The classroom is tidy. It always is, sparsely decorated, all the tables and chairs lined up in perfect rows. Mo Ran has seen Chu Wanning's desk and knows the neatness is a lie when it's impossible to make heads or tails of anything in the junk piled in the drawers.
The classroom, though. The classroom. It's the bane of Mo Ran's life, the room he hates more than most (and make no mistake: Mo Ran hates most of the classrooms and the rigidity of a school day). Chinese literature. Not a terrible topic if it weren't for Chu Wanning, who manages to suck the joy out of everything. Who tends to infuriate him over everything, even while he captivates Mo Ran more than any teacher he's ever had.
He stands in the doorway for a moment, looking at the desk Chu Wanning is perched behind. It gives him a moment to observe his teacher bent over his work, which only serves to annoy him further. He's there, so why isn't Chu Wanning paying attention to him? He doesn't want to be stuck in this terrible classroom with his strict teacher to practice calligraphy.
"When am I even going to use calligraphy?" he asks, stepping further inside the room. The door slams shut behind him, but Mo Ran walks toward Chu Wanning's desk, unconcerned. "Why do we have to know how to write these by hand?" No one handwrites anything anymore, and Mo Ran is no exception, constantly attached to his phone. "And my handwriting isn't even the worst!" It is, though, and Mo Ran knows that, but his first questions are relevant. He stalks to the desk, dropping his backpack and scowling down at his teacher, arms akimbo. "I'm missing fencing practice for this. Is calligraphy that important?"
His coach hadn't been pleased about the skipped practice, but there was nothing to be done about it, and Mo Ran knows he can afford to miss a practice or two, especially since he'll drag someone out to practice with him later. It's left him annoyed enough that he dared to venture into Chu Wanning's room dressed casually: he's discarded his jacket, stripped off his tie, and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.
no subject
The classroom, though. The classroom. It's the bane of Mo Ran's life, the room he hates more than most (and make no mistake: Mo Ran hates most of the classrooms and the rigidity of a school day). Chinese literature. Not a terrible topic if it weren't for Chu Wanning, who manages to suck the joy out of everything. Who tends to infuriate him over everything, even while he captivates Mo Ran more than any teacher he's ever had.
He stands in the doorway for a moment, looking at the desk Chu Wanning is perched behind. It gives him a moment to observe his teacher bent over his work, which only serves to annoy him further. He's there, so why isn't Chu Wanning paying attention to him? He doesn't want to be stuck in this terrible classroom with his strict teacher to practice calligraphy.
"When am I even going to use calligraphy?" he asks, stepping further inside the room. The door slams shut behind him, but Mo Ran walks toward Chu Wanning's desk, unconcerned. "Why do we have to know how to write these by hand?" No one handwrites anything anymore, and Mo Ran is no exception, constantly attached to his phone. "And my handwriting isn't even the worst!" It is, though, and Mo Ran knows that, but his first questions are relevant. He stalks to the desk, dropping his backpack and scowling down at his teacher, arms akimbo. "I'm missing fencing practice for this. Is calligraphy that important?"
His coach hadn't been pleased about the skipped practice, but there was nothing to be done about it, and Mo Ran knows he can afford to miss a practice or two, especially since he'll drag someone out to practice with him later. It's left him annoyed enough that he dared to venture into Chu Wanning's room dressed casually: he's discarded his jacket, stripped off his tie, and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt.