Sorry for the delay ^^;
It's just been a pretty stressful February, but hey, it's March break, so I should be able to get some things done.
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This summer couldn't get any worse, Nightmare thought as he packed the last cardboard box with books at the crack of dawn. Not only did he have to deal with his nosy colleagues — who consistently pecked him for tidbits about Monsters, he wasn't a walking, talking Wikipedia page, god damn it — but he had to make do with extra traffic on the way to his workplace.
Why? The landlord kicked him out because of a noise complaint. One measly noise complaint, maybe three in total during the two years he had been living there. It was more that could be said about his young, rowdy neighbors, his own complaints on them ignored until he finally gave up on filing any.
The animosity between him and the human was made clear the moment Nightmare stepped into the apartment, and it hadn't changed over the course of two long years; it was fine. He had prepared in advance and scouted a few new apartments not too far away from his soon-to-be and current workplace.
This last box perched precariously on a stack of standard cardboard boxes in the back of his car, surface slightly moist to the touch due to mist droplets. He wiped off a few beads of sweat with a swipe of his sweater. It wasn't a backbreaking task per say, but it was certainly a tedious workout.
Nightmare paid the apartment complex one last glance. Gray brick stood in the distance, small plumes of steam venturing from the back. Good riddance, honestly. The earlier he left this place, the better.
He pulled out of his parking spot, fingers dancing along the steering wheel to avoid lashing out at a more fragile object, and started the drive to his new living quarters.
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The new apartment complex's neighborhood looked fresher than the last. For one, it was all a uniform brick red, the townhouse style unchanging throughout each row. The roads were barely cracked, like a water-worn pebble. Some were lined with saplings; all were graced with functioning lampposts which glowed a soft amber in the misty morning.
Nightmare let out an impressed whistle at the condition of the block. Not bad, not bad at all. It deserved the removal of his plaid sweater. Removing it in one tug over his head, he threw it carelessly onto the driver's seat.
He strutted into the lobby with the essentials — his wallet, keys and phone — on his person. The receptionist, obviously tired from waking up so early, peered at him from her computer, and asked, "May I help you?"
"Yes, I believe so. I'm the one who rented room 412."
Nodding, the lady tapped a few keys, sliding her mouse across a white mouse pad. Her long nails clicked pointedly against the granite countertop, other hand swirling the computer attachment in boredom.
"Aha!" She perked up minutely. "Mr. Nightmare Joku, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Please show me a piece of ID."
Nightmare slipped his driver's license on the desk. She looked at it for a bit, and entered some more information. A sheet of paper and a black ballpoint pen were handed to him.
"Sign here." She tapped on a line at the very bottom of the waiver.
He signed it without hesitation. The woman looked at him skeptically, but remained silent.
She handed him a small key. "Here's the key to your room. Parking spots are available on the left side of the building. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Enjoy."
"Thank you, good day."
Nightmare attached the new object to his keychain, the movement rattling the other dozen residents, and walked back into a comfortable coolness only a summer morning could bestow to retrieve his personal belongings.
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The truck containing his furniture was due in a few days from today, which was marked as Tuesday on the calendar. Unfortunately, that meant sleeping on the mattress tied on top of the car with a thin summer blanket to cover it and substituting the rest of the less essential parts with whatever he had in his car: boxes served as adequate tables, threadbare pillows he never trusted with foreign hands acted as chairs. A smaller box would be useful for the few towels he actually needed.
Nightmare started hefting boxes upstairs. He had forgotten about the tedious process of moving everything into the apartment while rejecting offers of help; it was one thing to drag objects downstairs, and another to heave them back up and organize the room. Thank goodness elevators existed.
The bulkier containers pulled on his shoulders as he walked out of the metal compartment. He navigated through the hallway by peering around the stack, every movement calculated and precise as to not drop anything. There was no room for any internal complaining, lest he bump into a wall and drop the lot.
Unsurprisingly, it was silent, save the soft hum of electricity. The luckier people would still be in bed, the occupied already hitting the road to arrive to work on time.
His thoughts subsided, distracted by a silent ripple of movement behind him.
He could've sworn that someone passed behind him, glimpsing perhaps the tail of a darkly-colored scarf or jacket, but a quick sweep of the perimeter had him downplaying it to his spent mentality playing tricks on him. It didn't particularly trouble Nightmare, so the logical solution was to let it go.
And he tried, as the annoyed feeling finally started to subside in his chest. He brought the larger loads to the entryway. Nightmare stood there, hands on his hips, to observe where he would be living from now on.
Regardless of his examination — white walls, dark floor, three-piece apartment, electric stove — his mind continued to wander towards that miniscule moment in time. There was a connection to it he couldn't explain.
He took a deep breath. There was no time to dawdle on insignificant manners. He had things to unpack, a lesson plan to refine and a coffee to make.
