#teacher!reader

A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.  

You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”

Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”

Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.

Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.

If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.

“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”

A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.

“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.

Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.

The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.

Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.  

Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.

Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home. 

Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.

Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.

“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”

“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”

“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”

Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.

“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”

Steve looks up. Sees you.

And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.

“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”

You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.

Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.

“Whoa—hang on, pal.”

Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.

Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.

“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”

Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.

Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.

“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”

His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.

“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”

You blink.

“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”

He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”  

“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.

Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.

Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.

There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”

You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.

There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.

You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.

It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.

Still, you make it work.

A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.

you look beautiful today ◡̈

He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.

“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”

You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.

“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”  

He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”  

“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.   

Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”

“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.

He smirks, lips twitching.

From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”

You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.

“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”

Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”

You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.

"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”

You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”

"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Oh, c’mon, bab—"

“Coach Steve?”

Both of your heads snap down at the same time.

Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.

“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”

Eli nods.

Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:

“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”

Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.

“When—what?”

“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”

Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.

“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”

Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”

“Practice… practice married?”

“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”

Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”

Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”

Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.

“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”

“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”

Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”

Eli isn’t done.

“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”

“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”

Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”

He looks between the two of you, satisfied.

“So. I think you’re practice married.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”

“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”

Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”

Eli beams. “Okay!”

He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.

“Hey, Coach Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”

And then he’s gone.

Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.

“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”

“Mm, seems like it.”

He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.

“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”

You smile. “Probably way before then.”

Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”

He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.

“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.

Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.

The proof?

A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment. .   *　✦　　.　 ˚　✦　 .

Robby was nervous.

He had held a human heart in his hands, pumped it back to life; he had been thrown in the middle of a mass shooting; he had raced against many a clock to save patients in the nick of time, and not always succeeded.

But for this, he was nervous. For this, he was jumpy. 

He had never been inside your school before, always hovering in the foyer, waiting to pick you up, or else trapped in the office talking to Patty, the veteran receptionist. Even these interactions had been after hours, nary a child in sight. But today?

Today was Career Day. 

Today, he knew, was your favorite day. More than Valentines, more than Halloween, more than Pi Day, or the spring equinox, though you celebrated those in earnest, too. None of them compared, because on Career Day, any child could be anything they wanted. It was the day dreams were born, you reminded him. And little else was quite as important to feeding a child’s spirit than dreams.

Robby remembered having Career Days at his school, every year. He was always more excited about missing class time than the actual presentations parents gave. Until his friend Tommy’s dad came in, a vascular surgeon who told them all about the hospitals and the people they saved.

“And now look where you are,” you had said.

Yes, here he was. A gruff, stony, steely-eyed ER doctor, shaking at the prospect of facing a group of six and seven year olds.

No parents who had signed up were in medical professions, you had explained to him, just about a week ago. No doctors, no nurses, not even a veterinarian, and you’d asked him to come in. You had absolute faith in him, ecstatic at the prospect of his talking to your class, and had jumped right out of bed well before sunup.

Class started promptly at half past seven, so you always came in early, but on special occasions? You were badging in through the double doors at 5:15. Even Patty wasn’t there yet, just some janitors and cafeteria workers setting up breakfast, to whom you waved cheerfully.

Robby couldn’t help but glance around anxiously as you led him through the dark halls. He hadn’t been in an elementary school since he was an elementary student himself, and he felt strangely too large, too tall, too grown.

It was perhaps due to such a stark comparison with you, practically floating down the linoleum tiles, arms stuffed with only the things he had been unable to carry for you. Your outfit alone emanated welcoming, friendly energy any child would be drawn to. Any adult, either, at that rate.

Your earrings were in the shape of airplanes, your homemade skirt, ruffled edge like piano keys, swayed over your rocket ship shoes and planet socks. Your sweater was stitched with about thirty little characters: a stethoscope, a ballet slipper, a book, each representing a different career. There was almost constantly a hint of a smile dancing around your features.  

He examined your door as you jiggled the key in the lock, for even its plain face was colored with your touch. Big block letters cut out of different fabrics spelled out Miss Moony 1B, and were surrounded by what had to be art from every single one of your students. There was a woven basket with gingham lining the inside hanging below your name, and it was stuffed with what at first glance Robby thought were fake flowers. Upon closer inspection, he realized the “petals” on the end of the “stems” were little paint handprints in all sizes and colors.

He couldn’t help his smile as you finally managed to shove your door open.

“That lock jam like that a lot?” he asked, wiggling the handle as he followed you in.

“Yes,” you said, unbothered. “But I always manage it in the end.”

Making a mental note to come back to that some time, he stepped onto the threshold. If he thought your door was wonderful, it was nothing compared to the rest of the room.

Every inch of the walls was covered in art. Whether it be student made, professional, or made educational with charts of the alphabet, times tables, what have you. In the back corner was your collection of class pictures, stuffed with all the kids from every year since you’d started teaching. 

In the adjacent corner was the reading nook, with headphones, a bin of “reading buddies,” and of course, books. Books of all kinds, from the ABCs, to sensory, to early chapter books. The shelves were decorated with cut outs of your favorite children’s characters, Fancy Nancy, Eloise, Sister Bear, Francis, the rainbow fish. There were books about health, books about school, books about feelings, books of fairy tales. Next to Arthur was a special spot, with the title “book of the week.” Under it sat a lone book, this week Stand Tall, Molly Lou Melon. 

You saw him looking and followed his gaze. Upon realizing the focus of his attention, you lit up.

“Book of the week!” you said, bouncing over to stand with him. “It helps motivate the kids to practice reading. If they like a book, they can nominate it. At the end of the week, we do a blind vote and whichever book wins gets to sit on the special shelf until the next poll.”

He fixed on your elated expression, the one so familiar. It came out without fail, anytime you got to speak about anything that meant something to you. There was no shortage of topics there, but he could never get enough of it.

“What’s Molly Lou Melon?”

“Who is Molly Lou Melon,” you corrected, placing your warm hands on his shoulders and pushing him towards the reading corner. “She is one of the all time greats. I aspire to be her.”

You perched him precariously on one of the tiny button stools and handed him the book. He examined the cover.

“You want me to read it?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, messing with the bed head he hadn’t managed to get rid of yet. 

“But what about setting up?”

“I’ll be doing that,” you said. “You just sit here and wake up a bit, you can help me when you’re done.”

He did as he was told because it was you telling him. Molly Lou Melon reminded him a bit of you. Seemingly naive, an easy target, but strong in the way that you were so self assured. Confident in the ability of yourself and others. Taking whatever life threw at you. He had to admit it was a charming little read.

When he heaved himself off the stool and placed Molly Lou back in her nook, you looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“It was great,” he said. “I’m not surprised she got the top spot.”

“Yeah, a couple times,” you said happily. “She was overtaken by Angelina for a while, but she’s back.”

“Angelina?” he asked.

“Ballerina?” you supplied. He shook his head. “Okay, I really could use help now, but after that you’ve got some serious reading to do!”

You put him to work assembling goodie bags for the kids. Each bag got filled with a hand sanitizer, a fun shaped eraser, a notepad, and blank paper doll to be decorated as each kid's dream job.

He hoped at least one kid’s doll would be dressed in scrubs by the end of the day. He glanced around the room as he set out the boxes of colored pencils, crayons, and markers on each group of desks. There were about twenty or twenty five kids in your class, each one of them known well to you. He was meant to be standing up in front of them in a few hours time — what could he say that would captivate first graders for more than a few cursory seconds?

“Hey,” you said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Stop thinking about things that won’t happen.”

“Oh, Honey, I’m not,” he said, wrapping his arm around your waist in response. “I’m thinking about things that definitely will happen.”

You chuckled.

“Alright,” you said, sitting down in one of the miniscule chairs and crossing your legs with impressive ease. “Tell me about these things that definitely will happen.”

You patted the green chair across from you. He looked sceptical.

“I really don’t wanna push my luck with these tiny chairs,” he said.

You waved a hand.

“Oh, no, these things are more sturdy than you’d think,” you said. “Kids are small, but they’re bouncy. They put a lot of strain on them. Now sit.”

He did so, slower and more awkwardly than you. When he was situated, you were looking at him, chin cradled in the palm of your hands, elbows propped up on your bent knee. 

“So. What are you thinking?”

He sighed.

