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Childhood is perhaps the most innocent time of a person's entire life. No responsibility. No worries about the future. You make a bunch of friends, and at home, after walking, a loving family awaits you, who will eagerly feed you and read you a bedtime story.
The only problem is that kids can sometimes be overly active and careless. Too careless.
"Did you fall down again while running?" Hairen asks tiredly, but without irritation, treating the boy's another wound. The movements were neat but professional. The doctor's hands were big and rough, but they did their job as well.
He sniffs and nods, "No, I was a cloud"
"Something new," the doctor chuckles, not distracting himself from the case.
"The teacher said that clouds disappear faster because of the rain, but ordinary clouds continue to fly in the sky. I wanted to fly too, so I climbed the slide and..." the kid stopped his monologue, as if embarrassed by further actions. After hesitating a bit, he continued, "And... one of the guys sneezed... And I was scared. More precisely no, I wasn't scared! Just... well... It was unexpected. Anyway, I tripped and fell down the slide and that's it..."
For a second, Hairen freezes with a cotton pad in his hand. He casts a quick, hard glance over the boy's head at the teacher standing at the door. Dante smiles wryly, clearly feeling guilty for what happened and shrugs his shoulders, in the spirit of he was so on fire with this idea.
The doctor sighs and finishes his work a few minutes later, gluing a patch with a blue elephant on the boy's knee, whose attention was instantly focused on this small but cute thing. Sometimes he had thoughts that kids would deliberately injure themselves just to get one of these patches, "Try not to get into similar situations anymore. You know, even ordinary clouds can easily disperse"
Having stopped looking at the patch with interest, the boy pouted, "No, they can't"
"Oh, come on. You're talking so seriously about that"
"But it's true! How would you know about that, you're just a doctor!"
Hayren snorted, amazed at Wing's constant rebukes. This kid is too bold for his age.
"Wing, the doctor is right," Dante intervened, attracting his attention, and came closer to the boy, squatting down to be on his level, "If you want to be a cloud, try to be patient and not hurt yourself. Eventually, you'll be able to take off just like them," Dante raised his hands and patted the boy's small shoulders, giving him his most familiar gentle smile.
Wing listened attentively to the teacher, nodded actively and got up from his chair, thanking the doctor for his help.
Dante, having seen that the boy was greeted by friends and they went to class together, fascinated the patch along the way, sighed with relief.
The doctor sits down heavily on his chair, putting all the used items back in their places.
"I see you all started going through the world of atmosphere, and went straight to practice. Good approach. I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow our "cloud" wants to be some kind of plant, and he starts watering himself with water, or even worse," Hairen grumbles, but there is no anger in his gaze fixed on Dante. Only the endless fatigue of a man who patches up the consequences of someone else's love of life every day.
"Hey, stop it. I know I didn't keep track of him. My bad, I'm so sorry," the teacher mutters, slowly walking past the doctor to the window and continuing quietly, "And yet, he can be understood. He, like all the other kids, just wants to know how the world works.
Leaning his shoulder against a nearby cabinet, Dante continued in a calm tone. He looked absolutely happy, despite the recent incident, "You know, yesterday we had a practice in entomology right in the courtyard of the school. We gave the kids magnifying glasses, notebooks, and jars with holes in the lids. The task was to find three different species of insects and sketch their wings"
Trying to hold back a giggle, Dante perks up gesturing, "And then Max started crying because he found a ladybug with two dots instead of seven. He decided that it was an orphan who had not received moles at birth. A lot of kids couldn't stand it and started crying for the company. The other kids and I spent half an hour calming them down. Wilson even tried to add extra dots with a felt-tip pen to make the bug look like her family. My whole sleeve was wet from their tears while I was soothing them. But their eyes were glowing. You see what I mean? They're interested. For the sake of this look, I'm not sorry to waste my time and effort. Even if it takes me the whole day"
While chatting, Dante didn't even notice the presence of someone else's body at his side. This happens a lot with them. Dante likes to tell him about his students, but Hairen is not averse to listening, sometimes even chuckling at his funny stories. It's already become a habit with them. Like something ordinary. As if that's the way it's supposed to be.
