bakerstreet | Gimme that high school fluff

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Gimme that high school fluff

Mostly because I'm surprised we've never had this kind of meme before. We love high school AUs. We love romance. Why not combine those into a glorious mix?

Your teen years are important, formatively speaking. You're trying to find out just where you belong and what kind of person you're going to be. This already daunting task is complicated by the soul-sucking demon known as high school. If you weren't having a hard time before coming here, you certainly are now.

Add into this mixture raging hormones, and baby, you've got a misery stew cooking. But it's not all bad! Sometimes high school crushes can be sweet, and the occasional high school relationship lasts.

So whether you're too cool or distracted for romance or always on to the next good looking stud, come on down and try to navigate the romantic labyrinth that is the halls of Bakerstreet High.

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character and preferences. Needless to say, aging down and AUing is welcomed and probably necessary. Have fun with it! Feel free to include a short blurb about your character's Bakerstreet High self. Are they popular? The class clown? A drifter? A band geek?
Comment to others.
Use the RNG. Or not.

PROMPTS

childhood: You've known each other forever. Puberty has changed a couple of things, though.
friends to more: Best buds, right? Can you let a little crush get between you?
always there for you: You've seen the person you've liked for forever get hurt time and time again, always offering a shoulder to cry on. You should make your own move, unless you're content in the background forever.
bad boy/good girl: Or bad girl/good boy, or bad boy/good boy...there's a certain appeal.
the innocent: They're the delicate little pure flower of the school. Do you genuinely want to date them or is this a mission for corruption.
smitten puppy: You know the type. Always following the object of their adoration around. Don't you want to sweep them off their feet and show them there's other fish in the sea?
the ice queen/king: You have to defrost them.
10 things: You were challenged to ask them out or bed them, but shit got real.
never noticed anyone before: You'll never be into all this love and sex stuff. Your classmates are crazy - wait, who's that? Your face is flushing. Why?
never noticed: This person's always been there for you. You feel silly that you've never noticed.
the unattainable: Is the school's hottest cheerleader or football player really all that high above you?
follow you until you love me: It's not stalking! You just happen to be in the same place as them...all the time.
hate at first sight: You hate their guts but you can't stay away.
sudden hottie: Were they always so bangin', or did taking off their glasses or pulling down their ponytail do that much?
too shy, too blind: you're too shy to tell them how you feel. you also don't see that they clearly feel the same.
kindness counts: They were kind to you, which is a pretty big deal in high school especially if you're an outcast, and you can't help nursing an even bigger crush.
sudden attraction: You're the kind who falls instantly and hard.
always on the move: You change crushes or dates like underwear. Maybe this one is the one, though.
nerd love: Both of you are social pariahs. At least you have each other.
into older people: He or she is the kind of teen who's so mature and always dating college students or even real adults. But you can change their mind about their peers, right?
differences in social classes: One of you is popular, the other so not. Can you make it work, or will the popular part be ashamed?
opposites attract: Sometimes, the weirdos get the hottest babes.
awkward confessions: You want to get your feelings out into the open - curse your voice cracking.
asking you out: You'll totally borrow your dad's car to take them to the movies. Or here, here's your letterman jacket. Go steady?
parents don't understand: Your parents want to keep you apart or are too tragically uncool.
dates: If you have to go dutch at McDonald's, it's sad. Maybe stay-at-home dates are better.
prom: Limos, tuxes, wasted money, oh my!
slow dance: The DJ popped in that best of the 90s love songs megamix CD. Now's your chance.
sadie hawkins: The Sadie Hawkins Dance. Get your khaki pants. Oh oh oh. Girls ask the guys. It's always a surprise.
sneaking out: The most romantic times are past curfew.
detention: As the Breakfast Club taught us, it's possible to find love in a hopeless place.
experimentation: It doesn't count if it's above the belt, right? And finger definitely don't count.
over the top: You're that couple that is always on the PDA or being schloopy and goopy romantic. Don't be that couple.
first kiss: Pucker up.
first time: Is it romantic and slow or in the back of someone's car?
drunk: Drunk confessions and attempts to make passes are ill-advised.
fight: High school couple fights can be deadly. Avoid at all costs
the volatile couple: Speaking of, there's always a couple that seems to be fighting 24/7? When they're hot, they're hot, when they're cold, they're glacial.
finally together: You're the will-they-won't-they of high school, and when you get together senior year, the whole class will give you a standing ovation because FINALLY.
long term couple: When did you guys get together? Probably like middle school or something. You've always been together.
hide who you are: Unfortunately, even these days some people make it necessary for those who don't conform to the "ideals" to hide their true selves.
break up: Statistically, it was bound to fail.
after graduation: Can you guys make it work after you lose the common ground of school? This can be challenging if you're going to be living in different places.
WILDCARD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Her canon love interests (during which she was in high school for about half the show) leave a lot to be desired, so I'd be happy to AU up something better. ]

