Love/Hate (Lemon GarouxReader 🍋)

Unholy Alliance

"Ok, so what do you want me to go over first?" You ask, laying open a variety of textbooks on the table at the library Thursday after school. You've chosen the table right at the back, near the window, tucked into a corner.
Garou sits scowling, elbow on the table reluctantly propping up his head.
"Don't care," he says.
"Well, what is it that you don't understand most?" You enquire as politely as you can, fighting to resist the urge to smack him across the head. Such insolence. Honestly.
He turns his eyes your way slowly, and gives you a look.
Of course, you think, like he'd admit that he doesn't know something.
"Ok, fine," you pull stats closer to you. "Let's do this since we just started this topic last week."
He doesn't give you any indication of his feelings about this so you take this as a good sign and proceed.
"So the chi-square test," you start as you flip the textbook open to the right page, "is a calculation you can do to see if there's a statistical difference between frequencies you observed and frequencies you would expect to observe."
"And why the hell would I want to do that?" He sneers.
"Well, like, here in the first problem, if you're a biologist and you're counting birds in a particular area you'd want to know if the number of birds is what you'd expect to see. If not, you might have a problem and want to know why there are more or less birds."
He looks at you as if you've completely lost the plot.
You sigh. This is going to be an uphill struggle. All the way.
"It will be on the test," you conclude.
Finally. A valid reason. Alright, give him the formula. He'll memorise it.

Friday's session goes by much the same.
"Look," you go to rub your eyes tiredly before remembering the black kohl eyeliner you're wearing in abundance. "Macbeth is not a good king. Everyone runs away in the end. No one wants to stay by his side."
"No," Garou pulls the book out of your hands and starts flipping through the pages, not letting this argument go. "He was tricked, poor bastard." He stops at the page with the illustration of the three witches cackling around a very big and very round cauldron. "They just wanted to mess with him."
"Yes," you grab your book back, "but he didn't have to believe in their so-called prophecy. The fact that he straight away thought of killing the current king to make this prophecy come true shows he's easily corrupted."
"You don't know that," he glowers at you. "Maybe he thought he'd do a better job."
"He had his best friend killed half way through the play!" You almost yell in exasperation, holding up the page with the illustration of Banquo's ghost, all ghastly and tattered, making its way into the banquet hall.
"But he fought till the bitter end," Garou growls and leans back in his chair, as if this is somehow admirable.
"And died and had his head paraded around on a pike," you remind him.
"Oi," he gives you a warning look. "No spoilers."
But...he just told you the ending? Is he joking...?
"You can tell me all about acid-base reactions or whatever the fuck next week," he says, getting up lazily and hauling his bag over his shoulder.
"Where are you going?" You ask suspiciously. "The library doesn't close for another half hour."
"Fuck me-" he shakes his head.
"No, not today thanks," you retort.
Heh, you're fast. He walked right into that one, he grins to himself.
"It's a Friday and you got nowhere better to be?" He pauses before making his way out.
"No," you stick your tongue out at him. "Why, do you?"
You can see his expression darken and he doesn't say anything, just leaves you to your own devices.
And you guess he doesn't have somewhere better to be either.

This is fucked up. He can feel his hands clenching into fists in his pockets as he walks slowly, begrudgingly down the familiar streets. Well, it was either this or have the Hero Association constantly track him, keeping their eyes, their tabs, on him. Shit. Maybe they still are. He looks around, eyes murderous and sly. He'd like to believe he's always two, no three, steps ahead of them but then, with all their technology and whatever else, you can never be too careful.
Why did he agree to this? He regrets every decision of the last few weeks as he walks up the steps again, a rage smouldering in his chest. He has to work hard to keep it under control, remind himself that he's playing the long game here, remind himself of the big picture. He has to believe that it will all be worth it in the end.
But this. This! This might be the worst part of the deal. Not being trusted. Treated like a stupid little child.
He smashes his hand into the old, sturdy gate with too much power and swaggers through into the courtyard.
Bang stands on the front porch of the main hall, hands clasped behind his back, glaring down sternly at Garou below.
"I'm here old man," he looks up at his former teacher, a deep scowl etched into his face. "See. Still behavin'," the scowl morphs into an unpleasant grin.
Bang does not reply, gives him one last look before shaking his head and retreating back inside.
Garou waits for a moment.
For what?
What did he expect?
Well, fuck you too, you old fool.
He turns and heads back down the worn stairs, almost more pissed off than when he arrived.