Work Text:
As a teacher, students usually did not intimidate you. You knew you were the adult in the conversation, you knew you were right most of the time, and you knew you were the one in control.
Yet, sometimes, in certain situations, you still got nervous because you had to deal with a specific type of student that made you want to crawl out of your skin.
This was one of those days.
You had to substitute. It was something you were used to regarding certain topics and contexts, but this was fairly new since the group was a high school class—and well, you’d had your fair share of bad experiences with those types of students. You were scared shitless, especially since their own teachers talked badly about them. You were expecting the worst.
You made your way as slowly as possible, clutching the envelope of worksheets as if your life depended on it. Anxiety was creeping by the minute as you ventured into an area of the school you didn't even frequent. It was nerve-wracking, but you had dealt with worse. You were going to be okay. Or so you wanted to believe.
When you arrived at the classroom, you could hear the murmur from inside. You took a breath and opened the door with your head held high. Some of the students looked your way; one of them even whispered, "Wow." You didn't take it personally—you might even have considered it a compliment.
You scanned the area for the teacher who was supposed to be finishing his class and found him at the back, picking up exams. He didn’t look at you, so you entered fully and closed the door. Awkwardly, you made your way to the desk where his things were piled and waited until you were standing right there to look in his direction
He briefly glanced your way before he started talking in his annoyingly charming Scottish accent. He went through the rows, collecting the exams one by one. You observed him from where you stood, trying not to be too obvious about it.
He wasn't that tall (well, in comparison to you, he was). His black hair was lazily styled, but his beard was nicely trimmed, and even from a distance, you could see the scar on his chin. His baby-blue eyes were sparkling; he looked a little annoyed for it to be only 8:50 in the morning, but that was the "teacher life."
Suddenly, a girl half his size got in his way. She was loud, and by the way she moved, you got the feeling you weren't going to like her. She said something to him after handing over her exam. He appeared to ignore her as he moved in your direction, but before he could pass, she stepped in his way and tried to snatch her exam back.
Your body almost moved by instinct, but you stopped yourself just in time. You blinked several times, unable to believe what you’d just seen. Before you could finish processing it, she tried again. In complete silence, he dodged her with far too much grace—almost as if he were used to it, as if it wasn't the first time.
When he finally reached you, the height difference suffocated you for a moment, making you forget there was a room full of sixteen-year-olds behind him. For a second, he shielded them from view; it was just the two of you.
His demeanor changed completely, shifting from visibly annoyed to giving you a smile. He made eye contact, and you tried to relax your face.
"Mornin'" he simply said, piling the exams and trying to clip them into some kind of order.
"Morning," you said, drier than you originally intended.
He concentrated on organizing the papers, and you concentrated on the fact that two of the students you tutored were fast approaching to greet you. You smiled and put on an act for them until he interrupted, and they went back to their seats.
"You the one who’s gonna sub?"
You nodded.
"D'ye need anything at all? Any trouble?"
You shook your head. He eyed you for a few seconds.
His eyes were impressive. They reminded you of the sky on the few sunny days this country saw. They reminded you of the beautiful sky back home. For a few moments, he didn't back down. He simply looked at you as if he were reading your mind. It felt intimate and a little weird, but also comforting—which made it even weirder because the two of you weren't usually "kind" to each other. Except, perhaps, in moments like this, where you both needed each other but didn't want to admit it. He must have sensed your anxiety, and you could tell he was already "done" with the day, even though it had just started.
When his eyes softened and your heart started that familiar dance—the one it always did when those specific blue eyes landed on you—you looked away and noticed some exams still on the desk.
"Don't forget those," you said. He looked where you were pointing and let out a sigh before grabbing them.
"Thanks," he said, looking at you again. "You alright, though?"
You nodded. He nodded back.
"Right then. I’ll be in the next room if ye need a hand. Don't let them gie ye any grief".
"Thank you." He nodded once more and left, grabbing his two bags.
You almost sighed when he was gone—not because you were relieved, but because the fear had returned.
The group, in general, behaved. They did the worksheets and followed instructions, but the girl who had tried to snatch her exam was an annoying human being. You decided then and you didn't like her. You wanted to believe it was because she wouldn't shut up, but you knew, in the bottom of your "very cold heart" (as he liked to call it), that you didn't like how she treated him—and how he didn't do anything about it.
When it was time to leave, you were relieved, but some of the students started talking to you as if they really liked you. It was weird. Why would teenagers like you? You had a reputation at school, and you were sure it had reached the high schoolers even if you didn't want it to.
You didn't see him again until lunchtime. You all ate in the staff room together. It was a large group, but the conversation flowed naturally. You were usually too busy eating and feeling frustrated to pay much attention.
Kyle and Gary were trash-talking some parents who were being difficult, but you weren't listening closely because you were trying not to sneak glances at him.
John MacTavish. That was his name. He always liked to sit at the far end of the same table as you. After eating, he would use his phone or try not to fall asleep, then wash his bowl when the bell rang. You liked to tease each other for having a similar routine, but today you weren't in the mood—not when he looked sadder than normal.
You didn't say anything, but Kyle and Gary tried to get him to talk. He participated briefly, but he was quiet. At the end, you both washed your bowls. Once everyone else was gone and only the two of you remained, you asked if he was okay.
"Aye, bonnie, no biggie. I'm just...fair scunnered. Just a long day, ken?"
You eyed him for a few seconds. That may have been true—he always looked tired—but you knew it wasn't the whole truth.