“Well, they could boo me,” he started. “Or fall asleep, or leave, or just in general not give two shits about anything I have to say, ask why the hell you’re dating someone like me —”

“Honey, they’re six,” you said matter of factly. “They might ask about dating me, in their own ways, and they could fall asleep, depending on sugar intake, but they will be absolutely enthralled with you, more than anything.”

He matched your posture, resting his elbows on his bent knees and staring as deep into your calming eyes as he could go. 

“I suppose you would know,” he said.

“I would,” you said. “I do. You’re great with kids. I know them, and I know you, and you will both have a blast.”

You patted his cheek.

He did have tons of experience with kids, mostly good, and playing with a stethoscope was usually enough to distract a child. But with you next to him? There was no real competition.

In his mind, you were the queen. The beloved ruler of classroom 1B, who knew just what to say, how to make booboos disappear, and how to get a room full of hyperactive six and seven year olds to stay still long enough to teach them about numbers. And he was a gruff, bitchy old man coming to steal you off the throne. How could kids like that?

You were interrupted in the middle of writing the schedule.

“We’ll have you go last,” you said, putting numbers one through seven on the board. In rainbow order. “Since you’ll be the real showstopper. We’ll start off easy with Axel’s mom, she —”

There was a knock on the open door. Not just one, but a whole gaggle of three or four women stood in the doorway, all eyes locked on Robby where he sat leaning against the edge of your desk. He straightened up under their watch, pulling at his scrub top anxiously. He wasn’t working today, but you’d both figured the kids would prefer the full show.

“Hey!” you greeted them with your usual beaming smile and excitement. “You guys ready for Career Day?”

“Not so fast,” said a tall brunette at the front of the pack. “Why don’t you introduce us to your friend here?”

Robby wiped his hands nervously on his pants as you turned to look at him.

“Oh right!” you laughed. “Sorry! This is Michael Robinovitch, my boyfriend. Mike, this is Sandra, Jen, Amanda, and Ashley.”

He raised his hand awkwardly.

“You can call me Robby,” he said. “Nice to meet you guys.”

They chorused back their own greetings, but none of them stopped looking at him so intensely. He glanced your way. Your coworkers descended on him like wolves.

“So you’re the doctor boyfriend?” said Amanda, raking over him with her eyes.

“Taller than I thought he’d be,” said Sandra.

“Cuter, too,” said Ashley. “She told us you were cute, but…”

“But what?” he dared ask.

They all laughed.

“Well, you know our little do-gooder,” said Jen, winking. “It’s what’s on the inside, for her. She’s brought back some real charity cases before. Remember Pete?”

They let out a collective groan. You put your hands on your hips, but you didn’t look very upset.

“What was wrong with Pete?”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Jen, patting your arm. “You have such a good heart.”

“Thank you,” you said dully.

Your friends were getting closer, circling him, taking in every inch. He shot you a look over the vulture's heads, and you stepped in with a small smile.

“Okay, well we’ve got lots to do,” you said loudly, checking your watch. “Kids’ll start getting here in twenty minutes. I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch!”

He got several more winks as you corralled them out the door, and he was pretty sure he heard one of them mutter something about his ass as they rounded the corner. He had to take deep breaths, but you looked utterly unbothered as you picked your whiteboard markers back up.

“Sorry about them,” you said absently, scribbling away. “They’re very bored in their marriages. Are you upset with them?”

“Upset? No,” he said absently, coming up to stand behind you and watch your hand flit around the board, somehow leaving perfect print behind. “Overwhelmed? A little.”

You laughed as he laid his hands just above your navel, his chin on your shoulder.

“Yes, they can be a lot,” you said. “But they’re very nice and hardworking people. I’d trust my kids with them.”

Robby leaned some more heavy weight against you, letting nothing but the squeaking of your marker and your slow breaths intermingling with his fill the room. Soon enough, though, there was a slight rumble, and a minute later the familiar pitter-patter of rain against the windows started up.

You sighed dreamily, and Robby couldn’t tell if you were happy or annoyed. Then he got his answer.

“I love the rain,” you said, abandoning the board for the window and dragging him with you. “Don’t you love the rain?”

“If I’m not in it? Love it,” he said, pulling you closer as they peered out.

“April showers bring May flowers,” you reminded him.

“Are you all done setting up?”

“Not quite,” you said. “But let’s just watch the rain for a second.”

The sky was dark over the playground, so dark windows across from it started lighting up. The rain was so heavy it was hard to see through, the people running inside were mere shapes against the downpour. You hummed, another streak of lightning cracking across the sky.

Somewhere, Robby’s eyes turned from the windows to you. You looked so peaceful. So serene. Until —

“Miss Moony, who’s that?”

Robby jumped a mile away from you, locking his hands behind his back before he even saw who the owner of the big voice was.

There was a young boy standing at the door, hair plastered to his head, boots too big and coat dripping, and he was pointing and staring at Robby with his little mouth open. Robby could feel himself flushing already. You just smiled.

“Good morning Diego!” you said, going over to greet him. “This is my friend Dr. Robby! Remember I told you he would be coming in to visit?”

“Oh,” said Diego, as you helped him out of his rain gear. “But why was holding on to you like that? Were you wrestling?”

Robby was approaching burgundy. You tried to stifle a laugh. Whether at Diego’s question or Robby’s response, he didn’t know, because he was looking pointedly at the cat clock above the door.

“No, we were just hugging,” you said. “Like how you hug your friends.”

“I don’t hug them like that,” said Diego, eyes still locked on Robby.

“Oh, how do you hug them?” you asked as he put his stuff in his cubby. “Can you show me?”

Diego finally seemed to forget about Robby as he flung himself at you, and explained his technique. It gave Robby time to cool his face back to normal temperature. It was hard, what with the way his heart sped up just looking at you interact with your students. Perhaps this was all a big mistake for very different reasons.

Soon, more children were arriving. Some alone, some with older siblings, some with parents that said a quick hi before disappearing. Sensing his hesitation, you sent Robby to get grown-up chairs from the auditorium, and he bided his time setting them up near the front of the room.

Now that he was in the background and you were paying all your attention to them, the kids didn’t pay him any mind. He didn’t get a second glance as the room filled up. He did hear part of Diego’s conversation with a small girl that threatened to burn his face once again.

“See that guy, Luna?”

“Yeah?”

“Thats Dr. Robby. Miss Moony was hugging him.”

“Like a best friend hug or a married hug?”

“I don’t know. It looked married to me.”

Eventually, the parents that weren’t staying left, the parents that were sat up front with Robby, and all the little kids were in the seats that had their nametags. The goodie bags were hidden safely under your desk; you knew that giving them something to play with before the presentations would only be counterproductive.

First up was Axel’s mom, who was a train operator for the T. The kids had a lot of fun asking all about trains, and you pulled up a big map of all the lines.

Next was Ellie’s dad, a construction worker who had worked on building the playground outside their window back before they were born. He earned the job title “monkey bar builder” officially.

After him, Julian’s mom, who was a public defender. “Bad guy getter.”

Grayson’s mom, a firefighter. Robby started to question whether he would really be a show stopper after she brought in a real dalmatian for the kids to pet. It did seem a little harder for Jayden’s dad to get their attention back with CEO of an insurance company after that — they had to bring the dog out into the hall.

Then they had Nolan’s dad, a publisher, and Layla’s mom, a data analyst. Then, before he knew it, you were introducing him.

“Ok, remember I told you all about my friend Dr. Robby? Yeah? Well, he was kind enough to use his time off to come in and talk to you,” you said excitedly. “He’s going to tell you all about what he does working at the hospital!”

He swallowed. Twenty pairs of little eyes swiveled towards him, and he had to admit, he froze a little. Maybe it was a mistake to go last. Their energy was running out, he could see fidgeting and restless movements, and literally why would they give a shit about him? What if Diego raised his hand and asked why you guys “married hugged” if you weren’t really married?

He glanced at you, shifting in his seat, and you were smiling at him. You had moved to sit on a little stool next to some students at their desks for the full picture. He tried to mimic your easy grin.

“So,” he started, clapping his hands. “You guys remember going to see your doctors? They look at you, do some tests, give you shots?”

He got nods and yeahs from the crowd.

“Well, I’m not that kind of doctor,” he said. “I don’t do those things in an office, I do them in an Emergency Room in a hospital. That means that if someone needs help really fast, they come in to see me whenever they want. Make sense?”

More nods. A familiar girl with curly pigtails timidly raised her hand, and he smiled at her. She took a deep breath.

