So Much Potential

As long as students don’t abuse the privilege, Arthur doesn’t assign seats, but students tend to sit in the same places each day regardless. Therefore, it is impossible to miss when Alfred moves from his more usual seat in the front of the room, but far off to the side (a location which gives him ample opportunity to be a distraction to everyone) to a seat toward the back next to a boy named Connor. 

Connor is a shy, quiet kid. He regularly gets B’s and the occasional A, not a bad student, but not very remarkable either. Arthur does remember smiling at all the Pride-related pins on the boy’s backpack when he first saw them. 

Without Alfred saying one word to him, Arthur knows before first lunch period that he is now, supposedly, dating Connor. They met in the GSA or game club, the rumors can’t settle on it, but Connor has apparently liked Alfred for awhile and some of Connor’s friends in Arthur’s other classes trill over how awesome it is that Alfred finally noticed him.

Arthur’s stomach turns with sticky paranoia and sinful jealousy.

Alfred has only done exactly as Arthur told him, right? 

But with a boy who just so happens to be in Arthur’s class for the same period that Alfred is? How can it not be a deliberate challenge?

Alfred seems to be genuinely interested in his new romantic object (Arthur places emphasis on “object” in his own mind). If Alfred isn’t actually interested, he should certainly try out for more theatre productions. In turn, Connor seems to have brightened considerably under whatever attention he is receiving from Alfred.

If it is all part of Alfred’s game, as Arthur’s paranoia insists it is, that poor boy will likely be hurt. Arthur doesn’t even know if he cares because the damn jealousy makes him want to demand Alfred stay after class just so he can bend that idiot boy over the desk in his office and maybe teach him something he--

Arthur takes a deep breath. This is lunacy. He should be nothing but pleased that Alfred has a little boyfriend. He should encourage it.

At best, he manages not to discourage it. Over the next few days, Alfred sits next to Connor. They hold hands, Alfred tugs him close and kisses him on the cheek when they leave. Alfred is back to being the model student he was when Arthur first started his student-teaching semester last year.

But the jealousy and paranoia have formed a toxic sludge in Arthur’s stomach. The last straw comes when Arthur catches Alfred with his foot around Connor’s ankle while he traces patterns over Connor’s palm to prevent him from taking notes. Connor tries to get him to stop, but Alfred just grins that charming grin of his... and then his gaze flits toward Arthur for one nanosecond that could have easily just been Arthur’s imagination. 

That’s enough. Arthur has to do something, for Connor’s sake of course. And for no other reason.

The next day, Arthur tapes a piece of paper up on the board, directing attention to it as students file in.

“Everyone, please check the new seating chart for your assigned seats. We are going to try something a little different,” he smiles at all of the groans. “Yes, yes. I’m a tyrant, but if we can please proceed with as little whinging as possible, perhaps I’ll be lenient and let you out a few minutes early.”

Connor drops Alfred’s hand in disappointment as they check their assignments, but Arthur was kind enough to put him next to two other students he knows to be Connor’s friends. It’s better to get the boy away from Alfred and back into a proper support system.

Alfred says nothing, his new assignment is his previous seat, across the room from where Connor now sits. As he walks past Arthur, he grins smugly, smirks devilishly; he clearly believes he has won something.

“Ahhhhh, yeah. Sorta. Two of my timers called out. Now we’re even more shorthanded than usual and since we’re hosting the meet, we’re supposed to provide the timers, so I’m in a bit of a bind.”

Arthur nods and returns to his grading. “That’s a shame. It can be hard to find reliable help for things like that.”

Elliott sighs. “Yeah. So what if we don’t pull in the backer money that the football team does? We still need help.” He pauses. “Hey Kirkland, I really hate to ask this, but would you mind helping out? Just this once, I swear.”

Arthur freezes, clenching his pen tightly. He could help, he would be happy to help really, he’s ahead of schedule with his grading and his lesson plans are complete through the end of next month. There’s only one problem. Alfred is on the swim team. He has made a point of telling Arthur so. Against his better judgment, Arthur says, “Alright. I’ll do it. Just this once.”

“Thank God, you’re a life saver! I owe you one.”

Arthur can’t even admit to himself what it is he can’t, doesn’t want, to face... a half naked, soaking wet Alfred. And Arthur certainly doesn’t want to give Alfred the satisfaction of knowing he has seen him in that state.

