Chapter Text
The faint chatter of teachers finalizing lesson plans trails behind him as he strides toward the front doors.
The school day is over for Octavius—or as he likes to remind himself, almost over. The little rascals he teaches still have more classes to attend, and while he can, again, almost pity them, it’s something he’s unlikely to do.
Don’t get him wrong, he loves his students but there’s a set quantity of bullshit one can handle in a day before having to strip naked and set themselves on fire, and his class went over that limit exactly 2 hours and 31 minutes ago.
Thankfully, that's over now.
He grips his bag a little tighter and breathes deeply. Freedom is so close he might as well sign the Declaration himself when his eyes flick toward Gate 3. Someone isn’t there.
Where's Larry ?
Octavius slows, frowning. For better and for worse, Larry had become a constant in his life as the school’s part time security guard and full-time meddler. Alternatively, the self-imposed ‘best wingman of Octavius’ life’ but that had yet to be seen.
He rounds the corner and spots him near the vending machines, comfortably chatting with a group of students. Typical. Octavius sighs and makes his way over.
“Hello,” Larry greets with a smile when he notices him. The students quickly scatter.
“Hello, Larry,” Octavius repeats, voice clipped. “What are you doing here?”
Larry groans, throwing his head back. And Octavius is the one getting called a drama queen all the time. “Not even a ‘Hi, how are you?’ We’re jumping straight to the interrogation?”
“Yes. Because you are not where you’re supposed to be," he replies, though the answer is obvious. Octavius isn't exactly one for niceties and small talk. "What kind of security guard barricades himself in with the students? You’re supposed to be outside.”
“You know, for someone with so much flair, you’ve got a nasty streak of rules-lawyering.”
“I prefer to think of it as accountability,” Octavius replies. “As far as I'm aware, you’re assigned to Gate 3.”
Both of Larry's eyebrows raise at that —which is probably meant to look judgemental or intimidating but ultimately makes him look like a very unimpressed fish. “Don’t tell me you memorized our rotation.”
“How else would I know where to find you?”
Larry stares at him for a beat, then shakes his head. “...Never mind. I should’ve expected that from you.”
“Indeed, you should have.” Octavius takes a moment to think. “Say, who’s at your post ?”
“Uh…” Larry rubs the back of his neck. He's grown mysteriously nervous in the span of one question. “I might’ve asked Attila to watch it for me.”
“Attila?”
“He’s perfectly qualified,” Larry says quickly.
“I’d even say overqualified. He barely let me in this morning–”
“Hey, the guy got the job fair and square. If anything it’s more your fault he didn’t recognise you.”
Octavius pinches the bridge of his nose. God give him patience. “And why, pray tell, did you abandon your station?”
Larry perks up like he’s been expecting this question. “I’m waiting for this guy—a friend of mine, actually. He’s here to fix the vending machines.” He gestures to the offending appliances, which are humming ominously next to them. “Someone has to let him in, and I can’t be in two places at once.”
“Excuses, excuses. When is this miraculous repairman supposed to arrive?”
“In about a quarter-hour, give or take,” Larry guesses.
“Looks like I’ll be waiting with you, then. If he does his job properly, I might actually have to kiss him.” He won't but it’s only an excuse to keep him company and Larry is smart enough to guess that. Nevertheless, he plays along.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I never lie about such things.” Octavius lies.
“Yeah, and forgive me if I’m not buying it. You can’t even look Lance in the eye, let alone kiss a guy,” he teases.
‘Backstabbing bitch’ is what comes to Octavius’ mind first but he’s quick to rephrase it –it’s not exactly the wisest to be cursing a fellow colleague out in the hallways. Instead, he throws Larry a sharp glare. “And I am not to be held accountable for that.”
“You sure? Weren't you just waxing poetics about his hypnotic blue eyes—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Larry smirks. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I regret ever confiding in you,” Octavius mutters. “Your behavior is dreadful, Larry.”
“Whatever you say, Octy. Whatever you say.”
Larry’s teasing grin has been hard-earned. Octavius had only told him he had a passing interest in Lance after one too many nudges towards the female staff. One could only handled being pushed into every passing woman for so long. And so he'd given up and just plain told him why exactly that would never happen.
To his surprise Larry had responded with a shrug and an easy, “That’s fine, then. You’ll still be miserable either way.”
He had been the first—and only—person Octavius had ever admitted it to, mostly because he wouldn’t stop pestering him. And now, it seems, Octavius was doomed to endure an eternity of this brand of mockery.
Before Octavius can muster a cutting retort, Larry squints at the gate. “Hey, I think he’s here.”