“You helped me when I got a shot with my epin-pen!” she squeaked, smiling shyly.

“That’s right, Layla,” he said, and she beamed. “You didn’t have time to call and make an appointment, we needed to make sure you were okay very very quickly, so you came in an ambulance, right?”

She nodded, covering her smile with her hands.

“What are some other reasons someone might need to go to the doctor?” he asked the class. “Anyone have any ideas?”

“SICK!” bellowed a red haired boy in the back, and Robby had to suppress a chuckle.

“That’s right, that’s a good one,” he nodded. “There are all kinds of sicknesses. Usually common colds, and your body can heal on its own. But sometimes, we need medicine to help us heal. Does anyone know what causes sickness?”

Several hands shot into the air, and he looked to you to call on someone.

“Jada,” you said, pointing at a girl with no front teeth.

“Germs!” she said. “Germs get in us when we don’t wash our hands, and we get sick!”

“Very good job!” said Robby. “Yes, germs are little things, living things, that are too small for us to see, and they can get everywhere. Some even live inside us, because not all germs are bad. You just don’t want outside germs getting in. But our body will fight back against these germs, with something called an immune system. The fight between us and the germs is what makes us sick.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a thermometer, one of the hand held hospital ones with a wire and plastic covers. He held it up.

“Do you know what this is?” They shook their heads. “This is a thermometer. It measures your temperature. This one is probably different then the ones you have at home because it comes from a hospital, and we have to see lots of different patients there.”

He showed them how to take out the actual thermometer, apply a cover, and then use it.

“Does anyone want to help me take their temperature?” he asked.

Immediately, every single hand in the room, even meek little Layla’s, shot up and danced in the air. Some kids even stood straight up out of their chairs. He again looked at you, unsure of how to proceed. You looked at the clock, then at the kids, and just shrugged.

“Everybody form a line! No pushing!”

It wasn’t exactly easy, wrangling all twenty-five of them. It was a good thing he had thought to restock the covers or he’d have had to turn half the class away. As he checked them, he explained to them why the covers were necessary. Then, he pulled out his penlight, stethoscope, and reflex hammer, and each child was getting a full workup in the front of class 1B.

Eventually, parents started parting, late for work, but their attempts at farewells were all but ignored by their children. Once each kid was checked up, they hovered near his chair, asking questions and pulling on his hoodie strings.

“Do you do surgeries?”

“Can you give cats medicine?”

“Do you live at the hospital?”

“How do you spell medicine?”

“Look at my scab! Is my immute system healing it right?”

By the time the kids were sent off to lunch, his cheeks were sore from smiling ear to ear. They all waved at him, smiled back, and shouted “Bye Mr. Dr. Robby!” at the top of their lungs. When he turned to look at you, you were smiling almost as hard as he was, eyes dazed and wide, like the ones that gave you your name.

“What?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, just got up from your seat, grabbed his face, and started peppering it with kisses. It forced a surprised laugh from deep in his chest, and he pulled you down onto his lap.

“You — are so — amazing!” you said between kisses. “It happened just like I imagined. Now they’re all gonna become doctors!”

“Well, I don’t know about all of them,” he said, face staining pink, not from your lip gloss. “But I have a feeling about Layla.”

“She’s a smart cookie,” you said, leaning your head atop his. “Whatever she does, she’s gonna be great. All those kids are.”

“It’s because they have you, you know,” he said, gazing up at you with reverence.

You looked down at him, eyes sparkly.

“Thank you,” you said, smoothing his beard. “I need to bring you back next year. All the years. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“So I’ll be around for the rest of your years?” he asked, watching you closely. 

You leaned back to cock your head, confused. Your airplanes swung around with you.

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Where else would you be?”

Careful, Robinovitch, don’t cry in a first grade classroom.

“Absolutely nowhere,” he said.

And when you brought him a big thank you card signed with the name of every kid in the class, so what if he cried? And what did it matter if it became the first framed art on his blank walls? In his opinion, there was no finer masterpiece anywhere.



---

✦ “oh— also, i do have a roommate. but there’s room for three, don’t worry.” that’s what trinity said as he first stepped foot into her (now their) apartment. inside was cozy, the small foyer giving way to a tight kitchen and modest living room area. a hall split the entire apartment down the middle: to the left was trinity’s room and a storage closet and to the right was her roommate’s room and the bathroom. dennis would be sleeping on the couch, and as he sat down on it, slowly settling along the cushions with his typical look of quiet anxiousness, he figured that sleeping there wouldn’t be too bad.

✦ it’s not until the next morning that he meets you, though throughout the evening he sees evidence of you living there. little crafts all about the apartment, a few framed pictures of classes of kids— your school pictures, maybe?— cute stickers along the refrigerator that whitaker knows trinity would never buy. pencils, mechanical and wooden, neatly set into a few baggies on the living room table.

✦ you’re up early, around 5:45 or so, softly opening the door to your room and walking straight across into the bathroom. dennis wakes up about 15 minutes before you, however for his 7 am shift at work; trinity wakes up 15 minutes later than you. breakfast is cooked by you (”we take turns,” santos explained) and eaten altogether, allowing time for introductions.

“so, this is dennis. dennis, this is my roommate,” trinity says between mouthfuls, gesturing between the two of you.

whitaker instinctively offers his hand for you to shake. “nice to meet you.”

“nice to meet you, too.” you take his hand and give it a gentle shake, then let go. “trinity tells me you’re prone to messes. what was it you said?” you turn to her, eyebrows furrowed. “something about liquid spills?”

she chuckles. “he’s always getting covered in liquids. changes his scrubs like, every two hours, it feels like.”

his cheeks flush in slight embarrassment, but he soldiers through, nodding a little. “yeah, i guess. it’s not that bad.”

“well, just make sure to clean up after yourself. i have enough on my plate already cleaning up after my kids,” you reply, flashing a friendly smile.

“you have kids?” he asks immediately, which only makes santos laugh— you lean away from her, which leaves dennis as her unfortunate victim for laugh-punching. at least she doesn’t hit as hard as his brothers did when they laughed.

“no, dumbass,” trinity starts, “didn’t you see the pictures?”

“i don’t have kids, not like that. i just meant my class. i’m a teacher, i teach third grade at the intermediate school,” you explain, “it’s why i’m up so early. school starts at… 8:15. i like to be there an hour early, which is why i’m awake with you guys.”

“oh,” he murmurs, “you’re a teacher. that’s cool.”

✦ trinity goes on to describe the moment as “an awkward start to a beautiful friendship” which… wasn’t entirely inaccurate. as time goes on, you and dennis grow just as close as you and santos are, the three of you forming a nice little trio within your apartment. he helps you with little crafts for your classroom, sometimes even coming in early with you on his off days to help you put up new seasonal decor. trinity takes to cooking breakfast more often than not, though whitaker would attribute that to the fact that she’s fucking dr. garcia more often than not. still, things are fine here. far better than where he used stay, at least.

✦ the feelings start off small. he doesn’t think too hard about why it feels so good to listen to you talk enthusiastically about a field trip you and your class went on. nor does he ponder why he’s so affected by the sight of you, crestfallen at the fact that one of your kids just couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. dennis does start to notice, however, how much he treasures those fifteen minutes between 5:45 and 6:00 where you’re awake and he’s awake but trinity’s not; he loves trinity to death, truly, but he loves you, too, in a way that’s more than solidarity or gratitude.

✦ “your students are lucky to have you,” he murmurs one night, watching as you sit and grade their vocabulary tests. shifting, he bites his lip before expanding on his thought, “i just mean… you’re an understanding grader.”

you let out a quiet hum. “it’s a mixed class, so i try to be gentle. of course, when they’re wrong, they’re wrong… but a smile face for effort or a flower or ‘great work’ doesn’t hurt anyone. keeps them motivated, you know?”

“right,” he nods, “i get that.” you’re sweet. the thought hits whitaker immediately and then lingers, his eyes softening as he watches you grade some more. “you’re a good teacher.”

“you’ve never seen me teach, dennis,” you point out, pen still gliding along the loose-leaf paper before you.

he reaches back, rubbing his neck some, “i know, but… i see what you do outside of the classroom. that’s how i know.”

you’re quiet for a moment before replying, your lips curving into a small smile. “thank you.”

teacher!reader but you’re one of those kitschy, fantastical teachers that kids remember when they’re older. the type of teacher to say silly things as if they make complete sense, to make you laugh even when you’re mad or sad. loveee that vibe.

