Work Text:
he spies you outside your classroom at the far end of the grade three to five hall, hair scooped up off your neck where long tendrils have escaped, your arms held high up in the air, a bright orange whistle held up to your lips. your eyes wide and challenging in a silent 3-2-1 countdown as you stare down at the jumpy kids in front of you, before their chaos slowly, unwillingly reduces to a simmer.
you make a whirling motion, and suddenly, all the kids start marching — quickly, wanting to outpace their friends despite needing to stay together — in his direction. he's got his mini pylons set out so they avoid where he's up on a ladder, perched to inspect a pipe making the wrong sounds. last thing he needs is a pile of kids slamming into the ladder and sending him to a fucking physio again this year.
"say hi to mr. simon," you say brightly and pointedly to the mass of them, and a chorus of disjointed voices all yell — mostly kids goofing off — "hi, mr. simon!"
you shoot him a quick smile as you pass by the ladder, and some of the grade four girls who've turned to say something to you catch it. simon's hearing a bit shit but kids are terrible at keeping quiet, so he overhears a couple of the girls start whispering about how you "were staring at mr. simon!"
if you hear them, you ignore it.
—
the girls have spread the word throughout your class, and being a small school, every time you cross paths with him, a student seems to be nearby with eyes peeled and a knowing smile, eager to run back and report it to the class.
he's overheard a couple of the kids talking very seriously one day about whether you had a boyfriend or not. but she doesn't wear a ring! when they noticed him approaching with his key ring jangling, they scattered off, giggling and shrieking.
kids respect him — hard not to with his build and voice — but you, they love. a natural warmth and goodness shines out of you, even on your hardest day. he's watched you crouch down in your cute little outfits and comfort crying kids, watched you separate a fight in the schoolyard and break it up before the principal came over, watched you make the kids laugh and cringe when you kept asking them about tiktok slang.
—
an assembly that he's been asked to attend, strangely.
he lopes in and stands off against the gymnasium wall and finds himself next to you, feeling like the troll who wandered out of the mountain to stand beside the fair maiden.
the gym is chaotically noisy, but even so, his eyes fall upon your clutch of kids, who are all moon-faced looking up at the two of you.
they present him an award, and when he comes back to lean against the wall — wanting to disappear out into the halls instead — you tip your shoulder over to his. "lemme see."
he shows you the dinty little trophy. says his name and everything.
"congratulations," you smile warmly at him, knocking him a bit.
he doesn't look at the kids
—
school year's ending, and like usual, the year-end school fair is the big to-do. he's been run ragged the past two weeks, helping to prepare for it and make last-minute fixes.
he decides to pop by for a walkthrough, given it's days before summer break and all that.
he finds you taking food orders, and you laugh when you take his order. "i'm off any second. wait for me out back?"
he sits on a low wooden bench in the gymnasium until he sees you clear out, leaning on his knees and watching the squirreliest kids run around after drinking loads of pop, their parents looking knackered already, then makes his way out the exit door into the fresh summer air.
you pass the bbq where a couple volunteers are grilling up burgers and hot dogs.
"hey, wanna sit over there?" you point to a bench in the schoolyard. kids are running around, trying to find friends and chasing down dollars from their parents, and simon walks you over to sit.
"tired yet?" he asks with a low laugh, biting into his cheeseburger.
you hum, and wave at a couple kids. "gettin' there. last push and then it's over. feels like it was just september."
you chat a bit, continuously keeping a hand open to wave or point at other teachers or assistants or students. everyone happy to see you.
he holds out the carton of fries, and you take one, then say, "oh, hi!" as a gaggle of her grade four girls rock up to the bench, looking like a proper street gang for their unified approach. bit like they want to give simon a piece of their minds.
"'ello," he says to them simply.
"we have a question for you," the ringleader says directly to you. "do you have a boyfriend?" the other girls scream-laugh and hide behind her.
you laugh openly, your mouth posed in surprise. "oh, that's your question for me?"
the girls can't even answer, their giggles overtake them.
"i do have an answer for you, but i'm gonna have to ask my friend, mr. simon, here for a bit of help in answering that."
the girls whip their faces up and stare, confused.
when you stand up from the bench, there's no immediate change, but then you position your arm so it bands slightly under your softly swelling tummy. you turn back and hold out your other hand for simon, that warm joyful smile on your face, and when he stands, you slide your hand into his waiting one.
"you've already met him."
the screams that follow properly deafen simon further, but your laugh is sweet and infectious, and it feels good to finally hold your hand, walking through the school and letting everyone know that he's yours.