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Carafe in hand and his bag slung over a shoulder, Nightmare hurried into the baking summer sun to his car.
He was wearing just about the same thing as yesterday; in fact, he owned several of the same suit, a little habit of his that made him buy doubles of anything he could afford at once.
Sure, this inspired odd looks from the more perceptive, but all in all, these small details slipped past people's radars.
By then, his annoyance had long since worn off, leaving a blank slate of emotions ready to be colored by the next eventful moment of his life. Hopefully, it would be something adequate, since whatever marked that slate tended to stick to him for the rest of the day, although no one could really tell if he was happy or mad.
Nightmare's facial expressions tended to stay the same throughout the day. The only indicators of a foul or pleasant mood; the twitch of an eye socket, the curve of the corners of his mouth, or the way his hands flexed while he sat or stood immobile. He snapped at others all the same and continuously carried his bone brows scrunched on his forehead, sparing social situations and classrooms, but the weight of his outbursts and the severity of the angle at which those ridges slanted softened occasionally.
He smiled too, just not often in this school which hadn't provided any opportunities to smile about. Those were rarer than school years without intense PDA sessions behind the bleachers or, for the bolder, in the hallways.
His body language, no matter how minute, should've been more than enough for colleagues who have worked by his side for years to identify his mood. Instead, rumour had it they set up a betting pool while he was absent from the teachers' lounge.
Maybe he was maintaining a bar too high for anyone to reach. Maybe he was just as unexpressive as people said.
He let his fingers dance across the steering wheel to avoid burning them.
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Nightmare only had second period today, and thank god for that.
It wasn't that he particularly hated teaching, but he'd be damned if these kids didn't drive him up the wall.
This class, and this class only, dared be so vocal in front of the history teacher. An unfathomable thing, considering his reputation, but being a Monster either labeled him as a cold-hearted creature who could shatter your skull at a moment's notice or a total softie who let you get away with virtually anything.
It appeared to be the latter for this bunch.
Evidently, he disapproved of their unruly, outlandish actions and handed detention slips regularly, but some never learned. They came back for more every few minutes, interrupting his dialogue with shenanigans that sent near the whole group into an uproar of laughter, collecting a stash of little yellow papers.
Perhaps they'd warm up to him in a few days and lessen the disturbances. After all, he was a stranger to them, introduced to the class just yesterday afternoon; he was an 'exotic' one at that.
If they didn't, Nightmare would have to suck it up and teach them all the same.
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Three days after his second introduction into class B2-40, Friday, and matters haven't cooled in the slightest. Paper airplanes were thrown, students were playing tag in the classroom of all things, kids were chattering and it was, in summary, chaos.
Contrary to the many stereotypes, the females of B2-40 were also included in the mess, though they tended to stick to their cliques and blabber incessantly.
The boys, however, were busy laughing, chasing each other between the desks as if this were a primary school courtyard, and throwing paper airplanes out of windows as a classroom sport.
Good lord, he was just a history teacher trying to do his job. Even if no one really wanted to be here, couldn't they at least afford him a modicum of respect, no matter how fake?
Nightmare smoothed his purple shirt of wrinkles, straightened his black tie and loudly cleared his throat once, twice, three times...
When no one listened, he resorted to the final measure. A silent apology was delivered to those sitting in the front rows and those who weren't causing any trouble.
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the consequences of his actions, put the tips of his phalanges against the blackboard, and scraped down.
The reaction was immediate.
The class seemed to freeze as if a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on them. That comparison wasn't too far off the mark, actually, for the piercing screech.
It was a loud, prolonged screech, one that touched your very SOUL, the type that made you run for the hills if exposed to for too long. It stimulated the brain and its nerves, triggering discomfort.
(No, he wasn't a sadist. Nightmare was 65% sure of that.)
In keeping his dignity close to his chest, Nightmare managed to not wince at the bone-chilling noise; the same couldn't be said for the class, though.
It wasn't a matter of dignity or public image for them — it was more of a primal instinct to shy away and freeze at certain things. So, the chaos ended.
Some sat down, others froze standing up. Most had their hands thoroughly blocking their ears from the abomination of a noise. Whatever the reaction, Nightmare had gotten what he had wanted: complete and utter silence.
It was almost worth smiling for.
The sole adult continued examining the teenagers' movements indifferently, finally stopping his hand from dragging any lower.
"Good. Now do I have your attention?" he asked.
No one made a move to say anything.
"So, as I was saying, you will be tested on the facts about these historic people..."
Nine more weeks until the actual school year. Nightmare could only hope for his survival if this hubbub was any indication for the free-spirited creatures youth was.
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Okay, now time to get back to the others-
Stay safe, everyone!!
(And seriously, get some sleep-)
(May 4, 2021)