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"Do we really have to be doing this?" I am well aware of how whiny I sound, but, as per usual, I can't find it in myself to actually care. If people can't stand my insufferable behaviour, then they leave. Or they get fired for incompetence or some such. Whichever happens first. "There's a hundred more exciting things I could be doing with my time right now, like catching up with my show, or heading into the city to meet some new girl or other. It's been a while since I've had a nice one night-"
"Gojo-san."
The dark-haired boy barely mutters my name, but the way he cuts across me causes my words to shrivel and die on my tongue, which is an all-knew experience for me. He's sitting across the work-cluttered desk from me in a shaft of golden-hour sunlight that turns his skin to honey, and on any other day I would've bulldozed right through his objections and reprimands with every ounce of respect I don't have for him. Hell, I'm known for running my mouth - that's practically the first thing any of my teachers or classmates would say to you if you asked about me. So the way he just...amputated me mid-sentence is unexpected, to say the least. The rocking motion of my chair - leaning back on its two rear legs as I keep it balanced with my feet up on the table - ceases. Before I can pick up my thread, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"In case you haven't realised, you're failing each and every single one of your classes, and miserably at that." His eyes crack open exhaustedly as he lowers his hand from his face to support his chin, all evidence of his rigid, respectful tone from before vanishing. "Your father is paying me to fix that problem, so here I am. If you're going to insist on slacking off for the next two hours, can you at least do it quietly and let me pretend that this is going well?"
I roll my eyes, my exasperation safe behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses that I'm sure are practically impenetrable to his gaze - that's why I bought them in the first place, after all. So, despite that, why does it look like he knows I'm mocking him? There's something sharp glinting in the depths of those violet pools, and the needling, prickling sensation that breaks out across the back of my neck in response rubs me entirely the wrong way. What the hell does he think he's looking at, anyway?
"Vous devriez peut-être consulter un médecin pour ce gros baton dans le cul, Prez." I narrow my eyes; there, let him figure that one out, the smartass. It might be the first time I've ever had a cause to use my hundreds of hours being drilled by language tutors. I know it's petty, and childish, and a hundred other negative reflections on my character, but, as previously stated, the amount of care I set aside for other people's perceptions of me is about equivalent to the amount of respect I hold for the boy sitting across from me - that is to say, none. Nothing. Rien. Nada. Zilch.
His only response is a slight raise of one charcoaled eyebrow. I feel a petulant smirk twisting my lips in victory, then-
"Je n'arrive pas à croire que tu sois assez mesquin pour insulter quelqu'un dans une autre langue."
My jaw fucking drops as he responds to my jab in perfect, fluent French. I want to say that there's no way he's more well-versed in the language than I am, but his accent and enunciation is fucking flawless in a way that can't be learned. He barely reacts to my obvious shock as he continues my verbal lashing.
"I can't even say that I expected any better from you, but if you're going to go for such immature low blows, be brave enough to deal with the consequences of your words, you overgrown man-child." His voice is monotone and his expression is equally flat, without even a hint of anger or frustration to stain the perfect blankness in his eyes. Whatever it was that I'd seen earlier seems to have been covered back up, and I don't like how bored he sounds. Bored isn't interesting; it's not the reaction I was looking to provoke - it's the farthest thing from what I was aiming for. I quickly focus on that fact, which is honestly only a footnote to my surprise, and do my best to mask my brief lapse.
"Since when could you speak French, Geto?" I ask, and there isn’t even the slightest hint of jealousy in my voice, I promise. It's not my fault he sounds like he was born into the damn language - if I only had half of his talent growing up then maybe-
I shut the thought down and focus on his response. There's not a lot to read into.
"My mother."
His words might as well be pure radio static for all the emotion they express. He's still not rising to the bait. How dull.
"Sheesh, it was just a question, Prez. Cagey much? Anyway your mum must've been a half-assed teacher because that accent is godawful-" I don't get the opportunity to finish my sentence before there's a smack of flesh on flesh and I'm reeling back and falling as I lose my balance and the chair tips over. I rapidly get over my shock, rolling out of my fall and rising to my feet with as much dignity and grace as the situation allows. I resist the urge to raise a hand to check for any blood accompanying the sting on my face - I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing that.
"What the hell's gotten into you?" I demand, but some tiny part of me that I don't allow myself to listen to quails at the cold rage glittering in Geto's gaze as he stares back at me.
"If you ever," he enunciates every word with a chilling fury. "Speak of my mother in such a way again, then you can kiss your tutor, any hopes of good grades and that perfectly-shaped nose goodbye. Am I understood?"
I pause slightly at the sheer power he places behind the threat, then roll my eyes and sigh deeply before wedging a foot beneath the plush desk chair and flipping it back onto all four legs. I collapse back into the soft embrace of the leather, letting the breath left in my lungs be expelled by the impact. "Sure, Prez, whatever you say. Didn't know you were so touchy." I mutter.