(M/F or M/M welcomed for shipping. High school Matty is generally a bookish, studious loner. Feel free to try to pay him ~~or bully him~~ to do your homework. He's also pretty damn athletic, so maybe he's on like... the track team? Or rowing, or swimming.)

[ Neal's one of those guys that has every ability to be The Popular Kid in the school. Smart, athletic, good-looking, nice: he's all that (and a bag of chips). Too bad he's somewhat characterized as a troublemaker around the halls of their high school. Not a bully, not a jock, not the kind of kind found stalking the grounds making life miserable for classmates, but a smart aleck that more often than not schools the teachers to the point of frustration.

Need a hall pass? He has an unending supply. Need a grade changed? Neal gets it done. Note forged? Surprisingly, no problem. Send him to detention and most times he's finding a loophole in the student code of conduct or talking his way out.

Strangely enough, his charm and wit opens a lot more doors than it should. Not surprisingly, though, his grades never seem to suffer. He could show up two days a week and still make honor roll. If not for the absences threatening his eventual graduation, he probably wouldn't show up at all.

Thing is, Hells Kitchen is just about the last place he wants to be. If anyone catches him talking about his future, he's getting out of the West Side. Soho, Midtown, the Village, Lower East Side — anywhere but here. First New York and then the world.

He home life, by contrast, is a complete mystery. No one really knows where Neal lives or what his home life is like. He doesn't share those kind of details, just appears and disappears from the school like he's some kind of super spy, full of charisma, charm, and all the information a person could ever want to know about literature, arts, and so many other subjects.

It's at swimming practice — one of the after-school extracurriculars that Neal never misses — that he seems particularly off. Not lacking in skill — never lacking — but the kind of wandering attention and distant gaze that's uncommon for a kid like him. He barely acknowledges anything or anyone the whole time. Laps and laps and lap later, exhausted and having dodged a dozen questions from his teammates, he lays at the side of the pool with his legs crooked and feet in the water, eyes stinging from chlorine and dark hair splayed around his head on the tile like a dark halo.

Staring at the ceiling, he senses his friend's presence, glad for a great many reasons that everyone else had moved on to the locker rooms by now. ]

I've got to get out of here, Matty...

It must be a universal truth that no kid can be satisfied where they're at.

Maybe it's a part of the growing process -- a natural step in the development of a person, to dream of elsewhere in the same way a toddler learns to say no. No, no, no. I'm bigger than your rules, bigger than the universe you want to impose on me. Matt doesn't hate Hell's Kitchen. There's a lot to love, now that he's learned to deal with the agonizing overwhelm of sounds and smells and tastes. In making sense of the cacophony, he's learned to appreciate the nuance more deeply. It makes up his picture of the place he's called home for the whole of his life now. But he'd give anything to get away from his own image.

The orphan, the blind kid, Battlin' Jack's wimpy son. He just wants to hit the reset button. To wipe it all away and have a second chance at defining for himself who Matthew Murdock really is. College looms close, but not close enough. The narrow escape path is closing in, so Matt doubles his efforts at his studies. He takes all the advanced classes he can, and pads his extracurriculars with enough variety to make himself attractive to the schools he's set his sights on. And he tries to ignore the rest.

He knows something is off with Neal. He recognized his friend's affected heartbeat from the minute the coach lined them up for drills, and it throbs now in a way that can't be blamed on a good workout. At the side of the pool, he stretches his back and sighs. "You will, Neal. Come on. A guy like you? The whole world's your oyster."

He's not wrong. Neal has so much going for him, it would be insane to think he couldn't (and wouldn't) take the world by storm. But the moment Matt makes the assertion, Neal's heart sinks that much further. There are layers and layers of doubt born of this place and his sheltered history; the closer they get to graduation, the harder and more distant everything starts to feel.

