Chapter Text
You had been attending the same boarding school since you went into your middle school years. Your parents had decided not to deal with you during your teenage years, but also give you a chance to really flourish with your education to have a bright future. Softening the blow with the usual saying a parent would say, "I want to give you opportunities that I could never offer myself."
You had friends and you were also quite likeable. However, there was a slight problem. You were shy and it lead to you not speaking up too much or socializing with others. So when your friends started leaving the school one by one, you weren't sure how to make new ones.
Yeah, sure you knew (or atleast recognized) the majority of girls that attended the school, but everyone had been going here from the start. Now, everyone's friends groups are all established already.
You thought that you could maybe just make friends with new girls that enrolled, but that probably wouldnt happen for awhile...
Why?
Well, first of all, a new teacher had replaced Mrs. Harrel after she had to quit to go into rehab. Sad, but the school has some sort of atmosphere that brings out the worst from everyone.
Secondly, the new teacher—or professor— was a male. Now, this wouldnt have been a problem in a public school in a big city, but here in a strict all-girls school? Gender diversity was a huge no-no, especially in such a rural area.
Your reputable school was trying to conform into one of those modern, all inclusive schools, and this scared off all your friends' conservative parents, causing them withdrawal their daughters from the school.
However, your parents certainly didn't mind. This professor came from a very prestigious school and worked all around in subjects at high-status ivy league schools, and they wanted the best for their daughter. So they kept you enrolled.
Not like they could do anything about it, they had already paid for your tuition here.
So you stayed.
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The day arrived quicker than you anticipated. Then again, you were just rotting away in your room with no one to make plans with over the break. You were back at St. Marianne's, a prestigious, and strictly, all-girls school.
Though, still somehow allowing a male professor to be teaching, even though the school was known for only female staff.
You looked around for any familiar faces, having an overly optimistic feeling that maybe your old friends had returned. Although, you knew that thinking about your friends' parents having a keen change of mind was quite unrealistic.
So as you entered through the weathered gates of St. Marianne's, you had a nervous gut feeling, heart pounding in your chest and echoing into your upset stomach. You were unsure how the school was gonna treat you— or rather how your classmates would.
Your neat, newly polished, black shoes clicked against the linoleum tiles as you walked down the long corridors down to your dorm room. You had put in a request to be roomed solo, and the school took in all your good grades and accepted your request.
Under the condition of your family paying a fee, of course. They complied. if they could afford your tuition here, why wouldn't they pay some pocket change for you to be comfortable in your housing for the rest of the year?
You had on a black backpack and a suitcase trailing behind you as you made your way to the west wing of the school. Crumpled up in the warm palm of your left hand (the other holding the handle of your suitcase) was a piece of paper.
It was a piece of notebook paper, not the whole page, you had messily ripped it out from an old, beat up notebook from the previous year.
On the paper with smudged graphite it had your room number, what floor it was located, and the code to the padlock on the door.
You repeated it in your head all last night, reciting it before you fell asleep. But better safe than sorry. With all the brain fog, you probably would've forgotten the code even if you recited it by the millions.
You made your way to the end of the corridor, setting sight on the half-landing staircase structure leading up. Above the staircase it read, "WEST" engraved into stone in venerable calligraphy.
Room 420. Haha, funny, you think to yourself sarcastically. Although, deep down, you find it a tiny bit amusing.
You'd have to go up a plentiful amount of stairs to get to the fourth floor and in your head you curse at the school for being such a maze. You give a soft sigh, thinking into the future about how many flights of stairs you'd have to go up and down for meals and classes. Not to mention to the places you'd go to during free periods.
𝑴𝒂𝒛𝒆 𝑹𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓. That's was the only thing you can really think of.
As you walk up the first couple of steps, you hear some heavy steps coming from down the staircase above. Instinctively, without looking up, you shift to the right to make room for whoever it is approaching.
Probably a teacher of sorts, you were here early before most students and with most of the dormitories being up on the highest floor, you didn’t think any other girls would be finished their trek up the stairs. Even if they did, they'd probably still be unpacking by now.
