SOTUS one shots

When The Bell Rings

Professor!AU

Arthit has first class at 8 in the morning. He’s not really a morning person, and everyone in the faculty knows this, that’s why he’s only allowed to overlook Homeroom for a first class. The students would probably go mad if he starts teaching Algebra first thing in the morning.   

    A teaching job at a highschool was not on Arthit’s mind when he graduated university. He really wanted that job at the production department at the company he had interned with, but the HR told him there weren’t any vacancy so far.

    He still hopes that they will contact him though . . . someday.

    Teaching isn’t that bad. He only has to give lectures to teenagers who looked rather bored most of the time; Arthit has been there, mostly wanting to spend his time hanging out with his friends or sleeping, anything but sitting through an hour of seeing numbers.

    But he’s an official teacher now, have been for the past 7 months, and Arthit has had the hang of it. His fellow faculty members doesn’t treat him differently just because he’s a lot younger than most of them, and they have a pizza party every Friday when the dismissal bell rings.

    It’s not bad, but his belly is starting to show, which he’s not really fond of.

    There’s only one drawback to this job though, something that has became Arthit’s bane of existence since he started working at the highschool.

    “Good morning, Mr. Rojnapat,” says the devil with his usual smirk.

    It’s too early to deal with Mr. Suthiluck right now, so Arthit just rolls his eyes as he nears his classroom.

    “Not in the mood, eh?” Mr. Suthiluck catches up to him, trying to get a glimpse of his eyes.

    “It’s 8am,” he grumbles in response, “You know I hate mornings.”

    “Ah,” Mr. Suthiluck starts, “That’s why I brought you this,” the other teacher says, handing him a cup of pink milk.

    Arthit reluctantly takes it, eyeing Mr. Suthiluck in the process. No matter the time, pink milk will always have a special place in his heart – stomach.

    But before he can utter his thanks, the other teacher waves at him and says, “Have a nice morning, Mr. Rojnapat,” before entering his own room.

    “Thanks,” he mutters, looking at the cup in his hand.

    Mr. Suthiluck is an economics teacher, but he’s in a different faculty than Arthit – which he’s grateful for. Mr. Suthiluck had insisted on calling him Kongpob since they’re peers, and although Arthit is technically older than him, he refuses to call the economics teacher by his first name.

    “We’re in school,” was what Arthit had told him. “Let’s be professional, shall we?”

    But that didn’t deter Kongpob in pestering him any moment he gets. The first time it happened was when Arthit was just starting, writing some equations on the board, when Kongpob walked past by his classroom, inevitably catching his gaze. Kongpob – Mr. Suthiluck had winked at him then, catching Arthit off guard.

    He grumbles all the way to his own classroom, sipping his pink milk. Arthit’s students immediately quiet up when they spot their teacher; he’s known to the students as a terror teacher because of his glare and cold demeanor. Arthit’s not really sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but no one has given him a headache until now, so he counts that as a win.

    “G’morning,” Arthit greets and the class greets him back.

    “It’s homeroom,” he waves, “Do what you want.”