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Shit’s hard, Niko had learned, the hard way. One miserable day without Marco had turned into another, a flicker, and two days morphed into a sluggish, dragging week that weighed him down more than his oversized clothing that he had been trying to hide away in. When his friends had asked of him, he hadn’t answered. When he’d gotten verbally smacked at in the halls, he hadn’t hit back like usual.
His problems with vulnerability, so to speak, had stolen his light, or what was left of the one that Marco had reignited. A flame to the candle at it’s end, and somehow, it had a little longer left to burn. Niko wondered if he should have lied. Twisted the truth to what Marco wanted to hear, so that even underneath the guilt of untruth, there would’ve still been that happiness, along with the willingness he’d given him to get out of bed every day.
Niko’s mental state was not solely affected - it had a crash on his eating, his physique, his habits, his addictions, his indulgences, the lot. Sleeping in later and staying up later, even if it meant entering homeroom with a late pass from the office, and a ‘where’ve you been, young man?’ from an unsuspecting teacher that hadn’t ever seen a teenager hit their lowest before quite like this, following rules and regulations instead of having empathy and asking if he was alright. Tendencies plagued him to death, the devil on his shoulder telling him to make up for the sorrow in alcohol and substances. He’d never been one for drinking much, but he certainly was now.
He wanted to say sorry. Sorry for being the way he was, sorry for not being enough, sorry for not being the boy, the date, that Marco had assumed of him. All this because he didn’t need people, he didn’t need girls nor boys to satisfy needs, no - he needed his own path, he convinced himself. A path unfortunately that was only filled with self destruction for the foreseeable future.
The smoking had made him tired, far too tired, exhausted, unable to fall asleep and unable to stay awake, made him irritable, made him aggressive, made him stand against the crowd as someone ‘lesser.’ His friends had noticed. His family - or the two people he could call that - had noticed. One by blood, to an extent, the other not even of the same nationality as him, but a far better father than his real one had ever behaved to him. At least Andrzej wasn’t always travelling for work. At least Andrzej cared, Niko thought. At least Andrzej didn’t blame him. At least, he always thought, he did what he could. His own father didn’t even bother with that.
But, Andrzej was an adult. An adult, with an adult job, an adult life, and even though he still crooned over a cat he’d had for years like she were one of his own, he was an adult. Grown up. Unlike a seventeen year-old. So, the safe haven that was Andrzej’s home was only so much. It hadn’t mattered that he was busy, though, Niko had had Marco to go to. Marco’s home, with his family, a loving one that even remembered his birthday when he forgot his own. A family that welcomed him with open arms, became his life, and had slipped away.
Niko often wondered if he’d taken it all for granted. Had he, yet proclaiming that he would always be alone, taken these people around him for granted? He knew he hadn’t meant to, and despite that, it harrowed away at him like an illness taking one to their grave. When others could love on command and unconditionally, Niko’s heart bore teeth and fortified his mind to shut everyone out. His heart had already solidified steel around itself to ensure boys like the one who’d asked to sit next to him on that September morning would never stride within, and would certainly never hurt him.
All of this welled inside him; choices he could’ve made differently, things he could’ve said, words he could’ve taken back, and all of it kept him up at night. Steph had noticed.
Papers slapped down against the desk as Stéphane dropped them, a heavy sigh rumbling out of his chest, Wednesday already feeling like it should be Friday. “Right,” He settled the talking class, “Seats, everyone. Come on.” His hands came around to the back of his head to tighten his half up-done bun, that was falling apart at the minute. He looked across the sea of uninspired faces again. “Elijah, off your phone, or it’s going in my desk. Come on, I’m nice to all of you about that stuff, aren’t I?”
Steph was an unusual character. Niko hadn’t come to like how intertwined he’d become with his life ever since meeting Andrzej. It made the previously established teacher-student relationship strained, and awkward, as it now had to fight along side the fact that Steph was seeing the guy who was basically Niko’s dad, in common terms. He treated it as maturely as possible, though, recognising that he’d only been a teacher to Niko before. Recognising, however, that now, there may be room for more.
The class simmered to a near silence, not taking much for him to calm them. He was one of those teachers that everyone just listens to, because they’re so laid back, they let you get away with fucking anything. Usually.
Steph sifted through the papers, logged on quickly to his computer, annoyed at the fact he’d had to cover a homeroom outside of his own classroom, leaving him no time to prepare for the stampede of seniors that came in every Wednesday morning. He dragged the lesson plan across his desktop, switched on the board, and began taking register. His eyes did not lift from the page as he rattled off the first name absentmindedly, gaining an unenthusiastic, ‘here, Mr. Moreau,’ with a huff, then came down to the second name listed under Agbayani, Niko. Steph called on him, “Nik—“
“Here.”
A rapid-fire response for someone who almost always only replied with a mumble or a show of his hand. Steph looked over to him, seated in the second row, by the window, surrounded by people he was sure he’d never seen him talk to before. For being so talented at the subject, Niko struggled to make friends in any of his art classes over the years. Most kids thought it was a free period. He took it seriously.