Octavius follows his gaze but only manages to see a blurry figure waving enthusiastically. “Should’ve worn my glasses. I can't see a thing.”
The man who approaches is tall, with light hair swept back messily. His smile is easy and warm, the kind that seems ready to pull you in before you realize it. Octavius hates it on instinct.
Larry steps forward, clapping him on the shoulder. “Jed! About time you got here. I was starting to think you bailed.”
“Had to finish another job,” ‘Jed’ says, voice warm and casual. His gaze shifts to Octavius before a hand is thrust into his personal space. “You must be Octavius.”
He takes the hand in front of him after a beat and shakes it politely, though his mind runs at double speed. Friendly demeanor. Confident, but not cocky. Practical, unpolished... It’s too early to form a solid opinion, but there’s something disarming about him that makes Octavius feel distinctly unsteady.
He desperately forces his expression back into neutrality.
“You must be the vending machine savior,” Octavius says at last.
Jedediah’s grin widens, and he gives a small, playful bow. “I’ll do my best to live up to the title.”
Oh, fantastic, Octavius thinks. A charmer. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of the way his posture feels stiff in comparison to Jed’s casual ease. He has no time for people like this—too relaxed, too magnetic, too... annoying. And yet, he can’t stop himself from stealing a glance at Jed’s hands, calloused and faintly grease-stained. The hands of someone who works, who builds, who fixes. Octavius swallows the unbidden thought that they seem capable.
Larry’s voice breaks the moment. “Well? What’s the verdict?”
Octavius snaps his gaze away. He feels caught. “I reserve judgment,” he says coolly. “But I’m not optimistic.”
Jedediah laughs, the sound rich and easy, and it startles Octavius more than he’d like to admit. “You’re something, aren’t you?” he says, looking up at him with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
Octavius bristles, though it’s not entirely unpleasant. Something, he thinks. Yes. And you… you’re trouble.
“C’mon, judging based on looks ? That’s not like you Oct.” Larry shakes his head disapprovingly. Octavius is not deterred, though he is glad for the new topic.
“Then you do not know me at all. I decided Cecil was my arch nemesis the day I saw him in that suit.”
“What suit?” Larry asks, laughing.
“Terrible. Green plaid. Nightmares, Larry.” He almost shudders at the thought. God was it horrifying.
“And now you’ve got Jedediah to judge too.”
“First impressions matter,” Octavius replies, straightening his tie. “And that’s all I’ll say.”
They don’t get the chance to talk more after that as the head guard, Cecil, comes in, flanked by Attila. And there goes Octavius' good mood.
“Y’all quit congregating,” Cecil barks. “Where do you think this is?” He turns to Larry. “And you, what made you think you could leave your post ?”
“You’re the one that told me too–” he starts, confused.
“Spare me the excuses, I don’t want to hear any of it. Do you know I had to drag this one away from the students?”
“Now, that ain’t my fault. You should’ve seen how the guy was lookin’ at me, all mad and shit.” Attila chimes in, quiet enough that only he and Jedediah are able to hear it. Octavius sympathizes in silence.
“Let the man in and get back to your post.” Cecil turns to Jedediah. “You. Follow me. I’ll show you what you need to do.”
“Alright–”
“I did not ask for your opinion. And you,” he points a finger at Attila, “no more outbursts.”
Attila clasps his hands in mock prayer. “I’m a Buddha floatin’ on a lily pad.”
Octavius mutters a quick amen whilst Jedediah snickers. He’s trailing after Cecil shortly after.
“See?” Octavius says, as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Terrible tie, terrible personality. Once again, I am proven right.”
Larry chuckles. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re late for your post.”
—
The next day, Octavius steps out of his classroom, last as always, bag neatly slung over his shoulder as the bell echoes through the hallway.
He hesitates in the doorway though, his brow furrowing at the sight of a metal panel lying on the floor. A man—broad-shouldered, dressed in a grease-streaked hoodie and jeans—is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to it, muttering under his breath as he digs through the machine's guts.
‘Jedediah’ he remembers.
He’d learned that one from Larry—after gathering enough courage to ask who blondie was and deal with the subsequent teasing. He'd also learned that he was a mechanic, a jack-of-all-trades, someone the school called in for anything from broken heaters to stubborn vending machines. Young and wild, apparently, when you got to know him. And looking at him now, Octavius thinks Larry might have understated the “young” part.
Jedediah tilts his head, squinting into the depths of the machine like it’s personally insulted him. “Come on,” he mutters, voice low but exasperated. “You’re not that broken.”
