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Price’s office was silent, intimidating, and infuriatingly deafening.
You had been sitting in silence for the last five minutes. Price had told you he wanted to talk to you. You froze, looking at him like a child who was about to be scolded. He had tried to comfort you by saying it wasn’t bad news, but you knew your boss well enough to know he never simply chatted to people for the fun of it—at least, not with you.
So, you had come up to his office during your only free period. He had received you, but then had to step out when the secretary needed something. He had abandoned you there, and you had been waiting ever since.
Your leg was bouncing, your eyes were unfocused, your hair was a proper mess, and your posture could certainly have been better.
Then the door suddenly swung open. You looked up, expecting to find Price, but to your horror, it wasn't him.
It was John.
He froze immediately upon seeing you. The composure on his face vanished, and his shoulders tensed.
Your heart skipped several beats, and your gaze snapped back to the floor. John lingered at the door for a second or two before he slowly stepped inside and shut it behind him.
"Afternoon," he said quietly, taking up a post somewhere between your side and your shoulder.
You barely managed a greeting before the room fell dead silent once more. If it had been intimidating before, the silence was now downright unbearable. A dreadful tension hung in the air, only mounting with every passing second.
Then, suddenly, the door opened again, and Price re-entered.
He looked at John standing near the door, then at you—practically trembling out of your skin—and then back at him.
"Hello, MacTavish," Price greeted, closing the door behind him. "Haven't seen you in a while. Take a seat, please."
Your heart skipped another beat as you heard John take the chair beside yours.
Both of your bodies went rigid. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, while John sat as still as a statue. For a few seconds, it felt as though neither of you dared to breathe too loudly.
You swallowed hard as Price stepped behind his desk and sat down. He observed the pair of you in silence for a few long seconds before folding his hands on the desk.
"So, how are you both doing?"
Silence stretched across the room until John finally broke it.
"Aye, fine," he said simply, his Scottish accent heavy with a lie.
He cleared his throat in a dreadful attempt to dismiss the lie and cut the tension.
It didn't work.
"And you? Are you alright?" Price looked to you, and you merely nodded.
He stared at you, then at John, then back at you again.
He let out a heavy sigh.
"Right," he began, clearing his throat once more. "Children," he said—and you knew for certain that whatever was coming next, you weren't going to like it—"I called you up here because a couple of people came to me with some concerns."
You looked away, letting out a soft sigh.
John shifted slightly in his chair.
"A few of your colleagues approached me to mention that they've noticed a certain... concerning shift in behavior between the two of you." He paused for dramatic effect.
Neither of you moved.
"And that it's starting to affect your work."
A heavy, pregnant pause fell over the room. For several seconds, the quiet was absolute, and you felt as though you couldn't catch your breath.
Price scrutinized the two of you carefully.
"Is this true?"
"No," you both blurted out at the exact same time, in perfect unison.
Price just stared.
You looked away, thoroughly embarrassed. This really did feel like being lectured by a parent.
"Children," Price started again, using that warning tone he relied on when his patience was wearing thin. "This is a school. You are both superb teachers, and I'd like to think I know you well enough to recognize when something has gone sour between you. With all due respect, you both look like you haven't slept, eaten, or felt a shred of joy in months."
You both exhaled simultaneously. You caught John letting out a quiet huff before running a hand through his hair.
"Now, I don't like prying into my staff's personal lives, but Kyle, Simon, and Gary are genuinely worried about you. And if they're worried, I ought to be as well." He paused again before going straight for the jugular. "Apparently, your behavior is impacting your performance in the classroom, and you both know as well as I do that that's a serious issue when dealing with pupils. Parents get remarkably cross."
Taking advantage of the sudden silence, you let out a small sigh and spoke up.
"I admit I haven't been giving it my all this term. I'm going through... some personal things. I know I shouldn't have let it into my work, but I am trying to sort it out."
Price looked at you.
"I understand. I truly do. But they told me it has to do with something that occurred between the two of you." Price pointed a finger back and forth between you both.
"It was just a misunderstanding on my part," you insisted quickly. "MacTavish has nothing to do with it."
Price stared at you with a look that made it abundantly clear he didn't believe a word of it.
"Are you entirely sure about that?"
You hesitated a moment too long.
"Price," John cut in. "It was actually a mutual misunderstanding, n' we're sortin' it out."
"Sorting it out by ignoring each other and wallowing in misery?"
You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second.
"Even the students have picked up on it," Price added. "A few of them came to me last week saying they were worried about the pair of you."
You both shifted uncomfortably, letting out another collective sigh.
