Assassination: Sweet [Assassination Classroom x OHSHC]

Ayanokoji's Time!

     Nagisa stared, apprehensively, at the door to his classroom, his fingers skirting across the hem of his dress. He pulled at his braid, counting down the minutes until he'd be late. Like any other of his classmates, Nagisa Shiota did not want to go to class... though, his reasons to avoid class were considerably more complicated than the average teen. What will Renge say? How would she react, after...?

He thought back to when he clutched Renge's dress like it was a lifeline— shaking, sobbing into the shoulder of her dress. His grip on her sleeve his only tether to reality as he mumbled apologizes into the cloth of her dress and— and, nope, I'm not going down that line of thought.

Attempting to distract himself, his fingers brush against satchel at his side, following the bumpy line of seams. He hadn't taken the bag the last few days, having no need for it when he could just carry his books, but the bag had a vital component in it-- a false bottom.His hand fished through all the clutter in his bag, and he smiled slightly as he found what he was looking for, a line of stitches across the bottom, though he didn't dare open it right now, where anyone could see.

He knew underneath the flap was a phone-- a flip phone, one that he could easily break-- and the slightly more troubling item, the explosive chip in it, making the phone eerily similar to a bomb. He was supposed to report to Jelavić-Sensei directly after class with it, and then dispose the flip phone. He only had a ten-minute grace period to report, or else... boom, he supposed (not like that would happen, anyways.) Apparently, it was just military protocol-- just to protect the military's image incase any assassins got caught. He pressed against the bridge of his nose, sighing. Thinking about this just made him more nervous...

His thoughts drift back to his original problem. How can I maintain my cover like after I opened up to Renge like that? How could I... assassinate Honey... when I break my cover so easily...? How could I assassinate... anyone?

Could I kill anyone, at all?

Nagisa could remember the screaming, paralyzing feeling— a certain type of numbness that he held, running underneath his skin like bugs. When he held up his knife, scream caught in his throat, smile on his face, and positioned the above his teacher's heart. He smiled wider— he wondered if Koro-sensei knew it was fake, and then he-- no, don't think about-- jammed the knife down into his chest-- Stop.

He feels like he was back home-- His insides being pinched and shifted against the tight grip of corset strings, and the echo of his mother pulling-- tightening the cords, fulfilling the promise of beauty bringing pain... No. Stop thinking about—

He breathed-- pushed back his feelings to the corner of his mind. He's fine, isn't he? (H̶e̶'̶s̶ ̶h̶a̶p̶p̶y̶,̶ ̶i̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶e̶?̶)

He pushed on the door-- elegant-looking, oak-- and feels the cold of the wood on his palm, before opening the door. He's grounded in reality, now. He's fine. It's okay.

The lies taste like poison-- tastes like copper and blood, as he looked into the classroom. He looked at his desk-- second row from the back, right next to the window.

White chrysanthemums.

Tiny petals circulating around— encasing, protecting— yellowing buds. Delicate and frail— a few stray petals found lying askew on the wood of his desk. The stems bent downward, like it was weeping, and the leaves browning at the end, wilting.

White chrysanthemums.

He took a moment to look and stare as the gears and cogs in his brain started to work.

White chrysanthemums laid on his desk.

The smell of lit incense that hung heavy in the room-- choking, suffocating, strangling him. The source of it came from his desk-- a few lit candles laid next to the plants, askew.