You didn't pressure him, but you remembered a conversation Kyle, Gary, and Price had with you the other day. John had been somewhere else with Simon. The group was talking about John, which was normal, but they weren't gossiping; they were worried. They thought he looked more frustrated than last year. Apparently, he had struggled to adapt during his first year and had some tense cases with parents, yet he hadn't looked as drained then as he did now.
You knew he had another job. He gave tutories at school, but he also tutored elsewhere. Simon, who was closest to him, had told Kyle that John was often tutoring until eight at night almost every day.
Neither of you, not even Principal Price, knew why he worked so much, but it explained the exhaustion. He was a good teacher, though. Students looked up to him, joked with him, and trusted him with their problems. He was probably just frustrated because things weren't going his way with certain groups, or perhaps it was just that shared second-semester burnout.
Regardless, you surprised yourself by worrying. You secretly always worried about him. You’d met at the start of the year and were always "play-fighting." Coworkers watched the two of you like they were at a tennis match, and Kyle especially always wore a smile that suggested he knew something you didn't.
You may or may not have had a crush on him, disguised as annoyance. He, of course, did not have a crush back—he looked annoyed with you most of the time (even if he did smile and his accent got thicker when you argued).
You chose not to think about that.
The worry stayed in the back of your mind all afternoon. You didn't share a classroom for tutoring today, but you sometimes caught him at drop-off while he waited for parents to pick up their lads.
To your surprise, today was one of those days. You were actually supposed to leave, but something made you stay. To be honest, you were glad you did. He appeared out of nowhere and planted himself right beside you. There was no space between you; your arms were literally touching. It was unnecessary given the amount of room available, but it was comfortable.
Lately, he had been doing that a lot—invading your personal space, touching your arm or shoulder, or walking close beside you. It was sudden, but you weren't complaining. You were far too touch-starved, and since it came from him, it meant everything.
He stayed glued to your side for a long time. You spent most of that time talking to students until you noticed he had gone quiet again. You looked at him; his eyes were lost in thought. You sighed and decided to take a leap of faith. It was pure instinct.
"Oi," you said, a vague imitation of how he liked to get your attention.
His head snapped in your direction immediately. His baby-blue eyes searched yours. Before you could lose your nerve, you spoke, the worry evident in your voice.
"Are you okay?"
He smiled, but you had observed him enough to know it wasn't real. It was the smile he gave when he was faking it, or when he was sad. It wasn't his real smile—the toothy, blinding grin that made him look years younger and alive.
"Just tired. Nothing to faff about" he said simply.
"Be honest with me. Are you frustrated?"
He frowned slightly.
"Why would I be frustrated?"
"I saw you this morning. You appeared frustrated at homeroom with those exams. That girl was very rude. I would have said something, but I wasn't sure if it was my place."
He fell silent, scratching his beard—a tick he’d developed recently.
"She's a piece of work, that one," he said, sounding even more defeated.
"She shouldn't be. It's rude to treat a teacher that way."
He didn't respond, but he kept scratching at his beard.
"Oi," you said again, this time reaching out to pull his hand away from his face.
He didn't resist. He looked momentarily startled as you held his hand. When he looked back at you, your heart drummed so loudly you had to remind yourself to breathe.
"You are doing okay. You're doing fine. You are an excellent teacher," you whispered so only he could hear.
Around you, the school was a mess of people, but you didn't care. Your heart wanted to leap out of your chest, and your hand was trembling in his. He looked utterly shocked by your words.
You looked away, trying to regain your composure. You tried to let go of his hand, but he wouldn't let you. He held on tighter, forcing you to look at him again.
"Wait... bloody hell. That... that means a lot coming from you. Truly".
You frowned. Why would it mean so much? You’d complimented him before... hadn't you?
"Why?" you asked, but then it hit you.
You were always play-fighting, having petty arguments, making comments as if you hated him. You rolled your eyes; you stuck your tongue out at him. You were rude sometimes (even if he started it). But in reality... you had a massive crush on him.
Actually, "crush" didn't cover it. You were in love with him. You’d known since the Christmas party, when you’d looked at him and realized you couldn't deny your feelings anymore.
"Oh. I know why."
He nodded, his eyes falling to your joined hands, hidden from the sight of everyone else. His hand was big, warm, and rough with scars, but the sensation sent a tsunami through your stomach.
"I admire you a lot," you continued. He looked up, his eyes wide. "As a teacher and as a person. I'm sure your students do too, even if they have a toxic way of showing it." He chuckled softly. "You’re doing a great job. The frustration, the sadness... it will pass. Thank you for all the hard work you put in, but don’t forget to take care of yourself. Try to sleep more. And have breakfast every day," you added through gritted teeth.
He rolled his eyes playfully. You’d had the "granola bars aren't breakfast" argument a thousand times.
He smiled softly, and you swallowed hard, barely able to meet his gaze. A few seconds of awkward silence followed until a student called out to tell him she was leaving.
You both turned, but he didn't let go of your hand; he just hid it behind his back. He waved goodbye to the student, and once she was gone, he turned back to you. Because he was taller, he shielded you from the crowd again.
"Thank ye, truly. I needed to hear that today."
You believed him, because he finally gave you a real smile—a true, toothy grin—while squeezing your hand.
He didn't get to say anything else. Kyle appeared and called your name. You two broke apart like a snapped spring. You prayed your face wasn't as red as it felt.
Your heart raced for the next few minutes. You weren't even sure if it had been real until you saw Kyle’s mischievous smirk and John gave you one last genuine smile before leaving for the day.
At home, you sent him a text repeating everything you’d said. He answered as if being complimented was the most surprising news in the world.
From that moment on, something changed. And you both knew it.