Perhaps that was your breaking point. Your limit. If the pupils were noticing, it meant you had done a dreadful job of hiding what had happened.
"Look, whatever went on between you two, you need to fix it. Now. It's clearly taking a toll on you both." Price paused once more.
For a fleeting second, you wished the floor would simply open up and swallow you whole.
Suddenly, Price stood up.
Both of your eyes widened as you looked up at him.
"Stay here and sort it out. Find a resolution, make amends, have a kiss—I don't care. Just fix it. I can't have two of my finest staff looking like complete death simply because you can't act like adults for once." He began walking toward the door. "I've got matters to attend to, so whatever happens in my office while I'm away didn't happen. Use this time wisely."
With that, he opened the door, stepped out, and clicked it shut behind him.
For the first few moments, the room was enveloped in a suffocating, terrible silence. Neither of you moved, nor spoke, nor seemed to draw breath.
At least, not until you felt John turn slightly in your direction.
"Are ya really no' daein' well?"
You turned, looking properly at his face for the first time in months.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes. His mohawk was a absolute mess, as was his stubble. He looked thoroughly worn down, but you knew for a fact that he had been dealing with his own personal troubles as well.
He hadn't told you himself, of course. You only knew because of Kyle, Simon, and Gary—and half the staffroom, who weren't even supposed to know the two of you were no longer on speaking terms.
Life had grown complicated. Life had been miserable for both of you. And to make matters worse, whatever had happened between the two of you had shattered what was left.
It had occurred right before the new school year started, the day before term began. The parents had come in for the meet-and-greet evening. It had been a nerve-wracking day—as it always was—because you wanted to make a good first impression to the new students.
Yet everything seemed to go wrong that afternoon. And the absolute cherry on top had been him.
After the orientation, everyone was meant to go out for dinner, but most of your colleagues had backed out at the last minute. You hadn't suspected a thing at the time, even though you knew people around you—and perhaps a part of yourself—had been actively trying to set the two of you up.
Even John had been foolish enough to keep making comments and gestures that could easily be misconstrued as romantic interest.
So, they had left the two of you to have dinner alone. You chatted for a long while, one topic leading into another, until somehow you ended up indirectly confessing your feelings to him.
To your absolute horror, John told you that he didn't feel that way about you. He said you reminded him terribly of his sister, that he cherished your company and cared for you deeply, but strictly as a friend. He then apologized profusely for not being able to return your feelings.
You could still feel the sheer dread, the sting, and the utter desolation that had washed over you—feelings you had been forced to hide behind a strained smile and polite words because you were in a public place and refused to cause a scene.
After a tense conversation where you "tried" to reason with him, you went your separate ways, and you broke down completely.
You had called Kyle, who stayed on the line with you for nearly an hour just to calm you down. He had told you all the usual things—that everything would be alright, that you deserved better, and that John was a massive idiot for failing to see how wonderful you were. But to be frank, you hadn't believed a single word of it.
You hadn't believed Kyle, you hadn't believed anyone. You were simply furious with yourself for being so utterly convinced he felt the same, only to find out he didn't.
The past couple of months had been absolute hell. You had endured worse things in your life, yet somehow this hurt far more than expected, even if a small voice in your head had always warned you he only saw you as a friend.
You had stopped speaking to each other. You avoided each other in the corridors. You couldn't even bring yourself to look him in the eye. You both went rigid and tense whenever you were forced into the same room, and it was plainly eating you both alive. You weren't sleeping or eating properly—at least, you certainly weren't.
You were surviving on low energy and sheer stubbornness.
And now it was so blindingly obvious that people were going to Price about it. Good grief, if your pupils had noticed something was amiss, you were doing a dreadful job of masking it.
You let out a dry, bitter laugh.
"Just look at me. What do you think?" you replied, your tone sharper and more sarcastic than intended.
He blinked at you.
"I noticed," he said softly. "But ye told me ye wanted space, n' that's what I gave ye. I didnae want tae hurt ye any more."
Your vision blurred with sudden tears.
"You already did."
You knew you were being unfair. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't return your feelings. You knew for a fact he hadn't meant to hurt you. He was simply foolish enough not to realize he had been encouraging you all along. He had already apologized for that, and you had accepted it.
Yet here you were, bitter toward another human being simply because he had made you feel things you thought you'd never feel again, only to tell you he viewed you merely as a friend—or worse, a sibling.
You had told him you needed time and space, but that had been a pathetic excuse to convince yourself that cutting him out of your life was the only way to move on.
It had only made things worse.