Aching and reticent to give up the image of perfection Neal's come to be known for, he tries to bolster himself as he sits up, strong hands rubbing earnestly at his face as if he's trying to scrub away any sense of discontentment. Not that he feels all that at risk of being found out because, historically speaking, whether he hides it or not, Matt always knows. It's enigmatic and a little bit frightening, but it's also the reason Neal credits for them being as close as they've become.

"Yeah, thanks," he says sardonically, huffing out a breath that says he doesn't quite believe as much as Matt seems to. So much that should be right at his fingertips feels frustratingly out of reach and it's not a feeling Neal appreciates.

He glances over at Matt, taking him in for a long moment without another word. It's obvious that there are some things in Hell's Kitchen worth sticking around for — that's the impression he gets from his friend, at least — but for Neal, he can count them on one hand, and he barely needs that many fingers.

A loud swallow, a tight throat, heart suddenly hammering in his chest — an admission. "I need a place to stay," Neal finally says, and he's clearly none too happy about it. "Just for a night," he amends, quickly changing his mind about circumstances. He's buying time for one reason or another — a mystery all his own — until he can create an alternative. Thankfully Neal's always been quick on his feet.

"Don't mention it." He doesn't need enhanced senses to hear the sarcasm dripping from Neal's every word. It's practically a second language for his friend. Though how he manages to toe the line of being so jibing without ever expressly cruel, he'll never know. Matt lacks the certain nuance it takes to navigate that space cleanly. He's done a lot of healing over the last few years, but it's still anger that rises first to his veins any time that he's challenged.

Now, he stretches out a leg and knocks Neal's ankles with one of his feet. It's pretty good aim, or maybe it's just an accident. Matt's smile makes it pretty obvious, though he isn't saying for himself. Instead he stands and throws his hands overhead, twisting from one side to the other to make sure he's got a good stretch. It doesn't pay to be impatient. Most of the guys on the team barely fake it through the warm-ups and cool-downs, but Matt knows from his father they're the most important of all.

When Neal asks the favor, Matt drops his hands to his sides. A long beat of silence passes as he considers the silence between Neal's breaths and a certain history all his own that he can't imagine involving anyone else in. "Yeah, okay," he hears himself agreeing. Another beat, and then, "No problem, sure. You can stay with me."

Getting to his feet as well, Neal lets the relief wash over him like the water when first diving into the pool for practice. It's cold and welcoming, all-encompassing in so many ways, and remarkably it drowns out the rest of the world, leaving it distant and tinny and easily ignored. Good. Perfect. Exactly what he's hoping for.

"Thanks," he says, already loads less tense to have the beginnings of a plan. He's a hundred percent genuine this time, no sarcasm in sight.

It's a risk in some ways — opening up to anyone, especially at their age, always is — but Neal can admit to himself that he's curious about how Matt lives when he's not pinging between classrooms and devouring plain, but nutritionally complete school lunches in an effort to save time for some other endeavor.

Retrieving his towel, Neal scrubs at his unruly hair, sopping up the remaining dampness as his feet slap wetly on the concrete surrounding the tiled edge of the pool. "I'll meet you out front after showers," he says, needing some time to himself to gather what he needs from his locker, not to mention to gather himself for what he expects will inevitably turn to personal questions and careful concern. Matt's about a likely to give him space as he is to encroach on Neal's position, and while there are few (if any) others Neal would trust in this situation, he's still not looking forward to the exposure they both face.

"Don't mention it," Matt echoes, though this time he means it too. For a guy without a lot of friends, he's remarkably used to being a safe harbor. Maybe he misses it, in a way. All those nights spent stitching up his father, dealing with the mess. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was parenting who, until he'd pop off something smart or try to act above his station and his dad would be there with a firm word and a guiding hand to put him back in line. Still, there's something about tending to a problem that Matt likes. Especially the kind with such a clear delineation of success. If giving Neal a place to stay puts anything right with the world tonight, he's glad for that.

He just hopes that Neal won't regret the ask. Showered and changed and loaded down with books (braille expands the size of his texts by more than double), Matt heads to the front of the natatorium to meet his friend. It's not a long walk to Saint Agnes Orphanage, but the sidewalks stretch endlessly in his mind when he elects not to tell his friend where they're heading.