“Miss Bee! DJ took my crayon right out of my hand!” She turned from the table of four she was working with and glanced behind her to see DJ coloring and Janie pouting. She sighed.

“Janie, my love, there’s more crayons in the craft drawers,” she reminded her.

“But I was using that one!”

“I know, and DJ, you know better than to take something out of someone’s hand while they’re using it, please give it back,” she said knowingly. He frowned and dropped the crayon on the table. “Thank you,” she nodded appreciatively and turned back to her table.

“Miss Bee, I think DJ like-likes Janie,” Mae giggled.

“Ew,” Kaleb wrinkled his nose.

“It’s not polite to gossip, Mae,” she said knowingly. “Now can you guys tell me what’s wrong with this sentence?” She asked and held the whiteboard out. She watched the eight pairs of eyes scrutinize the marker.

The other students were at their stations learning and discovering. It was the last round of rotations. When the little bell chimed from the countdown on her SmartBoard they would head to the carpet for story time.

Her classroom was the stuff of dreams—or at the very least her dream. There were colorful posters around the room. Inspirational messages and words of kindness all about her space. The cubbies were filled with lunch boxes and snacks. Their little closet spaces hung their fall coats and backpacks. When they headed to lunch, she would sift through their take-home folders and make sure to gather notes and questions from parents and fill it with the weekly letter she sent to their family.

It was her fourth year of teaching kindergarten, and she loved it so much. The kids were so happy to see her each day, and it felt like she had a family of twenty. Each of her students was so sweet and lovely. This year she had really felt she had won the lottery with how good they were. Over the weekend she missed them. On holidays she was antsy about coming back to school and ask how they enjoyed their family time.

She was exhausted too, there was no doubt about that. Little ones were needy—over the smallest of things. Like the crayon stealing. Or the tummy aches. Sometimes the six-year-olds were just overtired or overstimulated and needed a hug.

But even her toughest kids loved her too. The parent night held just a couple weeks into the school year told her that. “He has never been excited for daycare or for school, but he is so excited for this year of kindergarten.”

The timer sounded off and like little, adorable robots her sweet students picked up their stations and settled all the items they were using back into place. She thanked her current group, and she marked where the current four were so she could pick up where they left off on Monday.

The group of students hurried to the carpet, sitting cross legged on the colorful squares. “All my friends love to sit quietly on a primary color while we wait for story time!” She had a lilt in her voice that wasn’t quite singing, but perhaps close to it. She watched as the students giggled helping each other remember what a primary color was as they all shifted around the rectangle looking for a spot. What they didn’t know is it helped spread them out a bit and would help them keep their hands to themselves while they waited much more patiently than any six-year-old had a right to.

“All my friends love to be super quiet,” she whispered putting her fingers to her lips. “We have to pick our friend who will lead us through the opener for the day,” she reminded them.

They all put their fingers on their lips; their eyes hopeful of being chosen. She pulled a popsicle stick from a cup and pulled out the name. “Milo,” she grinned. “Would you like to lead us today?” She always gave them a choice. Sometimes the little ones were much too shy.

He grinned shyly. “Okay, Miss Bee.”

She sat on her chair; a rocking one she thrifted from a local shop. A lot of her classroom was that way. A teacher on a budget. Organizing drawers and old bins that were a little worn and loved. Bookshelves that had been found at garage sales and even her office chair wasn’t brand new.

But she loved it and her students loved it too.

She watched Milo walk up to the board where she had everything spelled out for him and she waited patiently for him to read. “Today is Friday, October 5th,” he said softly. “We have art at specials time today,” his voice got quieter with his nerves of speaking in front of his whole class. A small snicker started and she turned to the culprit narrowing her eyes at him not harshly, but enough to make him know she meant business. The little one silenced himself and she returned her attention to Milo.

“Isn’t Milo doing a great job?” She whispered to the little one beside her.

Milo pushed his shoulders back a little and continued. “Today we’re going to start Char-lotties Web.”

“Good job sounding that out Milo!” She cheered. “It’s a tough name. It’s called Charlotte’s Web. Can everyone say that?”

She waited while everyone repeated, and Milo continued.

“It’s the thirty-seventh day of school.”

She watched all the little ones with rapt attention on their classmate while he read through the daily schedule. This was his second go around and by the end of the year she anticipated he would do it with ease and no anxiety. He was adorable, just like the rest of her group.

“Before we have our little math lesson we’re going to read the first chapter of Charolotte’s Web. Based on the title and the picture on the front does anyone have any guesses about what the story is about?”

A fleet of hands shot into their air and she smiled. She was a lucky teacher. “Hadley, do you have an idea?” She asked.

“A spider,” she wrinkled her nose.

“I know,” she agreed dramatically. “We all know how much Miss Bee hates spiders.” The class giggled as she pulled the book from the shelf. “Can anyone tell me who the author is?” She asked holding the book out for everyone to see clearly. “Raise your hand!” She added as they all opened their mouths to say it.

The little hands fluttered into the air again and right as she spoke Amara’s name, a loud bang sounded from outside. The little ones screamed; their eyes filled with horror as they were clearly terrified by the loud noise. It even spooked her so she went to investigate.

“Shh, shh,” she whispered. “It’s okay,” she placed the book on her chair and headed toward the window. Instantly her eyes were drawn to the construction crew next door dropping piles of wood and building materials. Fuck, she mouthed to herself and if the kids weren’t so freaked out, they might have noticed her saying the bad word in the reflection of the glass. “Don’t worry everyone, it’s just the construction workers.”

“Construction paper isn’t that loud Miss Bee,” Mae frowned. “It sounded like an elephant fell down!”

The rest of the class giggled, and she smiled. “I suppose it did,” she hummed. The noise continued. The sound of trucks backing up and the like. It was going to be a long few months of work and trying to teach at the same time. “Construction workers, my love, not paper,” she corrected. “It’s people who make buildings and things.”

They chatted behind her to one another offering instances in which they had seen construction done in their neighborhoods or that their uncle was a construction worker. Or that even they had helped their mom and dad with some work around the house.

For a few moments she considered her next plan of action. She briefly turned to the schedule Milo was reading. A quick detour and impromptu lesson on future career options, math in motion, and communication skills, could be managed and even helpful if it meant she could convince her class there wasn’t anything to be scared of nor would they need to find the noise distracting if they knew what it was and could work on tuning it out.

“Alright guys and gals, why don’t we put on our coats and see what our neighbors are up to?” she said with the air of going on an adventure while she grabbed her own coat from the small thin closet behind her desk. It housed her school bag, her coat, and her lunch bag.

The kids all hustled excitedly to put on their coats while she called the main office to let them know she would be outside with her class, and she was bringing the walkie talkie in case of an emergency. Tyler was line leader, so he led the group behind her, and her line ender was Zara making sure the back half of the group was okay too. They walked in a straight line and followed one another at about an arm’s length. A trick she learned in student-teaching so her students wouldn’t want to touch one another with excitement.

They headed outside and they played a couple rounds of eye spy as they made their way up the path toward the parking lot. She turned around, walking backwards grateful of her early morning outfit choice today was pants with comfy shoes and not a dress and her favorite wedge booties. “All my friends love to be really careful near the parking lot, and listen to Miss Bee so no one gets hurt,” she reminded them. “All of my friends know they have to listen to Miss Bee or they will not have show and tell this week.”

They all zipped their lips and threw away the key as they walked toward the fence where the playground’s baseball field turned into the driveway next door where the construction was beginning. The little ones all oohed and ahhed over the big trucks and pressed their faces against the chain link fence as the materials were brought into the area.

“Wow, that’s the biggest truck I’ve ever sawed,” Brayden whispered.

“Ever seen, my love,” she corrected gently. “Okay, who can tell me one thing they’ve never seen before and have a question about?”

Immediately hands flew up into the air but before she could call on anyone, they were interrupted.

“They told me we were going t’have a young crew for this job, didn’t think everyone would be this young.”

She turned her attention to the man approaching the fence and she felt her heart flutter like a hummingbird against her chest. The man was tall, sinewy from being part of a construction crew and doing all the manual labor, she was sure. He wore a T-shirt with the company’s logo across the front Under Construction that stretched perfectly over muscular pectorals. A white hard hat was on top of his head but she could see swirls of brown hair peeking out from underneath. There were the standard work boots and pants of a construction worker on his lower half but that was all she really noted of his body.

It was his face that drew her in. His eyes, his smile, even his eyebrows seemed to catch her interest. His face had the slightest scruff on his cheeks and over his top lip. He was deadly handsome and she momentarily forgot she and her little ones were the only thing there. “We’re not here to work,” Mae giggled.

She shook her head and smiled. “No, sorry we can’t be part of the crew,” she said apologetically.

“We were going to do math, but Miss Bee wanted to show us the scary noises,” Milo explained bravely.

“Ah,” he caught her eye. Did his smile grow? She must have imagined it. Was it hot out? It was early October, and the nice fall breeze was blowing a chill in the air, and she felt like she was about to sweat through her clothes and wish she hadn’t worn her jacket. Holy shit, he was hot. “Are you Miss Bee then?”

“It’s actually Miss Bird,” Kai explained. “But Miss Bee is a nickname.”

“Bird,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bird,” he held his hand out. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.”

“Harry,” she answered. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Styles.”

He smirked at the formality but held her hand an extra second longer before letting go. Surely, she imagined that.

Harry saw the gaggle of children and the woman alongside them about five minutes prior as they approached the fence between the playground and the building site. “We got company boss,” Niall smiled while he moved some of the materials across the site with the help of his forklift. Harry turned toward the group and was in awe of the woman that could wrangle a group of little ones like that so effortlessly. As he got closer he became a little more entranced by her. She was all bright colors, her pants were firetruck red, and her jacket was a bright pink. She had an off-white bandanna or wrap in her hair of some kind that came to a knot at the top of her head from underneath her hair. She was beautiful. Obviously. Harry thought she was lucky she didn’t teach older kids because they would probably get nothing done staring at the pretty woman for hours on end. She looked so young too—no way older kids would take her seriously. But the little ones seemed to adore her, waiting patiently while they looked on with fascination.

She held a walkie-talkie in her left hand while she shook Harry’s hand during introductions.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her smile and the way she looked fondly at her students while he introduced himself.

“We didn’t mean t’scare you all. We’re putting in a new fire and police station here t’keep you safe,” he explained to the little ones. “The noises y’heard were us putting the materials down.”

They all watched expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “Could they ask a question?” She smiled sweetly at him. “They’re waiting for you to say they can ask questions; it’s kind of a thing in the classroom,” she wrinkled her nose so cutely as she explained.

“Oh—right, yeah,” he chuckled. Harry wasn’t totally sure how a group of six-year-olds could have questions about what very little they had seen thus far, but he couldn’t wait to hear it. “Of course...do y’have questions?” Harry felt a little silly not seeing what inquisitive little minds she was molding behind the fence barrier.

However, all twenty hands shot into the air. She giggled and shook her head. “We aren’t getting to all the questions,” she laughed. “Mae, you can start,” she said.

One of the girls in the middle turned to Harry. “Why’s your hat white?”

“It means I’m in charge of everyone over there,” he explained. “It’s called being a foreman.”

“So, you’re like Miss Bee, she’s in charge of us,” Mae reminded him.

“Yes, just like Miss Bee,” he agreed catching her eye. She bit the inside of her lip and glanced at her line of students.

“Milo, do you have a question to ask?”

The boy toward the end of the line looked shyly at Harry and he grinned before looking at his feet. He mumbled something toward the ground and Harry took a few steps closer, bending in front of the fence. “Can y’repeat that for me, lad? I didn’t catch it.”

“How do you know where to put stuff?” He asked.

“We have maps and outlines of where stuff is going to go,” Harry grinned.

“It’s kind of like the maps we made of towns, remember?” She prompted. “Where we would put the school, the houses—”

“The ice cream shop!” Someone else called out from the other end of the line. The rest giggled and she nodded with her beautiful, ever-present smile.

“Yes, the important things if you recall,” she glanced at Harry apologetically. “One more question, then we have to head back inside for snack time.”

“But Miss Bee! I have a lot of questions!” DJ pouted.

“Me too!”

“I do too!”

The chatter started to become a little loud and overwhelming as they reminded her that they had many questions for Harry and he smirked at her as she shook her head. “All my friends love to turn on their listening ears and turn off their voices,” she practically sang. Instantly, they were soundless.

“Wow,” Harry murmured. “I should try that on my crew.”

They all giggled, and she smiled at him apologetically once more. “Zara, do you want to ask your question?” She asked.

“How do you know what tool to use?”

“It depends on what y’have t’do, but I had t’learn which tool t’use by going t’school,” he explained.

“You went to school too!?”

“That was another question!”

“It doesn’t count!”

“Miss Bee!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Hocus pocus,” she called gently.

“Time to focus!” They all silenced themselves.

“Wow,” Harry was in awe of her. That was almost superhero powered in nature.

“Mr. Harry, could we write our questions down to have you answer?” Tyler asked.

“That’s a great idea Tyler, but Mr. Styles has to—”

“I would love t’do that,” he offered immediately and caught her eye. “This project is going t’be a while,” he explained.

“Mr. Harry,” Janie asked pulling on his pant leg through the fence. “Could you fix Miss Bee’s desk? It’s all crooked,” she explained.

“Janie, my love,” she said softly, her cheeks turning the same shade of pink as her jacket. She was adorable and Harry was putty already. “That’s not very polite to ask. Mr. Styles is working,” she explained. “It would be like asking you to do your adding while you’re doing your sentences.”

Harry grinned almost apologetically as he caught her eye once more. “I could take a look at it,” he offered. “When does school get out?”

“Oh, that’s okay—”

“We line up for the bus at three-fifteen. That’s when the clock looks like this,” and they all turned to put their hands together to the left of their bodies, surely to mimic the hands of the clock where indeed, it would look like three-fifteen.

Harry grinned. She was a cool teacher to teach all these inquisitive little minds. “All my friends love to thank Mr. Styles for taking time out of his day to teach us about construction work,” she said knowingly and looked at him once more.

“Thank you, Mr. Harry,” they all sang.

“I said Mr. Styles.”

“But Mr. Harry is like a nickname, like you Miss Bee.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, Tyler, are you ready to lead?” She asked and waved to Harry.

As the line departed, he watched until he couldn’t see the pretty woman or the cute little ones any longer before he turned back to his job site. Niall rolled over on his forklift once more and popped out of the seat to stand beside him. “How was kindergarten?” He asked.

“They’re funny,” he smirked. “And very cute.”

“The kids or the teacher?”

“Both,” he shook his head, smiling to himself. “Get back t’work,” he mumbled and headed toward the other workers.

*

Harry watched the little ones boarding their buses and their teachers wave from below the overhang of the drop-off port as the kids left for the weekend. He could see the bright red pants and pink jacket from where he stood by the fence once more and a few students called out to him. “Bye Mr. Harry!”

She turned instantly and found him there. Harry’s crew was also leaving (trying to beat the buses before they got stuck behind) but Harry was without his hat now, waiting by the fence. He waved to the little ones, feeling a bit like a superstar with all the eyes that looked over at him. But he swore he could feel the pretty woman’s eyes boring into him more than the others.

He hopped over the fence now that the children were on the buses and parents had their children in cars. “Hi,” he smiled as he approached her. Her pretty lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. Her eyes scanned his face for recognition as to why he would be approaching her after the kids had left. “M’here t’look at your desk,” he explained.

“Oh!” She shook her head. “That’s okay. It’s Friday. I’m sure you have better plans than—”

“I don’t mind,” he offered with a shrug.

“Um...” she swallowed. “It’s really alright, I don’t want to put you out—”

“S’very okay, Miss Bird,” he teased. “M’happy to take a look.”

She nodded. “Okay, well...we just have to get you signed in at the office.”

“Sure,” he smiled.

“Do you have your license?” She asked.

He nodded and followed after her. They stopped at the front of the office, one of the older women greeting and going through the spiel of being a visitor. “Will you be here often?” She asked. “We could do a background check to make things simpler.”

“Oh, he’s just working nex—”

“That would be great, thank you, ma’am.”

She pressed her lips together, but Harry swore he could see the corners of her mouth twitching upward. Harry quickly filled out the information on the form and once he had a visitor tag on the front of his shirt, he followed her down the hall. The school was definitely older. It was part of the reason the safety buildings were getting an upgrade. The whole town was a bit older. They were silent as she led down the hall, her arms crossed over her stomach, he followed her down a stairwell and they stopped as a custodian greeted her.