Infinitely worse.
It made the heartache unbearable. You couldn't sleep, you could barely manage a meal, and the constant ache of missing him lingered in your system, even invading your dreams. You were always scanning the crowd for him, looking out for him in the staffroom, desperately missing the banter, the shared smiles, the unspoken glances that said more than words, your colleagues' silly matchmaking attempts... Hell, you even missed the subtle looks your pupils gave you whenever they saw the two of you together.
Deep down, you knew you were the one being unreasonable. Rejection was frustrating and painful, but it wasn't his fault. If anything, John had never wanted to lose you. You could see he hated this nonsense of ignoring each other and staying apart. You knew he wasn't comfortable with the fact that you couldn't even look his way, and that he missed you just as much as you missed him. Yet he had respected your boundaries because he still cared for you, respected you, and wanted you back in his life.
He cared about you, yes—just not in the way you had hoped. Not in the way you thought you needed to be loved.
And that was likely the most frustrating part of all.
You had ended up on two entirely different pages. Your perspectives, which usually aligned so effortlessly—as if made to fit together—were completely out of sync on the one thing that mattered most.
It was like working on a jigsaw puzzle where every single piece slotted into place beautifully, save for the very last, most crucial piece, which simply didn't belong.
You had been hopeful—so foolishly hopeful—that perhaps it was just a case of right person, wrong time. But another part of you had always known the harsh truth: he simply wasn't the one for you.
A flash of hurt crossed John's eyes.
"Don't do that. Don't be unfair wi' me," he said, visibly trying to keep his composure. "I did what ye asked. I just want tae be yer friend again."
"I don't want to be your friend, John!" you snapped, far louder than intended. "I wanted something more, and you said no. End of discussion."
He blinked, and you could see the frustration finally beginning to break through his calm exterior.
"Are ye for real? I'm sorry I cannae give ye what ye want, alright? I'm sorry I cannae be that person for ye. There are plenty o' folk out there who'll love n' appreciate ye far better than I can!"
"I wanted you to be that person, John!"
"BUT I CANNAE BE IT!"
"THEN FINE!"
"FINE!"
"FINE!"
"FINE!"
"RIGHT THEN!"
Silence fell over the room once more, broken only by your quiet, shaky sobs and John's heavy breathing.
The silence stretched on for minutes.
You could hear the clock on Price's wall ticking at an agonizing pace. As tears tracked down your cheeks, you felt the high walls you had spent months building slowly crumble away.
"Look, I really do care about ye," John said softly, breaking the quiet. "I value ye so damn much. I wish I could give ye what ye want frae me, but I cannae. I'm no' in the right head space for it, n' I'm no' the right man for ye. But I can be yer friend. I can support ye, I can make ye laugh, I can be a shoulder tae cry on. We can keep tackling this job together. We work well together. I just want ye back in my life, because I didnae realize how much o' a good impact ye had on it until ye completely cut me off. I get how ye feel—I know ye're upset, angry, maybe frustrated, n' I'm so bloody sorry ye feel that way. But ignoring each other isn't workin'. Just look at the state o' us."
He turned to face you, but you kept your eyes fixed on the floor. You didn't want to look at him again. You just wanted to cry.
"Ye're so stubborn," he murmured.
"Just... leave me alone," you choked out between sobs, wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand.
"I don't want tae," he replied firmly. "I respected yer choice the first time, but I'm no' daein' it anymore. I don't want tae see ye hurting like this. I want us tae be friends again. I want ye tae be alright."
You finally snapped your head up to glare at him.
"You are so arrogant, so full of yourself! What makes you think I'm hurting? I'm crying because this entire situation is deeply uncomfortable!"
"Aye, maybe I am arrogant, n' maybe I am full o' meself, but I know ye well enough," he countered quietly. "Ye cannae lie tae me anymore. Ye're suffering because ye're stubborn as a mule n' bloody foolish. Ye made this decision out o' sheer spite, it didnae work out the way ye wanted, n' ye've been suffering in silence all this time for nothing. But I can see it. I can see right through ye, n' I always will. Ye cannae hide it frae me."
He stood up from his chair. For a terrifying second, you thought he was going to walk out, but he simply stood there, towering over you.
"Get up," he ordered. It wasn't spoken harshly, but there was a quiet firmness to it that made your heart race and your blood run hot.
God, how you hated when he did that—talking to you as if he owned the bloody place and could command you at will. The absolute worst part was that you always ended up complying like a fool.
"Get up," he repeated. "I'm no' sayin' it again."
