Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Code of Conduct

Loud voices and boisterous laughter fill the hallways of Bohemia Country Day School. Whether headed home, or out to cause juvenile mischief in the city of Prague, the school's students are escaping its confines for the day. In their haste to be free from boring lessons, the children have left disaster in their wake. Chairs are separated from desks, bags lay forgotten on the floor, and papers can be found in all manner of crevices.

With the source of the day’s chaos a mere memory, someone must begin to pick up the pieces. Thus, the school’s teachers will remain a while longer. Some of them set to work clearing the mess, struggling to reestablish order in their rooms; while others simply stare at the wall, struggling to reestablish order in their minds. Today though, one English teacher in particular is rushing to mark papers.

Henry Kovář is the teacher in question, Mr. Kovář, to his students. He’s of the forgetful sort, so—to no one’s surprise—it slipped his mind that he’d promised to post assignment scores today. Still, the assignment wasn’t an important one, realistically there’s no need to rush. His superiors wouldn’t bat an eye if he decided to leave the job for another day.

But alas, he’d made a promise—he really needs to stop using that word! So here he sits after work hours; doing his best to grade the students’ summaries quickly, but fairly.

In his haste, he almost misses it, but one student’s work seems very… distinct from the somewhat broken English of the rest.

The narrative of Lancelot and Galehaut offers a poignant meditation on the complexities of devotion, desire, and self-effacement within the chivalric tradition. Galehaut, initially cast as a formidable adversary to King Arthur, undergoes a profound transformation upon encountering Lancelot—his admiration evolving into a deep, arguably romantic, attachment that challenges the boundaries of friendship and loyalty. This tale destabilizes conventional archetypes of knightly virtue, suggesting that true nobility may lie not in conquest or courtly romance, but in the silent, selfless gestures of those who love without expectation. Through Galehaut’s quiet martyrdom, the legend deepens its emotional resonance, offering a rare portrait of love as both ennobling and tragic.

Henry sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. If they’re going to cheat, his students should at least do him the favor of cheating well. This kid hadn’t even bothered to remove the original text format! Odd formatting aside, the language of the paragraph is suspiciously high level. Even if the assignment were in Czech, there’s no way a 14 year old would ever write this.

To say he’s frustrated would be an understatement. All Henry had asked was for his students to write a simple, one paragraph summary on a short story they’d read in class. He’d even given them sentence starters! But no, even 15 minutes worth of work proved too heavy a sack for some to bear.

At the top of the document sits a semi-familiar name, Hyacinth Capon. Although he can recall the girl’s face, the new semester had only started 3 weeks prior. He doesn’t know much about any of his new charges, including this one. He had been hoping to avoid emailing parents this early; but unfortunately, the school keeps a strict policy on cheating.

With another deep sigh, Henry begrudgingly accepts the task of reporting the infraction. Both to administration… and to the parents.

Speaking with guardians is surprisingly similar in nature to walking through an active minefield. Choosing one wrong word, making even a single subjective statement, could cause a more protective parent to explode. In the presence of such danger, understanding the family’s situation is critical.

The printer at his desk roars to life. A cacophony of grinding, mechanical sounds indicate the machine’s intent to survive— well, at least long enough to finish its current job. Before long, Henry is in possession of a physical copy of the student’s ‘work’. Armed with the condemning print job, he sets out to find someone who already knows the cheater in question.

Most classrooms are dark as Henry makes his way down the hall. Anyone who hadn’t left their grading to the last minute is likely long gone by now. But, as fortune would have it, opening the door to the faculty room reveals two remaining staff. One of the two is Katherine Novak, a Czech teacher, and exactly who he’s looking for.

Katherine knows everything about everyone. Teachers, parents, and students alike, if they have something to hide, Katherine makes it her business to find it. She’s seated at a table on the far side of the room, back facing the wall, with her long dark hair tied in a neat braid down it. To the untrained eye, she’s hunched over reading, but Henry is acutely aware that he’s being watched as he makes his way towards her.

“Katherine, I have a question for you, if that’s alright?” he asks, gauging her willingness to assist in his quest. Placing her book down in front of her, she leans back in her chair to throw an inquisitive look in his direction.

Taking this as an invitation, Henry drops into the seat across from her. “I have to email this kid’s parents about cheating, but I don’t know the family.” he explains, sliding the print across the table. “Do you know anything about them?”

Katherine’s face twists as she looks over the paper. Though it’s an emotion Henry can’t quite name, it’s definitely not good.

“Oh.” she mutters. Then, in a tone that’s scarily sympathetic, “You’d better start praying.”

Henry huffs out a laugh at her chosen phrasing. “What, they’re that bad? Come on.” he jests, familiar with Katherine’s dry sense of humor.

“He.” she responds curtly. “He’s worse than that bad.”

Her steely expression tells Henry that she’s not joking, and even if she were, he’s no longer laughing. Luckily, the now concerned expression he wears seems to be all the prompting Katherine needs to elaborate further.

“Litigator.” She spits out, as if the word itself were poison. “Single father, mom is out of the picture, thinks his kid is God’s gift.”

Henry requires no further elaboration than this, he knows the type. Working in a haughty private school has often placed him in the line of fire from parents with axes to grind. Unfortunately for him, their treatment of teachers is typically all the worse when there’s been a divorce.

It’s then that the second woman present in the room decides to add her own words of advice. “Oh, are you guys talking about Capon’s dad? Good luck, he made poor Pavlena cry at a meeting last month.” she offers apologetically.

Henry’s throat suddenly feels very dry. Pavlena is one of the sweetest teachers in the whole school, an art teacher for crying out loud! She loves her students so much. If this man had found it in his twisted heart to bring that woman to tears, Henry stands zero chance at avoiding the same fate. Before he can completely lose himself in this unproductive train of thought, Katherine’s voice yanks him back to reality.

“I’d talk to Žižka before you send anything.” she advises, once again obscured behind her book. “We’re not supposed to contact that family without notifying admin.”

Nodding his head in solemn acceptance, Henry leaves Katherine to her book without another word.

Headmaster Žižka's office is on the far end of the building near the main entrance. Henry’s feet feel more like blocks of lead as he makes the trek. Eight years of teaching experience should provide confidence in speaking to any parent, but this one must really be the devil incarnate if Katherine hadn’t offered so much as a sarcastic quip.

The school’s front desk, along with its waiting area, are dark when Henry arrives. Past the desk, a faint light escapes underneath the door of Žižka’s private office. He needn’t pick the door’s lock, as two solid knocks are enough to prompt a response. “Enter.” the headmaster proclaims, his voice slightly muffled.

Henry opens the door, but remains respectfully in its frame rather than venturing further.

Žižka is currently on a phone call, seated at a pristine desk. If ever there were personal adornments, they’d long since been removed. The only hint of the man’s past—and present—life are the book cases behind him. Countless fencing awards cover the shelves. Some of them belong to Žižka, but most of the awards have been earned by the school’s fencing team. Each of the trophies is accompanied by a photograph featuring that year’s recruits.

Not missing a beat, the headmaster raises his index finger, indicating to Henry he’ll only be another moment. Promptly ending his phone call, he turns to face his visitor.

“Kovář. Need something?” he asks, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah...” Henry replies tentatively. “I have to email a parent, and some other teachers said I needed to notify you first.”

Žižka considers this for a moment, his face pensive. “Capon.” he grumbles, almost to himself. “Tell me, what’s the girl done this time?” he sighs.

So, Henry elaborates, producing the same paper he’d shown Katherine as evidence. Žižka examines the page at length, eyes unreadable, before speaking again.

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Kovář.” he says, seeming only slightly put out by the situation.

Henry takes another step forward, the office door slams shut. He could use any piece of advice on offer in his situation.

There's a distinct pause as Žižka allows the door to fully close. Then, without much ceremony, he declares, “Learn to pick your battles...it’s not worth going to war with that girl’s father over something like this.”

Wait, what?

This certainly wasn’t the sage wisdom Henry had expected, especially not from the man who wrote the cheating policy in the first place.

Suddenly, any fear Henry may or may not have felt of the evil parent is gone. This girl is not going to outright cheat in his class, and get a free pass from Žižka to do so. All the other students had done their work properly; if anything it would be unfair to those kids, they’d actually worked hard for their grades!

“Sorry Sir, but are you yanking my-“

Suddenly remembering where exactly he is, Henry selects a different word to complete that sentence.

“-chain?”

Better.

Žižka's unamused stare suggests the negative, which is unacceptable. “Sir, this is so clearly against the student code of conduct! If it were anyone else you’d have them serving detention for a week!” Henry protests.

Realizing his voice has grown much louder than he’d meant it to, he continues in a less accusatory tone. “I just mean… Why should this girl get special treatment? Just because of who her father is? It all seems very unfair…”

The headmaster spends an inordinate amount of time considering the argument. Henry can feel the man scanning his face.

“It is, of course, still your decision.” he finally responds. Then after another pause, “Though, if you do decide to pursue disciplinary action, please bcc me on the email.”

"Yes, Sir." Henry nods. Though as he turns to leave, his mind is already made up.

“And, Kovář…” Žižka adds,

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Henry marches back to his classroom with a newfound sense of purpose. If there’s anything he can’t stand it’s bullies, and this guy sure sounds like one. Whoever he is, he’s definitely used to threatening people into doing what he wants. No matter how much money someone has, they shouldn’t be able to get away with that.

This arsehole is about to get such an email.

Seated at his desk, armed with a keyboard, Henry starts drafting messages. After 30 minutes, he’s probably hit the delete key more often than any actual letters, but this needs to be perfect. He has to sound firm, but not scathing. Polite, but not too polite. Last but not least, he has to offer support for the student. This is entirely about her studies after all.

Finally, after 45 minutes, Henry arrives at a draft he’s at least okay with.

From: hkovář@bcdedu:lowersecondary.org
To: hanscapon@leipalegal&litigation.com
BCC: jžižka@bcdedu:administration.org
Subject: Issue with English assignment

Good afternoon Mr. Capon,

I hope this email finds you and your family well. My name is Mr. Kovář, I’m Hyacinth’s English teacher. Unfortunately, I am writing to inform you of an issue concerning Hyacinth’s scores. The most recent assignment she submitted (a paragraph reflection on a short story) was not her own work. The paragraph appears to have been copied and pasted from an AI generator. Because of this, I must give Hyacinth a 0 for the assignment, as is school policy.

Moving forward, I am more than willing to provide any additional support that Hyacinth may need to be successful. I’d also like to ask for your assistance in that matter. Sometimes students benefit from reminders to ask for help when they need it. I think if Hyacinth were reminded at home, as well as at school, it would really help her.

Thank you for your time and attention to this matter. Please let me know if there are any concerns, or if I can be of any other assistance.

Kindest regards,
Mr. Kovář
…

Moving in slow motion, Henry drags the cursor to the send button; the button’s color changes to gray, but the cursor remains stagnant, hovering. Aaaany time now, Henry…

With a quick depress of the trackpad, he pulls the trigger. The ever ominous 'message sent' indicator flashes, then disappears. May god have mercy on his soul.

His confidence fading with every passing second, the innate anxiety of email correspondence begins to consume Henry. What has he done? This parent is gonna kill him!

Alright, that might be a bit dramatic.

Henry allows himself one last re-read of his message—just to make sure he didn’t say anything too crazy—then sets about righting things in his classroom. Throwing out papers, collecting lost items… when suddenly, a chime from his laptop catches his attention.

No.

Turning his head slowly, the damning flash of the 'new message' symbol cannot be denied. It beckons Henry in a siren's call:

'come to me...the water is lovely...accept your fate.'

Like too many naive sailors before him, Henry begins the all-too-short walk towards the end of his ship's plank.

Step-by-step the distance from his desk grows shorter, until Henry stands entranced in the laptop’s hypnotic glow.

It’s fine, he tells himself, how bad could it be? This is nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. Repeating this mantra over and over in his head, Henry sits down; and with a trembling hand, relinquishes control to the mesmerizing voice.

From: hanscapon@leipalegal&litigation.com
To: hkovář@bcdedu:lowersecondary.org
CC: jžižka@bcdedu:administration.org, rkobyla@bcdedu:schoolboard.org, (+5 more)
Subject: RE: Issue with English assignment

Good afternoon Henry,

Although, my enjoyment of it has been in steady decline since receiving your missive. Well as yours may have found me, my hope is that this email leaves you in a decidedly different state.

In the event that you have read this far, and still remain as chipper as I had been prior to reading your aforementioned missive, please see the itemized list of complaints I have prepared below:

1 - Evidence (or lack thereof)

To my knowledge, I have yet to receive any tangible proof of the submitted paragraph’s authorship. Your claim that the work is AI generated is unfounded at best, and hearsay at worst. Unless you possess some divine knowledge into the cognition of generative AI models, to which us mere mortals are not yet privy, I’d hardly classify you as an expert in the field.

2 - Falsified statements by school staff

In the first sentence of your second paragraph, you state that you “…must give her a 0 for the assignment, as is school policy.” However, in reviewing the student code of conduct myself, I have found no such mention of the alleged policy. What I have found is a section which details proper procedure for the handling of academic dishonesty; and by extension, allegations of such conduct. The portion of the student code of conduct to which I have referred will hereinafter be referred to as the “Section”.

Before I continue, it is also worth noting that I’ve found no specific mention of generative AI within the Section; there are mentions of plagiarism from articles, websites, books, and even from other students, but not from generative AI software.

Even if the use of generative AI were considered under the Section—which it is not—and even if Hyacinth had broken any relevant regulations—a claim for which you have provided no evidence to support—the Section clearly states that the awarding of scores for offending assignments is done at the accusing teacher’s discretion. I.e., there is nothing that you must do in this situation, Henry.

In summation, I am very upset that my daughter has been wrongfully accused. I have discussed the matter with her myself, and she has adamantly denied your allegations. Hyacinth is not a cheater, and she is certainly not a liar. I deeply resent the fact that the esteemed staff at Bohemia Country Day seem to think otherwise.

That being said, I am not lacking in benevolence. Therefore, I will definitely not request that the school board relieve you from your teaching duties, under the condition that Hyacinth receives full credit for the assignment in question.

The proverbial ball is in your court, Henry. I eagerly await your response.

Sincerely yours,
Hans Capon

Executive partner,
Leipa Legal Associates®
…

Wow.

Holy shit, this guy is a prick.

A prick he may be, but this prick has influence. In other words, Henry’s life is over. He’s gonna lose his job, his apartment, his friends… then CPS will come for his dog! Why, oh why couldn’t he listen to his boss for once? Damn it, he always just has to play the hero!

Before Henry can even begin to fathom what an appropriate response to such vitriol might be, there’s another chime.

From: jžižka@bcdedu:administration.org
To: hkovář@bcdedu:lowersecondary.org, hanscapon@leipalegal&litigation.com
CC: rkobyla@bcdedu:schoolboard.org, (+4 more)
Subject: RE: RE: Issue with English assignment

Good afternoon all,

Mr. Capon, while I understand you are upset, I do not believe this to be appropriate communication with school faculty. Therefore, I would like to request that further discussion of this situation be conducted in person, under my supervision. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience to set up a meeting.

Best,
Jan Žižka

Lower Secondary Headmaster,
Bohemia Country Day School
…

No matter how ridiculous this is to say, considering some situations he's been in, Henry has never felt more relieved in his life. He’s not gonna lose custody of his dog! What was he even so scared for? He should’ve known Žižka would defend him. As emotionless as the man presents, he does seem to care about his—

Wait…

Henry’s eyes jump to the last sentence of Žižka’s email. ‘Please give me a call at your earliest convenience to set up a meeting.’

Does Žižka want him to attend this meeting?

‘in person, under my supervision’

Sakra, he definitely does! Henry’s relief has been extremely short-lived, as the innate anxiety of meetings quickly takes its place. It's one thing to send an email from the safety of his own classroom, but in a meeting there'd be no physical separation from this lunatic!

Henry realizes mid-descent that his leap from the ship yields only rocky waters below. The temptress called ‘righteousness’ claims another victim.

This parent really is gonna kill him…

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Maladaptive Behavior

Hans Capon is a very busy man. Why, just today he’s run multiple meetings with high profile clients, another with the law firm’s shareholders, and attended a press release for a heavily publicized case. The only glimmer of light in the day’s schedule is the spa appointment he’d booked for himself…

That he now has to CANCEL, because some insolent school teacher thought it a grand idea to waste his time!

Yes, that’s right. A school teacher.

More like scam artists, all of them. What kind of a workplace allows its staff to work only ten months out of the year, and still pays full salary? In Hans’ opinion, the school’s tuition is way too high on account of those ingrates. With the tuition, plus the firm’s donations that his uncle insists on, the amount he’s contributing should allow his daughter to do whatever she damn well pleases in that building!

Not that he thinks she’s guilty, of course…

Because sure, he’s only ever heard her speak English to order food at restaurants; and yeah, even he may have had some difficulty understanding a few of the words she’d written— but Hyacinth is a smart kid. She’d probably just picked it up on the internet or something.

Right?

That has to be the explanation, Hans concludes, because Cindy would never lie to him. His little girl is far too sweet, far too innocent, to ever even consider doing something like that.

Besides, he’s running one of the best criminal prosecution teams in this city—nay, this country—so if anyone knows how to question a witness, it’s him.

So actually, how dare this teacher! Accusing him, Hans Capon, of not knowing his own daughter!

Now, instead of leaving work early for a relaxing trip to the spa, he’s leaving because he has to put some vile, low-down, ill-bred, middle class little FUCKING PEASANT—

ahem…apologies.

—in his place.

God, he could use some stress relief.

Resigning himself to his fate, Hans dusts himself off, grabs his keys, and heads towards his car. Make no mistake though, he’s not going directly to the school. Oh, no. If he’s going to put on a show, he’ll need a few good props first.

The Capon’s flat is about as modest as a two story penthouse sitting right on the Vltava can be; which is to say, it isn’t. That’s perfect though, because right now Hans is in search of an outfit for his meeting with the school. Something that says…‘I made more money this afternoon than you will all year.’

The tan chinos, the tight ones, those are a good choice. With a brown belt. Also the dark blue shirt. Nothing under it. Yes, with just enough buttons undone to be considered disrespectful. Definitely not the Rolex, that’ll look like he’s trying to show off. The Cartier is a much better choice...

Analyzing himself in the mirror, Hans can tell something’s not quite right; and, in a moment of clarity, rolls his shirt sleeves up just past his elbows.

There. Now he’d fuck himself.

Donning his coat, and selecting the keys to the Ferrari, Narcissus valiantly tears himself away from the gorgeous man in the mirror.