“Hi Miss Bee, staying late today?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll keep my mess to a minimum,” she promised.

“Not a problem Miss Bee,” he was a bit older too. Clearly, he was used to seeing her around after hours. Late? How late did she stay? It was Friday. Didn’t teachers race to get out of the building on Fridays?

“I like to set up my classroom for next week,” she explained. “It’s a little easier to have everything planned out.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he promised.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” her cheeks flushing pink once more. “I’m a little embarrassed,” she explained unlocking her classroom door.

“S’nothing t’be embarrassed ‘bout. M’happy t’take a look.”

“I guess...but they shouldn’t have said anything. Six-year-olds. You can’t tell them anything.”

He chuckled. “S’fine,” putting his hands in his pockets as she pushed the door open. It felt like being transported into another world. A bright, colorful, sunny world. There were windows overlooking the yard separating the building and a soccer field. There were string lights around the top of the wall, along with floor lamps placed around the room as well. There was almost a separate room for her colorful carpet where an old rocking chair was situated in front of the whiteboard. On the other side of the room were her play items for the kids as well as tables and little chairs for her kids. There was artwork and displays of all her students’ work around every free space of the walls. All organized and stapled properly at regular spaced intervals.

Harry would have loved being her student, he thought, but he was glad he could get to know the pretty lady as she was right now.

At the back of the class near another door, there was her desk. Underneath one of the legs was a stack of old books. Harry frowned. It was very crooked.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks. I like to believe I’m pretty resourceful so that was one of the easier fixes of the classroom.”

He sucked his cheek a bit and nodded. “Is there anything else you’d like me t’look at?”

She shook her head. “No, really. It’s okay, this is too much as is,” she said hurriedly. It was hardly anything. “You’ve had a really long day.”

But as if her classroom knew that Harry was there, the wooden sign above the door they just walked through fell off the wall. He smirked while her cheeks turned another shade redder and she winced practically with her whole body. “M’happy t’look around,” he offered. “You’re here late?” He asked and knelt beside her desk inspecting it. It was old. A fairly solid wooden structure but Harry could see it was made mostly of cheap particle board. There was no way that this was up to the fire code instructed by the public buildings in town.

“Uhh...yeah. I have to make copies and cut some stuff out for my new bulletin board,” she explained. “I also like to do a little extra cleaning on Fridays. The custodians have a lot to do so I try to do my fair share,” she went to the little closet behind her desk built into the wall. The door stuck a bit as she pulled it open and she hung her pink jacket up and pulled out a broom and disinfectant wipes.

Harry nodded. “I’d be happy t’help.”

“Oh, that’s completely unnecessary,” she assured him. “I can’t imagine you really want to be here after a long day of manual labor on a Friday no less and—”

“Miss Bird, I would imagine s’not nearly as draining as trying t’wrangle and keep the attention of twenty-something six-year-olds, for six hours a day,” he interrupted and looked at her knowingly. “M’happy t’help.”

She watched Harry for a few moments surprised by how kind he was to a complete stranger. “Could I take these drawers out?” He asked.

“Um...” she swallowed. “If you can open them.”

He tilted his head at her with a smirk. “Is there a point t’having this desk?”

“I found it at a yard sale. It’s kind of my thing,” she explained. “Most of the shelves, chairs, et cetera are from yard sales. I’m a teacher on a budget kind of thing. They just need some TLC. I say I’m going to do it over the summer, but I tutor a bunch, babysit, and whatnot so I haven’t had the time. This is my fourth year of teaching so I’m hoping this summer will be different now that I won’t be preparing lessons much now that I know what I’m doing for the most part.”

Harry watched her as she spoke, a gentle smile on his face. God, she was cute. Without her coat, she was wearing a blue almost denim looking shirt and she looked so adorable he wanted to pick her up and twirl her around like she was a princess. “I think you’re a superhero,” he told her.

Her face flushed once more and she turned to the tables lower than any normal table Harry had ever sat at (especially for his tall frame) and she knelt to wipe the surfaces. Harry turned to the desk letting her settle with the compliment he offered. He tugged the drawers out, with effort. A piece of particle board splintered a bit but given the drawer was empty, he didn’t think she would mind much. But Harry would rather build her a new desk altogether. “I don’t sit much,” she added.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Shouldn’t take an act of God t’get a drawer open.”

He lifted the desk off the books once the weight of the drawers was out of the way. He carefully moved her piles of items and organizers onto the floor taking mental pictures of her setup. There was a framed photo of her and a man and his heart almost gave out at the thought that the pretty girl was taken. He glanced at her wiping the desks, her left hand bare of any rings. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but there was no way he could ask if she was taken. He gently placed her laptop on the back counter behind him and then tilted the desk onto it’s side.

The weight of her gaze was prominent on his face, but he ignored it, focusing on her desk and hoping to make her life a little better. “S’this little screw for the leg.”

“Yeah, I figured. It was too stuck for me. I tried using some WD-40 but I didn’t get much luck.”

He pictured the pretty girl in her bright red pants trying to get her desk to unstick. Resourceful she was. “I think I have some in m’car, I’ll go pop out.”

“Let me prop this door open,” she offered and went to the classroom door labeled with a giant two. Just follow that path up,” she pointed. Harry hurried out waiting until he was out of her sightline to all but run to his car and back. He returned with a selection of random tools he grabbed and walked back to her classroom.

“—shouldn’t stay late on a Friday,” he hated how jealous he was of a man’s voice. “Come out with El and I,” the voice offered.

“Louis, I’m exhausted. I will come over tomorrow. I can’t even imagine talking to the two of you right now and I love you guys.”

“I know,” the voice sighed. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Course not.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

“That isn’t very kind of you Miss Kindergarten,” the voice answered with attitude.

Harry cleared his throat as he returned. “I gotta go, Louis. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t stay too late, Miss Bee,” he sang.

She continued sweeping and glanced at Harry’s tools. “You really don’t have to do this,” she reminded him.

“Happy t’help,” he assured her. She seemed pretty adamant though. He wondered why she felt so uncomfortable asking for help. His eyes dropped to her left hand once more looking for a tan line or any indication she was taken. “M’a big fan of teachers,” he promised. “Had some really good ones,” he explained.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “If you’re sure. I don’t want to be a bother.”

Harry wondered who on earth made this saint of a woman feel like a burden. Her desk was old and rickety. It was hardly rocket science to fix it and it wasn’t even that heavy. The drawers stuck, which Harry would tackle next, but otherwise what was so difficult? He sprayed the screw at the foot of her desk and gave it a spin, but it didn’t work. He pulled a wrench from his toolbox and tried to get better leverage. “There we go,” he mumbled to himself as the screw unstuck. He untwisted it all the way and sprayed both the screw and the hole. He twisted the metal piece back in and smiled feeling glad he made her life a little easier. He stood, tipped the desk back to it’s rightful position. He put weight with his hands to ensure all the legs were the same length and he wiped his hands on his pants.

“There’s a bathroom through that door—everything is low because of the kids though,” she pointed toward the one right near him.

“Thanks bird,” he smiled and headed through it. Whoops, he thought to himself.

He rinsed his hands with soap quickly admiring the bright, neon green paper that said you should sing Happy Birthday to yourself twice to get the germs off while washing your hands. He imagined she heard happy birthday all day long and found that adorable.

When he reentered her room, she was already putting things back, including trying to get the sticky drawer back into position. “Oh, I can do that, love. Don’t hurt yourself,” he hurried over and grabbed the drawer from her grip.

“Thank you so much for doing this, this is so lovely,” she frowned. “Can I pay you or something?”

“Absolutely not,” he chuckled. “S’hardly anything, bird,” he assured her and jimmied the drawer back into position. “Y’can keep doing your thing. I’ll put everything back.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Thank you,” she repeated.

“You’re welcome, seriously. S’hardly nothing.”

“No but it is,” she assured him. “I don’t mean to dump this all on you but my ex-boyfriend made it very clear that I put too much effort into my job and that all the extra time I didn’t get paid for didn’t mean anything because caring so much didn’t get me anything more. But I love this room and all it’s little quirks but this means the world to me, honestly. I want one of those Pinterest perfect classrooms in some ways, but I don’t think I’ll ever get it because this school is old and I don’t have the money, time, or energy I’d like to fix a lot of the things I probably need to. I don’t think I’m explaining it quite right and I’m sorry I just dumped all that on you, but I don’t think anyone has ever done anything this kind for me.”