Just as you opened your mouth to tell him precisely where he could shove his orders, his hand reached out and touched your arm—the first physical contact you had shared in months.
He didn't give you time to pull away. He simply grasped your arm firmly and coaxed you up out of your chair.
You were certain that if anyone else had tried that, you would have clipped them round the ear, but it was John... and you had always had a hopeless soft spot for him.
"Ye're so daft, so bloody silly," he murmured, his voice softening completely. "But I still care about ye more than anything. I don't want ye hurting anymore, n' I don't want this misunderstanding standin' between us. I want my friend back. And if I have tae take the first step, then so be it."
Before you could voice a single complaint, he stepped in and wrapped his broad frame around you.
Suddenly, you were pulled flush against his chest, engulfed by his familiar scent. His arms locked around you, and a warmth you had missed terribly came flooding back all at once.
It was the first proper hug the two of you had ever shared. In the past, it had only ever been quick side-hugs or casual pats on the back, but this time, he was holding you properly.
Your reaction caught you completely off guard.
Your hands grabbed onto his jacket almost instinctively, clinging to him as if he were your absolute lifeline.
He held you with equal intensity, as though he had no intention of ever letting you go again—as if you were bound to him for good.
Your defenses completely collapsed. Your spirit gave in. You buried your face into his shoulder and began to weep freely, holding onto him tightly while he held you back like two soldiers leaning on each other in the middle of a battlefield.
"It's alright," he whispered softly into your hair. "Let it out. I'm no' goin' anywhere."
And he didn't. He held you firmly, refusing to loosen his grip. He rubbed gentle circles into your back, soothing you patiently until your sobs quieted and your mind began to settle.
Slowly, hesitantly, he eased his grip. Once you were standing face-to-face, he gently took your hands away from your face and wiped your tears himself. Your face was flushed and wet, and though you tried to turn away to clean yourself up, he gently held you still and dried your cheeks with his thumbs.
"I'm sorry... I just..."
"Shh, it's fine," he cut in gently. "Ye don't have tae explain anything. It's completely fine."
"John, it isn't fine. I—"
"Ye were havin' a rough time n' ye made a bad call," he insisted softly. "Ye're fine now. Stop worryin'."
"But—"
"I still care about ye. I'm still gonna be yer friend. We're okay now."
You let out a shaky breath and rested your head against his chest once more. He wrapped his arms around you again—firmly, but with a gentle warmth this time.
"Everything's gonna be grand," he murmured.
"I was blinded by anger," you admitted quietly into his shirt.
"Aye, everyone gets blinded by anger at some point."
"I made a stupid decision."
"Love, I take the crown in the stupid decisions department, so don't ye worry about that."
"I just..."
"I'm just glad we're talkin' again," he confessed softly. "I was sick tae death o' pretendin' I was givin' ye space when we were both dying tae speak tae each other."
You pulled back slightly, looking him dead in the eye this time.
"I know I've been foolish... but what if we can't just be friends? What if things can't go back to how they were?"
"Then we'll build somethin' new," he answered gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Somethin' better, somethin' stronger. We're gonna be fine, as long as we're in this together."
You stared at him in silence for a moment, and he met your gaze without flinching. The quiet between you had changed completely. It was no longer tense, awkward, or suffocating.
It was comfortable, calm, and reassuring—the familiar silence that had always defined your friendship. A silence you thought you had lost forever.
It felt wonderful.
"Promise me ye won't dae this again," John said, his tone softening into a gentle plea. "Don't break what we have, n' don't push me away. Be honest wi' me frae now on. Promise me ye won't hide away n' suffer through the pain on yer own again. Promise me ye'll ask for my help. Promise me, love."
"I will," you whispered. "I'll do my best. I promise."
He let out a long, relieved sigh, and for the first time in months, a genuine smile broke across his face.
The relief was overwhelming. It felt as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted.
You threw your arms around him again, and he squeezed you tight. You stayed locked in the embrace until the door suddenly clicked open, prompting you both to quickly step apart.
Standing in the doorway was Kyle, holding a stack of papers, frozen in place as he stared at the pair of you.
"All sorted?" he asked cautiously.
"All sorted," you both replied in unison.
Kyle raised an eyebrow, scanning your faces for a second, before all three of you broke into a quiet laugh.
"Good to know," Kyle smiled, pulling the door shut.
You and John exchanged a look before he pulled you into a gentle side-hug. He pressed a warm, quick kiss to the top of your head, and you leaned your weight against his chest for a moment, closing your eyes.
For the first time in months, you truly believed that everything was going to be alright.