Perhaps he'll be here waiting after the meeting.

The drive to the school is uneventful. It would be mind numbing, were it not for the fiery thoughts swirling through Hans’ head. Thoughts that he can not wait to voice at this meeting.

Once parked, he notices a small cafe across the street. He only has 5 minutes until the meeting, and how absolutely, wonderfully, hilarious would it be to show up late with a latte? He has to do it. As he crosses the street though, Hans becomes aware of something rather unfortunate, there’s a line.

Standing in line has never sat right with Hans. Even if his current goal is to waste time, he has people for that. But today, no doubt as recompense for having him suffer such indignity; fortune has favorably allowed him to stand behind the most scrumptious specimen of a man he’s ever laid eyes on…

And he’s laid a lot more than his eyes on a lot of men.

This particular man is very well built, slightly more so than Hans, much to his chagrin. But to his utter delight, the man is also about a centimeter shorter than he is. In other words, he's perfect.

Unlike Hans, his heaven-sent gift has seen fit to wear a sport coat today, it’s dark gray with a beautiful texture. Underneath, he wears a light gray, form-fitting sweater, with the collar of a—slightly unbuttoned—light blue dress shirt peeking out. To complete the ensemble, the man wears- jeans? Even still, every piece of clothing seems to be of very high quality; and, looking more closely, there also seem to be the beginnings of a tattoo sleeve around his left wrist, just above where his shirt cuff should rest.

Oh, Hans could swoon! This is clearly some hedge fund manager—or perhaps a tech CEO?—escaping a full schedule of meetings for a moment. No simple office lackey would dare dress in denim at work, and the luxury of the man’s clothes speaks to a sizable income. How quaint, Hans thinks, that the man hadn’t sent a secretary for coffee instead.

Not that he’d have minded seducing a cute little secretary, were this sinful body not available to him…

God, he could use some stress relief.

Quickly scanning his database of flirtatious tactics, Hans selects something he knows will work on any business executive with an ego, the pen routine.

While placing his order, Hans discreetly swipes a pen from the counter; and with this ordinary arrow in his quiver, proceeds towards the corner where his target awaits. Once close enough to take proper aim, Hans ‘drops’ the pen at the man’s feet with precision accuracy.

Moments go by, and the idiot clearly hasn’t noticed. He’s too busy checking his watch. Surely, his next meeting cannot be that important…

Time to switch to plan B.

“Oh, pardon me, I’m just sooo clumsy today!” Hans announces airily, while—very deliberately—bending over to retrieve his wayward arrow. Straightening himself out, Hans increases his personal scoreboard by one when he notices the man’s cheeks have become slightly flushed.

“It’s really alright!” the stranger responds, scratching the back of his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice, I would’ve just grabbed it for you.”

This is just the response Hans was hoping for, they’re always so predictable. He quickly lines up his next shot.

Draw back…

“Oh, really? You’d do that for me?” he lilts, batting his eyelashes a little to really sell the act.

Now the target’s face is becoming very flushed as he’s left stammering.

And release.

“Well then, I guess that makes you my knight in shining armor!” Hans coos, accenting his flattery with a bubbly giggle.

As he walks his fingers up that lovely grey sweater, Hans swears its wearer is drooling.

Bullseye.

With very fortunate timing, Hans’ order number is called first. In a rehearsed set of heavily seductive motions, he grabs the man’s arm, pushes his sleeve up, uncaps the pen with his mouth, writes his phone number on an un-inked portion of inner wrist, then turns to collect his drink.

It’s a divine miracle that Hans’ noble arse remains unmarred by the heat of the man’s gaze.

Now for the kill shot.

On his way out, Hans makes one last detour to sidle up to his prey, “Call me.” he whispers breathily. With that, and a final wink in the man’s direction, he makes his exit.

The ensuing walk to the school is short, but Hans uses what time he has to imagine how his erotic performance has affected his beautiful stranger. The poor bastard is probably still hot to the touch!

If he’d judged the man’s station properly, Hans would surely get to ride his little act to completion later that night. These finance types would sell their own souls if it meant getting a chance at the dumb blonde…

Large double doors enter Hans’ view far too quickly, and entering them takes a pail of cold water to his good mood. The school is exactly as Hans remembers it. Not only from the seemingly endless meetings with his daughter’s teachers, but from his own secondary school experience. There’s been an addition to the lower school since then, but the walk to the headmaster’s office is practically muscle memory. Greeting the building secretary with a faux warm smile, Hans breezes by on his way to join the meeting, a perfect 10 minutes behind schedule.

“Um.. excuse me- Sir?”

Hans stops dead in his tracks, turning to shoot a now icy glare towards the offending secretary. Unfortunately, this does not prevent her from continuing to speak. “Um, my apologies, but Mr. Kovář isn’t here yet, Sir…”

Hans does nothing but stare back at the woman, blinking rapidly in utter shock.

“The headmaster- um- told me to have everyone wait here until all meeting participants are present.” she concludes.

And so, Hans wanders dumbfounded over to the waiting area. In his mind he’s screaming, kicking furniture, and shouting all manner of profanities. But on the outside, he sits quietly, seething. Who the hell does this guy think he is? As if the cheating allegation wasn’t enough, now he’s over ten minutes late to their meeting! It’s one thing for Hans to be fashionably late, but it is quite another for this yokel to show up well past the scheduled start time, to a meeting in his own place of work!

This is probably one of those old, decrepit, half-senile teachers.

Hans snickers to himself at the thought. That was always his least favorite type of teacher. Stuck in their ridiculous ways, unwilling to hear reason. That would explain the man’s clear issue with AI, too. He should just retire already, if he has such a problem with students using their resources.

After four whole minutes, just as Hans is sure the old geezer had forgotten the meeting entirely, a shadow appears in the entryway. This must be the teacher in question.

Hans looks up, about to give the idiot a piece of his mind, but the words shrivel and die on his tongue when the man steps into full view.

No.

This cannot be happening…

Oh, but it’s happening.

Fortune certainly does not favor Hans today, because the man in the doorway is the very same one he’d just been throwing himself at like a cheap whore!

Okay, he needs to calm down. It might not be that bad. Maybe he’s not here for a meeting, maybe this is just some other really odd coinci-

“Ah, Mr. Kovář! I see you’ve finally graced us with your presence.” the headmaster’s voice booms from his office.

“I’m so sorry— I got sidetracked!” the beautiful no-longer-stranger calls in response.

Hans watches in horror as Henry fucking Kovář apparently, enters the adjoining room. He hadn't seen Hans in the waiting area, maybe there’s still time to run awa-

“Mr. Capon, will you be joining us today?”

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!!!

No way out of it now.

God’s wounds, this is going to be a nightmare.

The two men already present in the room are seated at the same side of the meeting table. Kovář is facing away from the door, incessantly fiddling with the lid on his cup. When the headmaster turns to greet Hans, his subordinate turns further away, shrinking into his seat. With a deep breath, Hans bravely elects to sit on the opposite side of Headmaster Žižka. From here he won’t have to face humiliation head on, but he’s still able to deliver a devastating side-eye.

At first, Kovář keeps his eyes downcast; but when he finally meets Hans’ gaze, there’s a distinct shift in his posture. He sits up straight, setting his cup on the table. Then, ever so slowly, he leans forward— narrowing his eyes as the corners of his mouth begin to creep upwards. He's smirking.

Oblivious to the swords being drawn on either end of his table, Žižka attempts to begin what's sure to be a very mature meeting.

“Now that everyone is finally present, we may begin our discussion.” he announces, glaring at his employee in silent accusation.

“Whatever.” Hans mutters indignantly, crossing his arms. “I don’t understand why I had to come all the way here for this. This whole ordeal is a waste of my time!”

Unexpectedly, Kovář is the next one to speak. “You know, I’m inclined to agree with Capon on this one, Žižka.” he states plainly.

Before Hans has time to be shocked by the unlikely support; this cheeky little fucker looks him dead in the eyes, and has the nerve, has the absolute gall, to add,

“Especially when I could’ve just… called you.”

The last two words are an obvious mockery of the ditzy voice Hans had used at the coffee shop, and for once in his life, the Hans Capon has absolutely no response. However, that quickly changes once he eyes the shit-eating grin now plastered across Kovář’s face.

Blinded by pure rage, Hans loses any shred of honor he may have had left when he stands up, looks pointedly at Kovář, and blurts out,

“Oh, PLEASE. I know you wanted me!”

Žižka’s look of utter disbelief is the only thing that snaps Hans out of his tantrum. The headmaster’s eyes are wide, his expression akin to someone witnessing their village burn to the ground in real-time.

Hans promptly chooses to sit back down.

Kovář isn’t done though, and he’s chosen his next words carefully. “I’m sorry Sir, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Why, we’ve only just met today.” he croons in a voice that’s irritatingly calm. “You must be confusing me with some other…gallant knight.”

Oh, now Hans is seeing red, and it isn’t just the tint to his cheeks.

“You know what? You can just SHUT UP, and go RIGHT TO HELL!” he screams, the obvious provocation from his opponent taking its desired effect. “How DARE you mock me- when my firm’s donations to this school pay your salary!”

He’s already dug himself into a very deep hole, but the smug look on this teacher’s face has yet to be thoroughly wiped. “As far as I’m concerned, you work for me- and if you intend to keep this job, you’d better learn some respect, servant-boy!”

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, and he knows he’s crossed the line when the headmaster raises a hand to block further assault on his man-at-arms. “Gentlemen, I’m going to take this opportunity to redirect conversation to the topic at hand, which is Hyacinth’s score.” the man discreetly scolds.

Sword abruptly plucked from his grasp, it seems Hans is the one who will be shutting up at this juncture.

“Now… as I understand it, Mr. Kovář believes Hyacinth to have submitted AI writing as her own. Is that correct?” the headmaster asks, clearly already knowing the answer. When the teacher nods in agreement, he continues, “And Mr. Capon, you’re saying that the writing actually is Hyacinth’s own work?”

Hans scoffs at this question, “Yes, of course it is!” he spits, with as much vitriol as he can manage.

“Right. And neither you, Hans- nor you, Henry, will budge on this matter?”

The children in question talk over each other, desperate to make their lack of flexibility crystal clear.

“No-“
“Absolutely not!”

Žižka huffs, “Alright then. Seeing as you two lack decorum enough to discuss a compromise, I've come up with a solution myself.”

This statement draws the undivided attention of both Hans, and Henry, who are now eagerly awaiting the headmaster’s verdict.

“Hyacinth may simply re-write her summary.”

Hans is more than pleased with this outcome. Finally, someone with common sens-

“Here. Right now. With pencil and paper.”

Oh fuck.

“If her work today is of similar style to that of the original, then we can drop the matter entirely.”

Hans has a gut feeling that he needs to stop this from happening. It’s just unfair, that’s all!

“Oh, and I’m sure Henry, here, will be determining their level of similarity? Yeah, that seems really fai-”

The unfolding tirade is suddenly cut short by Henry himself. His tone is as sarcastic as it can get while maintaining plausible deniability in front of his boss. “What’s the problem? Are you doubting your own child, Sir?”

All Hans can do is gape at the sheer insolence of this man! But, he will admit, he’s been cornered.

“Fine…” he mutters quietly. “But I want Headmaster Žižka to make the final decision.”

Cornered as he may be, there is absolutely no way he’ll allow Henry to make that call. Not when the man has just spent the entire meeting proving himself to be of a vengeful sort.

“I do understand your hesitation, Mr. Capon, so I’ll gladly judge Hyacinth’s work.” Žižka answers, his tone back to its usual levelness.

Hans would be grateful for the small victory, if he hadn’t noticed the sly grin, just dripping with satisfaction, on Henry’s face. Christ, it’s like this guy wants his students to fail!

The smug expression reignites the flames of anger within Hans, though he dares not take further action to quench them. As Žižka makes the phone call to Hyacinth’s classroom, the flames grow stronger, and hotter. He hates Henry. More so than anyone he’s ever hated in his entire life!

No sense of chivalry, not an ounce of respect for his superiors— clearly the Kovářs hadn’t raised their son properly.

Some knight he turned out to be.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Follow the Example

The corporate ring of a classroom phone is unmistakable. It’s a sound permanently etched in the brains of anyone who’s served the student’s sentence. For most children, the sound is a mild disturbance; but for the troublemakers, an actively ringing phone is Schrödinger's punishment. To categorize a student into one of these groups, one must simply observe them whilst their teacher takes a call.

For example, a young girl in this very classroom has ceased any semblance of work with the phone’s first ring. She’s currently poised on the edge of her seat, worrying strands of blonde hair through freshly manicured fingers. Fear not, she isn’t chewing gum; the object in her mouth is actually a locket, secured to her neck by a gold chain. When her teacher glances towards the class, her silvery blue eyes dart to focus on anything else deemed socially acceptable.

Yes, she’s clearly listening intently— hoping for details she can use.

“Hello?….Yes, this is Ms. Novak… M-hm…Yes, she’s here… Alright, I’ll send her down right away…”

An audible click begins judgement day, the girl’s time in purgatory is up. Her teacher’s voice brings the ruling with the loud bang of a gavel.

“Hyacinth?”

The spit-covered necklace falls from the girl's mouth in dramatic slow motion— her fate has been sealed.

Refusing to go quietly, she turns to address her teacher with a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her face.

“Yes, Kathy?”

There's a collective gasp from the other students as their teacher’s eyes narrow into a glare, “I’d advise you not to push me today…you’re already wanted in the office.”

“Ooooooo…”

Ignoring the theatrics of her classmates, Hyacinth stands up to leave. But not before straightening out her uniform. Her skirt needs to be smoothed of course, and her tie adjusted, oh and her blazer doesn’t look quite right— is it a different shade of navy from her skirt?

“Some time this week, Miss Capon.” Ms. Novak chides.

Hyacinth huffs, rolling her eyes in response. “Oh my gooood, I’m already going!” she gripes.

Stomping her feet as loud as she can, Hyacinth finally makes her way out the door.

Usually, the walk to the school’s main office provides something valuable— time. Time is a critical tool for the effective spinning of yarns, but it just so happens that today, Hyacinth has no earthly clue which mess she’s about to talk her way out of.

Is it because of the Semine girl? No, that was over a week ago— and it’s not like she’d said anything that wasn’t true!

Had she skipped a class and forgotten about it? No, the last time she'd done that was art last month.

Maybe a dress code violation? She had rolled the waistband of her skirt twice that morning…

Alas, her time is up. The school secretary is waiting in the hallway.

“Good afternoon!” Hyacinth calls, putting on her brightest smile.

The secretary answers with a smile of similar sincerity. “Lovely to see you again, Hyacinth. Come inside please, Headmaster Žižka is waiting for you.” she instructs, the falseness of her professional tone palpable.

Bitch.

The office looks the same as it always does, save for a solitary student desk in the waiting area. No time to wonder about that though, the headmaster seems to be speaking to her.

“—person I was looking for.”

After piecing together the rest of that sentence, the person in question attempts to smother a sarcastic comment.

“You did ask to see me, didn’t you?”

Failure.

If Headmaster Žižka notices the sarcasm lacing her greeting, he politely ignores it. “That I did.” he admits, “You see, there’s a problem with an assignment you submitted to Mr. Kovář.”

Realization hits Hyacinth harder than a heavy sack of flour she’d left teetering on a precipice. There’s only one assignment he could be talking about, and AI had done it for her. But how did anyone even find out? It’s impossible to prove if something was written by AI! She’s searched it up, and that convenient summary at the top of the results had said so!

Besides, her teachers shouldn’t assign so much homework if they don’t want her resorting to such means. That assignment was taking way too long! Continuing her work would’ve caused her to miss the critical 23:01-23:09 window she’d had to escape her flat that night. So if anything, this is actually her father’s fault...

The tyrant may as well hang ‘no boys allowed’ signs from their windows!

Anyway, the assignment she’d blown off had been to write about some stupid story they’d read in class. She can barely remember any details now…definitely not because she’d been asleep the entire time!

It would be as good as signing a confession to let on that she knows which assignment is the problem. She just needs to act natural.

“What? Which assignment?” she asks, keeping as neutral an expression as is possible for a 14 year old.

Headmaster Žižka remains stone-faced as he speaks. “You’d written a summary of The Tale of Two Knights…” he states calmly.

There’s an intentional pause following his first sentence, which Hyacinth recognizes as an attempt to gauge her reaction. Refusing to give him what he wants, she waits for him to do the talking.

“The problem with your work, Hyacinth,” he finally continues, “is that you didn’t fully answer the prompts.”

That’s bullshit, and Hyacinth knows it. Mr. Kovář would’ve just handled the issue himself, were that actually his damage.

“Oh, I thought I did. What were the questions again?” she asks innocently.

The headmaster sighs, “You had to provide a short summary, and say whether or not you liked the story. Mr. Kovář has agreed to let you rewrite the assignment now, if you’d like.” he explains.

Hyacinth’s stomach drops. The trap has been set, and she has no choice but to walk right into it. “Yeah, I guess I can do that.” she mutters in defeat.

“Glad to hear it!” The headmaster responds jovially, “You can work at that desk right over there. Just hand your paper to Mrs. Apel when you’re done.”

Once the headmaster returns to his office, Hyacinth takes stock of her tools. The small desk is equipped with lined paper, a printed page with a prompt, and a pencil. Huffing the very stylish curtain bangs out of her face, she begins her attempt to remember anything at all about the story.

With six arduous minutes spent recalling relevant plot points, Hyacinth compiles two relevant pieces of information on The Tale of Two Knights:

1- It's about knights

2- There are two of them

Their names probably don't even matter...

What does matter, is remembering what knights actually did. History has never been one of Hyacinth's strong suits, but she knows Knights were like, in the army, or something…so maybe they were fighting about a war? Good enough. Now she'll just have to come up with an argument, then try to write it in English. Fuck, her original submission was probably really wordy. She’ll have to use the most advanced vocabulary she knows to get this piece to sound similar...

Oh!

All is not lost! She'd recently attended a fancy business party with her dad, and he’d been talking to some British man for like, the whole night. The way they spoke seemed intense enough to be about war, especially the part she’d overheard from an adjacent corridor. Hyacinth had only understood some of the discussion, but it was something about someone's company, and something else about a brand? Probably work related. She can just throw some of their conversation into her summary!

Being a knight was a job, right?

She'll just add some dramatic flair here...and there...ooooo maybe that one song lyric here...aaaaand done!

Mr. Kovář will love this!