Harry felt bad that his assumptions were correct, but he loved the way she let all of that out. He listened to every word with bated breath grateful for the word ex. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a current boyfriend, but it put into perspective why she was so overwhelmed by Harry’s little help. “Well, Miss Bee, m’at your service,” he assured her.

--

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You taught in a public school on the poorer side of Gotham, the district that contained Park Row. Not all of the children that should be in school actually attended. Amongst those that did come, a small percentage came regularly. Many of the children had different circumstances that prevented them from doing so.

But then the Red Hood appeared and slowly but surely more children began attending school daily. One of these was Caleb. Caleb was a bright and charismatic student in your class. You learned him and his younger sister were adopted by an elderly lady who lived in Park Row. None of the three were related by blood to each other, but they formed their own little family. From the little information Caleb shared, it seemed like he and his sister were orphans that found each other on the streets. He fiercely protected the little girl he deemed his sister alone until Josephine, the one they call grandma, came across them and took them in.

Josephine is an elderly lady, having difficulty getting around due to an explosion from a rouge’s antics nearly turning deadly. While she was lucky to make it out the situation alive, she no longer has much use of her legs. The school was a bit of a journey from their apartment for someone like her.

You had offered to visit their apartment or do a video call, but Caleb refused. He said someone will make it. You never thought it would be the Red Hood.

You stare wide eyed as you take in the sight of the large helmeted man padded in Kevlar armor at your classroom doorway after hours. You had never been so close to a vigilante before. Your eyes flicker to his holsters. You couldn’t help but check if he was currently carrying guns. “Is a rogue loose in the school?” The sight of any vigilante meant danger wasn’t too far behind.

He shakes his head. “I’m here for Caleb’s parent teacher conference,” he responds. You blink at him as if he were speaking another language.

“Are you his guardian?” you ask slowly as your gaze shifts down to your student appearing from behind Red Hood’s legs. “Caleb?” you call over to him softly before squatting down. “Sweetheart? Where’s your grandma? I said I could come visit her if that makes it easier.”

Caleb shakes his head before pointing up at Red Hood. “Grandma said Red Hood can go for her.”

You can’t help but raise a brow. You aren’t originally from Gotham and aren’t too familiar with the relationship Gothamites had with the vigilantes of their city. You’re used to a distant relationship between a city and its hero. You can’t exactly imagine The Flash or Superman stepping in for a child’s guardian to attend a parent teacher conference.

You stand up and focus your attention on Red Hood. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call Josephine to confirm as she’s Caleb’s legal guardian.”

Caleb is overall an easy child. Outside of a few comments about his abilities to socialize, you have nothing but nice things to say about him to Josephine, but a student’s information is confidential. It was in your best interests to call Josephine to confirm regardless of how much good Red Hood has done. He is still a stranger even if you did spot him walking a few kids home from school several times in the past. (You always double take when you spot him walking a line of kids. The other teachers who had been there longer don’t question it.)

Fortunately Red Hood doesn’t give you any trouble. He simply nods. “I understand,” he relents easily.

You motion for Caleb to follow you into the classroom. ”Come here, sweetie. Let’s call your grandma, okay?”

Caleb hesitates, looking up at Red Hood for assurance. You should be insulted. You were Caleb’s teacher for half the school year. You would have thought you had built enough rapport by now. But there was still a bit of a wall between you and the other students. You did your best, knowing the kinds of backgrounds they came from. But children are a lot smarter than most gave them credit for, and children that grew up like this were guarded. Failed by the system, failed by what society claimed would be safe, and forced to look for safety in other places such as a helmeted man with a gun.

Red Hood pats Caleb’s shoulder and motion towards you. “Go ahead, bud. I’ll still be here.”

Caleb nods and walks over to you, taking your outstretched hand. You give Red Hood a small smile as a thanks. “One minute please,” you excuse softly before closing the door behind you and Caleb.

Fortunately for you, you have all your students’ emergency contact information. You lead Caleb to the seat in front of your desk as you pull your cellphone from your desk drawer. Caleb fiddles in the seat as you flip through your clipboard with student information, landing on Josephine’s number. You dial it and put your phone on speaker so that Caleb could also speak to her if necessary. She picks up after two rings.

“Hello? Josephine? This is Caleb’s teacher,” you greet. “I’m calling regarding his parent teacher conference.” You glance over at Caleb.

“Oh, yes. Red Hood said he’d be able to take care of it,” she responds. “These legs aren’t what they used to be.” She chuckles in the way old people do when discussing their loss of their motor functions. “Did he have to reschedule?”

You blink down at your phone, taken aback. Huh. You didn’t doubt Caleb’s intent, to remove some sort of burden from his grandmother, but you didn’t think Josephine had actually spoken to Red Hood about this. “Oh, no. He’s here. I have to confirm it’s alright to speak to him about Caleb since he wasn’t a guardian or an authorized contact.”

“Oh yes, it’s quite alright. He helps the kids out with school more than I do nowadays,” Josephine informs me. “He’ll let me know if I need to be informed about anything.”

Caleb hops off the chair and bounds over to the door to let in Red Hood after hearing Josephine’s approval.

You nod, realizing a moment too late that she can’t see you. “Of course, thanks for letting me know.”

You motion for Red Hood to sit down in one of the chairs in front of your desk and nearly miss Josephine’s request. “Can you be a dear and put Red Hood as Caleb’s alternate emergency contact? I’m afraid there may come a time I won’t be able to be down at the school fast enough to pick him up if something happens. Can you do the same for his sister as well?”

You’ve heard of parents trusting superheroes with their children, but this was on a whole new level. “Right, of course. I’ll get that arranged. Since it’s the middle of the school year, the children will bring home a paper for you to sign for each of them to confirm the change in emergency contact. Once that’s signed, the office can add Red Hood to their file.”

“Perfect! Thank you, deary. And thank the Red Hood for me. He’s been a doll.” You hear the Red Hood chuckle under his helmet.

“Of course, Josephine. Have a nice day,” you say before ending the call.

You place your phone down, feeling awkward at the brick of a man in front of you with the small child at his side. Caleb kicks his feet out as they dangle off the chair, but Red Hood places a hand on his knee to steady and slow Caleb once your call is over.

“Sorry about that,” you say as you pull out a folder you had with Caleb’s work you had prepared for this meeting. “This is a little unorthodox, but if Josphine’s okay with it, I don’t mind talking to you about Caleb.”

You lay out the work, facing Red Hood and Caleb: spelling tests, math quizzes, and a book report. “Josephine mentioned you were the one who helps with his school work?” you ask.

Red Hood makes a sound of agreement as he looks over the sheets of paper. You can’t really tell with the helmet over his face if he is, but his head is tilted down slightly towards your desk.

Caleb beams at his papers and points to the math quizzes. “I told you I got better,” he tells Red Hood excitedly.

Red Hood chuckles and places a hand on Caleb’s head, ruffling his hair. “I know, squirt. Soon you won’t need me anymore to help you.”

That doesn’t seem to be what Caleb wanted to hear. His face falls and he quickly shakes his head. “No! I don’t know what one plus one means.”

Red Hood tuts and turns his head to Caleb. “Oh, really? Then looks like I’ll have to return the model airplane kit I was going to give you for doing well in school.”

Caleb whines as if physically pained. Seems like Red Hood put him between a rock and a hard place.

You can’t help but smile at the exchange. “I would hope you don’t start doing bad on your tests to keep seeing Red Hood, Caleb,” you comment to the child before looking back up at Red Hood. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Caleb’s always shown to be a good student, but he doesn’t always apply himself. He seems to be doing so more these past couple of months.”

Red Hood pats Caleb’s head. “You hear that, squirt. Looks like you will be getting that model airplane kit after all.”

Caleb throws his arms up in the air and cheers.

You try to keep your focus on Caleb’s schoolwork on your desk as you quickly move between different pages. “Caleb’s one of our highest scoring students. I had actually hoped to talk to Josephine, or I guess, to you about getting Caleb tested for Gotham Academy.”

This makes Red Hood straighten up. “Oh really?”

You shift in your seat as you set the papers down. “It’s not really a secret that this district doesn’t have the best resources. I would like for all of my students to have this chance, but I really think Caleb could win it. Gotham Academy has a couple scholarships for underprivileged kids. Bruce Wayne funds the largest one that goes to children from Park Row. It’s the Jason Todd scholarship. It covers one child per grade. There are other scholarships for older children, but the Jason Todd scholarship is the only one available for children Caleb’s age.”

