't dare call the Virtuosos his friends, his father had drilled comradery out of him.)

Gakushuu decided to not head home-- home where there was no conversation besides vapid small talk or degradation from his father, home where he sometimes wished the oppressing air would just suffocate him. Instead, he decided to inspect Class E's pitiful classroom grounds (his father was hiding something there, he knew it.)

When he was climbing down the rocky terrain of the mountain, however, he was intercepted by by a blue-haired student. "Hey, Asano-san!" The student called.

Gakushuu's gaze widened slightly-- he didn't expect anyone to stay on campus after school ended because the E Class couldn't participate in club activities. He cleared his throat, glancing at the bluenette, "Hello. Pardon my rudeness, but I don't seem to know your name..."

The blue-haired student laughed slightly, "I'm Nagisa Shiota, but just call me Nagisa..."

Gakushuu hummed in response, intending to keep on traveling to the class grounds. "So, uh, wow, you really keep up a formal appearance at all times, huh?" Nagisa stammered, cutting off Gakushuu's path.

"Yes," Gakushuu responded, tone apathetic-- he really did not want to talk at the moment, the fatigue of the previous sport event and from his father deteriorated his patience, and Nagisa was only wearing it down further.

Gakushuu attempted to walk past Nagisa, but the boy met him step for step, blocking his route. "I'm sorry, Shiota-san, but do you have anything else to say to me?" He asked, impatience leaking into his voice.

Nagisa seemed to flinch at the use of his last name, allowing Gakushuu to walk past him. "Asano-san, um..." Nagisa called behind him.

Gakushuu didn't waver at his voice, continuing to walk down the steep mountain. Jagged rocks shifted underneath his lengthy steps. "Did he beat you?" Nagisa asked, his words brusque.

Gakushuu stops.

At Nagisa's words, Gakushuu stopped. It was as if the drowning sensation of blood intensified-- he was coated, layers and layers of adherent blood, coating and slinking down his skin. The metallic, putrid scent stung his nostrils, and he couldn't breathe.

Mere seconds passed, yet they felt like eons to Gakushuu-- like he was weathering and eroding till nothing's left but dust.

He turned around, staring at Nagisa. He tried to clear his face of terror, of his mortification, yet his eyes still remained wide and his mouth was still ajar. His bluff obviously failed, as Nagisa looked upon him with a gaze of kindness and understanding.