Triumphantly slapping her masterpiece down on Mrs. Apel's desk, Hyacinth heads to the last period of the day, phys ed. They’ll be starting their fencing unit today, something Hyacinth already excels at. She is the best épée fencer on the school’s team, after all.

As she meanders down the hall, Hyacinth is busy envisioning her ideal phys ed class— and whether she’s absent-mindedly wielding an invisible weapon while doing so is neither here nor there.

Her teacher will probably let her do some demonstrations first, and if she’s lucky some of the other students will be allowed to challenge her. Hyacinth lives for destroying overzealous competit—

FUCK, that’s a wall!

On her arrival to the gymnasium, the fact that her teacher has selected sabre swords can only slightly dampen her mood. No problem, Hyacinth thinks. She’ll annihilate these morons even without her preferred weapon.

It turns out the young girl must either be a prophet, or just very lucky, because the teacher does ask for her help running demos. Following a very dry demonstration of form, the woman requests volunteers to demonstrate sparring. Right away, the hands of two boys shoot up.

Hyacinth's first challenger, Marek, has taken at least three fencing lessons in his life. He keeps his stance wide, but his movements are slow and clumsy. It takes mere seconds to defeat him, a light touch to his mask ends their bout. Although, this mode of victory does earn Hyacinth a look of disapproval from her teacher.

In contrast, the second contestant has no formal training. Adam is just a rugby player who thinks he can power his way through anything. This contest is even shorter than the last, though the boy running directly into the path of her blade isn’t as satisfactory. Luckily though, a bit of satisfaction is salvaged from the dazed look in his eyes as he rejoins the group.

Their teacher seems amused as she addresses the class, “I’m sure you all see now that this is more difficult than it looks, but would anyone else like to try before we move forward?”

There are no hands this time, but just when their teacher is about to move on, there’s a verbal acceptance of the challenge. The unknown voice echoes through the quiet gym,

“I’ll take a whack at it!”

Turning to face her challenger, Hyacinth is met with a competitive glare from a set of wide, brown eyes. She almost misses the girl’s fiery stare, as her face is somewhat obscured by an unruly mop of dark curls.

“Ah, Gia!” their teacher supplies. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t pass up a contest.”

Hyacinth watches the girl’s face shift to a determined grin; the annoyance of which is only accented by her thick brows, which seem to betray her every emotion.

An odd name, 'Gia', Hyacinth thinks. But where has she heard it before? With a few moments spent racking her brain for gossip, the pieces of this oh-so tragic puzzle fall into place.

Gia is short for Gianna— this is that scholarship girl.

Hyacinth’s friends had warned her about this particular thorn in their sides. Apparently the girl is very impolite, and doesn’t take kindly to being told as much.

As Gia-nah walks over to collect a mask from their teacher, Hyacinth sizes-up her competition. The girl looks relatively strong, likely from playing some unrelated sport. She’ll at least be able to hold her sword, but will she be able to wield it? Likely not.

The girls take their respective sides, and the contest begins. Hyacinth advances immediately, determined to end this quickly; but to her dismay, Gia is able to to twist her body in such a way that she evades the weapon entirely!

Alright, so she’s fast. Fine.

Taking a different approach, Hyacinth remains on defense. Not a method usually suited to sabre, but it should only be a matter of time before this girl slips up.

Wait— what the fuck is she doing?

Gia’s strategy—if one can call it that—is unconventional, and shows lack of training. However, this is exactly what’s giving her the upper hand at the moment— she’s unpredictable. Hyacinth can easily guess the next five steps of an experienced swordsman, but this girl’s motions are completely erratic!

Her bizarre attacks, plus her inhuman ability to dodge, make Gia irritating to deal with. So much so, that in an uncalculated moment of frustration, Hyacinth knocks her competitor’s weapon to the ground, and aggressively lunges for a chest touch. In what feels like a blur, Gia jumps out of the way, drops to the ground in a forward roll, grabs her lost weapon, and slashes Hyacinth in the knees.

The other students in the class are cheering, their teacher is clapping, and there’s currently steam escaping from Hyacinth’s ears. Once the teacher leaves to begin positioning other students for sparring, Gia removes her mask, and turns back towards her partner.

“Not as good as you thought, huh?” she sneers.

Somewhat taken aback by the aggressive tone, Hyacinth scoffs as she removes her own facial covering. “You didn’t even actually win you know.” she states in indignation.

Mop-head’s brows are now raised in amusement. “Well, it sure seemed like my sword touched you first.” the girl asserts.

Usually, the ensuing comments from the peanut gallery—concerning whose sword had touched whose mother the prior evening—would have reduced Hyacinth to riotous laughter. But not today.

Today, this feral cleaning tool needs to be taught some fencing etiquette.

“Yeah, off-target, genius!” Hyacinth whisper-shouts, careful to avoid drawing their teacher’s attention. When Gia only looks back at her in confusion, she takes the liberty of specifying.

“Sabre is a duel to the death.” she explains. “Last time I checked, a scraped knee needs a band-aid, not a hospital.”

Feeling pleased with herself, Hyacinth is not expecting the next comment.

“Well, you can’t stand with no knees.” Gia retorts. “And in a real fight, once you fell I’d just brutally stab you to death.” she states with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You know who else got brutally stab-“

“That is NOT how it works!” Hyacinth shouts, rudely interrupting her nameless classmate. “Even if you didn’t cross your legs doing whatever that was, you still wouldn’t win!”

The dismissive laugh from Gia is absolutely infuriating, but the sentence that follows is even worse. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you win. Christ…” she surrenders, extending her hand.

“I only shake hands with real competition.” Hyacinth responds coolly.

Gia’s expression shifts to one of contempt as she retracts her offer of sportsmanship. “Well I actually just remembered that I don’t shake hands with sore losers! Guess we’re not so different.”

Hyacinth responds with a single cold laugh, “You wanna know what the real difference between us is?” she spits.

“Is it that I have class, and you don’t?” Gia quickly interjects, and she doesn’t wait for an answer before taking another guess. “Is it maybe… that I can fence and you can’t?”

Hyacinth can practically feel her blood boiling at that comment. “I swear. To God-“ she starts through clenched teeth.

“Oh, now I get it! It must be that I’m not a spoiled little brat!”

Aaaand that’s when said spoiled brat drops her second mask.

“Get absolutely FUCKED!” Hyacinth shouts, throwing her weapon down in frustration. “You can just die jealous of me cause your family’s broke as sh-“

“HYACINTH!” Their teacher screams in shock, abandoning her post. “I should get your coach on the phone RIGHT NOW and tell him what you just did!”

“But-”

“No, you know what? I don’t even wanna hear it. Just go sit out for the rest of class.”

Sitting on the sidelines gives Hyacinth plenty of time to stew. What she’d ever done to invoke Gia’s wrath is a mystery to her, but this girl is so going down. Just looking at Gia is pissing her off. With her idiotic hair, and stupid eyebrows.

She has no idea who the fuck she just pissed off.

When school is finally dismissed, Hyacinth collects her belongings in silence. For once, she’s not in the mood to hear the day’s gossip from her friends. All she wants at the moment is to go home, and forget today ever happened.

The world is ever cruel to her though, and in some sick joke, she’s unable to find her driver’s vehicle. As Hyacinth wanders the school grounds in a second search, she does find something. It’s not what she’s looking for, but it’s something.

At a far distance, she thinks she recognizes her dad’s Ferrari. At a closer distance, she’s sure she recognizes it.

This raises two questions:

1- What is he doing here? He usually only drops her off in the morning, he never leaves work until at least 17:00.

2- Why did he bring that car? The Ferrari doesn’t leave storage for just any reason, and there’s no way he’d risk someone scratching it at dismissal. Sometimes she swears he loves that car more than her…

Opening the passenger door provides an answer to at least the first question. In his hand, her father is holding an all-too-familiar piece of paper.

“Hello, Hyacinth.” he states dryly.

The use of her government name does not bode well. Thinking on her feet, Hyacinth pulls her get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Hi, Daddy!” she tries cheerily.

The endearment doesn’t have its usual effect, her greeting gets no acknowledgement, and there’s a long pause before her father says anything else.

“Tell me…does this story sound familiar to you?” he asks in a tone that’s more than slightly concerning. “It’s my new personal favorite, and I thought it only right to read it aloud.”

Hyacinth shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She’s not totally sure what she’d written, but how bad could it really have been? It’s probably just filled with spelling errors or something.

What she isn’t expecting though, is for her father to correct those errors, and translate the piece to Czech; and once Hyacinth can fully understand what she'd written... well, she needs to die, actually.

CLEARLY she’d made a horrible error in her transcription…

“In class we read a story. I like the story because it has a lot of drama. It is about two men, their names are… Lorenzo and Greg.”

Her father pauses briefly to stare at her in bewilderment.

“Lorenzo…
and

GREG???”

He allows another moment to pass, shaking his head absently before continuing.

“Lorenzo and Greg are in the army, so one day they went to a meeting about a war. Lorenzo wants to start the war, so he said,

‘This gala is tedious, but your company has been a dream. Let’s meet later this evening so we may get better acquainted’.”

Oh Lana’s wounds…

As innocent as Hyacinth often pretends to be, she has an idea where this is going. Left completely defenseless to humiliation, all she can do is beg God's forgiveness as the story progresses.

“Greg has a fear of war and of killing people, he was mad at what Lorenzo said. He was so mad that he shouted,

‘Certainly. I am confident the evening will be pleasurable, given your

LEVEL OF EXPERIENCE’.”

While her father pauses dramatically, it seems both deities have forsaken Hyacinth. Neither a stray lighting bolt, nor the comforting angst of a depressing tune arrives to rescue her from continued torment.

“Lorenzo was not happy about his friend’s yelling, so he shouted at him,

‘Is that a wedding band on your finger?’

So Greg shouted,

‘Don’t worry, you are so much more…radishing’.”

Seemingly able to sense Hyacinth's despair at the story’s adulterous climax, her father offers some words of little comfort. “Oh don’t worry, it’s almost over.” he quips, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Rather depressing ending though, I thought.”

“Lorenzo and Greg are enemies now. They are never ever getting back together.

Like, ever.

Lorenzo was sad his friend was mean to him, and Greg was sad because he has to kill people…


The
end.”

After a moment of silence to commemorate his daughter, her father continues his snide remarks.

“I feel quite sorry for Greg, actually.” he states in mock sincerity,

“All that, and Lorenzo still only sees him as a friend? Chivalry must truly be dead.”

If the car were moving, Hyacinth would seriously consider jumping out of it. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot sink far enough into her seat to escape the impending lecture.

“Damn it, Hyacinth— you should be taking this class seriously! It’s very important that your English is at least passable!” her dad scolds.

“Then why’d you make me take Latin for so long?” she fires back, not knowing when to quit.

Her father stares at her blankly before offering his own retort. “The root words, Hyacinth. The root words!”

This time the girl knows to keep quiet. The presence of an angry parent is far too strong for any teenager to contest.

“I’m honestly just shocked at this behavior, SHOCKED. You lied to me, and I defended you!” her dad admonishes, and the pain in his eyes is almost enough to make Hyacinth feel bad about it.

“And as if the plagiarism wasn’t enough, then you go and write this mess!” he continues, dropping the paper in her lap. “I looked like a bloody moron in that meeting! Your teacher had to take a walk when he read this just to avoid laughing in my face!”

Hyacinth can just picture that happening, Mr. Kovář does have a sense of humor, she’ll give him that. It’s a good thing she manages to stifle her own laughter at imagining the situation, because her dad isn’t through with his yapping.

“I don’t even know how or why you know these words… you better tell me which streaming service you got this depravity from right now, because I’m cancelling it! A young lady has no business consuming such filth!”

Were there a ring light in Hyacinth's brain, that comment would surely have caused it to glow.

RIP Mr. Kovář.

In a fraction of a second, Hyacinth adopts a new mask— one that's proven to aid in coercion. She allows her face to sink, her lower lip to quiver, and her voice to break.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve been watching shows in English to try and practice, but I- I still can’t understand them! And the subtitles are too fast for me to read…”

And cue the tears,

“I just… didn’t want to disappoint you!”

Her plea hangs in what would be silence, were it not for the sound of her disingenuous sobbing. It’s convincing enough though, as her father’s face instantly softens.

Success.

“Oh, Cindy...you know you could never disappoint me.” he reassures, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I just- well, languages are hard for me… and this teacher just really doesn’t like me!” Hyacinth cries.

She watches closely as any softness in her dad’s expression evaporates, “What?” he asks sharply.

“He’s out to get me, Daddy…” she adds, using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “If a bunch of kids are doing something wrong, he only yells at me; and I always get the worst scores, even if my friends’ work is the same as mine!”

Her father tries to keep his face neutral, but as a practiced observer, Hyacinth picks up on the spark of anger behind his eyes. With a single lit arrow, she should be able to coax that spark to a blaze.

“I know how important this class is…” she continues, “and I didn’t want to get another bad score…I just knew my work would never be good enough!” she chokes out through manufactured sniffles.

“Cindy, that is not true…” her dad soothes, “He’s the only problem if he thinks that!”

When Hyacinth only continues to cry, her father sighs. “See? This is why you shouldn’t keep things from me.” he states, struggling to keep his voice calm. “It’s my job to protect you, but for me to do that you have to tell me what’s going on. We could’ve dealt with this problem a lot sooner.”

“I know, Daddy, and I’ll never hide anything from you again…” Hyacinth starts.

Now for the kill shot.

“I just…really wanted you to be proud of me.”

Her father’s face falls. The hand on her shoulder moves to lovingly tousle her hair. “I am proud of you, Cindy. So very proud!” he desperately assures.

“Really? Of me?” she asks weakly, batting her eyelashes to really sell the act.

“Of course I am... I’m so sorry I got cross with you.” he offers quietly.

Hyacinth allows a few moments pass to compose herself before looking up at her dad with a small, wide-eyed smile. When she does, the sorrowful eyes of broken resolve meet her own. There's another emotion there, too; but even with her level of experience, Hyacinth can't identify it.

“You know what? Which period is your English class tomorrow?" her father asks. "I have a fun idea.”

As they pull away from the school, Hyacinth can breathe a sigh of relief. Her phone privileges are safe!

Though, she really doesn't know why she'd been so worried...

He’s always so predictable.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Prior Written Notice

When asked which class is their best, most teachers will tell you they don’t pick favorites.

That is a filthy lie.

All teachers have a favorite group to work with. One in which all the students get along, they mesh well with that teacher’s personality, and they may even be able to handle a joke or two.

The group currently seated in Henry’s classroom though, is the exact opposite of his best. For in the morally dubious selection of favorites, a least-favorite must also be crowned. This class, the ‘anti-class’, is a group capable of pushing ill-prepared educators to quit their jobs.

At this moment though, Henry has managed the impossible. Every single student in the anti-class is actually working— silently. He must be very careful not to disturb this peace. Even the slightest strange sound, even the smallest stray movement, can set them off.

*knock-knock-knock*

Henry sighs at the immediate eruption of voices, each vying for dominance. The silence is always nice while it lasts.

“Mr. Kovář, someone’s at the do-”
“Someone’s at the door!!!”
“IT’S DIDDY!”
“Can I answer the door???”
“Mr. Kovář, Mr. Kovář, what would you do if you opened the door and it was my grandma?”
“Shut UP Adam!”

Luckily, an annoyed adult’s voice easily overshadows the drone of teenage chatter. “ALRIGHT! THAT’S ENOUGH!” Henry shouts. “Have none of you had visitors before? Gia, go answer the door, please; and Adam…if it’s your grandma I’ll cancel next week’s test.”

This earns a chuckle from some of the students, but Adam is fresh out of luck. With a turn of the knob, the door swings open, nearly hitting Gia in the face. “HEY!” she shouts in surprise, still holding the door open.

The now open doorway does not reveal an elderly woman, but a certain bombastic blonde child. She uses one hand to sip her drink in disinterest, and the other to present Gia with an open palm. Breezing past her doorwoman, the blonde reaches into the pocket of her blazer and produces an envelope.

“I’m not late, I have a note!” she decrees.

As she crosses the room, the girl stops to twirl dramatically in the center. Her hair looks different, it’s been expertly straightened, only to be re-curled into ‘beach waves’. Her theatrics garner ooos and ahhs from the other girls, but allow Henry to see that her shoes are not the regulation loafers. They’re heeled boots, with what he considers to be garishly red soles. Wobbling only slightly, she completes her journey across the room to deliver her note to Henry.

The envelope bears his name, not the respectful ‘Mr. Kovář’, but simply ‘Henry’ in looping cursive letters. Breaking the pretentious wax seal, he’s assaulted with the scent of an expensive cologne emanating from the hand-written letter.

My Dearest Henry,

Though the thought of disrupting your day kept me up at night, I simply had to extend Hyacinth’s doctor’s appointment this morning. I sure hope you understand. The appointment has definitely been in my calendar for months, and certainly did not include various other stops on Pařížská Street, so I’d be most appreciative if you could simply mark my daughter as present. For the FULL day.

I do understand that my request goes against school policy, but since you already seem to enjoy singling students out, I figured you wouldn’t mind making an exception once more. After today though, my daughter shall never encounter such treatment again.

Of course, I couldn’t blame you if you did choose to mark her late. I mean, were I to find myself in your shoes, I too would become rather desperate to see me again. Since I have a real job I’m usually rather busy during the day, but you know me; I’ll always make time for a supervised, in-person date with my favorite servant.

XOXO,
H.C.

There’s no time to accurately measure the amount of audacity this man must have, as loud squealing pulls Henry’s attention away from the note. Hyacinth is not in her seat. Instead, she’s holding court in the back of the classroom.

“Cindy, I love that bag!” another girl gushes.

“Thanks, it’s Prada.” Hyacinth preens in response.

Henry has seen a lot of things at this job, but this is some of the most permissive parenting he’s ever witnessed. In the wise words of his students: chat, is this real?

Just yesterday this Capon idiot was forced to admit that his daughter had both plagiarized her work, and lied to his face about it. Now he’s buying her a new wardrobe as a reward? It’s absolutely unfathomable.

Spoiled as she is, Henry still can’t help but feel sorry for the girl. Based on this note, it’s very likely that she’s ignored at home. So many of these parents think an expensive gift is a suitable replacement for their affection. His own teenage years are an experience he’d rather forget, but the girl’s situation dredges decades-old pain from the depths of his psyche.

Though Henry’s circumstances had been somewhat different from Hyacinth’s, they were dangerously close. His life could’ve gone in a very different direction had his biological father actually raised him. In an alternate timeline, Radzig might have spoiled his son beyond repair.

