Part 2 of this nameless holidaze fic
@inuyashapridemonth
Rin specifically told Kohaku to stay out of her business.
He’d pulled her aside after dinner, mouthing the word ‘him?’ so that his brother in law’s keen hearing would not alert him to the conversation that needed to be had long before Christmas Day, but Rin had been less than forthcoming. It ‘wasn’t his business’ and therefore he was meant to stand back and watch it all play out.
Honestly? She should have known better.
“You won’t believe who was seen cornering boys and demanding a date before class this morning.”
Kohaku’s friendship with Mayu was a friendship of convenience. They were the youngest in their class, and their last names began with the same three characters when broken down into hiragana. If there were a time when her desk was not behind his—he didn’t remember it.
Either way, Kohaku pretended not to hear.
Mayu dug her pencil into his spine, snickering when he lurched against the hard wooden border of his desk. “Poor Satoru texted me asking for advice because apparently your precious niece demanded that he accompany her to Christmas dinner this year.”
“Did you do the homework? Mr. Houshii is only gonna let you off easy so many times before he calls your mom.”
Just because Mayu resented her younger brother didn’t mean he resented Rin. Perhaps the girl he grew up with viewed him as someone she couldn’t talk to about love—but he’d never act in a way that made him deserving of that verdict. Even if that meant ticking off his best friend.
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“Then take a hint.”
She snorted. “Sen. Si. Tiveeee.”
When her nagging finally stopped, her chair squeaked. He imagined that she slumped against the desk, her arms outstretched across the wood.
“Honestly? I thought she was gay.”
Kohaku whipped around, his jaw clenched, because if Rin didn’t want them knowing, then they had no right speculating—and met the sparkling indigo of his math teacher’s eyes. His lips quirked upwards, as if he’d say something too personal and inappropriate, but in the end he seemed to think better of it.
“Ikeda,” tapping his blue pen against the clipboard, Miroku’s eyes scanned her empty desk. “Homework?”
She shrank in her seat.
“As much as I love gossip,” he made a show of marking X on his sheet, “perhaps you’d be better off focusing on your own life for now?”
“Yes, sir.”
Miroku drew in a circle to mark Kohaku’s work as completed before continuing down the line.
“When you’d said your uncle taught this class I thought that meant an easy A.” Mayu grumbled. If nothing else, she seemed to forget about Rin for the moment. And for that, Kohaku was eternally grateful.