The sounds and smells of Hell's Kitchen are a familiar backdrop, one that he's come to learn uniquely in the past few years. But Matt can barely keep his attention on the wafting scent of distant butcheries and the cool spots on the pavement when Neal's heartbeat is just a few feet off, and his friend's nervous energy is a puzzle he can't solve.

The church stretches like a beacon. Its construction may be dwarfed by the high rises that surround it in the distance, but it makes itself known. Matt stops by the brick and iron gate encasing a small seating area with lush trees and planted flowers, and shifts from foot to foot. "Home sweet home," he notes, pushing open the unlocked fencing with a squeak and a rattle and guiding them towards the near orphanage.

The walk is quiet and familiar enough to Neal. Backpack flung over his shoulder, he's in his own head as the sights and sounds and smells of Hell's Kitchen pass him by. There's little fondness spared, but he keeps that quiet because he gets the feeling, often enough, that he's alone in such thoughts. High school, even in big cities, is rife with "hometown pride" and for as much as Neal wants to fit in (while simultaneously standing out), he'd rather say nothing at all than express his disdain at the expense of another person's happiness.

Coming up on the fence, the church stretching high and lean above them, Neal looks on with curiosity, but there's no sense of judgement written on his features.

"Very ecclesiastical," he says, always glad to use a million dollar word.

Truth be told, he had expected something like this — foster care had come to mind first — but it had only been a hunch based on little telltale signs, such as how Matt kept his things in his locker, and the amount of excess time he had to dedicate to swimming and school in general. Intuition, perhaps, or maybe a thousand of other little signs that Neal didn't know he was picking up on in the interim.

Following Matt's lead, Neal trusts that the offer wouldn't have been made if it might have gotten his friend in trouble, but still he's being quiet, mindful, and intensely respectful. Best to behave himself, particularly since this is a favor he's not sure he'll ever be able to return.

[ either gusu arc or modern high school au where he is the loudmouth who argues with his teachers, goes to every party, never does homework and still excels in class. ]

[ the popular girl with family drama and a string of bad boyfriends ]

[An AU based on the concept for The Patakis.]

[Willing to go with a more human AU if desired. She's the sweet, perfectly nice girl with a huffy, protective older brother and an eccentric grandmother either way.]

[ It's really the same as it's been every day, those few weeks, since the new year started. He stands up at his desk like that's his own small stage, recycling Moukarimakka Honpo's material to his classmates, everyone has a laugh until that chime goes off again. Eh, almost everyone let's say, that guy behind him never makes a sound. Were they in the same classroom last year? He can't remember about someone like that... Maybe now it's just that it feels like he's always giving him that intense look down his neck! Cooped up in the same row for the better part of a day.

But he's never seen him hanging around with the other delinquents of the school, has he? It's just today that he thinks about it, while the dust settles with the teacher coming in. Sasara is the class clown but he's not that other type of trouble-maker.

Still, it's barely that the lesson's started that he turns around, distracted. ]

Ah... Tsutsujimori-kun– [ That's him, yeah? This sorta self-consciousness when Sasara starts talking, looking at his stern face, quickly fades when he reveals the purpose of that chat he's striking up. ] Ya didn't do it either, right?

[ He's looking at a partner in crime, he thinks and almost grins—not so abashedly—who forgot all about the homework too. ]

[ The noise in the classroom is so damn annoying as their class clown goes at it again. It's the usual routine, the sort Rosho always hates, but while he's expected to behave under school rules during class hours there's nothing he can do about it aside from glare heatedly at that head of green hair. Thankfully the bell chimes soon enough and the panel door slides open, signaling the beginning of class. Rosho is already grabbing his bag when he hears a voice call his name. It's not the teacher.

His eyes narrow, that same casual yet somehow still spiteful gaze focused on the student in front of him. It's the clown again. (They've never spoken before, have they? How does he even remember his last name?)

At the question the look in his eyes goes colder. ]

Hah? I ain't some class clown wastin' my time with shitty jokes.

[ He pulls the assignment from the previous day out of his bag, sets it onto his desk. Completely finished. ]

And don't make assumptions. It's rude.

[ Regardless of the fact that Rosho has done just that, though he's yet to be proven wrong about the assessment he's made of Sasara Nurude. An overly energetic chatterbox that would rather spend his time getting laughs in class than actually learning anything. He thinks he's a comedian when he's just a slacker. He should put that ambition into his schoolwork instead.

