Carter.

...

[dis-generation]

...

...

...

...

......

Ooc: High-school!AU Kihel! ... they're mute so.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

oh fuck, let me just…

[They toss their cigarette into the toilet]

there we go. sorry about that…

[dis-generation]

[They raise their hands up, starting a hand motion before quitting halfway throught and grabbing the pen and paper, writing something down]

You didn't have to do that.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They tilt their head and look back to the piece of paper, only to shrug in response to what was written]

i know i didn’t have to but it’s a dick move to be blowing smoke around someone who doesn’t smoke themselves.

and what kind of first impression would that be?

[dis-generation]

[They pause for a moment, the gears turning before just leaning back against the wall. They've never had someone willingly interact with them before]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[A little smile comes to their face at the lack of push back and they lean against the wall themself, slowly sliding down it to sit next to them on the floor]

what are you doing in here anyways? other than skipping class obviously.

[dis-generation]

[They turn their laptop towards them, showing... more algebra. How responsible]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Their eyebrows raise as they look to the computer screen only for a snort to leave them, and they quickly put a hand over their mouth to stifle their own laughter]

[dis-generation]

[They roll their eyes, turning their laptop back to themselves and quietly but quickly typing stuff down]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They pull their hand away, still with a grin on their face]

awee come on, don’t roll your eyes. i wasn’t laughing at you, i promise.

[dis-generation]

[They give them a soft glare but the corner of their mouth twitches up slightly]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

oh fuck, let me just…

[They toss their cigarette into the toilet]

there we go. sorry about that…

[dis-generation]

[They raise their hands up, starting a hand motion before quitting halfway throught and grabbing the pen and paper, writing something down]

You didn't have to do that.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They tilt their head and look back to the piece of paper, only to shrug in response to what was written]

i know i didn’t have to but it’s a dick move to be blowing smoke around someone who doesn’t smoke themselves.

and what kind of first impression would that be?

[dis-generation]

[They pause for a moment, the gears turning before just leaning back against the wall. They've never had someone willingly interact with them before]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[A little smile comes to their face at the lack of push back and they lean against the wall themself, slowly sliding down it to sit next to them on the floor]

what are you doing in here anyways? other than skipping class obviously.

[dis-generation]

[They turn their laptop towards them, showing... more algebra. How responsible]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Their eyebrows raise as they look to the computer screen only for a snort to leave them, and they quickly put a hand over their mouth to stifle their own laughter]

[dis-generation]

[They roll their eyes, turning their laptop back to themselves and quietly but quickly typing stuff down]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

oh fuck, let me just…

[They toss their cigarette into the toilet]

there we go. sorry about that…

[dis-generation]

[They raise their hands up, starting a hand motion before quitting halfway throught and grabbing the pen and paper, writing something down]

You didn't have to do that.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They tilt their head and look back to the piece of paper, only to shrug in response to what was written]

i know i didn’t have to but it’s a dick move to be blowing smoke around someone who doesn’t smoke themselves.

and what kind of first impression would that be?

[dis-generation]

[They pause for a moment, the gears turning before just leaning back against the wall. They've never had someone willingly interact with them before]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[A little smile comes to their face at the lack of push back and they lean against the wall themself, slowly sliding down it to sit next to them on the floor]

what are you doing in here anyways? other than skipping class obviously.

[dis-generation]

[They turn their laptop towards them, showing... more algebra. How responsible]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

oh fuck, let me just…

[They toss their cigarette into the toilet]

there we go. sorry about that…

[dis-generation]

[They raise their hands up, starting a hand motion before quitting halfway throught and grabbing the pen and paper, writing something down]

You didn't have to do that.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They tilt their head and look back to the piece of paper, only to shrug in response to what was written]

i know i didn’t have to but it’s a dick move to be blowing smoke around someone who doesn’t smoke themselves.

and what kind of first impression would that be?

