Fuminori stands by the bone-like chair but doesn't sit down. The chair still glistens with the slime of the last human body that sat in it and there's no real need to, when Professor Grants is still standing behind his desk.
Or so he hopes it's Professor Grants. It's still hard to tell who he's speaking with, when they all look like oozing, rotting flesh.
"Sakisaka," Professor Grants burbles, some wet orifice near the top of his malformed body opening and closing. "You've stopped turning in your assignments."
"I've stopped doing them." It's not a lie. The assignments are unreadable to him. He couldn't do them even if he wanted.
Professor Grant's eye stares blankly at him for a moment. Fuminori can only guess that it's a stern, disappointed look. If he focuses hard enough, he can almost remember what that was supposed to look like on a human being. Finally, he hisses, "I see. I imagine the accident changed-"
"I stopped caring," he blurts out, fists clenching by his side. He doesn't want to hear anymore sympathetic words made in that disgusting, inhuman burbling sound. He still hears enough of that from his 'friends'.
"As you say. You still come to class most days." Professor Grants lays out thin, stiff sheets of paper on the bloodied desk, glancing them over. "At least, half of them."
Fuminori tsks but doesn't say anything. The only reason he still comes to class anymore is so he'll be able to pass as normal. It would cause problems, if people started worrying about him and decided to 'help' him.
He doesn't need help.
Professor Grants watches him with that bulging eye of his, then holds out a formless appendage to him. A hand, most likely. The acrid, rotten stench from it makes him want to retch. "I know things must be difficult for you. If you wish to bring your grade back up, we can make arrangements for you."
Fuminori doesn't take his hand. It takes all of his willpower just to stay and stand in front of this repulsive mound of flesh, touching it would be too much. "That's a kind offer," is all he says.
"I leave my office at six. If you're interested, we can meet then and-" The string like tendrils on Professor Grant's body writhe like a million excited little maggots. "Discuss a few options."
"I'll consider it," he lies, eyes downcast. He can barely stand to look at him any longer.
Professor Grant's lets out a screeching squeal. It takes him a moment to realize it's supposed to be a laugh. "Very well then. I'll keep my schedule free."
"Thank you." Fuminori gives him a slight bow before rushing toward the door and not looking back.
He'll be skipping this class more often.
Van watches Sakisaka go, not allowing his smile to fade until his student's out the door. He doesn't bother with neatness when he gathers the papers back together, unceremoniously scribbling down Sakisaka's failing grade. It's doubtful that he'd have much luck with him, not so long as Sakisaka continues to act as though he's something revolting.
There are plenty of other students that would be tempted by such an offer, he thinks. He is never a man without options, after all.