The winds of existential dread are always chilling.

Somewhere out there, Henry Kobyla exists— and he’s just as vapid and insufferable as Hans Capon.

Once again, noise from the room snaps Henry out of his abstract musings. Hyacinth has inevitably stumbled over her heels, spilling her drink all over the floor, and on her shoes. She stands motionless in a bright pink puddle, tears welling up in her eyes as the girls around her rush back to their seats. It’s too sad for Henry to bear.

“Hey, it’s alright!” he reassures. “It was only an accident, and look! We have paper towels right here!” he adds, a bit too enthusiastically.

“Bro is actually so hype over paper towels…” one of the other students comments.

Because Henry has a tendency to derail his own class, but also because he needs to distract from Hyacinth’s tears, he uses this comment as a launch pad for an absurdist monologue.

“I'm gonna tell you guys something, but you can’t repeat this anywhere.” he says dramatically. That sentence alone is enough to grab any teenager’s attention, the whole class waits with bated breath, for the bestowing of this forbidden knowledge.

“You see…

paper towels…

are actually…

the work of…

aliens.”

The students burst into laughter at this lunacy, prompting him to continue. “Yeah, you’re laughing now, but only because the government is covering it up! I bet you all believe in fountains, too!” Even Hyacinth is smiling now, so Henry hands her a paper towel. “If you still don’t believe me, anyone can try it. The water just disappears! Where does it all go?”

It’s as if paper towels are the latest collectors item with how fast the students grab them. Soon at least ten children are enthusiastically wiping up the spill, making up their own theories as to how the ‘mysterious technology’ works. The class probably won’t be doing any more work today, but no one is upset, and no one is fighting, so Henry considers it a win.

Lunch is usually a time to engage in conversation, ideally amongst those with fully developed frontal lobes. But today only one person in Henry’s classroom enjoys the luxury of a prefrontal cortex, and it’s him. Four of his students had begged, and pleaded with him for the privilege of eating in his classroom instead of the cafeteria.

What was he supposed to do?

Disappoint them?

Besides, he knows these students personally. He’s the case manager for all the scholarship kids.

The children aren’t bothering with him much anyway, just chatting amongst themselves at one of the tables. Left to his thoughts, Henry’s mind is free to wander back to an earlier topic of interest.

Hans Capon.

It seems the man is determined to make each of their correspondences more absurd than the last. The original email from Capon was completely unhinged, and then he’d—albeit unknowingly—offered Henry his body right before their meeting, and now he’s using his daughter as a messenger for his deranged notes!

Well, at least he’d sealed it. Hyacinth doesn’t need any more anecdotes for her papers.

The note’s message is clearly threatening, but something about it is just so…suggestive. Especially with the cologne sprayed on the paper.

It’s intoxicat—

No. Stop.

It’s actually, um, icky and gross.

Capon is obviously a shameless flirt, based on his behavior at the cafe; but that was before he’d known who Henry was, and before Henry had thoroughly teased him about it in Žižka’s audience…

Kurva!

In its many, many, many, many, instant replays of meeting highlights, Henry’s brain had neglected to feature the Headmaster in any of them. Christ, what must he have thought of the situation? Žižka is fully aware of Henry’s inability to hold his tongue—and it’s probably the reason that meeting was supervised—but such an extreme reaction from a parent cannot have been a good look.

Henry should be nervous for his job, yet the memory of Capon’s stupidly flushed face only brings a smile to his lips. The loss of his job will have been well worth it to shut that idiot up, and he’d make the trade again in a heartbeat. That prick had gotten so worked up over some minor teasing…

Yeah, there’s no way Capon is still flirting with him after that. Anyone in their right mind would forget all hopes of a casual tryst after what had transpired. If anything, Capon is playing mind games with him. Trying to goad him into committing a fireable offense. As dumb as the man had played on that fateful day, he is a lawyer.

Henry knows a few lawyers— conniving snakes, the lot of them. It’s best to avoid getting involved with anyone in that profession, let alone a student’s father.

Even if this particular conniving snake is rather cute…

“Ewwwww! You like Capon?!?”

The sudden girlish shriek from the students’ table knocks Henry about 5 meters in the air, and into subsequent atrial fibrillation.

How?

HOW?

Christ, HOW do they kn—

“Sofie! Shut uuuup!” a boy’s voice soon follows, and Henry’s heart attack hasn’t affected his vision. He looks up just in time to witness said boy smack Sofie’s arm with a piece of paper. Time to intervene.

“Hey, hey! What’s the problem, Adam?” he inquires forcefully, not at all nervous to hear the answer.

Adam is currently hiding his face in his hands, so a different boy all-too-eagerly responds for him. “Adam likes Hyacinth, Mr. Kovář!”

CLEAR!

In a botched resuscitation, Henry is once again faced with his embarrassingly strong emotions. Thank God, his students read minds about as well as they’d read his DNR.

Though, even if they could read his mind, it’s not like they’d find anything in there…sunk deep in the murky waters of his subconscious…in a chest with five locks on it…carefully tucked underneath his metaphysical bed…

Haha…

In a desperate attempt to beat the ‘like-like’ allegations, Adam drops his hands for a moment. “I do NOT!” he shouts, his beet-red face suggesting otherwise.

“Ooooo, you’re blushing! Do you think she’s pretty?” Sofie teases.

“What the freak?!? I actually hate all of you.” Adam groans, face once again buried.

“Get a load of this guy,” Gia taunts. “brand new transfer from goonerville.”

An exasperated sigh escapes Henry’s lips. He knows what that word means, but he can’t let the kids know that he knows what it means.

“If you keep saying it I’m looking it up, and sending the definition to Headmaster Žižka.” he warns.

“No, no! That won’t be necessary Mr. Kovář!” the girl exclaims, nearly tripping herself in her poor attempt to backtrack.

“But Lukas—for real, for real—” she continues, “PLEASE don’t let him ask her out. He’d die of shame…and so would I!”

For a moment Henry wonders if Adam’s head might actually explode.

“For the last time—” the boy emphasizes through clenched teeth, “I. Do. NOT. Like her!”

When the boy slams his head back down on the desk, Henry decides it’s time to put an end to his misery.

“I thought you were dating Mara! What’s happened in the last four days?!?”

He never could manage to hold his tongue…

It’s the students’ turn to groan in exasperation. “No, they were just talking.” Lukas explains, still acting as Adam’s interpreter. “And she ghosted him-”

“UN-added him on snap!” Sofie specifies. “Do you even know how bad that is, Mr. Kovář?”

Henry can’t claim to have experienced such devastation as being ‘un-added on snap’, but based on the groan Adam emits it must be pretty brutal.

“Alright, it doesn’t even matter—” Henry interjects, “either way, we’re all going to leave Adam alone now. Yes?”

Finally redirected by a responsible adult, the students reluctantly choose a new topic of discussion. But even with the lively rehashing of an upcoming field trip itinerary, Adam keeps his face planted solidly on the table. The poor boy’s ears remain the hue of a ripe tomato.

How ridiculous, Henry thinks, to get so worked up over a silly crush…

Just another reason to be glad that phase of his life is far behind him.

Of course.

It's just Hans’ luck that he can’t even get away with being a couple hours late to his own business. In his excitement to vex his daughter’s teacher a bit more, he’d forgotten his weekly 1:1 meeting. Unfortunately, this realization has only just struck him while walking towards his office building.

He manages to avoid the building’s receptionist on his way in, and moves silently enough through the halls that no one should notice his untimely arrival.

No one that is, except his uncle…who’s already in Hans’ office lying in wait.

The imposing man is seated behind the desk wearing a harsh scowl, one with which Hans is extremely familiar. While Hans stands in his doorframe like a deer in headlights, his uncle breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Our meetings have been the same day and time every week for five years now, boy!” he barks.

Hans grimaces at his uncle’s choice of words. Closing the door—as well as the gap between himself and his desk—Hans is forced to sit in a client’s chair.

“Hanush, don’t you think it’s time you stopped scolding me like some petulant child?” he responds…petulantly.

The elder man purposefully exhales to the coincidental exact count of ten, “Perhaps when you learn to be punctual I can afford such luxury!” he chastises. Then in a hushed tone, “Are you off your meds again?”

Hans sighs, “No, uncle. Hyacinth had a doctor’s appointment, if you must know.” he explains dryly.

The excuse was good enough for school, and by extension it’s good enough for work.

The explanation seems to satisfy Hanush, because he immediately scrubs any prior concern for his nephew out of his voice. “Then you should have blocked off the time on your calendar! What if I had scheduled something with an important client?”

Turning away from his uncle's scorn, Hans silently curses himself. Hanush has a point, he should've put it on the calendar last night. He can’t afford to offend any more major clients.

“Alright, alright, I just forgot to, is all.” he mutters in defeat, voice trailing off with his last two words.

Hanush leans back in his chair smugly. “Right. Don’t make a habit of it.” he states.

Silence befalls the two men, causing an uncomfortable switch in topics.

“How is that girl of yours anyway?” Hanush asks in a more upbeat tone. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen her last.”

“She’s well.” Hans responds reflexively, and before his thoughts catch up, blurts out, “Except for a bit of trouble with her English teacher.”

Hanush leans forward, widening his gaze. “Oh?”

For the second time in an hour, Hans silently curses himself. Why can he never think before he speaks? God’s teeth, what even made him say that?

He has to take it back.

“Oh it’s nothing really, not that she did anyway…I mean, that man is clearly out to get her!” Hans explains, nearly tripping himself in his poor attempt to backtrack.

“Mm-hm.”

The dismissive noise from Hanush is just as annoying as it always is.

“He is!” Hans asserts, “Cindy told me he’s always singling her out!”

Hanush huffs a patronizing laugh, “Where have I heard that before?”

Hans will not sit here and have yet another person call his daughter a liar, let alone a family member! “This is not the sam-“

“Oh I didn’t start that fight uncle, the headmaster is picking on me!” Hanush interrupts,

“I definitely deserved a higher score uncle, that teacher hates me! I have no idea how your car ended up in the pond, the police must have framed me!

… Sound familiar?”

It does sound familiar, but Hans can’t let his uncle know that he knows it sounds familiar.

“That maths teacher did hate me!”

Failure.

“Besides-” he continues, “Hyacinth is nothing like-”

The full body laugh that interrupts him is nothing short of infuriating.

“She’s exactly like you.” Hanush interjects, seeming to have predicted Hans’ sentence. “At this rate, you’d better have a lengthy discussion with that girl as to her future; lest history repeat itself, and she finds herself in your same predicament! The last thing this family needs is to be the center of more gossip.”

Again, Hans knows exactly what his uncle is referring to, and he simply must have a laugh at such a ludicrous notion. “Please-“ he starts while attempting to quell his dry laughter, “She’s not even allowed to date, and she doesn’t want to!”

This comment seems to perturb the elder man. His forehead wrinkles further, and his voice is far more serious when he next speaks. “As I recall, you weren’t allowed to ‘date’ my associates’ wards either. Didn’t stop you from ‘entertaining’ them once or twice, now did it?”

Hans scoffs, “That was completely different! Teenage boys have zero control over their…impulses. What kind of parent lets their daughter go off alone with one?”

Though Hans’ tone remains unbothered, Hanush narrows his gaze. “Like it or not, nephew, that folly was of your own doing.”

Rage begins to blur the corners of Hans’ vision as his uncle berates him. He’s been scolded enough over this for the past 14 years.

“And as for your ex-wife,” Hanush spits, “half the blame rests squarely on her, not her parents!”

When Hans sharply turns away, his uncle sighs deeply. “All you can do for children is guide them to the right path. Unfortunately, the rest is up to them.” he states with a glare.

“But, believe what you’d like.” he adds as he collects his things, “30 seems a fine age to become a grandfather!”

Hans has had quite enough of this conversation. “I’m 32!” he shouts in defiance as Hanush exits the office.

Wait, that’s not good enough.

Following a mad dash to the door, Hans manages to catch it just before it clicks shut.

“And a half!” he screams down the hallway.

Slamming his door shut, Hans returns to his rightful seat behind his desk. Just as he’s beginning a highly productive brooding session, he’s interrupted by his phone buzzing.

Hanush: Must I confiscate your door?

Were there a pillow available in his office, Hans would surely be screaming into it. He opts to smash his phone against the wall instead.

Hanush always thinks he fucking knows everything, telling Hans how to raise his own child. It’s such an infuriating quality. If the man truly knew sooo much about parenting, then Hans never even would’ve had the chance to cause any ‘predicaments’ in the first place!

No, Hans doesn’t need piss-poor advice from a man who’d already failed as a father figure. He’s going to do better for his daughter than his uncle had for him. She’ll have an easier life. Even if he has to die trying, he’s going to shield her from the world’s horrors.

Especially from corrupt school staff.

Hans laughs to himself thinking of the note he’d sent. He would have paid good money to see the look on Kovář’s face as he read it! The obnoxious calligraphy on the envelope, the cologne he’d sprayed on the inside— hilarious! It was genius, Hans thinks, to combine his affinity for affectionate letters with his love of thinly veiled threats.

Of course, this letter was not affectionate in the slightest. As if Hans would ever lower himself to engage with someone well below his own prestige.

You’d sure like to lower yourself though… right onto his—

NO! Noooooo, who said that?

He’d only meant to scare Kovář a bit. To confuse him, toy with him, maybe get another email out of him. With a wicked smile, Hans opens his laptop to check his inbox. After hitting refresh about five times, it seems this… Henrywon’t be continuing their little game. How very rude of him.

Although, it’s not like the note really required a response, Hans supposes. It would be enough to simply mark Hyacinth present. Might as well check up on that, he decides.

Logging into the school’s parent portal provides an uneventful confirmation that his daughter hadn’t been marked late. Why then, does Hans feel so unsatisfied? Surely it would’ve been annoying to go back to the school for a simple attendance mistake. He has better things to do than parley with school staff. Really, he should start his work.

His office is quiet, but deafening. Silence allows the perpetual din of monotony to overwhelm the senses. Lights buzzing, laptop whirring, his foot tapping— there’s too much to do. He’ll open the robbery case. Henry. No, too boring, the assault one— waaay too many untitled documents in here! Henry. Where was he supposed to go for lunch again? He should look that up— or text his housekeeper to buy more coffee. Right, no phone. Henry. Look up the nearest store, look up the nearest store— damn it, he’s just been switching tabs for ten minutes! Henry. Maybe he should just go see what his paralegals are doing…

He-Headphones!

If there’s one thing that can dull the incessant drone it’s music. The addition of song allows him to work, but does nothing to rid him of his subconscious troubles. For now though, ignorance is bliss. At least he can explain his racing heart away as a side effect of his medication.

The day drags by without further incident. At the stroke of 17:00 Hans is more than ready to go home, but the lack of a personal phone has become an insurmountable obstacle. For the third time today, Hans silently curses himself as he drives back to the shops— without the aid of a GPS. Decisions made in anger arealways the most regrettable.

Inexplicably, the store is mobbed. How many functioning adults could really need to purchase phones directly after their work day?

Fortune must have another bone to pick with him, Hans supposes. What he’d ever done to piss off this deity is beyond him…

The distinct lack of eye-candy in this line makes his wait all the more undignified, but at 18:15 Hans is finally bestowed a replacement phone. He can’t wait to just go the hell ho—

“Yeah it’s gonna be about an hour to run the data transfer.”

Fortune is a cruel mistress indeed.

Whilst killing time kicking proverbial rocks down the pavement, Hans catches something out of the corner of his eye. This something has soft brown hair, deep blue eyes, and…isn’t alone. Fuck, that’s why Hans’ advances had been rebuffed.

The nerve!

First of all, it’s not even like this other man is that attractive. If Hans is a ten, then he’s a six at best. Second of all, he’s brunette. Everyone knows blondes are so much more fun. Third of all, his mustache sucks. Clean shaven is clearly superior. And lastly, this man isn’t Hans-fucking-Capon!

Why do you even care?

As always, the self deprecating voice in his head has a point. He shou- doesn’t care! But it would be so easy to follow them into that nice looking restaurant. It would be so easy to obscure himself while looking on from the bar. It would be so easy to— hey, where’d this drink come from?

Hans observes closely as Henry and his… friend are escorted to a table. The unknown man shoves Henry’s shoulder as they walk, causing him to stumble slightly. Once Henry regains his balance, he retaliates by flicking his assailant in the forehead. This behavior certainly doesn’t seem like flirting, but that could just be for lack of skill. Eventually, the hostess stops, directing the pair towards an already occupied table.

The man seated at the table looks older, probably around 60. He stands when he notices the two younger men, greeting them with affection. All at once Hans is met with the cold, hard truth of the situation. This relationship must be serious.

Henry is obviously meeting his boyfriend’s dad, and there are no other logical explanations!

He should leave. He’s driving, he can’t even drink. But as Henry shows something on his phone to the rest of his party, Hans simply cannot drag himself away. They’re definitely talking about him. Henry must be letting the others read Hans’ email— or worse, he’s taken a picture of Hans’ private letter…

…and there are no other logical explanations!

In his head, Hans plans for a grand confrontation. He’ll approach Henry, prove that Henry had violated parent-teacher confidentiality which is definitely a thing, and then ki- uh, report him to the board and— hey, where’d his new phone come from?

Heart still pounding in his ears, Hans powers the device on; and for the fourth time today, silently curses himself over what he finds.

Cindy: practice ended early

Cindy: are you at work still

Cindy: where are you

Cindy: when are we eating
Cindy: marta left at 1700 today

Cindy: im hungry
Cindy: can i use the card

Cindy: when are you coming home

Cindy: when are you coming home

Cindy: when are you coming home

Cindy: are you coming home

Shit.

How could he let this happen? Cindy’s probably worried he’s abandoned her!

The situation with the school must be stressing him out so bad it’s fucking with his head— seriously, why does he even care about this random teacher’s personal life?

Well…know thine enemy, Hans supposes.

Perhaps he should learn more about Henry. After all, he needs to be prepared when they inevitably meet again. It would be an affront to God to let that peasant get the better of him a second time, and some decent insult ammunition wouldn’t hurt his odds.

Yes, that makes perfect sense!

Driving allows far too much time for idle thought, and as he races home Hans makes—what he deems—a vow of purely malicious intent. Hans Capon will not be caught off guard again. He will put Henry in his place the next time they find themselves in a room together. This teacher will not hold any more power over him.

Hans wants to know everything about Henry—what he loves, what he hates, what he loves to hate, what exactly makes him tick—it’s the only way to regain control over the situation. But most importantly, Hans needs to know who the fuck that six was, and what in the bloody hell does that man have that Hans doesn’t?