[dis-generation]

[They pause for a moment, the gears turning before just leaning back against the wall. They've never had someone willingly interact with them before]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

oh fuck, let me just…

[They toss their cigarette into the toilet]

there we go. sorry about that…

[dis-generation]

[They raise their hands up, starting a hand motion before quitting halfway throught and grabbing the pen and paper, writing something down]

You didn't have to do that.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[They take a drag of the cigarette they managed to keep lit through them climbing over the stall, before holding it out in an offer]

you smoke?

[dis-generation]

[They shake their head, trying not to cough]

[dis-generation]

[They see a new girl walk into class. Her eyes searching for invisible threats. Her hands and wings touching as if ready to run. She sits by them as she nods softly in greeting]

((Ooc: pronoun correction sorry))

-🪶📚

OOC: I'm gonna use this ask as a fun fact!

Kihel uses all pronouns!

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[they let out a snort, amused by Kihel’s confusion]

what? you said we haven’t technically met each other, so now we’re technically meeting.

[they hoist themselves up more, and swing their body over the stall wall, landing on their feet.]

so, nice to officially meet you Carter.

[dis-generation]

[They give a small wave, still kind of awkward about seeing them face to face]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

we can always change that

[An olive green backpack with various patches and pins on it, slides under the stall door. Not long after a pair of hands wrap around the top of the stall and the shifter has now pulled themselves up so their face was peeking up over the top of the stall]

‘sup

[dis-generation]

[They're just staring at them in confusion, headphones on, computer in lap, backpack to the side of them, and a bag of chips on the other]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

i’m Tank by the way

[dis-generation]

Kihel. People call me Carter

Nice to meet you

Actually I haven't technically met you yet but

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[Tank hears the quiet huff and a small smile comes to their face]

it’s easier than you’d think. if he messes with you again or you change your mind just let me know

[dis-generation]

I will

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

nothing bad, he just sounds like he deserves to get his tires stolen or his car keyed up. maybe it will humble him. remind him he’s an underpaid teacher and not the tough guy he thinks he is.

[dis-generation]

[There's a huff of a laugh on the other side]

That sounds unnecessarily reckless and unsafe, but thanks for the offer anyway :)

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

jesus fucking christ. what a fucking prick.

want me to take care of him?

[dis-generation]

What's that supposed to mean?

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

fucks you over, like what he fails you in participation or whatever?

[dis-generation]

- fails me in participation

- give me zeros on my tests and tells me he'll bump up my grade if I talk

- straight up doesn't acknowledge me

- he's also one of the music teachers and hasn't given me a single role in any performances and calls my playing style 'boring'

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

yeah i’ve been there, but i usually did something to deserve it. why does this teacher hate you so much?

[dis-generation]

He's obsessed with getting me to talk and fucks me over when I don't

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[The bathroom reeks of mango-lime vape air, and weed, it's dead silent except for a few coughs, and a pair of black Doc Martens can be seen from the large gap of the bathroom stall at the very end]

- @dis-generation

[The silence was interrupted by more noise. Rubber soles gently thudding against tile, a stall door opening, and the flick of a lighter before the smell of tobacco joined the cocktail of smells that already permeated the bathroom.]

[Tank takes a drag of their cigarette, as they exhale they look down to see the shoes of the person occupying the stall next to them. It wasn’t long before a piece of paper slid across the bathroom tile, into the other stall. A note that read…]

nice Docs

[dis-generation]

...

[A bandaged up hand grabs it gingerly. Silence comes from the stall before the distinct noise of backpack searching hits Tank's ears and pen on paper comes right after. They slide the paper back to the other stall, a small written reply that reads-]

Thanks.

[It's written in glittery blue pen ink...]

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[It isn’t much longer before the note is slid back]

no problem. what class are you avoiding?

[dis-generation]

[There's an awkward pause before they take the note again, writing something down and sliding it back]

Financial Algebra.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

[An audible huff came from Tank’s nose before they slid the note back]

ugh i don’t blame you.

[dis-generation]

[There's quick, slightly more aggressive writing before they slide it back over]

It's not like I'm even bad at it, it's just that the teacher is life-draining.

[meet-under-the-bleachers]

what are they a prick or just boring as hell?

[dis-generation]

More like a prick to me and only me