He should also not think he knows anything about him. Rosho may look like a delinquent, but he's not stupid like one. ]

A-ah, um...–

[ Ice cold! He thinks he'll start to shiver in his seat, even though he keeps grinning. Seriously, what's with that attitude? Hyoukin-san's material is flawless, besides!

That sorta arrogance without a real reason is what's rude. If they've never talked before now, Sasara thinks he gets just why. The mental note, of sticking to entertaining the crowd in front of him rather than a delinquent like that stuck at his back, gets made sooner than he sees him take out the assignment.

Oh... although he just warned him not to, Sasara makes another guess. ]

Ya copied it?

[ He might say that just a little too loud, even if his tone does play up (or down) to that need for secrecy. That's cheating, yeah, of some sort? But it's smarter than not doing it at all, like Sasara. This way of that, rather than thinking of tattling he's more surprised by the initiative of it. Even if the guy essentially already told him to get lost, Sasara turns around a little further on his chair. Maybe he can still make a dent in his own lack of work. ]

Off 'a who?

[ Why is he still smiling? Rosho can't be as satisfied with his sputtering response when he still looks so pleased with himself, and for no reason at all, certainly not when he's been called out like this. But ah, he gets it now. This guy is stubborn about his opinions. He doesn't want to be made to look stupid.

Well, neither does Rosho. His temper flares immediately as he barks out. ]

Myself!

[ Some of the students in the rows on either side of them look over, hushed whispers with a snicker or giggle here and there.

"Are they fighting?" "Yikes, Tsutsujimori's got that scary look on his mug again." "Poor Nurude-kun, having to sit in front of that delinquent Tsutsujimori-kun."

The teacher looks over their shoulder, which Rosho notices immediately, so while the anger in his voice fades he still looks plenty pissed off as he reaches a hand out beside Sasara's shoulder. ]

Give me your paper.

[ This guy... whatever's going on, he can't get a read on him before he shouts, and then he flinches just a little. He's got the attitude of someone who's about to really beat him up and Sasara sits there with little but those foreboding whispers at his back. Suddenly, he thinks about how this all won't end well and his smile drops.

Rosho's answer doesn't even register for what it is. His grip on the back of the chair clenches tight. This punk is definitely about to pound him into a pulp in the middle of a math lecture. What else'd that hand coming at him mean? ]

M-mine?

[ The hell!? This is too troublesome, he never should have gone against the Nurude family motto, not in his dreams.

And yet despite that, Sasara reaches into his own bag to pull out his unfinished assignment. It's gotta be shock, some sort of daze that makes him move automatically...! Well, no, something about Tsutsujimori has him suddenly so curious. It's that his answer rushes through Sasara's head again and he still can't make much of it.

But see, he did try, some of the questions have answers in pencil. Not all of them, though, and who knows if they're even right.

A-ah, Rosho won't just rip it up, right!? That's the last thought Sasara holds onto along with the paper. ]

[ Sasara's smile is suddenly gone, and Rosho gets this sensation of guilt, something akin to the way one would feel for crushing a bug. Not the sort that poses a nuisance but more along the lines of a spider spinning its web, or an ant carrying around a leaf. A pill bug crawling around through the dirt. Its existence snuffed out for no reason other than... it's small, and it's a big. Unnecessary.

Rosho's surprised that he's even given the paper, but he takes it, glances over it quickly. It's not even finished. Not only that, he can catch every mistake, one by one, to the degree that there's so much wrong it nearly gives him a headache. He sets the paper down onto his desk then grabs his own bag again. ]

These are really bad. Ya barely got what little ya actually finished right.

[ Pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen, Rosho begins scribbling, glancing between Sasara's assignment sheet and the blank one he's now steadily filling out. After about a minute he hands both the assignment and the paper he's written on to Sasara. ]

That's the formula that you need to remember, at the top. I did the first three questions as examples, so ya see how it has to work. If it still doesn't make any sense I've got notes I can copy down and give ya.

Ah... a-ahem...

[ What's with calling him out like that, he wanted to see it and nothing was promised! It ain't like this guy's the teacher, ya know. Despite that, though, Sasara just watches his pen flit across the paper. Jotting down numbers and letters that don't make much sense trying to read them upside down—and probably won't totally either when he flips it around, but that's another thing.