His eye twitches almost imperceptibly, but, with some effort, he relaxes his posture and returns to his seat on the far side of the desk, neatly folding one leg over the other and clasping his hands in his lap in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes at him again. Ever the perfect model student. Prick.
The silence that follows is oppressive and awkward, at least on Geto's end. I can't bring myself to be bothered by it. It's evident that my 'tutor' already thinks the absolute worst of me, so why bother worrying myself about it? Even I can recognise a lost cause it when shouts at me. After a few minutes of tension thick enough to taste, I stop pretending to focus on the book open before me and instead take the opportunity to scrutinise my newest...acquaintance doesn't quite cover it. I need a word for the ever-growing group of people who detest me. Whatever; think about that later.
Geto Suguru. President of the student council. Leading student in the school by a considerable margin, with perfect grades across the board, perfect attendance, perfect behaviour records and glowing reviews from each and every teacher to have ever had the pleasure of his company. He's such a typical teacher's pet that simply looking at him makes me want to throw a textbook at his head. I would do it if I was sure it wouldn’t simply get absorbed into that mind that’s clearly already so crammed with useless academic tidbits.
...But then again, teacher's pets don't deign to waste their time with the resident school delinquent, even if said delinquent hails from one of Japan's most illustrious corporate families, the Gojos; even if said corporate family is more than willing to pay handsomely for a private tutor. Moreover, he wouldn't be caught dead threatening bodily harm simply because someone dared to speak ill of his parents.
...Interesting.
I shelve those thoughts for later and allow the front legs of the desk chair to touch down on the Persian rug that encircles the 1860-something writing desk that I've always thought is rather tasteless, even if it blends seamlessly with the rest of the study's Edwardian, western aesthetic. I wrinkle my nose internally at how desperately my parents have tried to create that European sense of class and warmth, resulting in a wood-panelled space just large enough to feel excessively grandiose and just cluttered enough to feel suffocating, especially in the August heat currently doing its level best to fry the family estate. I suppose it would be impressive to anybody who hadn't grown up around it, but I've long since learnt to see past the veil to the ego and self-obsession that drove the creation of my home.
I slump forwards in the chair, elbow clattering onto the polished mahogany surface and face falling none-too-gently into my hand as I release a gusty sigh to convey my boredom. Geto's sheer lack of reaction is telling in itself, and I let a teasing smirk flit over my features as I consider how best to get under his skin. Clearly my previous jabs related to his...family situation had pushed the envelope a little too far - the last stabbings of the pain in my cheek weakly attest to that before fading entirely - so where exactly does his middle ground lie? An idea strikes me - audacious, disrespectful and guaranteed to irritate him. The smirk widens slightly, becoming edged with a slight cruelty.
"So, Prez," I see the slight twitch in his façade of calm at the sound of my nickname for him. Perfect. "Those are some pretty serious piercings you've got going on there." I reach forward slowly and flick one of the dark stone gauges that weigh down his earlobes. "Mind telling me where you got them done? 'Cause I've been thinking about getting another couple in my ears."
The effect the physical contact has is immediate - he tenses as if my actions had been the final twist to compress a coil within him that was already past its limit. A sharp hiss escapes his lips as he jerks his head back out of reach, chair scraping back over the rug and leaving jagged creases in the expensive weave that I just know I'll be getting an earful later over. Whatever. If my family really cared about anything valuable they owned then they would never dream of letting me near it. The thought is like quicksilver in my mind, flashing by like a speeding train before I return my attention to my tutor, who has half-stood from the chair he had pushed back so roughly. A flash of...something crosses his face, but it's smothered before I can actually read anything into it, and the lifelessly unemotive mask is slammed back down over his features as he straightens mechanically. The air between us rings with silence as he gathers the few things he had brought with him, tossing his cream blazer over one shoulder with one slender finger hooked through the loop inside the collar, then he stares me dead in the eyes with a cold blankness for another moment before about-facing with enough poise and precision to make a drill sergeant cry tears of joy.
I can only stare after him as he marches towards the door of the study, frozen somewhere between satisfaction at having provoked such a reaction and shock for how abruptly he shut down in the aftermath. My sunglasses slip down my nose slightly as I remain unmoving behind the desk, but he looks back over his shoulder a final time before I can push them back up my nose, meeting my eyes instead of the darkened glass for the first time today. There's a pause so minute that I convince myself I imagined it as our eyes lock then-
"I will see you at the allotted time this Saturday, Gojo-san." He faces forwards once more then strides from the room, shutting the door behind him silently in what I have to say is an admirable feat of self-control, given that I clearly pissed him off by intruding on his personal space as I did. The soft click of the latch is the only sound to be heard in his absence, and it's rapidly throttled into silence by the void I can feel gradually filling the study. I relax back into the red leather of the chair, drumming lightly on the tabletop as I debate what to do with the two hours of free time I've suddenly gained in today's schedule. I push all thoughts of my rather catastrophic first tutoring session with Suguru Geto aside.
Whatever. That went exactly as I thought it would.
I choke down the part of my mind whispering that maybe that was how I wanted it to go, too.