𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗥, 𝗠𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞𝗘𝗥 // YANDERE RENGOKU X READER

𝟯: 𝗙𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗲𝘁𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗪𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻

I sighed. "You wish."

"Are you going to get off the floor now, or do I have to jerk you into your apartment?" he interrogated, shifting the topic.

Now that he says that, sprawling there on the floor got a little awkward. I was so stressed from working on World History, as all I could do was doze my troubles out.

I'm sure Akaza wouldn't prefer me to be so lazy, but that thing was one of the few that caused me to feel somewhat normal as a human being. It made me forget how shitty of a woman I could be, as I'm not this nice to people apart from my related friends.

Oh, yeah. I alone have like a couple of close friends.

So in truth, I'm just a prick that doesn't wish to admit it, as I put an excuse that you need to get to know me to be good.

I look to see what my parents are feeling now, as their only child is nodding off her troubles abroad as an excuse for overworking in school. I know I say all this as bullshit, but I didn't think about what I wished to be when I was older, and I didn't see a reason for it. As I figured out, I would be dead by the time came.

I can't help but marvel at just why Rengoku's class was so complicated, causing me to be in so reasonable distress. It's too great to where I would have to be driven to drop out of the course and never have held that before until now.

I never carried a pencil into the class, as there was no chance to erase it because of how fast information he pushed out. My collar would sting as I didn't watch up from my paper, writing regularly, but the chances I'd glance up it would be to check up on the blackboard or the professor at hand, to study what he was talking about.

I was so invested in the subject, I couldn't see the sense that sometimes I could feel him peering back at me when writing on the paper. I mentioned nothing about it, as assuming my history teacher was studying me out would be weird.

Not that he was in any way old, but I'm sure he had a tie with another, as I saw a ring-bound around his left finger. I can't help but think as to whom he'd get wed to so early in his life. He looked around to be my age, and I had a slight dissatisfaction from just associating the dots.

We chatted sometimes after class, but I was embarrassed to talk to him and stick around too long. My grade was above average, which, as represented to my parents, wasn't acceptable enough.

Everybody had seemed intimated by the man, as there were stories that flew around he was secretly some judgmental freak. I said nothing to this, as I saw he never said bad things about me. I recalled moments back to our initial encounter, just right before I strolled into the classroom, I met his friend.

"Is this Mr. Rengoku's class?" I inquired about the figure that showed a white hoodie and carried paint instruments as he was at the entrance to the classroom, about to step in.

He hesitated and turned around, seeking who would speak to him. The art professor, Tengen, was a man who had short silver hair, protected by a headdress and displayed a muscle shirt with gray sweats. He looked to be a bit too informal to be teaching at school as he's the person I didn't expect to be teaching craft. If he wasn't so tall, I'd mistake him for a student.

"Caught red-handed," he beamed, crossing his arms, moving on the wall next to the door. "What's a bare lady like you got to do with Rengoku?"