When Rosho returns the sheets Sasara looks at them, staying backwards in his seat as he is. The class is well in session. Narrowed eyes seem to go back and forth over that first line and that formula. Does he get it? Well... slowly realizing that Rosho didn't just jump to roughing him up, that's even more confusing. That's why he eventually lifts his head again, just to look at the guy in all his scowling presence. It'd be too tempting to prod at with a pun, and yet when he turns back around at last he forgets to say so much as thanks.

Sasara spends the lesson like this: at first he's looking at the notes left on his assignment with the same interest, flipping between it and the other sheet of paper. Then he tires of it eventually and plays around with his pencil instead, as if that encounter never happened at all and he's had nothing to think about until the chime rings again. He still doesn't turn his homework in.

But he does stand up and turn around, interrupting whatever sort of packing up, waiting around or fleeing the scene Rosho ends up doing. He puts his hand down on the desk. With the papers in it. His grin is back too. ]

[ There is a moment, not a very long one, where Sasara turns himself around and Rosho can't stop staring at the back of his head. Little curled wisps of his hair, lingering hints of bed-head, like he didn't comb properly that morning.

He didn't thank him...

His attention diverts to the lecture, and he forgets all about Sasara Nurude for the rest of the class.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the last class of the day, and while Rosho's relieved to be able to head home as he begins packing away his things that relief is gone the moment he realizes someone is standing beside his desk as if they're waiting for him, except no one does, so who—

He looks at the hand holding sheets of paper, the writing familiar to his own. Except it's the same. Rosho looks up and there's Sasara with that grin of his.

Rosho narrows his eyes. ]

If ya didn't want 'em then you should've told me in the first place.

[ Irritating. He just wants to go home. Rosho tries to step around Sasara so he can leave. ]

[ He feels confident in his standing there, like it does his purpose just fine, so long as Rosho stands there and only narrows his eyes. Ah, uh– somehow Sasara didn't think the guy'd just sidestep him. When he does he rushes around to face him again quickly; it leaves a bit of a mark on his cool instead of just standing there. ]

Eh, no, no wait–!

[ An arm's length distance between them, Sasara stops him with his hands out. And clutching the papers still. His lasting grin doesn't seem to fit his admission. For the content of it he's almost shameless to admit it, regardless. ]

I still don't get it.

[ It didn't look like it, but he's thought about it plenty throughout the lecture. Not the math, but Rosho's sense of it. This delinquent punk who's kind of a whizz kid about numbers, and Sasara concluded that that's interesting. Much more than his homework, more than his sense of self-preservation if he decides to flip his switch back again and pummel his classmate after all. He thought about what Rosho said. ]

Ya said you'd help me in that case, right?

[ The persistence shown is astounding, and it makes absolutely no sense, not when he's sure that beyond that wide grin Sasara must be thinking that just approaching him is a nightmare. That arm's length of space bothers him, but it's the cheerful demeanor that rubs him the wrong way the most. Like he's trying to give him pity. They wouldn't be talking by regular means.

What is this guy even doing, Rosho wonders... ]

Ya should've told me way before class ended, I could've been copyin' my notes.

[ He could simply give his notes to Sasara and it'd be no skin off his back, but he's not feeling that generous. Rosho's still bitter about not receiving a word of thanks, and now he's being prevented from heading home with this pathetic attempt at wringing more of his help out of him. Annoying, he's so annoying, Rosho can't stand him. ]

I'll work on 'em tonight so it'll be ready tomorrow. You'll have to wait 'til then.

[ And again, he tries to step past Sasara, willing to knock right by his scrawny body if he has to. ]

[ It's not like Rosho makes himself easy to approach, even after already walking up to him! Jeez... He's got the wrong idea of Sasara's purpose, though, better at reading people than to gauge this guy as someone needing charity of any sort. All he can really do is hold up his own smile against that tough face of his.

It's definitely not the best strategy when it comes to Rosho stepping away from the conversation. His advice doesn't meet its mark, his notes aren't what Sasara is after. There's a trip and stumble Sasara takes, but he doesn't lose his footing. ]

A-ah, ya see–!