Hairen liked that. Dante loves his students, he loves to notice their every little victory, whether it's a good grade or finding a four-leaf clover. He likes to share their excitement with them. He loves what he does, and Hairen loves listening to him and stealing glances at his happy face. He loves the thrill with which he explains everything, trying not to miss every moment spent with the kids. At such moments, you really want time to stop sometimes, at least for a moment, just to listen to the teacher's voice a little longer.
Interrupting his own thoughts, the doctor notices how Dante, taking off his glasses and frowning slightly, mechanically rubs the bridge of his nose.
"Aren't you overexerting yourself?" frowning he says, gazing intently at his colleague's face.
"What are you me-"
"Let me," interrupting the teacher's speech, Hairen puts his hand on his shoulder and, approaching, began to peer into the eyes opposite.
The heart skips a beat. Dante doesn't say anything, but the warmth coming through the fabric from the doctor's palm spoke volumes.
Unfortunately, he couldn't see much, even though their faces were so close to each other. Only the blurred silhouette of accustomed brown eyes, trying to see some kind of trick in his own, was in his line of sight.
Dante wondered if he was breathing at all or not.
"You look rumpled. The eyes are red. Are you sleeping at all?" Hairen stepped back, regaining his usual serious look.
"I've been staying up late lately. Notebooks won't check themselves," Dante says with a sigh.
"If you continue to work so hard, you will definitely lose your eyesight. I don't think the students will like that. In that case, they'll be looking for a replacement for you," Hairen said with a slight sneer.
Dante elbowed the doctor in the side and protested, "Hey, that's not true! The kids adore me. And yeah, I'm fine. I get enough sleep, so I won't be blind"
No matter how hard Dante tries to appear like a good teacher, he clearly doesn't give a damn about his health. And he understands this perfectly well.
After being silent for a while, Hairen broke the silence, "Anyway, come to my place after class. I don't like your condition. Not taking any refusals," he went to the table, sorting through some documents.
"Hairen, I'm seriously fine, you don't have to worry about me," putting his glasses on his rightful place, he glares at doctor's back.
"Anyway, we should meet. We need to discuss the upcoming medical examination of your little sprouts," the doctor says, ignoring the elder's reproaches. The teacher can be too stubborn sometimes.
As if to mark the end of the conversation, the bell rang, announcing the beginning of the upcoming lesson.
Dante is silent for a moment, digesting his words. As he passes by and is about to open the door, he says with a sigh, "Fine, I’ll come over. But I’ve got a classroom checkup, so I’ll be a bit late. Is that okay with you?"
In response, he heard only a doctor's murmur of agreement, and after saying goodbye, he stormed out of the office.
And again, the silence he was used to, which was occasionally interrupted by the echoes of the teachers' loud talking and the trampling of loafers who were "accidentally" late for the start of the lesson.
The doctor sighed, putting the documents aside. Tapping his fingers on the table in order to somehow defuse the silence, he stared at the floor with tired eyes.
No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was not much different from the children Dante teaches.
He was also weak towards those eyes. To those gray eyes, which at first glance seemed proud and arrogant, but in fact the most gentle, which in a second will enchant and calm everyone. To the look that he gives the students kindness every time in the morning. And the thought that Dante shares this look with him makes him insane.
To his annoyance, he felt the warmth rise to his ears. Gosh, he's a grown man, but he's acting like a child. Stopping tapping, he ran his hand over his face and, frowning, squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down.
With that very hand that had held Dante's shoulder...
Okay, maybe he was even worse than kids.
The school corridors were empty. The usual childish hum has been gone for at least half an hour, perhaps a little more.
Dante knocks out of habit, then enters the infirmary. More than once, Hairen had reprimanded him, telling to forget all this formality and just walk in without knocking. He said the place was practically his territory, just as much as the doctor’s. They often gather together in this place, because it is the quietest place.
And maybe it was because the kids were scared of the doctor’s gloomy expression and hesitated to come in, but he chose not to mention it.
Hairen sat at the same table, reviewing the students’ health questionnaires.
The desk lamp was the only working source of light in the office. It created a little island of soft, warm light, instead of the usual harsh overhead lights.
Approaching the doctor's workplace, Dante puts a small cup of coffee a little further from the questionnaires.