Steph carried on, clearing his throat as he hurried through the rest of the names, trying to get on with the lesson. As he got to the end, ticked off the register, and placed it aside, he could only let himself look at Niko again. He wasn’t leaned over, face in a book like always, shut off, but always keeping himself busy. Instead, he was spaced out, much like how he had been the last week, Steph not realising until now. Niko looked exasperated, about to fall asleep and distraught. Blistering eyes and a heaving chest as he sat in solitude. The tear-stains on his face were not helping his pitiful case.
Steph lifted himself from his chair, and clapped his hands together, his weight leaning on one side of his hip as he got his class’ attention. “Okay, then,” He began. “Same as always, you’re continuing with your coursework. I need the piece you’re working on handed in by next Friday, alright? I will say that again for the ones at the back with earphones in that I have very obviously told you to take out for two minutes while I talk to you and then you can put them back in, come on—“ He paced to the whiteboard, grabbing a marker and circling around a date on the board with their class number, titled, ‘HAND-IN AT LATEST,’ near the bottom, in block capitals. “Finished and handed in by next Friday, okay? I’ll come around and have a check today to see where you’re at—“
Niko fiddled at the strings of his hoodie as his teacher instructed the sleep-infested classroom on the lesson for the next hour. He was gracious, more so than other teachers: most days, he would take the register, walk around once, and then leave the class for the rest of the period to do as they pleased.
“My classroom is always open at lunch times, in the morning before homeroom—“ Steph continued, and for some reason, he found himself looking at Niko as he told the class they could find him out of hours for help. “Please don’t struggle with your work in silence, guys. I’m literally paid to be here and tell you what to do, don’t leave it until the last minute.”
Niko still sat in complete, stunned nothingness while Steph talked. His eyes did not jitter across his desk once. His hands scratched at his skin with the plastic on the tips of his hoodie strings, leaving bumpy red lines across the back of his hands.
Steph’s feet led him back over to his desk, letting out a sigh from his lungs before standing up straight again. His gaze wandered the room, seeing people get up, go to find their work, their folders, get resources, but Niko had only moved a slight. He had sat up a little, taken off his glasses, and was rubbing at his eyes, trying to steady himself for another day that was clearly going to be too much for him.
Steph could only stare at him. A genuine frown came across his face as he looked at him, worry pitting itself in his stomach, seeing the offbeat boy even more off of his rhythm. So, he went over, against any better judgement.
“Niko, can I have a word outside a second, please?” He asked, Niko’s head lifting immediately like he were in trouble. A few glanced over to him, assuming the same, but the look on Steph’s face granted him the ease to relax, knowing he probably hadn’t done anything. Not to his own knowledge, at least.
Niko dragged backwards on his chair, the rusted metal scraping the tiles of the art studio, and stood wearily on his feet, shoving his glasses back on his face. He rushed to tug his sleeves down, throwing a look left and right as if someone had peeked underneath, and wouldn’t like what they’d find.
When Niko meandered out of the classroom, not bothering to cast a glare on anyone else for a change, it cemented the sentiment in Steph’s mind that things had become properly screwed for him.
Steph held the door open for him, and a gentle hand closed it behind them as they stepped out into the desolate, quiet hallways. Steph looked both ways to check if anyone was nearby, and when there wasn’t, he looked at Niko, leaning against the wall, arms folded loosely as his gaze travelled up and down his person. He bit his tongue for an awkward few seconds, thinking over his words. How to approach this was beyond him.
“Niko,” He softly started, the words still finding themselves in his head. “Are you doing alright?”
The beat that passed between them after his opening statement was crucifying. Niko stared at him, eyes soft and limp, his arms shoved fast into his pocket, trying to read Steph’s look, the way he analysed him. To no one’s surprise, Niko could not figure if he was, one, genuinely caring, two, felt obligated to, or three, as unlikely as it was, making complete fun of his sorry state.
As Steph received nothing from him verbally, only a cold, vacant watching of his stance, he spoke again. “Look, I know how awkward this is. I’ve been your teacher for three years, and now—“
“Now you’re hanging around Andrzej,” Niko mumbled impossibly quietly.
“What?”
Niko cleared his throat. “Now you’re sleeping with my dad.” The statement was jarring enough, along side the fact that Niko always refused at point blank to refer to Andrzej as his dad, or any sort of father figure. He only did when things were dire.
The look of horror on Steph’s face was priceless, but he could only let it pass, and eventually, laugh. “Realistically, I should be saying, ‘you can’t speak like that to your teacher,’ but what can I say that makes me—“ He sighed. “Makes me seeing you out of school more not weird?”
“Nothing, I guess,” Niko subsided.
“Exactly. So, in the best interest of both of us , why don’t we just… accept that this is strange, Niko?”
Niko looked at him, unimpressed. He looked down for a moment, but immediately met his eyes again when he sensed Steph losing hope a little. Something about his presence was annoying as all hell, but comforting.