Yet he finds himself at the indoor pool, a digital stopwatch in his hand, while students stretch, rest, hydrate, and laugh and joke with each other. The sounds echo off the walls and the humidity and heat of the large room coupled with the strong smell of chlorine make Arthur dizzy.

“Hey, Arthur,” Alfred’s familiar voice murmurs from behind him, just a little too close. 

Arthur whips around to glare at him. He notes that Alfred is thankfully well covered by his hoodie. “It’s Mr. Kirkland to you.”

A delighted smirk twists its way from Alfred’s mouth up to his eyes. “You come to watch me?”

Part of what irritates Arthur the most about Alfred’s ridiculous infatuation is the fact that he actually quite likes Alfred. Or rather, he would easily say Alfred is one of his favorite students if not for said infatuation. He’s a bright young man with a lot of excellent ideas about class material as well as other things--when he can be arsed to participate. Arthur thoroughly enjoys having similarly intelligent students in his other classes, yet Alfred has ruined what could have been a perfectly pleasant, perfectly healthy teacher-student dynamic. Arthur wishes he could say it is all Alfred’s fault. “I came to help Mr. Elliott,” he says, “Apparently, he needs people to keep time.”

“But you could have said no,” Alfred says. He’s not yet taller than Arthur, but he’s tall enough to meet him at eye level. He shrugs casually. “Not much to see anyway, right? It’s all underwater and you ain’t lookin’ of course.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Your grammar is atrocious. I should make you stay after class and diagram sentences until your brain leaks out of your ears.” He removes his waistcoat and rolls up his sleeves, which is probably a mistake since he catches Alfred honing in on his tattoos--again, but the heat is getting to him. 

Alfred huffs a laugh. “You can make me stay after class any time you want, Arthur. But you’re too scared.” Before Arthur can respond, Alfred walks away, whistling innocently.

Thankfully, the infamous Speedo brief has fallen out of fashion and the current mode is for male swimmers to wear skin tight shorts that reach almost to the knees. It’s not much better, but Arthur’s sanity definitely prefers Alfred in those. The other boys, of course, of course because he is a normal human adult, don’t catch his eye in the slightest. Only Alfred.

Thankfully, Alfred is on varsity and Arthur is spared from timing varsity given that he is new at this and that their times matter more than junior varsity and the rest of the team. 

Unfortunately, this affords Arthur the opportunity to observe with full attention while Alfred swims. Alfred was right though, there isn’t much to see in the water. All of the swimmers in Alfred’s races are so fast that it’s generally just a blur of furious white splashing. But he does not miss the powerful roll of Alfred’s shoulders during the 100m butterfly race nor his stamina during the 500m freestyle. He surely does not miss the way Alfred effortlessly hoists himself out of the water after each race, yanking off his goggles and silicone cap, scrubbing his hand through his wet hair. It’s impossible to miss the little grin Alfred sends his way each time.

At about the fourth time, Arthur leaves the pool area to get fresh air. He paces in the hallway, wondering what the hell is wrong with Alfred. Wondering what the hell is wrong with himself. He shouldn’t be feeling these things he can’t even name for fear of breaking some kind of dam in his mind. Alfred is sixteen. 

Sixteen. 

Arthur wants to attribute all of this to his own frustration brought on by going just a little bit too long without sex. Which he wants to do with an adult. Not a sixteen year old.

Alfred suddenly opens the door and stands directly in front of Arthur. “Hey Arthur--”

“That’s Mr. Kirkland,” Arthur grinds out.

Alfred grins like the cat that got the canary. “How come you had to step out? The chlorine go to your head or something?”

Alfred has a towel draped around his broad shoulders and his goggles hung around his neck. He’s damp, but not dripping wet and Arthur can see his toned body very clearly--lean chest and strong thighs and god damn it. Damn it. 

Alfred gives him a sweet smile with half-lidded eyes before he places his cold hands on Arthur’s flushed cheeks and kisses him, eagerly, warmly, rather ineptly, just like the last time. His towel falls to the floor in the process.

Arthur melts for what surely is less than a second, but then snatches Alfred’s wrists and pushes him back. “Are you mad? What do you think you’re doing?””

Alfred frowns momentarily, but shakes it off and grins cheekily. “I dunno, teach, you’re kinda giving me mixed signals here, so I thought I’d try and do a close reading, like we talked about in class.”

“There are no mixed signals!” Arthur growls. “I am your teacher. Your are my student and a child with a bad crush. You need to work on directing that energy toward someone your own age, is that clear?”

