"We play volleyball in gym class with Mother Russia, da?" Ivan stood like a tall structure, one hand on his hip, the other intimidatingly throwing a bright red ball in the air, catching it perfectly, fingers curling around the ball. He repeated the cycle, strutting around the room, glancing at the teenagers. Each looked away from his intense purple eyes.

"Uh, Mr. Braginski, dude?" One of the grade tens stepped away from his group of friends that defined swag. "Isn't that, like, dodgeball?"

Ivan looked at him for a long time. With a groan, you were about to just blow your whistle and tell Danny or Chris or whatever his name was to take a drink, maybe walk around the school, so he could be out of the gym, away from any danger.

Too late.

Ivan threw the dodgeball with such force, it almost hurt to look at his arm. You winced as the circle of scarlet flew across the room, hitting the kid straight in the face. His friends stood staring at him, mouths agape. Quickly, they scuttled around the room, terrified from Russia's wrath, staying well hidden behind the Seniors. Another game of dodgeball was going to start. And all you could do was sit on the bench with the injured pupils, calmly telling them Mr. Braginski was doing this to prepare them for life.

Life explained like that sounded cruel.

"WHY ARE YOU NOT WORKING HARD ENOUGH?" Ivan shouted, pelting some niners. It was almost like gym class for each of the pupils was Freshmen Friday. Gym class was always a time to get initiated with the pain of a hard ball to the face.

One of the Juniors actually had the fortitude to pick up one the used balls, doing her best to whip Ivan in the arm. He caught it effortlessly, smirking, throwing it back at her head. She fell to the ground with a thud.

"Are we not having fun?" Ivan asked, a wide smile on his face. Some of the stricken children moaned from the floor, lying in countless poses, murmuring to themselves how everything was going to be okay. A girl with make-up caked on her, mascara running everywhere, tried getting up, only welcomed by a ball to chest.

"ARE WE NOT HAVING FUN?" His tone was louder, more forceful. A few Sophomores mumbled an incoherent reply, earning them some more hits. You wondered when the balls were going to run out.

A sixteen year old struggled up, holding onto a chair in the corner for balance. "Hey, hey Mr. Braginski." He gave a tiny laugh when Ivan raised the ball in his hand higher, ready to strike. "Is it true you and Ms. (y/n) are going out?" You flushed as red as the balls, glancing at the floor. Ivan arched a beige eyebrow, like he was checking if the boy was serious. The kid grinned impishly, being the "brave" last-man standing.

Ivan walked over to you, holding your dainty waist against him. He guided you over to the student, taking his dodgeball, placing it in your delicate hands gently. He gave you a knowing look, and you smiled, throwing the ball hard at the courageous kid's mouth. He toppled to the ground, not even making a sound.

"That, mon droy, is not for you to know." And with that, he held you closer, the two of you laughing together.