You were too busy lugging up your stuff to take a glance, and you also didn't want to accidentally make eye contact with whoever was there. It'd probably trigger some form of awkward conversation or small talk that you never wanted to be involved with.
Thus, when a wheel of your suitcase got caught on a stair on the way up, you weren't expecting anyone to check in on you after your stumble. Especially not such a handsome, aged man.
"Everything alright, sweetheart?" A husky voice questioned.
Your face turns sunburn red in embarrassment. You try and walk it off, keeping your head low for the most part. You still cant quite help but steal a glance since you were caught off guard by the deep, male voice.
You look up and for a moment you notice features like prominent cheekbones that looked like it was carved in stone. It complimented his masculine, angular jaw that has a bit of a stubble growing out.
He had salt and pepper hair, falling over in strands over his forehead. Even so, you could never forget his mist remarkable feature, even if it was just a glance. He had hooded and broody eyes that lightened under the amber lights of the school's quaint chandeliers.
You feel your heart pounding and quickly look off to the side and to the floor, acting like something else caught your eyes so you don't have to worry about looking at his roaming eyes.
You were nervous, you always were when it came to interacting. Especially with a guy. You were out of practice. It wasn't everyday you saw a guy, and you were starting to feel weird about thinking of this random man like an extraterrestrial creature.
He was just a guy, and you were just a 16 year old girl that just so happenedly been isolated in an all-girls school since the 6th grade.
"Yeah..." Your voice barely squeaks out, barely audible to him, causing you to repeat yourself.
"Yes, sir. I'm fine." You refine your words, being so caught offguard that you forgot your manners. Then again, you hadn't had talked all day since the time you went to bed to now. You didn't have the time to prepare to speak to anyone
You try to scuttle past him, but he puts an arm out.
"Do you need help with that, miss?" He asks in his scratchy voice.
You hesitate, trying to be polite and turn down his assistance, but you're too slow to spit out an answer.
"Here let me help with that." He insists, and you give in: folding under zero pressure.
His meaty hand reaches past your waist, and you roll over the luggage towards him and he takes it from you. Your eyes trail over his forearm, his sleeves are rolled up. They're white with a button for each inner wrist of his and you stare at the way his forearm flexes as he seemingly carries the suitcase with ease.
You trail besides him, still a couple steps behind to maintain space. The first flight of stairs go by quietly, you're glad there isnt much small talk from him. However, you realize you didnt tell him what floor you were on.
You open your mouth a couple of times to tell him, but you're still hesitant to speak up. However, he thankfully stops for a moment and questions you.
"Sorry, forgot to ask, but what's your room number again?" He speaks with a subtle Danish accent that causes his voice to soften at certain words.
"Uhm, yeah, sorry..." you quickly blurt out, forcing yourself to talk at a comfortable level so he can actually hear you, "It's on the fourth level."
You hesitate, glsncing back at your crumoled piece of paoer, ears feeling warm. You were embarrassed quite easily, and now you had to deal with reading out such a silly room number.
"It's room four-twenty." You try to say confidently, but your voice is then drawn out into a whisper at the end.
He nods and you're relieved he didnt tease you about it, but you can spot a small smirk tugging at the corner of his thin lips.
You continue to follow him, tightly holding the piece of paper in your palm, crumpling it up again in your damp hand.
You guys finally make it up to your room, and you can hear him breathing a bit heavily when you arrive at your door. You approach the 4 number coded padlock, nervously punching in the numbers.
One...five...six...nine...
It beep and a small dot flashes green and you push down the door handle and open it. You turn back to the older gentleman.
"Thank you," you simply say as he hands you your suitcase, too nervous to say anything more. You watch as he runs a hand through his hair, sticking back the stray hairs.
"Anytime." He gives a small curve of his mouth and you can't help but smile back to seem more friendly. He waves you bye, nothing more and you're left wondering about him in your empty dorm.