Alfred picks up his towel and flings it over one shouler as he turns to head back into the pool. “Sure thing, Mr. Kirkland, I’ll work on that. You did kiss me back though.”

He’d fantasized about a lot of other things too: like Mr. Kirkland’s piercing green eyes and his sexy English accent and how he smiled when he praised Alfred for being a “smart lad.” Alfred’s brain is tireless and very creative and with not much else to do over the summer, he’d taken all his observations of Mr. Kirkland and spun them into detailed, elaborate, ah... hormonally-charged fantasies of having a very inappropriate relationship with the English teacher.

And now he’s in Mr. Kirkland’s... Arthur’s class. Again. When Alfred had thought he might never see the man again.

The same girls that had been so flustered by Arthur before seem to have settled down... or at least they aren’t giggling and whispering to each other.

But Alfred hasn’t settled down. If anything... oh fuck. He shifts in his seat and tries to tug the hem of his hoodie down over his lap. Yeah, he hasn’t settled down at all. If anything, his feelings have only gotten stronger.

“Alfred.”

He blinks, wondering if he heard Arthur’s voice only in his mind or not.

“Alfred Jones,” it’s more stern.

Alfred snaps out of his reverie only to see Arthur giving him a cross look to match his exasperated tone. “Uh. What? Sorry. What?” Alfred says, smacking himself internally. Great. Now Mr. Kirkland is going to think he’s slacker... or at least isn’t as smart of a lad as he’d given Alfred credit for.

“Would you care to share your inner musings or would you rather join the rest of us in the here and now?” There’s a little bit of humor in his voice.

Alfred still blushes bright red and sinks slightly into his chair. “No. I mean yeah. I’m good. I’m here. Sorry Mr. Kirkland,” he mumbles.

He manages to pay attention to most of the rest of the lecture.

As the bell rings and class is dismissed for lunch, Alfred realizes it’s pretty warm, it is only early September still, and his hoodie could have better use at the moment. He tugs it over his head and grabs his backpack and heads toward the door.

“Alfred.” Arthur’s voice stops him, it’s softer than before. “Stay back a moment please.” He’s standing behind his neatly organized desk. He has unbuttoned his fitted vest, it looks like he’s loosened his tie a little, and he is unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. “Christ, this room is a sweatbox,” he mutters.

Shit, Alfred really fucked up. He stops in front of the desk, clutching his hoodie and mentally pleading for any kind of divine mercy. “Um, listen. Mr. Kirkland, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out. Swim practice is really early and I didn’t sleep super good last night. I won’t zone out again, I promise.”

Arthur chuckles a little. “You’re sixteen, Alfred. Don’t make promises we both know you can’t keep. It’s alright. It happens, but you were so out of it there that it had me a little concerned.”

Alfred’s heart rate picks up.

Arthur rolls up his sleeves. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Alfred is most definitely not alright. He swallows around a lump in his throat, his gaze latched onto Mr. Kirkland’s forearms--both of which are embellished with extensive black ink. The tattoos, which Alfred’s mind can’t seem to resolve into actual images yet, extend over Arthur’s elbows and up under his sleeves. Fuck. Seriously? Fuck.

Arthur glances down and then winces self-consciously, mercifully misinterpreting Alfred’s stunned reaction. “Ah. Yes I know it’s not exactly typical to see an educator this heavily tattooed,” he says. “I try to keep them covered during school hours, but I didn’t realize this classroom would be so much warmer in the afternoon.”

Alfred manages to shake himself enough to smile. “Nah. I mean, yeah it’s not typical and all, but it’s nice to see some adults are actually cool.”

Arthur looks relieved. He laughs. “You make me sound old. I’m not really that much older than you.”

And Alfred is a hundred percent certain that Mr. Kirkland didn’t mean anything by that. It doesn’t stop his brain from doing what it had been doing all summer. 

“Alright, I’ve taken up enough of your lunchtime, go on.”

“Ha. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Kirkland,” Alfred’s mouth is dry. He leaves the room, stopping outside to breathe cooler air. On the one hand, Mr. Kirkland returning to the school to teach now seems like a lesson in being careful what you wish for... but on the other hand, Alfred thinks, there’d been something there... right? 

Alfred turns the conversation over and over in his mind as he walks down the hall and by the time he reaches the cafeteria, he’s convinced.