Steph shifted. “I’m worried about you, kid. Seriously worried.” His eyes traced the small window in the door, looking at the class of twenty five he had inside there. “Something’s going on, and I don’t know what it is, but— shit, Niko, I’m worried about you.”
“ Ano ba?— You barely know me,” Niko apathetically sighed in response. “Aren’t I just a kid in your class? Don’t need to go that far.”
“This isn’t about me being your teacher, Niko. Well— It is, because all teachers should be worried about the kids they teach, and I wholeheartedly stand by that, but… ”
“But?”
“This isn’t about me being your teacher,” He repeated. “It’s about me being… I don’t know, your friend? Family friend. Call it that. Something has gone on the last week, two weeks, whatever, and it’s something bad. Can you talk to me? Please?”
Niko clicked his tongue before answering. “Mr. Moreau—“
“Steph,” He corrected him. “Just… It’s fine. Just call me Steph. Makes it less weird, don’t you think?”
Niko pushed himself back up against the wall, disregarding his class that was on the other side. He thought hard. He’d never been fond of Steph, rather, the opposite, but talking to him like this, a real, genuine conversation (of which he hadn’t had many in the last few days,) it was calming. He hated to say that he felt like he cared. He hated to say that he genuinely believed that Steph wasn’t trying to get something out of him to tell his disregarding parents, to do god knows what, no- He was worried.
But as that idea stirred in his mind, Niko grew defensive, scared, irritated, and his voice slipped out louder than he’d expected within a matter of seconds. “Why do you care? Why— Why are you worried about me?” He barked, but not in a way of true aggression- the way a lost dog would, expecting abandonment to sting him again.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know,” Steph put a hand to his forehead, on his creasing eyebrow line. “I just want you to know you’ve got someone to talk to. I’d like it, if you did.”
All the words that Niko had beforehand had dissipated into nonsensical sounds and static in his head while being told he had someone to talk to. Someone promising he could trust them. Someone to confide in.
Steph inhaled, his hands clutching his arms as he kept them now firmly folded. “Andrzej’s worried about you, you know.”
“…I know he is.”
“He’s really worried, Niko. He thinks you’re shutting him out. All he talks about is you.”
“I never asked him to worry about me, though— And why do you keep saying my name?”
Steph groaned ever slightly, his concern growing harsher and growing horns at the head. “Talk to him. Talk to one of us. You know you can’t talk to your parents.”
“How’d you know about my parents? What about them?” Niko interrogated.
“I‘ve known you for three years, kid—“ Steph argued as nicely as possible. “But in depth, Andrzej told me—“
“So my life is just his to go around talking about now?”
“Enough,” Steph put his foot down, verbally, trying to get through to him. It was clear that none of this was his own doing, that Niko only sought an escape, an easy way out of conflict by now, playing the defensive and avoiding every question possible. “Give it up. Please?”
Niko let the silence stew between them again. He shifted from foot to foot, looking between his ever working class and his teacher. He looked at him like he had just killed an animal with his bare hands, blood and all.
Steph, with hesitance, and method to his madness, reached out to lay a hand on Niko’s shoulder. A merciful touch like that was a foreign concept to him, by this point. Something so forgiving was something to bat his eyes away from, to simply disbelieve in, and chalk it up to a lucky stroke. How long had he been running on this constant watch of the behaviour of those who cared for him?
“…Niko?” He gently pried.
“‘S about a boy,” Niko hid away in his hoodie again, head buried downward in his shirt. “Stupid. It’s stupid.”
“Oh, a boy, is it?” Steph chuckled at him. “Believe me, I know the whole ‘it’s about a boy,’ thing. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Too many times.”
“How many?”
“…Yeah, alright, so it was once, but if you’re counting Andrzej, twice, but shut your mouth—“ Steph interjected with a laugh, a squeeze of his shoulder in good nature, and an attempt to meet his eyeline again.
Niko found himself damply laughing through tears that surfaced, through a sniffling nose, through a shake in his knees, at the awkwardness Steph posed for fun. It was what he needed, strangely.
“You want to tell me?” Steph readjusted. “About this boy. I’m all ears. At any time, you know.” And the way he said it, it was so forgiving, so merciful. Choices like that were not often offered to Niko.
“Maybe.”
Steph felt hopeful, yet something still felt wrong. “Tell me if there’s something I can do for you. Anything. Let me, yeah? It’s— I want to help. Anything to stop this all getting worse.”
For a moment, Niko wondered if there truly was anything Steph could do for him. Anything that wasn’t entirely insane enough for the situation they were already in. Everything he thought of felt too far, too much, too much to ask of him, and far too embarrassing, yet his eyes did the talking for him. Niko wasn’t really that desperate to talk about Marco, in the end. He was just desperate to talk. To someone, even if it was his teacher, who was slowly becoming of someone far more important to him.
“Yeah,” Niko nodded. “I will. I’ll… let you know.”
Steph smiled down at him. “Good,” He took his hand away. “That’s good.”