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THREE. SERMŌ.
"What? Inspection?!" You scream out with a frightful expression on your face. Your eyes twitch into two full moons in shape, the news you caught wind of is unexpected.
Zeke hums in response to your question. "I believe the VP will be handling our class for the inspection."
The Vice President?
You wouldn't know what to feel as two paradoxical feelings brew deep inside you.
Should you feel nervous, since you literally brought a sketch pad of drawn... Explicit private part of a male?
Or should you emerge victorious instead, because this is a chance to strike him down? And by striking him down, means to get to know him more.
You rack your head back and groaned, "Just when I brought my sketchpad to school." Sighing, you slouchily sat on Zeke's table while he looks at you with an amused expression.
"Who in their right mind would bring a sketch pad full of penises?"
You cock an eyebrow at his rhetorical question. "Hmm? Me ofcourse."
Zeke lays his head on his table right beside you and mumbles, "[F/N]... You're insane..."
"Maybe I am."
A surprising clearing of throat echoes throughout the whole chaotic classroom in which the students, including you, turned to the source of the noise. As you looked back, there you met the familiar azure head and his piercing irises of the same color never faltering to scream of authority.
He puts his arms across his chest, "Form a line. Now." His voice as stern as ever, unwavering.
Everything about him is the quintessential— the way he dress, the way the words roll out of his tongue, the way he does everything with elegance and beauty that unsurprisingly catch the attention of the many. His domineering personality may disenchant others, but as people have different tastes, the latter is like a cherry on top.
His deep navy blue rimmed orbs scan the classroom, meanwhile the students lazily form into two lines. His fellow student council members stood in front of the columns while the others carefully scan, check and inspect thoroughly your bags.
Zeke, standing beside you, waves his hand at you. "Safe travels, my friend."
You tilt your head in question, while he ignores the cluelessness lingering in your mind. Feeling oblivious as ever, you suddenly feel an unexpected contact of hands on your waist.
Facing your front, you totally forgot you were going to get your body checked for a moment.
Later, the member of the Student Council motions you to go with the others who are finished of inspection as you took deep breaths. You're still not freed from the grasp of anxiousness as your bag hasn't been checked yet.
Holding your head down low, "Excuse me, whose is this?" One member raises up a distinct sketchpad that is too recognizable for your eyes. The navy haired Vice President cocks a brow and walks over, "It's just a sketch book, what's the matter?"
Hearing their conversation, you sub-consciously fidget your fingers and bit on your lower lip.
The member slowly shuffles through the pages of the sketchpad, as the cerulean haired's eyes widen in disbelief and disgust.
Right, who in their right mind would do something like this? Let alone make a compilation of it and even dared to bring it to your school.
Answer is, no one but you.
"Whoever the owner may be of this sketchpad, meet me at the Student Council's office after class."