Whatever it is, surely it can be bought.

It seems Hans’ willful ignorance is no longer blissful. His pulse is through the roof, and his mental gymnastics have left him with a splitting headache. Ibuprofen helps, but it does nothing to still his traitorous heart.

Must be another side effect of the medication.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Parent, or Guardian?

Snow falls softly on the ground outside, marking the yearly arrival of winter in Skalitz. Though the air is bitterly cold, icy winds may never breach the walls of an average suburban home.

Two dark-haired boys sit side by side on the edge of their coffee table, the wires of their controllers not quite long enough to reach the couch. The younger of the two technically could sit wherever he’d like, but he remains steadfast— blissfully unaware that his designated controller lacks meaningful connection to its console.

Still, the young boy’s smile lights up the room. He’s barely able to contain his excitement as his small fingers struggle to push every button at once.

An invitation to play an older brother’s video game is exceedingly rare.

In contrast, the elder boy wears a harsh scowl. Buying the second controller was not his idea, and this annoying little kid is not his brother. As if moving to his dad’s wasn’t bad enough, the accommodations had come with a ‘built in best friend!’ named Henry.

Since he’s arrived here the baby has refused to leave him alone, following him like a shadow all around the house. He can’t even hide away in his own room, they share one.

What’s even worse are the sticky fingerprints covering his things. Even when he’d clearly labeled everything with the letters ‘S-A-M’, his stuff still gets destroyed! His name cannot be that difficult to read…

Enough is enough, Sam decides. Some people might think he’s a six…year old, but actually he’s eleven— so they can shut the heck up!

Seeing as how he’s reached double digits, he cannot keep sharing a room with a first grader! Henry’s real dad must have plenty of space at his house, why can’t he just go live with him?

Hmmmmmm…

Walking home from school the next day, Sam sets his poorly laid plan into motion. “Your dad called yesterday.” he states plainly.

The shorter boy walking beside him meets his gaze, clearly perplexed. “You can call your own phone?” he wonders aloud.

Sam rolls his eyes, little kids are such babies. “No, stupid. Your dad.”

A somewhat delayed gasp from the younger boy pierces his ears.

“Really?!?” the child asks, nearly vibrating with excitement.

“Yup.” Sam curtly responds. “He wants you to live with him now, actually.”

The small boy’s mouth falls open in shock.

“Buuuut…your mom said you’re not allowed.”

Henry’s irritating jitters are quelled in an instant. Eyeing Sam with a puzzled expression, he offers what seems the one and only question small children are capable of asking,

“Why?”

A true classic.

For a moment Sam is unsure of how to answer, he hasn’t thought this far ahead. Luckily, epiphany quickly strikes. “I don’t know, maybe she just doesn’t like him.” he shrugs.

Genius.

As he turns his key in their front door, Sam pushes the narrative further by adding, “You know, she probably won’t let you see him anymore.”

Henry seems alarmed, as he very nearly trips in the attempt to remove his shoes. “What?” he squeaks.

Starting up the staircase, Sam sighs. “It’s true…” he laments, “that’s how come I couldn’t live here when my mom was alive.”

Left shoe still on, Henry rushes to meet Sam. “What do we do?” he asks in a panic. “I have to see dad!”

This reaction is exactly what Sam has been coaxing. “Well…I guess I could help you get to your dad’s.” he offers, “But you can’t tell Ma and Pa, or they won’t let you.”

The younger boy’s face goes still as he makes direct eye contact with Sam. Then, with all the seriousness a six year old can muster, mimes zipping and locking his lips.

“Good.” Sam states in finality, “We can go tomorrow.”

On a fine Winter morning, the boys’ walk to school is decidedly more challenging than usual— and it isn’t just because they’re walking an additional mile to the train station. Their bookbags, typically reserved for school supplies, are now holding clothes, candy, cash stolen from Ma’s purse, and the strategically important Game Boy Advance SP blue edition.

Boarding the correct train is easy at the Skalitz station, but the route to Prague requires a transfer. This station is much larger…it has three whole tracks!

Standing on the platform, Sam begins to feel out of place. Two brightly clad children stick out like sore thumbs amongst the drab grey of morning commuters. Henry must sense his unease, as Sam suddenly feels a sticky hand grasp his own.

Ugh…

A necessary sacrifice, Sam thinks…just to keep the baby from crying in public.

“Where do we go now?” said baby asks.

Honestly, Sam isn’t sure.

“I don’t know—“ he defensively responds. “You’re the one who’s actually been, which train do you go on?”

The single brain cell stare from Henry is cause for concern.

“You have been there before…right?” Sam prompts.

“Nope!”

A few moments pass. Henry provides no indication that he intends to follow that statement up with ‘sike’.

He must be lying…

“Never?” Sam asks incredulously, “You’ve never been to your dad’s house?”

“Nope, not never!” Henry confirms with a shake of his head.

Sam’s breathing begins to quicken. Excluding the double negative, this poses two problems:

1- How are they supposed to know which train to take?

2- How will Henry recognize his dad’s house if he’s never even seen it?

Another secret third problem is the fact that Henry has seemingly never met his own father, but Sam doesn’t have time to not feel bad about that right now.

Panic seeps through his skin, his heart rate begins to climb as fear consumes his body. He’s going to have to do something totally, absolutely, and completely terrifying…

Talk to a grownup.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself. Strange adults aren’t that scary. Those videos they show at school probably aren’t even real! He’ll just go up to the counter and ask which train to take. Easy.

He can say ‘Excuse me, how do we get to the city?’

No, that’s stupid.

What about, ‘Which train goes to Prague?’

That’s even worse!

Maybe, ‘We need some direct-’

“Can you help us find the city?”

Snapping back to reality, the first thing Sam notices is the stark absence of slimy fingers. Henry is currently standing on his tip toes to reach the ticket window— and putting his hands all over the countertop. Doesn’t he know about germs?

“Awww! Of course, sweetie!” the station employee coos. “Can you tell me which city?”

“Prague!” Henry announces proudly.

Mouth agape, Sam cannot believe what he is seeing. In his mind, a six year old kid just slayed a dragon.

“And who are you traveling with, little business man?” the woman continues.

Sam’s body stiffens as Henry points a short finger in his direction. Now he has to go over.

“Is this your big brother?” the woman asks as he approaches.

Henry nods his head fervently, but Sam feels the need to clarify. “Step brother.” he interjects. “We’re going to his dad’s house.”

“Oh, I see.” the woman panders while producing a map from her pocket. “You can take the train from track one— then you’ll get off here after about an hour.” she says, pointing to a location on the map. “It’ll be a little while though, there’s a delay.”

“Thank you!” Henry exclaims with a beaming smile. His missing front teeth make him look even stupider than his glasses, Sam thinks.

Using his freshly diseased counter hand, Henry tugs at Sam’s coat sleeve to lead him towards the platform. Collapsing on a bench, the boys settle into train-delay purgatory.

The quiet is peaceful. There's passing noise from trains, and the occasional chatter of other passengers; but seated outside, those sounds aren’t overwhelming.

*POP*
*splat-splat-splat*

“Oh no…”

Taking a rouge sugary confection to the skull is never fun, and tells Sam exactly what’s transpired. He turns to face Henry with yet another exasperated sigh, but holds his annoyance back when he’s met with the most depressing scene imaginable. The young boy clutches an empty plastic bag, its former contents strewn across the platform in a bear-shaped massacre. His eyes well with tears as he begins to sniffle.

“Hey, stop crying…it’s alright!” Sam tries.

Henry sniffles again. “I’m…sorry.” he croaks, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Seriously, does this kid not know anything about germs?

“It’s fine, it’s just some candy.” Sam mutters unconvincingly.

“But it was yours!” Henry whines, clearly believing Sam guilty of harboring emotional attachment to the soiled food.

Resisting every urge to roll his eyes, Sam does his best to provide comfort. “I really don’t care, it’s not even a big deal. Just stop crying about it.”

“Okay...”

The crying dulls to a stray sniff here and there, but something about losing those candies must really be hitting Henry hard- he’s never this silent.

Inexplicably, Sam feels a small twinge of guilt. He should do something.

“Hey, Hal-” he offers, collecting a few bears from the ground, “watch this.”

With that, Sam pitches the candy as hard as he can towards the tracks, striking a passing train. The candies fly dramatically through the air with the force of the impact.

For once, the sound of Henry’s shrill laughter doesn’t annoy him.

Minutes pass— maybe an hour, but Sam doesn’t care. He’s having way too much fun throwing dirty candy at trains with his kid brother. On the wind-up for a totally sick trick shot, a large hand catches his wrist.

STRANGER DANG— oh it’s just Pa…

H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS, IT’S PA!

While Sam racks his brain for any sentence that won’t make the situation worse, Henry looks Pa dead in the eyes, and tosses his remaining candy onto the tracks.

God damn it…

Sorry, Mom!

“Get…in the car…NOW!”

Pa’s powerful voice bellows through the station.

Yup, he will be getting in the car now. Right now, actually. And he’ll drag Henry there too, while he’s at it.

He’s messed up. He’s messed up majorly. Sam doesn’t need his father’s disapproving silence to tell him that. Henry has it easy, asleep in the back of their car while Sam has been forced to ride shotgun.

The ride is agonizing. Having to anticipate the yelling he’s about to get is almost worse than the yelling itself. But, glancing back at his brother, Sam can’t shake a thought that’s been troubling him since that afternoon.

“Does Henry’s dad hate him?” he blurts suddenly.

Stopping at a traffic light, Pa turns to face him. “Is that where you were trying to go?”

In lieu of a response, Sam turns away, unable to meet his own father’s gaze.

“Of course he doesn’t…” Pa continues, “Hal’s father is a decent man, but he’s busy. He doesn’t have much time for children, and lord knows that one’s a full time job.”

This is not an explanation Sam is willing to accept.

“You’re busy, too! You go to work every day!” he argues. “What’s the difference?”

“I don’t travel, and I come home at the same time every evening.” Pa retorts dryly. “Hal’s situation is complicated. You don’t have all the facts, and some of them aren’t meant for you to know.”

This is so…stupid! Even when he’d lived with his mom, he would at least visit! And…Pa always kept his picture on the fridge. This idiot probably doesn't even know what Henry looks like! Also…how dare he abandon Mo—Anna, and his defenseless little boy!

Well, maybe Henry isn’t so defenseless. He’d required no convincing to accompany Sam on this poorly-planned quest, and he’s able to talk to adults all by himself. Not such a bad kid overall, even if he’s compelled to touch every disgusting surface his hands can reach.

It takes 15 more silent minutes to arrive home, but it feels like hours. Though the crunch of their gravel driveway signals imminent punishment, Sam finds the sound is oddly comforting.

Lights from the house spill into their garden, the smell of cooking seeps through to the evening air, and he can see Anna’s silhouette through the family room window.

“Hal?” Sam asks tentatively. Henry’s eyes shoot open instantly, regarding Sam with an anticipatory stare.

“Wanna play video games with me?”

Things are different now.

Their family room, a place once full of life, now sits stagnant. The remains of its soul hastily stashed in closets, drawers, and underneath furniture.

Brightly colored controllers long gone from the coffee table, a crisp encyclopedia has taken their place, positioned just-so on the table’s edge.

The rug has been vacuumed, and the windows polished- streaks of improperly-wiped cleaner still visible against their otherwise transparent glass.

They’re trying. Sam only hopes that their social worker will see it.

With his younger brother at his side, Sam opens their front door, forced to invite what could be any manner of hell into their lives.

The man standing on the opposite side is familiar, but still a stranger. “Good morning!” he announces cheerily, greeting the grief-stricken boys with a smile.

“Good morning Mr. Oderin.” The older boy politely replies, before reluctantly allowing the man to pass their threshold. He’s nice enough, Sam thinks, but the way social workers always inspect the house makes him nervous.

He’s looking for cracks in the armor.

“And Henry-” the stranger says, turning his attention to the younger boy. “It's very nice to see you again!”

Sam notices immediately that the man’s scrutiny has also turned towards his brother.

Please respond.

Please, please, please respond…

Mercifully Henry offers the man a brief nod, though his eyes remain downcast. Luckily the small gesture seems to be all the response Mr. Oderin needs. “I’d like to talk to your brother for a while, Henry.” he continues, “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with, I assure you.”

Worried his brother will miss this cue, Sam quickly jumps to his rescue. “Yes! Yes, that will be fine. Henry can go read— or something… in our room.”

The now unsubtle command seems to register with the younger boy, and he silently turns to leave. Once Henry is thoroughly out of sight, Sam turns to face the intruder in his home. “Would you like to sit?” he offers, always unsure what he’s meant to say.

Accepting his offer, Oderin selects an arm chair at the head of the coffee table. While the man flips through binders worth of documents, Sam tentatively approaches the couch. He sits on the sofa’s edge, keeping his back perfectly straight.

It takes the man what seems an eternity to select a few papers, laying them out one-by-one on the table.

“How did the meeting with the judge go?” Sam blurts out, unable to contain the question any longer.

With the papers adequately arranged, the stranger destroys Sam’s entire world with a single sentence.

“Henry’s father has filed for his custody, the judge is going to grant it.”

If Oderin is still speaking, Sam can’t hear it. The sound of the final nail hammered into his family’s coffin still rings loudly in his ears.

“You can’t… you can’t do this to him!” He finally manages to force out, “That man barely knows him, he just sends a birthday card once a year!”

Sam feels his eyes begin to sting, his body’s betrayal evident in the silent tears streaming down his face.

“please…”

The social worker’s voice shakes as he offers his condolences, “I’m sorry, Samuel. But you’re only 20 years old, and you’re not the boy’s blood relative. The judge doesn’t think you have the resources to provide ca—”

“I’ll do anything-“ Sam pleads in desperation. “I’ll drop out of uni, I’ll work full time, I’ll be here every day when he gets out of school, just please don’t take him away!”

Mr. Oderin responds in a voice Sam finds nauseatingly understanding. “You’re very brave to make that offer, but you can’t do this on your own. Mr. Kobyla only wants to he—”

Sam doesn’t allow any more of the man’s pandering, desperately needing to voice his own feelings on the matter.

“Kids way younger than me get pregnant all the damn time!” He shouts, “I don’t see CPS showing up at their doors to take their babies away! We haven’t needed some stranger’s help before, and we certainly don’t need it now!”

“Samuel, just listen for a momen—“ the man tries before Sam cuts him off again.

“And Henry is almost 16, it’s just two years! Then I can go back to school.” he asserts, knowing full well his words lack meaningful authority.

Sam wishes he could read Oderin’s thoughts as the man studies him. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting help.” the man offers apologetically. “This will be a better situation for both of y-“

“I’ll go.” a quiet voice speaks abruptly from the hallway.

“Hal?” Sam breathes, quickly wiping away tears as his brother enters the room. Of course he’d been listening the whole time.

Now in his rightful place beside his older brother, Henry responds curtly. Not adding one more word than strictly necessary, “You can’t drop out of school because of me.”

The adults in the room stare in collective speechlessness as the teenager continues. “I know my father, kinda. He visits sometimes, and he did help us with the funeral…”

A heavy silence blankets the room before Oderin breaks it. “Samuel, I’ve been trying to say that Henry’s father doesn’t intend to split you two up. He’s even offered to pay your school’s tuition.”

Sam begins a frantic search through the papers on the coffee table. He’s always known Henry’s biological father has money—based on the wildly extravagant gifts he and Henry receive for birthdays—but this seems a little too generous.

Even if it were true, he wants to see it in writing.

As Sam rifles through the papers on the table, Henry speaks again. “Will Sam be allowed to visit me?” he asks, in a voice that should belong to a small child.

Oderin offers a smile towards the boy. “Of course. Your father said Sam is always welcome-at least when he’s not at school.” The last part is said with a pointed glance in the elder boy’s direction.

The elder boy remains silent, unsure how to feel about the new information. On one hand, this could offer stability for Henry; and though he hates to admit it, stability is something he can’t provide. But on the other hand, what reason does Henry’s father have to do this? It’s not like he cared enough to actually be there for Hal in the past.

His analysis of the situation complete, Sam allows himself one final act of defiance before his inevitable surrender. “And the judge won’t reconsider?”

“I seriously doubt it.” Oderin immediately responds. “If a biological parent claims custody, the ruling is almost always in their favor- aside from abuse cases. I’m afraid it would look suspicious for me to challenge the judge on this, and he’d place Henry in foster care.”

Sam glances towards his brother. He’d have to be blind to miss the look of sheer panic on the boy’s face.

“Fine.” He mutters in resignation. “I guess we’re moving.”

Things are different here.

The air is eerily still.

Silent.

Not even a sound may breach the walls of this great fortress.

His room is different.

It’s his.

Even when Sam is here, nights are spent locked away in isolated quarters.

The room is vast, with imposing walls and gaudy furniture. The closet holds more clothes than he’s owned over his entire life, and his father seems willing to buy him whatever else he wants, but these gifts are painfully hollow.

While Henry is thankful to his father for taking him and his brother in, a small part of him wants to be angry. Why now?

Radzig hadn’t wanted to know him before his parents died, and he likely still wouldn’t want to if they hadn’t. Weeks spent pondering the situation have led Henry to two possible conclusions. At best, his father just has some kind of legal obligation to him; and at worst, his father pities him. The man already throws money at like ten different organizations a month, he probably just sees Henry as some charity case.

Charity.

Society is apparently obsessed with the word. Radzig is always dragging him to benefit galas, and the irony of these events is that the people being ‘helped’ never attend them. But of course, what are worldly problems but opportunities for rich fucks to throw a party?

He should pick something god-awful to wear tonight—any opportunity to embarrass his father is a good one—but alas, there will be other people his age there. His presence at these parties already seems to irk the other guests, so with fear of social consequence fresh in his mind, Henry selects something society-approved.

The outfit feels wrong. Nice, but wrong. If a suit is so expensive that its owner fears wearing it, what is the point of it anyway? Henry wonders as he makes the trek to their foyer.

“Ready to go?” his father asks as he approaches.

“Yeah, I guess.” Henry responds absently.

As they walk to Radzig’s car, the man unfortunately finds it necessary to keep speaking. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.” he offers, opening the car’s door. “I’d like to introduce you to someone later, I think you might get on well, and you’ll both be attending the same school.”

Oh, HEEEELL no.

If there’s one thing he’s not doing, it’s going to that damn school. His parents haven’t been dead three months! He’s not gonna go parading around at some stuffy institution—one they couldn’t ever have afforded to send him—making small talk with people who’ll just brand him the board member’s bastard child! It’s bad enough he can’t just continue vocational school, so public school will do just fine.