You motion over to Caleb who’s in his own world, still riding the high over the idea of his gift. “His younger sister won’t be eligible for a couple years though which is what worries me. Those two are extremely close. I’m afraid they’re too dependent on each other. I think he would purposely fail if he knew he wouldn’t be attending the same school as her. But it’s easier for children to get the scholarship when they’re younger as it stays with them the duration of their time at Gotham Academy. If it goes to someone else, it won’t be open for his year unless that student leaves the academy. I know they’ve been reliant on each other for their whole lives, more so than they should be due to their circumstances, but I think it’d be good for them to have a bit of separation as well. And it will only be two years if his sister also wins the scholarship for her year.”

You pull out a couple pamphlets from your desk, one for Gotham Academy and one for the Jason Todd scholarship. “If you can please talk to Josephine about this. The testing will be next month and conducted here. If he passes, he gets automatic admission and a full ride. It’ll cover everything so his tuition, his textbooks, his uniforms, and food from the cafeteria. He also gets a generous stipend for things such as public transportation, school supplies, and miscellaneous costs.”

Your words are muffled to the vigilante as, unbeknown to you, Red Hood is thinking of his own time at the academy.

Little Jason Todd just happy to be there. He didn’t care that the students looked at him different for more than just his adopted father being Bruce Wayne. They saw him as lesser, as dirty, no matter how kind and friendly he tried to be. But it was fine. He loved to learn. He loved it so much so that he would skip patrol and being Robin, the other thing he loved with all his heart, to do school work. Jason was excited to get a shot at a genuine education and not the sham of an education from that boy’s home or the bits and pieces he’d teach himself from thrown away books.

Not that it mattered at the end: how his peers saw him, his grades at the academy. He died before he could finish high school and receive his diploma.

“Umm, Red Hood? Sir?”

He shakes his head slightly as he pulls himself from his thoughts. Does he want to push Caleb towards that? He doesn’t disagree that the quality of education at Gotham Academy was superb. Nothing but the best for the children of Gotham’s elite. But the quality of people? A hit and a miss, but more likely than not, typically a miss if the people were similar to the ones he dealt with as a student.

Red Hood takes the flyers from you. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Josephine,” he comments gruffly as he stands up, the chair squeaking as it’s pushed back against the floor. Caleb hops off the chair to follow after Red Hood.

You tilt your head, confused by the reaction but shrug. “Well, that’ll be it with Caleb. He’s a bright young man. Still coming to his own socially but I’m sure everything will work out in time.” You reach your hand out to shake. “It was nice meeting you, and thank you for understanding earlier. I’m glad to see there’s another adult in Caleb’s life that he can count on outside of Josephine.”

You hesitate for a moment before tacking on, “The students adore you by the way. You’ve really made a positive impact on their lives. The other teachers have told me that it’s because of you that most of the students come to school regularly.”

Red Hood shakes your hand, allowing you to feel the thick leather of his gloves. Although his actions are normal, his demeanor is a bit shy as he chuckles. “Ah, it’s nothing. They should be in the classroom instead of causing trouble on the streets. Seeing these kids is a nice break from dealing with some of the other people I have to.”

You smile as your hand moves to your desk and you gather the schoolwork and pamphlets into Caleb’s folder. You hand it over to Red Hood. “A proponent of education I see. Have a good teacher growing up?”

“I think I was thankful for most teachers I had growing up,” Red Hood admits perhaps a bit too honestly. “I have been where some of these kids are. When I got to go to a real school, I was just excited to learn.”

You tilt your head at his words. A real school? You shake it off, not wanting to pry. “I’m sure you must have been top of your class when you were in school,” you comment. You never thought much of the IQ of vigilantes, but it would make sense they have as much brains to back up their brawns. Many of Gotham’s rogues did hold doctorate degrees. Even some of the lower level rogues had clever minds. You doubted a vigilante of all muscle would be able to defeat a Gotham rogue.

Red Hood shrugs. “I stopped going to school when I got old enough for grades and rankings to really matter.”

Although his voice went through his helmet’s modulator, there was something that sounded regretful in his words. Okay, that was definitely something you would have a harder time shaking off. If education was important to him, why would he stop going to school? It sounded like it was important to him when he was young as well. Your stomach sinks as you realize Red Hood must have been put in a situation where he had to drop out young. Your respect for Red Hood increases as you recognize he’s making sure these children have a chance for a better life than he probably did.

“Thanks for speaking with me, teach. I’ll talk with Josephine about what you said and see what they think about the academy.”

Red Hood is on his way out with Caleb in tow when you speak up. “I—” You stop yourself before you can get a proper sentence out. What could you even say?

Red Hood turns around, Caleb mimicking him. While you couldn’t see Red Hood’s expression, his head was tilted in a way that silently motioned for you to keep going.

“It’s none of my business,” you start carefully, “But if you haven’t gone back to school and you’d like to, I can provide you resources to get your GED. Many general education classes at Gotham Community College are able to be taken remotely and transfer to Gotham University. They have a partnership where the top 10% of students of the community college get guaranteed admission to the university. Some of the private schools in the state also have a similar program.”

Red Hood’s response is silence which only fuels your nervousness. Why did you open your mouth? “Sorry,” you apologize quickly. “I don’t mean to overstep.”

A chuckle. Red Hood shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Never thought much of getting my GED or going to college with the whole…” He lets his voice trail off, waving his hand as the implications fill themselves in. “Don’t really need it with this life.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to say much else.

“But maybe I’ll look into it. I’ll let you know if I need any help, teach,” he continues.

Your eyes widen, surprised he was open to the offer. You nod. “Of course. I know you walk some of the kids to or from school. Feel free to stop by whenever. I don’t mind.”

Red Hood makes a sound of acknowledgement, motioning for Caleb to follow him before you stop him once more. “Oh! Sorry, last thing. Before you go, may I please have your number?”

He chuckles. “A little forward, don’t you think, teach?”

Your cheeks flush. “For the emergency contact form,” you barely manage to spit out. “I need to add it to the form so that Josephine can sign it.”

Red Hood hums as if pretending to believe you. Dare you say, you think he may be teasing you? He walks back to the desk and fills out the forms you have out, one for Caleb and one for his sister. He doesn’t bother to sit back down, instead choosing to lean over the desk, hunching over as he writes in his contact information. When he’s done, he takes a step back and looks up at you. “All good?”

You look down to quickly scan through the forms. Perhaps if you were alone, you would have laughed at the form. It’s not like you were expecting to reveal his secret identity. (If he had one. You weren’t sure how you felt about the rumors that Batman and his associates weren’t human) But seeing Red filled in for his first name and Hood filled in for his last name would be hilarious if you didn’t have the pressure of Red Hood in front of you waiting for an answer.

You assumed the phone number was a burner phone and couldn’t help but be curious about the email address. Huh, you wonder if all superheroes had email accounts tied to their hero identities.

The address he gave though was Caleb’s address. You doubted he actually lived with Caleb — you were sure the boy would have said something about this at some point if that were true — but you were sure that administration wouldn’t mind. The phone number was the most important piece of information.

You pick up the sheets of paper and hand it to him with a nod. “Yeah, looks good. Have Josephine sign these and Caleb bring them back tomorrow. I’ll get it all sorted with the office.”

Red Hood slides the papers into the folder. He waits a beat by your desk. “Anything else?”

Your face flushes. You quickly shake your head, waving your hands in front of you. “No, that’s it. Thanks again for coming. Hope you have a nice night.”

Red Hood chuckles and waves Caleb over. “Alright, squirt. Let’s get you home. You still have homework to do.”

Caleb skips over to Red Hood and follows him out the door. “And a model airplane to build?”

You faintly hear a sigh, not one of exhaustion but one of amusement. Red Hood ruffles Caleb’s hair as they get to your doorway. “If you finish your homework early.”

Caleb cheers, his grin wide as he turns around and flails his hands in an excited wave. “Bye, Teacher! See you tomorrow.”

You wave back with a soft smile. “See you tomorrow, Caleb.”

Red Hood gives you a nod before they both disappear down the hall.

You let out a relieved sigh as you plop back into your chair. You knew your first round of parent teacher conferences at this school would be something, but you would have never expected this. You had never interacted with a vigilante one on one and never interacted with one for so long. How nerve wracking.