Chapter Text
Silent Salt hissed through their helmet. When was the last time they fucked someone’s brains out?
Salt didn’t even think about that for too long. When was the last time he was in some sort of situation with someone, let alone a girl who was leagues lower than them?
Silent Salt retired years ago, ever since they started getting bored of teaching and so did his own clique. Though for them, they had various understandable complaints about the system and genuine reasons for wanting to quit teaching. Salt couldn’t really say his reasons, because who wouldn’t be concerned when it was basically because he couldn’t control his psychopathic need to kill and murder? His clique wouldn’t mind, since they knew they were just as mentally damaged as him, but it was understandable that others would.
It’s why he retired, and he’s been happily retired for a while now. He had all the free time he wanted to let it all out of his system. He’s a brute, but he’s systematic. He’s gorey, but he’s clean at the same time. They’d be damned if anyone ratted them out without realizing he’d be quick about dispatching them as easily as he could.
But what if that ‘rat’ was the sweet salutatorian who had gotten all A’s on her report card from first year to her last? The sweet girl who sent personal messages to him in the middle of the night, wishing him well and telling him how she adored his teaching modules and that it really helped her get good grades and achievements she was proud of?
Silent Salt rarely felt emotions, a fact normalized within his teaching clique, and even Shadow Milk had joked about it a few times, insensitively but truthfully. He couldn’t even cry at a dog’s death in a movie, no matter how hard they pushed themselves to the emotional brink. But he wasn’t surprised; he had never really felt much toward others. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel emotions, he just didn’t experience them as often as most people did. Something to bring up to a psychologist if he ever decided to get therapy (which he probably wouldn’t!).
Back in the present, Salt found himself standing in front of that rat, the one eyeing him hard through his helmet while absentmindedly playing with the hem of her old uniform’s skirt. She probably didn’t think much of it, but it was a provocative gesture, one that could easily send the wrong signals to the wrong kind of guy. She was lucky Salt wasn’t that kind of person to begin with.
“Professor,” she whispers, her tone laced with a sweetness and fondness that felt nonexistent to him. “I figured I could come by and personally thank you. You didn’t seem to respond to my texts anyway, so I assumed you must not have read them…”
He had read them, but it’s not like he was about to tell her that. It would be weird to admit that her professor had been reading her texts in the middle of the night, more than once a week, at that. Maybe it was because he appreciated them and just didn’t want to admit it. Hell, if he told his clique, he’d never hear the end of it.
It was bad enough that his clique constantly mocked him for practically never taking off his motorcycle helmet and gear, Shadow Milk once joked that it had probably fused with his body by now, but growing soft over a person? That would be the absolute worst.
Silent lived up to his name and didn’t say a word. He wasn’t even sure why this warranted a visit. Was his teaching really *that* important to her? Maybe it was. Maybe knowing that someone had actually paid attention reassured him that his time hadn’t been wasted on students who wouldn’t even glance at his handmade modules.
She nodded and smiled. “It’s… it must be really scary, having someone show up this late just to thank you.” Then, that small smile faded into a slight frown as she glanced downward. Was something the matter? He wouldn’t ask. He didn’t care that much anyway.
“I’m sorry if I’m dressed a bit inappropriately. I just thought maybe if… I wore this, you’d recognize me.” The hint of innocence in her tone made him agree, it wasn’t like she was doing this on purpose.
So courteously, Silent Salt invited her in because it's the least they could do to repay her back for her efforts to come over and give them her gratitudes. he's an emotionless bastard but it doesn't mean they should be a heartless prick, right?? It’s a nice thing to do.
Salt didn't know whether or not her silence meant that she thought he was interesting or that he was a freak. Or both. It could also mean both. He was seated on the couch, stiff and hard against his back, which he had never really noticed at all until White Lily grunted and seemed to be in pain after taking a seat for a few seconds. God, did he really let himself go, huh? In most cases, they'd just not care. He would definitely not care if White Lily wasn't White Lily, you know? If she were any other person, then they wouldn't give a damn if they were in pain because of their boulder couch, but that's not really the case with White Lily.
White Lily seemed to be the type of person to compliment a poisoned tea. Even if she knew it was poisoned, she'd still try it and give descriptions of how it tasted like nothing else she had ever sipped before in her entire life. Even now, she was trying to mask her discomfort by smiling up at them, eyes twinkling with some sort of hidden emotion that they couldn't decipher behind his helmet.
He tried looking elsewhere and blocking her out of his vision, but she was wearing all white and green, which contrasted with the lavender and other shades of purple furniture in his room. It was like trying to block out a completely black object in a white room: She was just that noticeable. No matter where he looked, every corner of his vision still caught a small glimpse of her.
She picked one of the pillows nesting behind her back and ‘fluffed’ it up with her hands, gentle and careful, like it was a living creature, before setting it back at her side and staring at him. Oh, how fast they glanced away from her: It was so obvious that he had been giving her his attention.
He never really invited anyone else into his home unless it was his beast clique, and they only ever entered for one thing and one thing only: to fuck each other silly.
Salt would digress, it’s not like that’s all they ever came for, but most, if not all, of the times they gathered in his abode had led to that kind of interaction. He could even count the number of times they had spilled their body fluids all over the same couch they were both sitting on, and he would recall how many times he had made round trips to the store to buy the strongest detergent so the stench and the stains wouldn’t be noticeable the next day.
Maybe he shouldn't think about this today. It’s not like she came here for the same reason. She’s genuine, and she wants to elaborate on how much she appreciates his teaching, to give him praise, to give him so much of it that he could choke and die from her kindness.