[ And then, somehow, he's still in front of Rosho even though he tried to get away. ]

It's that your notes didn't help much, yeah? [ What a bad way to get to the bottom of that request of his. ] So, won't it be better if ya—

[ If Sasara keeps stalling him, first of all. Why's he in such a hurry, anyway? Not that he can recall seeing Rosho at any extracurriculars, or so much as heard a whisper of him playing basketball or soccer, just like he struck up that conversation he'll ask anyway. He doesn't finish that other sentence. ]

You heading to club or something like that? I can wait around, ya know!

[ Is he ever going to give up? Is Rosho going to have to get physical with this pestering idiot? His insistence isn't even amusing. Why even bother him when he's making it clear that what little degree of help he offered wasn't even useful at all. He's just wasting his time.

He's not even being straight-forward about what he wants. Stalling, talking to him, even asking about what his plans are after class. Club? Rosho could almost laugh. As if he could ever try anything like that. The moment he reached high school his socializing skills had plummeted. What was the point in that sort of thing, his parents thought it was a waste of time too, would just get in the way of studies. He could spend that time and effort better on other more useful things.

High school was a pain. School itself was getting more and more agonizing, but he had to do it.

'What does this guy want with me?' ]

I don't do clubs. Just cram school.

[ He doesn't want to think about Sasara lingering around the building waiting for him for those 2-3 hours of extra study. He should just go home. In fact, Rosho doesn't even want to do his cram school hours for the day, he wants to go home.

"I can wait around, ya know!" Rosho's eyes narrow. ]

Ya wanna follow me, don't ya? And if I went home... you'd follow me there too. Yeah?

[ Cram school too? This guy, all he does it give off mixed signals. Between his looks and attitude, his apparent brains, Sasara hasn't got a clue whether he'd have pinned him down as heading to university either. With the humble goal of not failing out of high school on his end, they're obviously opposites. What a way to waste the afternoon... that is, waiting around outside a building like that; but neither is Sasara headed to any club. ]

W-well...

[ Trouble comes in so many shapes and sizes. How is he supposed to know what sort to keep his nose out of and away from? Although, this is definitely the kind, it's just that he's in too deep now! With an emphatic shake of his head and gesturing around, the scene starts to resemble someone trying to get out of a pool of quicksand. Rosho's sharp look feels like it's pushing him deeper in. ]

A-ah, no!! I ain't a stalker or some such type, ya see–

[ Sasara thought he'd be less annoyed if he didn't say it so bluntly. It's not working at all, so... Now in that overexaggerated manner he's been acting already, he puts his head down and his hands together above. ]

I've got a request!

[ No one's left in the classroom, sticking around to watch this peculiar scene. ]

[ He'd say that insisting he isn't that sort of thing just makes it more likely that he could turn into a stalker, with how persistent he's being just in keeping him around, outright telling him he'd wait around for him if he had to. For what reason, he still can't quite parse, but Rosho knows it'd be stupid of him to pull anything like that regardless. He can tell that he makes him nervous. Sasara's more than aware he's pushing the boundary of something he shouldn't have gotten involved in.

But he's still trying.

Rosho doesn't have to bother with him any further. ]

Speak.

[ He doesn't have anything else to do. No one's ever gone through such a hassle like this for him, as Sasara begs him in the middle of an empty classroom. Why, all this for him... he doesn't get it at all.

It's a little interesting now. ]

[ If they both think it's interesting, they'll be on the same page if they flip a few more, no doubt about it and this clue gives Sasara just enough courage to face that hard stare of Rosho's. His tough and tense sense of talking, the hint that rejection is probably already on the tip of his tongue, all that gets nudged aside. ]

Give me a boost, yeah? [ What? No, not the boot! ]

Like tutoring. I couldn't even make sense of your notes, I'm that bad!

[ And yet Sasara laughs about it, of course. ]

[ Rosho's initial thought is that, of course, he wants to benefit off of the fact he's clearly good at schoolwork and probably wants to arrange something like buying his service for doing his homework for him, some bullshit like that, and Rosho's hands clench into fists as he prepares to deck Sasara in the face and leave him here whether he busts his face open or not.

But Sasara isn't that stupid. No, he's even more stupid than that.

He's asking him for tutoring. Him. The good news is Sasara doesn't get punched now, but he's getting glared at intensely. ]

So ya insult me, waste my time, and then don't even bother thankin' me for the help I already bothered to give ya. We ain't ever talked before. I bet ya don't even like me.

[ Not that he blames him. No one really seems to like him, really. ]

Now tell me why I should say yes? In fact, don't bother. Get lost and go ask someone else.