“Yeah, sounds great…”

Thankfully, the ride is short, and Radzig only spends some of it regaling Henry with tales from his own youth. The event is similar to the others, a standard manor house with a ballroom. Henry is able to lose his father almost immediately when the man is pulled into conversation.

For much of the party, Henry does his best to look dark and brooding. He’ll be damned if anyone thinks he’s having an ounce of fun. But, he is a teenager. If other teenagers are around, how long is he really expected to go without having some less than kosher thoughts? That’s why he’s currently standing alone desperately trying to look like he’s watching the dance floor.

He’s really eyeing something far more interesting— a boy.

When asked, Henry will swear up, down, and sideways that he isn’t gay. He can’t be, he definitely likes girls. Buuut, if he were gay, this boy would be exactly his type.

Bratty.

The stranger certainly fits the description. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, nose stuck in the air. Definitely the kind of person who knows they’re hot as hell— and is willing to use it.

Toxic? Maybe so. But due to a misclick on a totally legal movie website one night, Henry knows he loves an insufferable brat. Especially one with a fa— uhhhhh…generous backside.

Well, if he were gay then he would love that.

Haha…

“Not fond of parties, huh?”

The sudden voice tears him from his task of installing a padlock on the chest underneath his metaphysical bed. When Henry jolts in surprise he finds a different boy standing next to him, leaning up against the wall.

Undeniably handsome, around Henry’s age, what’s not to like?

No, he was not just lusting after someone else!

This boy has hair as dark as night—on his face, too—and must play some kind of sport based on his build. He looks so mature, Henry thinks.

“No, not really.” Henry finally responds sheepishly.

“Can’t say I blame you.” The man says with an amused smile. “This crowd isn’t really known for their ragers.”

As the boy sips his drink, Henry watches him closely.

Is that brandy?

He is so cool…

Henry laughs—in a way that is not at ALL awkward—before responding, “At least it’s a good opportunity to meet girls!”

…poor thing.

Shockingly, the boy’s face morphs to a smug expression as he leans further into Henry’s space. “Nah, I think I’d rather spend my night with you, anyway.”

Henry’s eyes go wide, he feels his face start to heat up. “You mean, like…alone?” he hears himself ask.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?

Just as he’s sure both the angel and the devil on their respective shoulders are preparing to kick his teeth in, Henry receives a better response to his foolishness than he could have ever imagined.

“Any other way would be a crime, considering what plans I have.” the other boy whispers, close enough now that his lips brush against Henry’s ear.

Success.

Henry’s teeth will keep their rightful place in his head…for now.

The offer he’s just received is far too tempting for any horny, bi-curious 16 year old to pass up, and Radzig probably won’t miss him…

“Let’s get out of here.”

He HAS to avoid this gala.

Radzig’s incessant attempts to introduce him to ‘other kids his age’ have GOT to stop. He doesn’t even go to that school, so why befriending this random boy is so important to his father is beyond him. Besides, other than his new best friend-with-benefits, all those kids just harass him anyway.

Usually he avoids parties by making the excuse of not feeling well, but Radzig has started getting suspicious. Today he’s running a more elaborate routine, laying in bed all day, hacking up a lung every so often, and making retching sounds if he knows his father is within earshot. A few hours before the event, there’s a knock at his door.

“I take it you won’t be joining me?” His father’s voice inquires, somewhat muffled.

Making sure his own voice sounds as pitiful as possible, Henry responds. “I— I don’t think I—can…” he rasps, throwing in a fit of coughing to help sell the ruse.

Maybe a bit overkill, but Radzig seems to buy it. “Alright. I’m heading out a little early to take care of some things. I’ve left the phone number for the venue on the counter if you need anything.”

Henry will not be needing anything, that’s for sure.

Soon enough, the sound of retreating footsteps, paired with the open-and-shut of the front door indicates that the coast is clear. After waiting a moment, Henry heads to the kitchen. Not just because he’s hungry, but also because he wants to use the phone. It’s been a while since he’s spoken to Theresa.

Bag of crisps now in hand, Henry sits atop the counter, the phone’s cord more than artificially anchoring him to the spot this time. Holding the receiver uncomfortably between his ear and shoulder, he begins to punch the memorized number into the phone’s base.

Then, the kitchen’s main light flicks on.

Shit.

The dial tone in his ear may as well be the tolling of a bell. Slowly turning to face his executioner, Henry’s eyes meet those of his father. He stands menacingly in the doorframe, arms crossed in displeasure.

With a loud click, Henry places the receiver back on its hook. He’d better explain himself. “I’m… actually feeling a lot better now. I was just gonna ca—“

“Don’t lie to me, Henry.” Radzig’s voice cuts him off, interrupting whichever fib was about to come out of his mouth. Then in a more plain tone, “You could’ve just told me you didn’t feel like going tonight.”

It becomes clear right then that his father does not understand. Have all the nasty comments towards his son really gone right over the man’s head?

“Well what am I supposed to do?” Henry counters, “I don’t want to offend you, but those people treat me like garbage— I don’t know how you don’t see it!”

Radzig offers no response outside of a pained expression, but that isn’t enough for Henry. He’s done being gracious. “I know I’m just an embarrassment to you, and I don’t need you to try and force me into your life!”

“You’re not an embarrassment, Hal.”

His father’s tone feels pandering, and the use of his nickname strikes the wrong chord with him. “Don’t— don’t call me that! You don’t even know me!” Henry shouts.

The weight of that statement hangs heavily in the air.

“I’m trying to…” Radzig starts, “I know I wasn’t always there for you like I should’ve been.”

That is the understatement of the century— it’s an insult for his father to even suggest that his actions are fixable. All Henry wants right now is to make this stranger suffer.

“Yeah, you’ve got that fucking right!” he spits out.

The physical recoil from his father in response to the profanity is cathartic. Every word the man utters next burns rapidly through Henry’s already-short fuse, “Please understand, I could only do what I thought was best at the time-”

“JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!”

There’s that recoil again, and the silence following the interruption still isn’t enough. He needs more.

“How? How the FUCK was ignoring me, and my mom, for my entire LIFE the best option? Please, enlighten me!” he screams, blood now boiling with rage.

Unfortunately, Radzig doesn’t seem to pick up on the rhetorical nature of the question. “Damn it, Henry, I was practically a child myself at the time! I only wanted to protect yo—“

“Protect ME??? Protect me from WHAT?!?”

The question is not rhetorical this time. As far as Henry is concerned, the only thing he’s been ‘protected’ from is a relationship with his father.

“From this!” Radzig answers, gesturing to nothing in particular. “From the scrutiny of society, from having to perform for people day in and day out, I only wanted you to have a normal life!”

“Well CONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS, you’ve DONE IT! Both my parents are DEAD, and GOD do I WISH I was an orphan, but no. Here I am living in my absent father’s house, pretending to be something I’m not, and getting bullied anyway for what I truly am, a middle-class FUCKING PEASANT! Oh, have you met Henry-fucking-Kobyla? No? What a shame, cause his daddy says HE’S A VISION OF NORMALITY!”

As the dust settles in the wake of his outburst, Henry becomes very conscious of his own labored breathing. He may have gone a bit overkill with that last bit, but damn did it feel good. He can’t read his father’s expression anymore, the man has turned away, but his voice sounds wonderfully broken when he speaks.

“I cannot ask for your forgiveness…but I hope that, in time, we might at least start to heal. Just…know that the offer is always there.”

Henry stands silently in shock. He should keep going, he should scream, he should break shit, he…he has to get out. He has to get out right now.

His father doesn't stop him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Peer Pressure

Dawn breaks on a new week, a fresh start. From this day forth Henry will expel all thoughts he has definitely not had of Hans Capon from his mind.

No matter how adorable he looks with his cheeks flushed pink…

NO!

Just do it, he thinks to himself, arm extended over the classroom bin. Just drop the note. It is not.that.hard.

But it is indeed as hard as he’d secretly like to make that man, because he’s been standing here for at least 6- maybe 7 minutes…

He'll try again later.

This early in the day, the building is still. The peaceful silence is accented only by rays of sunlight, and the occasional breeze.

Perhaps it would do Henry some good to open a window.

Cool, morning air feels pleasant on his face, but the sight that accompanies it strikes Henry with the adolescent urge to puke. On the street in front of the school stands the object of his non-affections, handing a young girl her bag from the trunk of a black BMW.

He would look away, he really would, but the way the sunlight catches the man’s hair is just soooo- um…inspirational?

The golden haired muse must sense the lack of eyes fixated on him, because he suddenly turns his head towards the second story window.

*thud*

Oh, it seems Henry has dropped a contact lens.

…poor thing.

By the time he’s abandoned efforts to recover his lost property, Henry can almost breathe a sigh of relief. The car is gone, but Hyacinth isn’t where she should be. She’s making her way across the street…away from the school. This actually does require Henry’s supervision.

As the girl crosses the street, her path intersects with a group of three boys— men, maybe? It’s difficult for Henry to tell at a distance.

The whole group stops to talk to the girl, though she only seems engaged with one of them. She stands with one ankle crossed behind the other, twirling a strand of hair absently. Every so often, she tosses her head back in what Henry recognizes as extremely awkward laughter.

Oh, good grief.

After supervising for a while—and nearly perishing from second hand embarrassment—Henry watches as the girl finally turns away, and walks back towards the school.

“Getting a head start on grades, Hal?”

The sudden addition of the heavy Polish accent causes Henry to jump in surprise.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya.” the voice continues.

Glancing back confirms what Henry already knew by the voice, it’s his coworker/friend, Adder. He’s Mr. Gwozdz, to his students, though some have affectionately dubbed him ‘Mista G.’

Were he to carry business cards, the subscript would certainly read ‘pain in the arse’…or perhaps, ‘annoying af’.

His particular style of instruction consists mainly of ‘roasting’ the kids, and for whatever reason, they find his scorn hilarious.

As his friend moves to join him by the window, Henry haphazardly shoves the incriminating note into his back pocket.

“Damn, was kinda hoping that one would be absent today.” Adder comments, noticing Hyacinth out the window. “Would love to get through a class without choking on Sol De Janeiro.”

Henry laughs, “You know, the funniest part of this is that you actually know the stuff by name.”

Adder seems unphased as he offers a retort. “Oh I know everything about fragrances. Using the proper cologne can make all the difference with women.” he explains. There’s a pause as he nods towards the window, “Or men. There are certain…single fathers…I’ve run into at this job.”

Haha… hahaha…HA…

It's fine! Everything is fine!

“For real? Are you yanking my—”

A quick glance to make sure there aren’t any kids around…

“—pizzle?”

Adder pauses for what must be at least five minutes of heart-stopping suspense.

“Yes...


But you should’ve seen your FACE!”

As his friend descends into maniacal laughter, Henry tries—and fails—to seem indifferent. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.” He grumbles with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Alright, damn, didn’t mean to make you jealous…” Adder teases, “not after your little love-fest in the office last week.” he adds with a chuckle.

It’s a joke. Henry knows it’s a joke…but that prevents neither his pulse from quickening, nor his face from overheating as he attempts an explanation. “Wha- I didn’t- who even told you about that?”

Adder narrows his gaze, “Oh.”

“No— no! I know what you're thinking, and you’re DEAD wrong!” Henry asserts.

He may have been a bit overzealous in his denial, because Adder’s face contorts into what can only be described as, ‘that one picture of the Grinch’. Identifying all the warning signs, Henry makes another desperate attempt to plead his case.

“I. Do. NOT. Like him!” he emphasizes through clenched teeth.

“Yeah? Well your blush says otherwise.” Adder taunts, pinching Henry’s cheek.

Smacking the man’s hand away only earns a sarcastic, “Awww, you must weally wuv him.”

He HAS to shut this down.

“Shut up! You’re insane…” Henry mutters, turning to fiddle with literally anything available on his desk.

Before he can register what’s happening, Henry feels a hand snatch the note from his back pocket.

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

“Oh, what’s this?” Adder taunts, passing the paper under his nose.

“Hm, Clive Christian.” he lilts, “How very posh.”

“Give me that back!” Henry exclaims, lunging forwards in a failed attempt to regain his sultry letter.

Free to continue his harassment, Adder uses his unoccupied hand to clutch his chest dramatically as he begins to ‘read’ the note. “Oh, my dearest Henry…” he exaggerates.

“STOP IT!”

Anticipating Henry’s next attack, Adder quickly moves to the opposite side of the room. “What light through yonder classroom breaks?” he recites breathily.

“It does NOT say that!”

Once again dodging Henry’s advances, “For it is the east,”

“GIVE IT-”

Climbing over a desk to keep the note out of Henry’s reach, “and my daughter’s English teacher is the sun!”

Arriving at the door with his last word, Adder brings a hand to his mouth in an exaggerated gasp.

“I’m...telling.”

For a moment, the world stops as these frenemies stare each other down.

“You wouldn’t.”

Obligatory tumbleweed rolling lazily by, an iconic ocarina riff tolls high-noon.

Shutters are drawn in the windows of local businesses.

Women pluck their oblivious children from front porches.

The proverbial camera cuts to Henry’s side, fingers poised over his hip, as Adder is—

sprinting down the hall.

Coward.

“Ohhhh KAAAATHYYYY! You’ll want to SEEEE THIIIIIIIIS!” he shouts with glee.

“I HATE YOU!” Henry screams, scrambling to follow him.

In their mad dash, the fully grown adults nearly crash into some teenage hallway loiterers, who are quick to reprimand their once respectable authority figures. “NO RUNNING IN THE HALLS!” a young voice calls after them.

Adder arrives at Katherine’s door first, and begins knocking frantically.

“Christ, what is your problem?” she asks as the two outlaws barge into her classroom.

“Hen-ry’s got a boy-friend.” Adder sing-songs, handing Katherine the note.

Her tone is exasperated, but her eyes are alight with intrigue. “Oh, shut up— let me see that!” she demands.

Eyes pass over the letter once, then twice, she looks up at Henry. “Hal, NO. NOT him.” she admonishes. “Pick any other divorced parent you want, you CANNOT have this one.”

“You are actually both mad, that guy hates me!” Henry tries, “Did you even read that note? It’s a threat!”

Katherine throws an incredulous glance in his direction. “Have you even read this note? He is OBSESSED with you…” she exclaims, “but I’m telling you right now, Capon is a major player.”

This is probably not a statement that should shock him, but—in feigned disinterest—Henry simply must know, “Pft, what makes you say that?”

Both coworkers turn to face him with the same dead stare. It’s a look that says, ‘Really?’

Accepting the task of oratore, Katherine speaks next. “Well, the guy couldn’t stay married for more than a year, hasn’t remarried since, and—“

Her glance at the door to confirm its closure is not lost on Henry.

“—fucks anything that moves.” she concludes.

“Which is fine if you’re looking for something more…casual.” Adder supplies with a smirk, earning a glare from Katherine.

“But what do I know?” he quickly corrects, “Probably shouldn’t ‘date’ the lunatics you meet through this job anyway.”

Words cannot describe just how hilarious that is coming from him.

“Really? How’s the cook doing?” Henry jeers.

Adder’s ears go pink when Katherine fails to stifle a laugh. “You leave Janosh out of this, he’s a good man!”

Ignoring Adder’s indignation, Henry addresses Katherine again, too eager to continue their prior topic of conversation. “And how do you even know all that is true?” he complains, “It all just sounds like standard community gossip.”

Katherine rolls her eyes, “Believe me, everyone knows it’s true. That whole marriage was a huge scandal…didn’t you notice how young the guy is?”

“Oh, I think he definitely noticed, Kat.” Adder chimes, now back to his regularly scheduled pestering.

The slight flush returning to Henry’s face does not go unnoticed by Katherine’s keen eye, because she continues her defamatory speech. “Please...” she begs, “If you need any more blatant red flags just look at his daughter’s behavior.”

“Oh, come on-“ Henry starts before being cut off.

“No, Hal.” Katherine chides, “That kid does whatever the fuck she wants, and her prick father is right there defending her— the whole family is a mess.”

Finally able to get a word in, “Hyacinth is just a child. All children act out sometimes.” Henry argues.

Katherine sighs. “Look, all we’re saying is that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and you probably don’t want to get mixed up in all…that.” she says with an all-encompassing wave of her hand.

“Besides, they’ve got influence here.” Adder warns. “Their name is on the library…in all three buildings.”

Successfully snatching his note back, “Thank you so much for your concern, but you can both save your breath— I think I’d rather die than send so much as another email to his lordship.” Henry jokes.

Ever so slowly, Katherine turns to face him. When she speaks, her tone is dry, but accusatory.


“Then throw the note out.”

The embarrassing hitch in his breath obvious, Henry must defend himself once again. “No way! I need this for…evidence.” he tries, backing defensively towards the door.

With a disappointed groan, “Well, I tried.” Katherine surrenders. “Just don’t come crying to me when he loves-and-leaves you out of a job.”

“That would never happ—”

“Hal, let me give you a clearer piece of advice.” Adder interrupts.

Henry stops mid sentence, turning his full attention to the man in question.

This should be good.

“And what would that be?” he challenges.

Adder’s gaze narrows to a glare before unceremoniously declaring,

“Don’t stick your prick in crazy.”

“You know what? I’m done with you.” Henry announces. “I’m sick of this joke, and I’m leaving.”

He has more tact than to slam the door, but Adder’s next comment causes him to think he should have. “Sure, Hal. We’ll see you at lunch.”

Returning to his classroom, Henry grows more aggravated by the second. He expects this kind of behavior from Adder at this point, but Katherine? That was just too much. She almost never joins in on the former’s taunting, so what is it about this note that has her so invested? Honestly, it’s not even that suggestive…and even if someone were to read it that way, Capon is obviously just messing with him.

Beginning the task of placing papers on desks, Henry arrives at the same conclusion he’d drawn a few days prior— all of this behavior is an attempt to get him fired.

It’s a good conclusion, he thinks— a safe one. His friends aren’t entirely wrong afterall, he shouldn’t let himself get used by the 1% like one of their many underappreciated toys.

But you know he thinks you’re hot.

Well done, the voice in Henry’s head! What an astute observation, Capon does at least find him attractive.

Now let’s expand on that response.

What if…they’d never had that meeting? Would Henry really have called him? Probably. Would it be like a one night kind of thing? Probably. But would he even want more than that? Absolutely…

NOT!

No, he can’t even consider that. It’s just not possible…besides, he’d never hear the end of it from his friends. They’d harass him about his hypothetical situationship till kingdom— hey, when did these kids get here?