Distracted, Hairen looks up at the cup first, then at Dante.
"How long have you been working on these papers? You look exhausted", seeking the doctor's gaze, he pushes the cup closer, inviting him to take a break.
Usually his piercing gaze turns warm when it meets the eyes across from him. Taking the coffee from Dante's hands and trying not to notice that their fingers brushed for a split second, he gestures to the empty chair beside him.
"Grab a seat. You help me sort out the names of the students. You’d think half the parents signed those forms while tipsy. Their handwriting is so shitty bad"
"Look who’s talking," Dante snorts, taking a seat next to him.
Hairen gives the elder one a contemptuous look, clearly not appreciating his joke. Unable to keep it in any longer, the teacher gave a little laugh.
They sit shoulder to shoulder. The space of a cramped office suddenly feels incredibly cozy. The smell of coffee mixes with the smell of antiseptic and papers.
One reads the name, the other makes a note in the magazine. Their hands touch a couple of times over the table, passing a pen or a questionnaire. The hips involuntarily touch each other, as if deliberately trying to move as close as possible. Every touch gave off an electric shock, which made the doctor instinctively twitch, as if he had really burned himself, masking his awkwardness with an attack of severity.
"For the medical examination, classes will go through in pairs. I’ve put your class together with class 2‑3"
"Oh, to Teacher Lara?" a confirmed mumble is heard in response, "Thats good. Her kids and mine get along so we'll"
"Not surprised. I often see how your classes practice together"
As he tidied up his workspace, he more than once noticed the kids outside the window in little groups. Each of them was busy with their own assignment. They worked in pairs or groups, and every now and then they’d plead with the teachers for a quick break so they could play together. And the teachers, of course, didn’t mind at all.
"Looks like someone’s a bit of a spying, hm? Well, if you’re that interested, I’ll suggest the students do a joint practice session with you"
"Just keep reading. We’ll be done faster, and then we can finally leave," Hairen grumbles in embarrassment, poking him with his hip, hearing his little giggle in response.
When the last questionnaire was put away in the folder, both men breathed a sigh of relief. The school is completely silent. The coffee was completely drunk. Just a little more, and the sunset rays will be visible from the window.
Dante takes off his glasses and rubs them tiredly. At that moment, he looked so vulnerable and completely at home.
Except for the moment when he frowned and began to massage the bridge of his nose.
Maybe he shouldn't have asked Dante for help after all, given his condition.
Frowning and mentally berating himself for his mistake, Hairen gets up from his seat and goes to the sink. After washing his hands and stretching a little, he puts on gloves, takes a flashlight and returns back to his seat.
As much as he didn't want to interrupt such a cozy silence, the main task was to make sure that Dante's health was fine. Before he could stop rubbing the bridge of his nose, Hyren gently touched his shoulder, drawing attention to himself.
“Tilt your head back,” he says, regaining his professional demeanor, but now with a touch of warmth.
Dante obeys and turns towards the doctor, taking off his glasses. Putting his hand on the teacher's cheek, Hairen begins to examine his eyes. He is silent for a long time, unceremoniously pulling first the lower, then the upper eyelid.
Up close, you could see the things you usually didn’t notice. The faint shadows of fatigue under his eyes and the tiny web of fine lines at the corners of his eyes. In the glow of the flashlight, his eyes seemed lighter. If you looked closely, you could make out flecks of brown in his irises.
Pointing his face to the side for a better view, he wondered if his hand was so huge, or if it was the teacher's face that was so small. Even through the gloves, he could feel how soft and warm his cheeks were. Wrapped up in his thoughts, he pressed his hand a little harder against the teacher’s cheek, willing himself to be unnoticed. If he had the chance, he would spend his whole life in this position.
Hairen felt the warmth creep into his cheeks. He was ashamed to think it, but he was so glad that, at that moment, Dante couldn’t see him.
"Just as I said,” he switched off the flashlight, his hand sliding reluctantly from Dante's cheek to the table as he straightened and at the same time removing gloves. “Red eyes, broken capillaries. Pupils a bit sluggish. How much time do you put into grading their work?”
"All afternoon. You know, if you don't look at their spelling now, their handwriting will break forever," he says, putting on his glasses back.