[ Ahem, if he counts it all up like that... Rosho's reasons run through Sasara's head. Looks like they don't have the same view of it. It's just that his talk gets away from Sasara, and the stuff he finds interesting he'd much rather think about than homework that's just made to bore him to tears. Most of all, though, he thought he had a sense for other people. That he got Rosho so wrong doesn't bother him a bit, however, more like now he's interested!

Oh right, he'll just thank him now first of all, then. ]

A-hah, then let me start by—! [ And the answer to Rosho's question is— ] U-um...

[ All of a sudden Sasara finds himself staring at clenched fists like they're right in front of his face, even as tightly tucked to his sides as Rosho still keeps them. W-well, it's true they've never talked, and if Sasara imagines any interaction between them, besides this one, it's more along the lines of sidestepping to one side of the hallway rather than sitting together at lunch.

And how can you even begin to like someone you don't know anything about? Trying to figure that dichotomy of Rosho's, that he's been more puzzled over than the guy's math notes, has filled up the past 50 minutes of his life. He's usually quick with his quips, but not just now. ]

The... the thing is... [ That Rosho'd cut him off already, and he's no good at being straight up either. Sasara wavers, whether he should actually try to explain himself. The truth is, he's got some reason behind it—other than his newfound curiosity about the other. Rosho's told him to scram already, but he can't quite move. He drops his hands from praying please, in that overblown gesture, and looks up at Rosho. ]

I'm no good at academics and I got something else I wanna do. [ High school is a pain. But he'd better do it. ] I'm screwed if I gotta go another round.

[ His fury falters. He doesn't know why, but something about that admittance sort of... intrigues him. Not the fact that Sasara has zero skill with math. Rosho obviously knows that by now, and really, plenty of other kids their age are the same. Rosho would most likely be exactly like that if it wasn't for both of his parents being teachers. (Sometimes he'd wonder just what exactly he'd be like if that wasn't the case. What would he be good at? What would he push himself toward? What would he do with his life that he'd actually enjoy?

Does Sasara have something like that?)

"I got something else I wanna do."

Not something that he has to do. Something he wants to do. The tension in his hands has gone. There's still irritation on his face, a slight stern tone to his voice as he replies. ]

What is it? [ And then he realizes he's being demanding. If he's too pushy, Sasara might not want to tell him. Rosho hesitates as he tries to figure out how to go about this.

When he speaks again its almost, hesitant... awkward. ] I mean, the other thing ya wanna be doin'.

U-uh?

[ Of course he gave that honest confession his all. But for it to work to soften up Rosho's grim way, for him to get hooked on that bit. Admittedly not even Sasara has that kinda confidence. It's not that he doesn't know his own answer, though.

This way or that, Rosho could have asked in any kinda tone. It's not something he keeps a secret, something their classmates might even laugh at extra to his routines when he belts it out. Hesitation now doesn't blot out his optimism: ]

I'll become an entertainer. A comedian, ya know...!

[ It's because not just the look on his face but Rosho's demeanor softens still, that he feels a little strange about it. Aiming his ambition at that sort of career, that's probably not something he can relate to. What kinda future does a rogue who's secretly a math whiz even envision!? Ahem...! Sasara suddenly feels awkward as the only one to confess. ]

Ya probably got something in mind too, yeah?

[ Well that certainly isn't of any surprise. Even if they've never spoken prior to this point, Rosho's been fully aware of the presence of their class clown so to speak. It'd be hard to think of a time that Sasara wasn't spouting off some lame joke or attempting a terrible routine with the teacher. Its become a staple at this point. Probably hasn't helped at all with Sasara's status in the class or especially his grades, but he's always stuck by it, and now Rosho knows why. It's not just a silly little quirk of his. That's the sort of thing he wants to do.

'That must be nice. To have a dream like that—' ]

M-me...?

[ Rosho startles from his contemplation as Sasara suddenly turns the question around on him, and he's completely taken aback. ]

I... I want to...

[ He's wracking his brain for an answer. Of course what he knows he needs to say is he wants to become a teacher. Why else would he work so hard on his grades and studying and cramming so much information into his brain? That's what he's supposed to want. That's what his parents want.

But he... what does Rosho want?

No one has ever asked him that before. ]

I don't know.

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Gimme that high school fluff

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