There's a single twin bed to the right side of a small window in the middle of the small room. Only one.
No second or third bed.
No roomate waiting for you.
It felt a bit bittersweet, making you reminisce about all your old friends.
For now, you just focused on the benefits. Like how It was spacious compared to the other dorm rooms, but it was definitely smaller since it only roomed one person. At the end of the bed was a dresser about the same length of the foot of the mattress.
On the other side of the room was a dark, wooden desk with a matching chair. On it was an empty pencil holder and a small lamp light. There was also a trashcan on the floor besides it.
There was also another door to the left of the room and you assumed it led to the bathroom. You set the suitcase by your bed, gently shutting the door behind you and tossing the withered paper in the wired trash can. You quickly fish it out though, realizing that you haven't quite memorized the code to your dorm, setting it on your desk.
You open the door to the bathroom, it's small. A standing shower, a toilet, a sink, a towel rack, and a cabinet going inside the wall on the side of the sink's mirror.
You fix up your hair, realizing how awkward you looked when interacting with... at this point, you realize you never caught his name, but he also didn't quite get yours.
You flick off the bathroom lights, shutting the door behind you. You approach your suitcase and kneel on the hardwood floor, zippinv it open. As you unpacked, thoughts lingered in your mind.
You overthought about times where you hesitated, stammered, turned red, hoping it wasn't obvious. You also felt a bit bad that you weren't able to give him a proper thanks to show your appreciation, maybe if you were more confident...
You might've not come off as standoffish, arrogant, weird. That's what most people though of you, err... well what YOU thought that others thought of you.
And if you were confident enough, talkative enough, you would've known his name by now. Then it clicked, your head was swarming with the thoughts of a random old man! Yuck!
'Yuck...' it echoed in your head, he wasn't yuck. Why? Just because he was visibly older that you? Elderly? He wasn't too bad looking for the age you assumed him to be. 40s, 50s, sounds about right.
Yuck as in... how you're so lonely that someone like him is the main thing your brain is paying attention to. You felt a bit embarrassed, he was probably the father of one of the first years, just trying to help his daughter feel at home at a new school.
You never saw a ring on his finger though... doesn't mean he cant have a daughter. Your mind continues to conflict itself with weird thoughts you dwell on, why you saw this man in a romantically point of view? You had no idea.
Your mind should be occupied with teenage biys your age, not just some random person you barely even talked to.
You shake your head, it's probably just because you haven't talked to anyone all summer. That's right, his kindness just went a long way because you're used to being ignored, that makes sense.
You kept thinking, trying to shake your mind off him as you changed into your new school uniform.
You wore a white, a bit sheer, button up blouse. You quickly covered up the short sleeve with a long sleeve blazer, it was navy blue like the dress code required. It also required you to wear a matching, plaid skirt that had to atleast be mid-thigh or lower with no tights. Yours were mid thigh, but you quickly slid on your black tights.
You check the time and it was still a bit early which was good, you had to put away all your laundry that was scattered on the floor because of your searching. After neatly folding away all articles of clothing, you remember to put on your tie, colors matching the plaid skirt you currently had on.
By now, you should be ready to head to your first period, so you put on some white socks and the black shies you were wearing just earlier.
You throw on your heavy ass bag and walking out the door, the man from earlier not lingering in your mind with the sudden time crunch.
However, the thoughts of him being a caring father of one of the new, incoming 6th graders is quickly erased when you stepped into your 3rd period.
Yoau've heard whispers already, in your previous classes, the hallways.
"Male professor,"
"Is he cute?"
"Hell, no!
"He's kinda old..."
"Kinda? He's like 50."
But you werent expecting a familiar face, not his.
Behind him, written in chalk read, "Mr. Mikkelsen" in capitalized, but still elegant and neat, handwriting.
Those same hooded eyes were tracing over the pages of a book, and his then disheveled hair was now sleekly combed back, away from his face.
The man that everyone was causing a ruckus over.
Now, the thought of him is back. Sticking to your brains in the way blood sticks to a t-shirt.
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