"Well, my congrats. You burned your ciliary muscle with your prescriptions," the doctor scowls, interrupting his words.
Instinctively leaning forward, Dante rested his elbows on his knees, "Hairen, it's just the end of the semester. I need to close the grade book. If necessary, I’ll write the grades myself. Just tell me which drops to buy"
“You’re not writing a thing,” Hairen’s voice sank, all traces of the doctor’s calm gone, replaced by a hard, cold tone, "Damn, do you hear yourself? In this situation, you're not allowed to pick up a pen outside of class. Absolutely"
"But they..."
"The kids can wait for your scribbles. If you keep this up, you won’t be around to see any of them," the doctor snapped, succumbing to emotion, "Look at yourself. Your capillaries burst from the pressure. You're scaring me, Dante. You and your fucking fanaticism. It's not about work anymore. It's about some kind of painful sacrifice.
The air in the small office suddenly felt thick and stale. Dante swallowed his viscous saliva, and Hairen's words made him feel stifled. The teacher's shoulders slumped slightly, losing their usual proud turn. His hands lay limply on the fabric of his trousers.
There was an awkward silence.
Both men didn't say a word afterward, each remaining with his own thoughts.
At times like this, Hairen sometimes wishes someone would slap him. He wasn't a strong word person, but he was also worried about Dante's condition. And seeing it get worse puts a lot of pressure on him. A burden of responsibility and care.
He also didn't like fighting with Dante very much. Mentally feuding with his thoughts, he did not even notice how he began tapping his fingers on the table again. He really should have gotten rid of this habit. Sometimes she's annoying. And the damn silence is also annoying.
Noticing for a second how Dante fumbles, as if about to say something, he interrupts him again.
"You’re overdoing it, trying to keep an eye on them all," the doctor says, avoiding the teacher's surprised gaze fixed on him. It came out of nowhere, this sudden honesty. He ought to just voice his concerns. That’s all it’d take. Looking somewhere in the area of teacher's shirt collar, he continues, "You scan the class every thirty seconds, without giving yourself a proper rest. I know how much you love your job, but with your eyesight, it's sadistic towards your own physiology. By the end of the year, you'll be in my chair as a patient. With an ulcer or migraine. Something worse might happen, like a place on an IV, and it won't be me who has to save you. I'm just worried about you. So are the students.
After finishing his speech, he falls silent again, without looking up at the person in front of him.
A moment later, he felt something cold touch his hand. Someone else's palm carefully covered his fingertips, stopping the tapping that had been going on all this time.
It seemed to Hairen like a dream. Finally, looking up, he saw painfully familiar warm gray eyes that looked at him with longing. After waiting for a reaction, the teacher's palm began slowly fingering his large, callused fingers. Long fingers gently stroked his own, giving a sign that he had heard him. The teacher's hands were cold. So cold that he wanted to grab them in his own and warm them up.
"You're right," Dante finally gathers his thoughts and says, "I was just too outraged by the current education of kids. Many teachers, as if following a template, do nothing but give out basic material and.. that's all. They don't give a damn if the student has understood the topic or not. According to them, they have been given a task, and they are doing it. Is it high-quality or not? Not their problem anymore. So unprofessional.
Dante's fingers began tracing random circles on his palm. The contrast between the teacher's cold palm and his own warm one was maddening.
"I wanted to somehow brighten up their school life so that it would not be so boring and tedious. You know how funny it is, when I check their notebooks, I'm sure to see at least one drawing in the margins. Sometimes I can even leave something in response, although I'm not very good at it," Dante remarks with a slight smile.
Unable to hold back any longer, Hayren carefully intercepted Dante’s hand, taking it in his own. Compared to his, Dante’s hand seemed tiny. Not noticing any resistance, the doctor began to slowly stroke his knuckles. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices how the corners of Dante's lips have lifted a little higher and a slight blush is rising to his cheeks. This kind of sight warms Hairen's heart even more. He wouldn't be surprised if he looked exactly the same.
"Sorry. I was really too stubborn. I understand that I'm ruining my health. But I have to see their notebooks, you know?