Sakra, how is he supposed to shake his inner struggles so he can explain this project?

In a frantic attempt to compose himself, Henry remembers a classic time waster. He can just have the students take turns reading the directions aloud! That should buy him 15 minutes…

At least, it should have. Not three sentences in, a student is already asking the most irritating question possible.

“Um…where are we?” a wavering voice asks.

Other students groan in annoyance. Looking up, Henry’s own frustration is instantly lessened.

The seemingly confused student is Hyacinth.

Fuck, he should’ve known not to do this.

“Do you see where it says ‘with’ on the fourth line there?” he specifies, pointing to his own page.

Nodding her head, Hyacinth continues. “Uhhh…With you— oh, sorry. Your…partner, click— no, pick your…uh…I’m so sorry…I don’t…know what these two words say...”

“It says favorite museum.” Gia taunts from across the room. Based on tone, Henry knows that a different word should’ve ended that sentence.

“Gianna, stop that right now!” he reflexively responds. When a pained look crosses the girl’s face, he eases his tone. “They’re difficult words, you know. Even I used to have trouble with those ones.” he says with a smile. “Marek, it’s your turn to read. Please continue.”

While the rest of the students continue, Henry glances to check on Hyacinth. To the untrained eye, she’s fine, but the necklace now in her mouth doesn’t escape his notice.

Once the directions have been read—only slightly more thoroughly than his DNR—there’s time enough in the period to select project partners.

Will he regret letting the kids choose their own partners? Probably…but it’s too much work to select for them.

A mere observer in this process, Henry notices Hyacinth spring from her chair, and quickly cross the room. She selects a new seat next to someone Henry knows well, Adam.

Oh, good grief.

Her attitude seems different from what Henry had witnessed earlier that morning. She’s going through the same motions—the hair twirling, and well timed laughter—but this is a far more confident performance.

What’s worse is how hard Adam falls for it, the boy eyes her lips nervously as she speaks. Poor thing, Henry thinks, but there’s nothing he can do. By the end of class, Hyacinth has a new project partner.

Adam nearly sprints out of the room, likely to conference with his friends in the hallway, leaving Hyacinth to drop the act and pack her things. When she gets up to leave though, Henry holds his breath as Gia approaches her.

“Using a boy to do your work for you? You’re even more pathetic than I thought, Capon.” she jeers.

It wasn’t that loud, Henry can just pretend he didn’t hear it.

“I wouldn't call it pathetic.” Hyacinth responds, “I’d call it…making good use of my resources.”

Ooooo, that’s harsh.

“Besides,” she continues, “you’d do the same thing, if you were even half as pretty as me.”

Okay, now it’s gone too far. Abandoning his inconspicuous task of sweeping the ceiling, “Girls, is there some kind of problem I need to get involved in?” Henry asks.

Replying in unison, “No.” they answer before promptly leaving the room.

They are truly the anti-class.

Later that same day, Henry is faced with a difficult choice. He had planned to go to lunch with his friends…but then he’d be letting Adder win. He should stay in his room—just to really let them know how much they’ve pissed him off—but then he’d be giving up food. Now THAT is something Henry cannot have.

Decision made, Henry locates his wallet, and leaves to meet the others outside. His walk through the halls is as pleasant an experience as it can be, until the faint sound of a commotion hits his ears.

It’s his lunch hour, he should just keep walking. But just as he can never keep his mouth shut, Henry has immense difficulty minding his own business. Of course he has to go see what’s happening.

With the ruckus growing closer, its subject matter becomes obvious. There’s a chant going on, and it sounds pretty close to ‘fight’.

This should be good.

The current state of affairs in the cafeteria is tumultuous. Students are screaming as two kids at the center of the mess throw punches. He should stop the others from film— wait…is that?

Ughhhhhh, whyyyyy?

*record scratch*

Yup, that’s Hyacinth.

Pinned to the dirty cafeteria floor with food in her hair.

Any reasonable person would be wondering how a girl of her status ended up in this situation. To properly explain herself, she’ll have to rewind to this morning.

<~~<~~<~~<~~<~~<~~

“Damien, are you listening to Weezer? Oh my god, that’s so crazy because I just love him.”

NOT THAT FAR BACK!

~~>~~>

There. Right there. The English class incident.

“Using a boy to do your work for you? You’re even more pathetic than I thought, Capon.”

What
a
fucking
bitch!

Chat, is she actually for real right now? Like, actually.

“I wouldn't call it pathetic. I’d call it…making good use of my resources.”

Oh, the disgusted look on this girl’s face is so delicious. Just how far can she push this, Hyacinth wonders.

“Besides, you’d do the same thing, if you were even half as pretty as me.” she sneers.

“Girls, is there some kind of problem I need to get involved in?”

So that’s how far.

How did he even hear that? They were whispering the whole time!

Well, at least she’ll have the last word. She doesn't want detention, so...

“No.”

Fuck you, Gianna. Fuck you.

~~>~~>~~>

STOP.

History class— right before lunch. The only other class in which Hyacinth is made to endure such low-brow clientele. She races to get there first, dragging her friend Michaela with her.

Choosing their usual seats in the back of the room, the girls make sure to snicker audibly as the object of their scorn enters the class. What they aren’t expecting is a protest, which comes in the form of the girl sitting directly in front of them.

It’s not what she’d anticipated, but Hyacinth doesn’t let the opportunity for revenge pass idly by; she makes a point to start laughing as soon as the girl turns away. “Oh my god, what a loser.” she pretends to whisper.

“Yeah, well at least I know how to read.” Gia retaliates without turning around.

Hyacinth and Michaela share a glance of pure disbelief. Then using her long, pin-straight hair as a shield from their teacher’s gaze, the brunette reveals to Hyacinth that she’s been chewing gum.

Immediately understanding what her friend is suggesting, Hyacinth is torn. She can’t really do such a thing…can she? Michaela certainly doesn’t seem bothered…it might affect their friendship if she refuses to do it…and Gia’s hair is so wild she probably won’t even feel it.

Hyacinth just has to remember how much she hates this girl, and how much Gia obviously hates her…it’s been a long time since anyone dared to make fun of her in such a way.

In the end, she was right…Gia doesn’t feel a thing as Hyacinth sticks the gum in her hair.

After class, Hyacinth is very happy to go to lunch. She’s had enough emotional turmoil for one morning. She’s just standing around talking to her friends for a moment when,

“You put gum in my HAIR you fucking LUNATIC!”

Turning to face her accuser with a cold smile, “What do you mean? I don’t even have any gum.” she mocks.

“Yeah, cause you PUT IT in my HAIR!” Gia shouts.

Michaela seems very amused by this emotional display. “Awww is the baby gonna cry?” she jeers. “What, is it ruining your thrift store outfit?”

Stifling her own laughter, “No wait, it actually adds something to it…I think it looks good on her!” Hyacinth jests.

“It looks better than you will with a black eye.”

There’s a collective gasp from the resident mean girls.

“Is that some kind of a threat?” Hyacinth asks.

With a glare so sharp it could break skin, “It’s some kind of a warning.” Gia specifies.

“Oooo, we’re soooo scared.” Michaela taunts as mop-head storms away.

Finally freed from thoughts of peasants and their troubles, Hyacinth and her friends are able to go to lunch. Normally school lunch is something to be feared, but not at this type of institution. Only the finest ingredients, and chefs, are acceptable considering the school’s tuition rate.

While standing in line, the girls spy one of their favorite teachers. What’s he doing here- and who’s that he’s talking to?

“Mista G! Hi!” Hyacinth shouts. Her teacher makes a disgusted face back at her.

Ha! He’s fucking hilarious!

“Who are you talking to?!?” she asks excitedly.

The man rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have work to not do? Run along now.” he replies, shooing the girls with his hand.

Chat, chat…he should’ve been a comedian, chat.

Scanning the large space for an available table, Hyacinth spots something interesting. Gia is sitting with a large group of people, and they’re all laughing. Worst of all, not all of them are scholarship students.

No, this will not do. Hyacinth cannot have her authority challenged in her own fiefdom. This girl should just stick to the status quo, as it were.

Time slows as an invisible force takes control of Hyacinth’s body. It’s as if she’s being piloted by some other horrible, blonde character. She walks with purpose, drink in hand, to the girl’s table.

“Whoops!” she exaggerates, pretending to trip, not so subtly spilling the can’s contents onto the girl’s head.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Hyacinth fakes as Gianna stares her down. “Must not have seen you there.”

Just as she’s about to start laughing maniacally, Gia does something Hyacinth DEFINITELY did not plan for.

“You are DEAD, CAPON!”

PAUSE!

So, that’s the story. Is it her own doing? NO, of course not! Can’t anyone see the blatant provocation? She’s the one being bullied!

Alright, press play.

>

Leaping from her chair, Gia launches her food at Hyacinth’s head before tackling her to the ground. When her back hits the floor, Hyacinth throws a reflexive punch, hitting her opponent in the nose.

“YOU’RE GETTING BLOOD ON MY SHIRT!!!” she screams, attempting to throw the girl off, and taking a knee to the stomach in the process. Suddenly, Gia’s weight is gone. Looking up, Hyacinth notices the girl has been pulled to her feet…by Mr. Kovář.

Shit.

Lana, if you’re really out there…

This time, her walk to the office does not allow for contemplation. It’s more like a perp walk. Her and Gianna are each accompanied by a guard, to prevent any further incident.

While Hyacinth sits in the office’s waiting area-deliberately kept separate from the other inmate-the teachers who bore witness to the event speak to the Headmaster. Once through with their discussion, Headmaster Žižka leaves his office to address the girls.

“Well, obviously, you’re both in trouble.” he starts. “I’m going to have to call your parents in to discuss this.” he sighs.

“Go ahead, call him!” Hyacinth sneers. “He doesn’t even care!”

“You’d do well to watch your tone.” the headmaster warns. “This is not the kind of behavior we want represented at tournaments.”

Disappearing into his office, Hyacinth is once again left to her thoughts.

He doesn’t even care…

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Student's Champion

Kovář

Mr. Kovář

Henry Kovář

Henry Kovář Prague

Henry Kovář teacher

Henry Kovář Prague teacher

Henry Kovář Prague English teacher

yrufggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg_

Removing stray keys from his forehead, Hans slams his laptop shut. He needs caffeine, maybe nicotine, SOMETHING.

Hours spent in search the prior weekend had been fruitless, and he can only get so high off a headshot from the school’s website. How is he supposed to ruin this man’s life with no incriminating photos?

Henry Kovář sanctimonious little SHIT with no socials, THAT’S the string that should yield results!

Alright, he’s not thinking clearly…he needs to calm down. He should revisit the school’s website with fresh eyes. He won’t go to the ‘faculty and staff’ page this time, no. There must be another area where he hasn’t thought to check.

About us? No.

Academics? No.

Newsletter…Yes.

In mild annoyance that he’d not thought of this before, Hans scans the school’s blog posts. On the fifth page sits exactly what he’s looking for, pictures from last year’s trip. Most of the photos are of students, but there’s one group shot featuring Hans’ person of interest.

Due to the change of workplace, the man sports a more casual article of clothing. It’s a maroon colored hoodie with seemingly random lettering across the front; and so long as that’s not the name of Kovář’s boyfriend, Hans thinks the garment makes him look rather sweet…

TOO sweet— disgusting, actually! Not soft, OR cuddly at ALL!

Maybe he’d let you wear it…

SHUT UP!

These pesky intrusive thoughts have been plaguing him since he began this search. They always appear at the worst possible times, too.

On a conference call, ‘Hey Hans, what if you held hands…and you were both boys?’

Boom, negative speech.

While driving, ‘Haaaans, hear me out, what if…you guys kissed? Very passionately. With tongue.’

Consider his car totaled.

At dinner with Hanush, ‘Hans, Hans, Hans! Let’s play a game. It’s called: What Probably Can’t Fit In Your Mouth As Well As That Spoon?’

Better dial 999, cause he’s choking.

Try as he might, Hans has not been able to rationalize these deranged thought patterns. His brain should know better than anyone how much he hates Henry! It hasn’t fed him a slurry of neurochemicals this confusing since…

Oh, no.

Color drains from Hans’ face as realization strikes.

Breathing hastening, Hans tries to stand, but is forced to grasp his desk for additional support. Something is indeed very wrong with him, and he knows exactly what it is…

He’s being POSSESSED…

by 15 year old Hans!

…and there are NO other logical explanations!

Flustered speech, poorly timed horniness, compulsive cyberstalking— he’d recognize that hopeless romantic anywhere. The poor boy must be confused on account of the coffee shop incident, he’s too young to have learned to experience lust in a vacuum.

With this new revelation, Hans must proceed with caution. Were he to lose control of his vessel entirely, this parasite could use his body to pen a terminally embarrassing love letter!

Fear creeps further up his spine at the horrific thought. Knowing this child, he will not rest until he’s completely destroyed the icy reputation Hans has worked so hard to cultivate...someone should teach him some discipline! Signing his life away to the first hot guy with tattoos, it’s shameful.

Unlike this naive little boy, adult Hans has the life experience to know that no fuck is ever worth the added torment of feelings.

But what if we just…

Damn it! Now he’s gone and looked up those strange letters!

Not that he cares, but Hans notices that the most prominent result is for a university.

Now READ about it! Your lord COMMANDS you!

Catholic school, decent academics, overall very average. Except that the campus is located in…New York City?!?

Oh my GOD, he’s WAY cooler than you! Why didn’t we study in London or something?

Shut it, kid! Just be glad that’s not his boyfriend’s name!

It is not a big deal, it is NOT a big deal. It’s just like he always tells Cindy, it is not that cool to study abroad. It's actually far more impressive, and cool, to live at home while attending uni.

Halting another dramatic descent into madness, vibrations from his desk alert him to his phone ringing. With a glance in its direction, the caller ID gives Hans quite the fright.

It’s the school.

OMG, HE CALLED!!!

Paying no mind to the ridiculous squealing of a teenage boy who refuses to do as he’s told, Hans answers the phone— and if his heart sinks hearing Žižka’s voice, well that’s neither here nor there.

Amidst the crushing feeling of second-hand disappointment, Hans realizes he hasn’t internalized any of Žižka’s speech thus far.

“Wait, sorry, could you repeat that?” he asks, internally kicking himself.

“Certainly.” Žižka’s emotionless voice responds. “Your daughter was just involved in a physical fight with another student.”

Perhaps he’s misheard, because that’s certainly not possible. Girls do NOT behave that way, especially not his daughter.

“Hello?” Žižka prompts through the phone following a moment of dead silence.

“Yes- yes, I’m still here.” Hans sputters. “I’m just having a difficult time wrapping my head around this…are you absolutely sure that’s what happened?”

“There are multiple staff witnesses, Mr. Capon. I’m afraid you’ll need to come in to discuss this.” the headmaster informs him.

Hans scoffs, “Now? Right now?” he asks indignantly. “Are you aware that most adults work during the day? Surely your staff can handle this themselves for a few hours.”

“It’s proper protocol to discuss more severe behavior infractions with a parent present. But if you’d like to waive that right, I can decide on an acceptable punishment without your input.” Žižka explains. “Of course, you’d need to send someone else to collect your child in that case.”

“...I’ll be right there.” Hans replies curtly before ending the call.

There’s no way he’s leaving his daughter at the mercy of some random adults who clearly don’t understand the situation. Whatever that situation may be, it’s definitely not what Headmaster Žižka had described.

How much damage could a 14 year old girl really do? Someone’s braid probably just got tugged by accident.

As he collects his things to leave, Hans attempts to get angry, but someone keeps pestering him.

Do you think Henry is going to be there? We HAVE to impress him. You should bring him a gift, something romantic! Come oooon, you know you want to. We used to love doing that! Ooooo he’ll probably wear those jeans again! So cute! You saw how good they fit him, right? You know, you make us look suuuuper lame. Since when do we choose to wear suits? It’s not very punk-rock, Gerard would be ashamed…change into something else before I gag! Henry’s never gonna ask you out if you show up looking like a corporation threw up on you— what happened to our Fall Out Boy tshirt? Our favorite black jeans??? Those are a much better choice…wait no, that’ll make us look like we’re trying to impress him— just lose the tie. There, look. LOOK! See? See? See? Now I’d date us! Oh, also we need to talk about your hair. Did you forget how to do everything important? You have to use gel to—

Stepping onto the street outside his office building—sans tie—Hans wonders if there’s enough time to stop by a church and have this unmedicated demon exorcised. His watch says there’s not, but he will make time for a cigarette. Lord knows he needs one.

Nicotine is an incredible stimulant. He can feel his brain quieting with the first drag, finally allowing him to focus. Oh, how he’s missed this…

Yes, he took his meds today.

…probably.

He can’t really remember.

Thinking back on the boy’s ramblings, Hans hopes he won't actually have to see Henry when he gets to the school. No matter how much this repressed version of himself wants to gawk at the man, he needs to focus on getting Hyacinth out of trouble. She has a hard enough time with school as it is.

Though taking out one’s frustrations on another person is never acceptable, directing that ire at a cigarette butt is perfectly fine; and with the flames of passion…ate fury somewhat extinguished, Hans continues to his car. The walk itself is uneventful, but the drive is where Hans’ troubles begin to escape his subconscious diary.

He grips the steering wheel tightly. Muddled thoughts swim through his head, but he can’t make sense of them. He can hear his heartbeat ringing loudly in his ears.

Something…is awry.

Standing in front of the school building, Hans is faced with a noticeable tonal shift. He’s more than used to this routine, yet the stone walls loom over him.

Navigation of the well-known corridors also proves difficult, as Hans has become hyperaware of other bodies in them. Not the kids, but Hans swears that any other adult he sees is staring at him.

They can see right through you.

Everyone thinks you’re weird…

Hans does his best to ignore these thoughts—undoubtedly brought on by his teenage counterpart—but as he enters the office, his irrational anxieties are replaced with very rational fears. His daughter sits in the corner of the waiting area, alone, her shirt covered in blood.

Legs moving faster than his thoughts can catch up, Hans rushes to her side. “Ohmygod, CINDY!” he exclaims, placing his hands on her shoulders to assess the damage.

How could they not have told him this over the phone? He’d never have dallied had he known the true extent of the situation, not when some MANIAC had beaten his little girl half to DEATH!

“Look at me— how many fingers am I holding up?” he asks frantically.

“Dad, stop! I’m fine!” she argues, shoving him away. “God, it’s not even my blood!”

Hans steps back in surprise, both at her flippant tone, and at the statement.

