Current mood:	bouncy
Current music:	Jamiroquai - Little L (full version)

Gokusen: Shin x Kumiko
Title: Oi.
Author/Artist: MK!
Pairing: Sawada Shin x Yamaguchi Kumiko
Fandom: Gokusen (animanga-dramaverse.)
[A 30_Kisses Challenge]
Theme: #1 – Look Over Here
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gokusen or anything affiliated with it (just this
story!) but I do wish I owned a pet boy.
www.lunap.com // http://www.fanfiction.net/~moonklutz // http://www.possible-soup.net



NOTES: I’m going to try and do this as a series of shorts, like for PGSM,
so...uh.. >_> Enjoy. I really appreciate feedback! I often get the details of a
series confused (but remember, this is a combo anime-manga-drama-verse) so if I
make a mistake or you think I could improve on something, I’d appreciate hearing
about it! And hey, if you like it, then that’ll make me happy, too. ^^ [I’m so
sad! No one ever writes for Gokusen!]

Pigtails. Shin couldn’t decide if she actually just liked to wear them
(she was a lot like a kid sometimes) or if it was part of the disguise. The
glasses as well. Glasses and pigtails. She looked like an over-grown grade-
schooler sometimes, shorter than everyone in the class, standing at the front of
the room. Short. Tracksuit. Pigtails. Glasses.

Maybe he was crazy.

For English class, everyone moved their desks to the front and crowded
around “Shizuka-chan~”, books ready and eyes focused, more than likely, on some
favourite part of her anatomy as she moved. For Math with “Yankumi” the desks
were far back and no one really cared about her anatomy. Part of that were the
pigtails, but mostly, it was probably the track suit. Fujiyama-sensei wore
skirted-suits and high heels, after all.

Shin’s desk stayed put regardless of the situation – whichever teacher
taught, whatever was going on, even if a fight broke out and everyone else moved
theirs to the sides. Shin’s desk never moved.

“….you guys can’t use calculators, that’s why! Even a warehouse won’t hire
you if you can’t add and subtract!” She was scowling at Uchi again, the usual
argument repeating itself.

Shin laid his head back on the desk and let his eyes slide nearly shut,
head tilted and propped up on his arm. He could see her from here, but to anyone
else he looked like he was asleep. The words weren’t important – he’d learned
this kind of basic math back in grade school – but he liked to study her. She
didn’t pay attention to him in class unless he did something to get her attention.
Outside of class, she would come to the roof for his advice, but in class he was
practically invisible.

She looked unassuming, easy to ignore, until someone made a comment that
set her off. When that occurred, there was the narrowing of her eyes, her back
straightening further, and a that demon-aura: The face she put on whenever
someone insulted the Yakuza or when her secret was threatened to be exposed. It
was entirely different from (but nearly equally as frightening as) the face she
wore when fighting.

“Okay, so here’s the easy trick: See how I write 9-1 down here on the
right, vertically? Now starting from the 8, I’ll write 1-0 beside it on the
left…” One of her pigtails was stuck on her shoulder, the other falling down her
back. Shin’s arm was growing numb where his head rested on it.

She could be... really oblivious for someone in her position. How many
times had he diverted the others’ attention so they wouldn’t notice something?
Something like their sensei’s resemblance to the Ane-san outside of Tenkai-Kumi
office, or how her “distant relatives” who came and taught them basketball were
really strange. “Oi, you know Yankumi. She loves Yakuza movies; it probably runs
in the family.” Okay, so it was ridiculously easy, but without his intervention
she probably would have been discovered a dozen times over by now. Not to
mention the number of times he had taken hard hits in her fights. (He did his
best to keep the time he had been used as a hostage out of his mind.)

And she was completely unaware. He knew her Grandfather had somehow
approved of him; it was a strange feeling to receive from the head of a Yakuza
clan. It was even stranger to be able to stay there overnight when escaping
some family problems.

At home she was different. Everything was different. It was a bizarre
combination of Fighting-Yankumi and Yankumi-the-Sensei. Her hair was sometimes
down, other times in pigtails, however the glasses and track-suit were
definitely gone, replaced with comfortable jeans and t-shirts rather than
anything like what Fujiyama-sensei probably favoured. But even casual like that
– sitting in a doorway or feet tucked under her at the table where she marked
tests, it was different. Tetsu and Minoru bowed to her repeatedly, calling her
“Ojou” while fumbling over one another trying to keep her happy. She seemed
oblivious to the longing look Tetsu often gave her, which was both good and
annoying.

The Yankumi at home was serious, casual, goofy, relaxed and unguarded in a
way she rarely was at school. He’d seen her spar with several of the members of
the house “just to stretch her muscles” – people he wouldn’t have challenged
unless he had a damn good reason. She took them out like they were nothing,
then laughed with the scariest of them, Kyo-san, over how out-of-shape they
were.

Class 3-D didn’t have a clue.

Finally, the class and the day were over, the others scrambled out of the
room with their things while she shuffled papers at her desk, humming a little.
Shin stretched back in his seat.

“Oi, Sawada, class is over!” She didn’t even look up from her papers. She
frowned, bit her lip, then stuck her tongue out at something before smiling
again and gathering her things. Shin pushed his chair back, lifted his bag so it
was slung over one shoulder and walked up to the front of the now-empty class
room. She still hadn’t looked at him. She dug through her bag until she found
her cell-phone instead. “Oh good, don’t want to lose this again…”

“Kumiko.” That was enough. She looked up, startled, mouth open, eyes
confused, ready to say something. Something likely about how “Yankumi” was okay
but she was a teacher after all, so Kumiko wasn’t—He cut her off, lips pressed
to her open mouth briefly. A puff of breath escaped from him, softly, and
settled into her. “Look at me next time, baka.”

And he left; glad his back was to her because his cheeks felt a little
hot.

Yamaguchi Kumiko slowly raised her hand to her mouth and stared at the
open doorway. “Sawa…da…?”