Octavius watches as he punches the side of the machine a little too forcefully. The thing jolts, hums, then groans back to life. It’s a surprisingly entertaining spectacle, though Octavius suspects that it would only take an equally forceful hit for it to break again.
Jedediah’s frown melts into something completely different—an unrestrained, almost childlike grin. He pumps a fist in victory and lets out a soft cheer.
It’s almost cute.
Octavius holds that thought one moment longer before clearing his throat.
Jedediah startles, spinning around with wide eyes. For a split second, he looks caught, like he'd been raiding the vending machine instead of fixing it. Then he grins, sheepish but easy.
“Oh. Hey. Didn’t see you there. Sorry about the noise. You a fan of vending machine wrestling?”
“Not particularly,” Octavius replies as he takes a tentative step towards him, keeping a very respectable 3 feet of distance between them. Excuse him for being a little wary of someone who can punch like that. “Though it looks like you’re winning.”
“Winning’s a strong word,” Jedediah mumbles, standing and brushing his hands on his jeans. “Thing’s more stubborn than a mule, but hey, it works now. Probably.”
“‘Probably’?”
Jedediah shrugs. “Yeah, well. It’s all about trial and error.” He crouches to scoop up a stray screw and tucks it into his pocket. “Larry said y’all were about to riot. Figured I’d save the day.”
“Indeed, our student body can be rather particular about their sugar supply,” Octavius comments.
“Oh, I get it. Half my jobs are keeping people’s little comforts running. Vending machines, heaters, the occasional air conditioner. You’d be amazed how often I get called out to fix a thermostat in the dead of winter.”
Octavius hesitates, he wants to keep talking but has no idea what to say. “Do you work here often?”
“Not too much. I bounce around. Wherever people need something fixed, I guess. Larry’s good about sending work my way, though. Keeps me busy.”
“Busy is good."
Jedediah shrugs again, like it doesn’t matter. “Better than the alternative.” He leans back against the machine, arms crossed and that easy smile lingering. “So, what do you teach?”
“History. And geography, occasionally,” Octavius replies. Julius did not approve of that decision but no amount of convincing managed to stray him away from his two loves.
Jedediah whistles low. “History, huh? Bet you’ve got a favorite era. Let me guess—Romans?”
Octavius is taken aback. “Is it that obvious?”
“Larry might’ve mentioned it. Something about you correcting him on the difference between a toga and a tunic.”
Octavius exhales sharply through his nose—the best laugh this stranger will get. “He wasn’t wrong though.”
“Figures.” Jedediah tilts his head, watching Octavius like he’s trying to piece him together. It makes him wonder, briefly, how much Jedediah might see if he looks too long. “You’ve got that… teacher vibe.”
What now ?
It’s certainly not something he’s ever been told before. “Teacher vibe?”
“Yeah–” Jedediah squints, trying to find his words. “Like, you’re the type who’d correct someone on the exact year the Battle of Hastings happened.”
“1066,” Octavius says automatically, before wincing.
Jedediah breaks into a laugh. “See? Exactly what I mean. Do you make your students remember all this shit too ? Larry did say you were, uh… particular.”
“Meticulous,” Octavius corrects smoothly. For Larry’s own sake, he hopes he hasn’t said anything else.
“Sure,” Jedediah says, clearly teasing now. “That’s one way to spin it.”
“Well I could have them memorize everything by heart, but that’s not really the point. It's also the easiest way to make them hate me.” It’s the truth and Octavius knows it all too well.
Jedediah seems to be thinking about it for a moment. “Fair point. Sounds like you’ve got a whole philosophy about it.”
“Not so much a philosophy, just a better way to keep them awake,” Octavius sighs.
“You really think they’re awake for any of it?”
“I like to pretend they are.” They are not. “But mostly, I try to make them care about it.”
He knows most don’t remember the simplest of details after a test, so everything he’s teaching his kids will probably have gone out the window by the time graduation comes around. But then again, having them memorize dates is only half the job. And the other half is what he enjoys doing most.
“Care about it? Tough luck with that.”
“It is. It’s easy to forget when everyone’s too busy with what’s in front of them.”
Jedediah smiles at that and Octavius is taken aback by it for all its 3 second duration. He pushes off the wall shortly after, nodding at the machine behind him. “Anyway. Vending machine’s all yours. Shouldn’t eat anyone’s coins now.”
“Good to know.” Octavius starts toward the exit but pauses, glancing back. “Thank you for fixing it.”
Jedediah blinks, surprised for a moment before a grin takes over. “No problem. Just doing my part.”
As Octavius walks away, he catches the faint sound of Jedediah humming to himself, light and careless. He pretends the tune doesn't stick with him for the rest of the day.