"I see," the doctor unexpectedly agrees mildly. "In any case, you should limit yourself from the daily routine of working on notebooks. Do you think that if you burn the brightest at work, the children will become smarter? No. They'll just be looking at a tired, annoyed half-zombie. I don't want you to get hurt"
Dante smiles softly, agreeing with him.
It takes a while before he stands up, reluctantly taking his hand out of someone else's grip. Instead, he takes the empty cups intending to leave.
Before he could so much as move, a hand he recognized clamped firmly around his wrist. Their eyes met again.
"You're leaving already?" Hairen asks, confused. The action is too sudden. He didn't know what came over him, but all he knew was that he wanted to touch the person opposite him again. He wanted to be alone with him for a while longer. Dante's touch was too infectious.
"It'll be dark soon. Don't wanna to keep you here too long. Besides, the notebooks won't check themselves," clutching the glasses to his chest, he turns completely in his direction, "I promise not to get too bogged down. If it comes to it, I’ll take a break for a whole day"
"Then can you... come here again tomorrow?"
Hairen got up after him. A huge, reliable shadow in a sterile white coat. His free hand clutched the back of his head, scratching it nervously. His fingers were still burning Dante's thin wrist, preventing him from escaping back into the cold school hallway, "Since you're in a hurry, I'll prescribe vitamins for you tomorrow"
His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn't let go of his hand. He just continued to hold it, feeling the teacher's rapid pulse under the thin fabric of his shirt. His thumb gently traced circles, repeating Dante's earlier movements.
"Whatever you say. I'll be there at the same time," the teacher nods, chuckling, "And thank you. Maybe I really could use some rest"
"Don’t you dare stay up late. Your mountain of plans isn’t going anywhere. And if I let go of your hand, you’ll run off again, and I’ll have to check personally whether you’re in bed or poring over notebooks"
Dante wanted to say something sarcastic about violating medical ethics, yet, in a single fluid move, he intertwined their hands, showing plainly that fleeing from Hayren was the last thing on his mind. He was already been looking forward to their next meeting.
For the first time in many years of endless teacher training sessions, meetings, and homework checks, the weight that weighed on my shoulders began to recede. Because now it wasn't just his.
The teacher takes a step forward, reducing the distance to a minimum. Now they are separated only by empty cups, which he still clutched to his chest.
Hairen's face flushed red, which did not escape the teacher's attention.
"You know, Hairen..." the teacher's voice, which had been enveloping him with warmth and familiar care a moment ago, suddenly changed its tone. He became harder, like the ground frozen overnight.
Dante's serious face was terrifying. Especially when it was so close. For the distance of one convulsive breath. So close that Hairen could count every dark eyelash that cast a thick shadow over his cheekbones, see those treacherous dimples again, which were especially pronounced when he smiled, and again, contrary to all the laws of physics and common sense, stare at his lips. Plump, well-defined. He had sworn to himself a moment ago that it was all a figment of his imagination, but now he could clearly smell the strong espresso with the subtle bitterness of burnt sugar, firmly etched into the doctor's skin. This intimacy was too intimate.
Noticing Hairen's confusion, his increasingly rosy cheekbones and nervous but attentive gaze, dutifully awaiting further action and not daring to interrupt him, Dante smiled, his most natural sly smile.
"The students say that you are kind, you just hide the candies high and in a secluded place so that they don't get to them"
Something clicked inside the doctor, bringing back the shortness of breath and driving away the cotton weakness from his knees.
His eyelids snapped open. At the sight of this, Dante couldn't stand it and burst out laughing, letting go of his hand and covering his smile with it.
"Well, don't worry about it. I'll try to convince them that they imagined it. And that the doctor doesn't eat candies at all"
"I'm not. Just go already," the doctor snapped, watching Dante's retreating back. Waving goodbye still chuckling, he leaves the infirmary, closing the door firmly with a click.
Hairen sighs, standing alone in the middle of the office. Still dazed and panting, he puts one hand in the pocket of his hospital gown and scratches the back of his head with the other. The feeling of someone else's breath next to his face was still in the air. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the blush returning to his face. Once again remembering someone else's hands, which acted exactly the opposite with soothing movements. Robbed him of the remnants of his composure. The air is completely gone.
That’s enough touching for now.