Not her…

“I’m sorry— what?” he mutters.

But the girl’s impending explanation is cut off by Headmaster Žižka. “Mr. Capon, if you’d join us in my office, I’ll explain everything.”

Reluctantly, Hans moves to join the other adults. Looking back over his shoulder, he notices a second girl on the other side of the room. She’s holding a wad of bloody tissues to her nose.

Did she…

“You’ve been smoking.”

The sudden statement from Žižka stops him dead in his tracks. Hans finds himself struggling to meet the man’s gaze. When he does look up, he finds a plain expression- but he’s perceptive enough to see the underlying accusation.

“And what of it?” Hans spits in frustration. “Like you even care…” he mutters, pushing past the headmaster.

With his first step into the room, Hans’ day is totally fucked. He can tell by the butterflies in his stomach.

They’re NOT his, but he can still feel them.

At the table— well, there’s a blonde man he doesn’t know the name of, but next to that guy sits Henry.

What’s doubly fucked, is that Žižka has already placed his laptop at the seat across from the nameless blonde, leaving only the seat across from Hans’ secret crush unoccupied.

We better think of a code name for him…

When Hans takes his seat, Carrot refuses to meet his eyes. The man can’t really be blamed for his reluctance though, that note may have been a tad overkill.

It takes a few moments for Žižka to pull the camera footage up on his computer. Whilst Hans busies himself by opening and closing apps on his phone, motion from across the table catches his eye.

Glancing up slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion, Hans catches the blonde man turned directly towards Henry; he’s pursing his lips in a comedic fashion, and— fluttering his eyelashes?

For the life of him, Hans cannot decipher this form of silent communication, but Henry’s face looks really flushed— like he’s about to puke…

Does no one think to call out sick anymore? Now he, and all the children have been exposed to this man’s germs!

Oh, but I’d kiss him anyway…

Kid, could you like, chill for a sec?

And STOP drawing hearts around his name in my diary!

“Here it is. You can start the video from there.”

On the headmaster’s computer screen is an image of the school cafeteria. Hyacinth stands clearly in the frame, mid walk towards a table.

With his one-sided argument halted, Hans moves to press play when his hand brushes against something. His eyes are fast enough to catch Henry pulling a hand back in surprise.

In utter horror, Hans begins to experience the same nerves he’d felt on the drive over. Heat quickly rising to his face, he HAS to do something to stop the embarrassment. He selects the most vile, poison-laced insult he can think of, and hurls it in the man’s direction.

“I-uh…you’re-um…uhhh…”

The now involuntary bubbly giggle following that eloquent statement is even more mortifying than the statement itself. Hans claps a hand over his mouth to prevent further social suicide, but it’s too late.

You’ve lost control.

Thank GOD Kovář takes the opportunity to hastily excuse himself, because Hans needs a moment to actually focus on this video.

With each passing second of security footage, Hans grows more shocked, but he’s careful not to show it on his face. At the video’s conclusion, Žižka speaks again. “I’m sure you understand now, why I had to call you in to discuss this.”

“I most certainly do not!” Hans responds, “Hyacinth’s actions were clearly in self defence, I’m not sure why there’s even talk of punishing her for that!”

Kovář’s return from, probably throwing up, interrupts the stare-down Hans is receiving.

“Mr. Capon, please take another look at the start of the footage.” Žižka instructs in an exasperated tone. “You can clearly see Hyacinth pouring a drink on the other student’s head, and these two witnessed the entire thing.” he concludes, motioning to Henry and the blonde man.

“So what?” Hans demands, “This other student attacked my daughter over an accidental spill? She should be expelled!”

A short laugh from Kovář draws the table’s attention. “An accident?” he mocks, with a suddenly harsh facial expression. “If that was an accident, then that note you sent me was a damn love confession.”

Is he hyperventilating? Cause Hans is pretty sure he’s hyperventilating.

“Oh, SHUT UP!” he screams, rising from his chair and slamming both hands on the table. “Can you prove her intent? I don’t THINK so! And where are the other adults? I will NOT tolerate being called out of work to defend my daughter, when this girl’s parents can’t even be bothered to SHOW UP!”

He must have struck a nerve, because Kovář abruptly stands, mirroring Hans’ posture with his hands on the table.

“Apologies SIR, but the girl’s FOSTER FAMILY was unreachable by phone!” he shouts.

“Well, then I guess that makes you her DEFENSE ATTORNEY THEN!” Hans sneers, leaning further over the table.

“Yeah, I guess it DOES!” Kovář fires back, once again mirroring Hans. “And you must be a pretty shit prosecutor that you’re losing to a school teacher.” he whispers, now centimeters from Hans’ face.

“Oh, what big words from such a simple person.” Hans panders, “Usually it’s just ‘lawyer’. Did they teach ‘criminal justice for morons’ at that trendy New York school?”

“Stalker.”

How. Fucking. DARE HE.

“Servant.” Hans jeers, inciting a name-calling war.

“Prick.”

“Arsehole.”

“Snake.”

“CUR.”

“NEPO-BABY!”

“PEASANT SCUM!”

Silence falls at the abrupt ceasefire, as both men attempt to catch their breath.

Cortisol levels on the decline, Hans realizes just how close he’s gotten to Henry’s face.

They’re practically breathing the same air, and no moves are made to back away..

Despite the decrease in stress hormones, all Hans can feel is his heart hammering in his chest. Against his better judgement, his eyes lower to the other man’s lips…

They’re full, slightly parted, and dangerously inviting.

He can’t...

Can he?

He shouldn’t…

But he should.

All he’d have to do is lean in and…

“Are we about to kiss right now???”

The other blonde’s teasing delivers a grounding smack across the face.

What. Was. He. THINKING?!?

Both Hans and Carrot jump back to their respective seats in shock as the source of the taunting struggles not to laugh. Both men begin talking over each other in frantic attempts to excuse their actions.

“Ew! What? You’re disgusting—“
“No, no, NO. When hell freezes over, maybe.”

Explanations aside, the stranger still smirks like he knows something, and Žižka looks like he wants to clip through the floor— or maybe strangle his subordinates. Making like he hadn’t just witnessed the season finale of a daytime television drama, the headmaster continues the task at hand.

“Right. As I was saying, Hyacinth’s actions did seem intentional, Mr. Capon. If you look at the footage-”

“I don’t care about the footage!” Hans interrupts. “Even if it were intentional, she was probably just joking. Lighten up.”

Henry’s eyes once again shoot Hans a perturbed glare. “Well the other girl didn’t seem to take it as a joke.” he spits. “Those two have been at each other’s throats for over a week now, I’ve seen multiple instances of this!”

If Hans is confused, he doesn’t show it. Why hadn’t Cindy told him about this? If what Kovář says is true, It’s not like her to conceal gossip from him. She tells him everything!

“Then maybe, she just doesn’t know Cindy well enough to get it.” Hans argues.

“That is a fantastic point, Mr. Capon.” Žižka interjects. “I think I have a solution that’ll work for everyone.”

The look on the man’s face tells Hans that the solution will probably not work for him.

“No conflict is ever solved by some unrelated punishment, I think it would do these girls a world of good to try working as a team.” the headmaster explains. “Kovář, your class is starting a pair project, yes?”

A silent nod from the man in question indicates the affirmative.

“Well then, that’s perfect! The girls can work together on that assignment, and we’ll forgo any formal demerits so long as there’s no further incident.” Žižka concludes.

Yeah, this solution doesn’t work for him.

“Great idea! Allow the girls who just attacked each other more time to—”

“Of course,” Headmaster Žižka interrupts, “were we to pursue formal disciplinary action instead, I’d be forced to remove both girls from any team sports they’re involved in.”

For the second time in a week, Hans has been cornered. Fencing means the world to Hyacinth.

“If that girl lays another finger on my daughter, I will sue you.” he threatens. “I will sue ALL of you…INDIVIDUALLY!”

“Am I to take that as your sign-off?” Žižka prods.

Following a long sigh, “Yes.” Hans grumbles.

Clasping his hands together, “Great!” Žižka adds. “Starting tomorrow, I expect to see a change in attitude.”

The drive back to their flat is mostly silent. Her dad tries to get more information out of her, but Hyacinth doesn’t feel much like discussing it, especially not after he’d informed her of her penance. So, she tells him what he wants to hear.

‘No, Daddy, I just tripped…that girl has some kind of problem with me…no, I have no idea what it is!’

He wouldn’t care to hear the whole story anyway.

The only stories he wants to hear are ones of success. There’s no punishment for failures of course, but the babying is almost worse.

Each roadblock she encounters is just another excuse for her father to shelter her. She is not a baby anymore, and he just can’t stand that she doesn’t need him. Besides, if he were really sooooo good at parenting, then she wouldn’t even exist in the first place!

Contrary to popular belief, Hyacinth is pretty good at math…and she knows what story their respective ages tell.

Whatever, Hyacinth thinks. If he can’t be honest with her, then she won’t be honest with him.

Storming into their flat, Hyacinth makes a beeline to her room, avoiding further questioning. She slams the door behind her, just to let her father know she’s upset with him, but it’s not enough. He needs to really know.

The trek to her closet is perilous, she must kick aside countless piles of clothes as she crosses the room.

Inside the closet is no better. Cursing herself for not doing anything about the mess sooner, Hyacinth sifts through the debris.

Old notebooks, clothes that no longer fit, ceramic statue of a dolphin— YES! Her record player.

Her vanity offers no free surface area, so Hyacinth carefully slides her numerous open makeup products onto the floor. In the cleared space, she sets the record player down with her chosen album already queued.

Born to Die.

Silently lamenting her birth into the wrong generation, she twists the volume dial as high as it can go.

That’ll show him.

Hyacinth ends her theatrics with a dramatic flop onto her canopy bed…if only her mind were as blank as the pink drape above.

No one understands her. They have no idea what it’s like. She is not just some stupid little kid.

Inadvertently drifting off to sleep, Hyacinth can’t help but to wonder…just what is it going to take for people to start treating her like an adult?

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Child in Crisis

Most well-to-do children wouldn’t be caught dead walking to school...but today is different. Today, a 15 minute stroll sounds lovely compared to a car ride lecture from an overprotective father.

Even with her heavy fencing equipment, even with rain soaking through her shoes, this young lady remains ecstatic. After months of convincing, she’s finally managed to convince her dad to let her join the team.

The school day brings the same monotony it always does, but she can barely focus on her lessons. She’s busy envisioning her ideal first practice. Visions of stabbing her classmates through the chest dance in her head, she’ll surely shock everyone with her superior skills.

So what if she’ll be the only girl there? With talent honed from years of private lessons, victory should come easy. Those terrible boys won’t know what hit them.

Yeah…

As the day slips slowly away, so too does her enthusiasm. She’s going to be the only girl there.

It’s not like girls can’t join the fencing team, it's just that they don’t…which is worse. If she had valiantly fought for the right to participate, she’d have been hailed a martyr; but simply choosing an activity that no other girls like has the opposite effect, it’s social suicide.

Alas, the clock won’t stop ticking on account of her nerves. The school day must come to an end. She can’t back out now.

The school locker room is an assault on the senses. Teams of girls shriek with laughter as they prepare for another practice, clouds of scented mist fill the air, and the feeling of inadequacy grows stronger.

Perhaps she should’ve just joined the swim team.

With a deep breath, she opens the gym’s double doors. It’s a relief that no one notices her entrance.

The upper school kids are seated on the floor, patiently awaiting their coach’s arrival; but a group of lower school boys stands to the side, laughing. From her chosen spot standing awkwardly behind her seated teammates, she can hear their conversation.

“Stop, please, I can’t breathe!” one boy exclaims through fits of laughter.

“Horák! Do you know who you’re speaking to right now?” another boy shouts in an imitated gruff voice.

Not this prick.

This boy’s schedule is almost exactly the same as hers, and he’s annoying as hell. Every time a topic is about to get interesting, this moron starts with the interruptions. Fighting their teachers on every little thing, putting on some performance to distract their classmates, inevitably getting sent to the office…it got old real quick. Even the slackers are fed up with him at this point.

“It is I, coach Žižka!” the boy continues, “And you whelps better not get me angry, or you’ll regret it!”

Well, he does sound just like him…

There’s another bout of raucous laughter before a third boy chooses to play along. “Coach, Sir? Can I go to the bathroom?”

“NO!” the court jester screams in response. “You can PISS YOUR PANTS while you run SUICIDES!”

Absolutely devastating. The worst person she knows has made a hilarious joke. She can’t help but to laugh, that was just too good, but unfortunately her sudden participation draws attention from the group of boys.

“Um, if you’re looking for gymnastics or something it’s downstairs.” one of the audience members huffs.

“Shut up, Erik!” the jester—ironically—shouts, punching the first boy in the arm.

This is her worst nightmare coming true.

“Oh, um, I actually just joined the team. It’s my first day...” she mutters.

The boys regard her with what she thinks is contempt before Erik breaks the silence. “Oh yeah? What’s your weapon then?” he sneers.

“Épée—” she replies, and is unable to get another word out before,

“Oh! We don’t have a good épée fencer!” the jester loudly interjects. “I usually fence sabre, but I’m alright at épée. We should SPAR!”

His volume is at a level that can only indicate rudeness, and if he’s suggesting a duel the answer is a resounding nah. They’re not supposed to have weapons out with no supervision.

“I don’t…think we’re allowed to do that.” she replies.

Erik chuckles in a way that just screams ‘punch me’. “I knew it, girls can’t actually fight.”

Well now there’s no way she can back down.

The competitors take their sides as their teammates watch with bated breath. Like the idiot he is, the jester charges her immediately, aiming for her chest. She easily blocks his attacks.

“This isn’t sabre!” she taunts.

Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, because the reminder instantly causes the boy to switch tactics. He’s far more careful about his motions, and is clearly testing her for weaknesses to exploit. Luckily, this is something she can deal with.

She tries a few feints, then uses the moments of surprise to step on the boy’s toes. The mind games seem to be working, because the boy’s frustration shows clear on his face.

His next attacks are more aggressive—again reverting to sabre strategies—but his footwork is shoddy compared to hers. To exemplify this fact, she dodges with the most unnecessarily complex dance she can come up with.

The boy grows more frustrated, but now it seems to be working in his favor. He responds aggressively, but skillfully, forcing the girl to the very back of the mat. Just as he moves for a touch,

“CAPON!”

Ohhhhhh fuuuuuuuck…

We’re really in it now, aren’t we Britney?

She doesn’t need to turn her head to see Coach Žižka approaching rapidly from the gym’s entrance. It was nice being on the team while it lasted, she thinks.

“Just what in God’s name were you THINKING?” he shouts, grabbing the boy by the collar.

When he doesn’t respond, their coach continues. “You WEREN’T thinking, that’s the problem!” he shouts. “And with NO masks on? You could’ve taken someone’s EYE OUT!”

At this comment, the boy looks his coach in the eye with a smirk.

“Is that what happened to you?”

The gasp emitted by the rest of the team must’ve been heard across the globe.

It has to be at least 30 seconds, possibly minutes, before their coach responds to that taunt.

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t—

“suicides.” the man mutters through clenched teeth.

“NOW!”

As the team rises to their feet, grumbling various complaints, their coach adds one last comment. “And you can all thank your good friend, Hans Capon, for today’s practice.”

Purely because no one’s thought to tell her what a ‘suicide’ is, the girl remains motionless on the mat, unsure if she should be doing some modified version.

“You as well, Ruthard.” the coach’s firm voice calls. “You are part of this team now, are you not?”

Never, in her 12 long years on this earth, has she been so happy to run back and forth across a gym for 90 minutes.

With practice done for the day, the team waits patiently on the front steps of the school. One by one, cars arrive to collect them. Within 30 minutes, only two remain— Rosa Ruthard, and apparently, Hans Capon.

Normally, Rosa would just walk home. But after 90 minutes of torture, she doesn’t think she can make it. Her dad was so adamant about picking her up anyway.

Even if he is always late.

About five more silent minutes drag by before Rosa feels socially obligated to talk to the aloof boy seated above her on the stairs. If she’d learned anything from her mother, it’s the importance of being kind.

Somewhat reluctantly, she extends an olive branch. “Are your parents also chronically late?” she jests.

“No!” the boy instantly fires back before returning to silence.

Just as Rosa is deciding how to respond to that, he feels the need to specify.

“It’s my uncle…” he mutters before adding a more aggressive, “And he’s gonna be here any minute!”

Well, she tried. He clearly doesn’t wanna talk to her. Rosa moves to turn her back again when the boy makes an unexpected comment.

“You’re pretty good by the way.”

Rosa is sure to suffer from whiplash with how fast she turns her head. “What?”

“Well, you don’t have a rank or anything like I do…”

Aaaand there it is.

“But you probably could.”

For a moment, Rosa is speechless. She’d fully expected him to end that statement with an insult. “Um, thank you?” she tentatively offers.

“I’m Hans by the way.” the boy states in an abrupt topic shift, but before she can respond with her own introduction,

“And I think you’re Rosa, right? You’re in a lot of my classes, I don’t like any of the classes we have though. I think that’s maths, science, history, Czech— oh! I do like languages though, do you like languages? Cause I don’t think we have any of those together, but I dunno I could’ve forgot. Did you know that Mr. Kafka hates me? I think a lot of teachers hate me actually, I don’t know why though, do you think—“

“Do you like, know how conversations work?” Rosa interrupts, in slight surprise. Usually people don’t go from complete ignoring to relentless chatter in .2 seconds.

The boy’s face drops. “Oh...sorry.” he mumbles, turning away.

“No, it’s fine, just don’t interrupt so much.” Rosa reassures. “I’m just surprised you wanted to talk to me.”

Hans tilts his head in what seems to be confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Maybe because you‘ve been acting like a jerk the entire practice?

“Um, I don’t know…you were just sitting here ignoring me for a while.”

“Ohhhhhh!” Hans exclaims, relaxing his face. “I just thought you didn’t like me!” he explains, as if that’s the most normal thing in the world to say so jovially.

“What? Why?” Rosa asks, feeling a slight pang of guilt.

It’s true, she doesn’t like him…but why does he assume that?

“Well, you’re not very nice to me— like in maths, science, history, Czech— oh, sorry! You go.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” she asks again, still unclear as to what the boy is referring to.

“You do that sigh all the time!” he explains. “Every time I say something…and then you get all mad if I try to answer a question— I guess that’s just your voice— but sometimes you laugh! I mean, everyone laughs— but you do too!”

“Well that’s just because you always yell out something insane!” Rosa argues in defense, “Aren’t you trying to be funny?”

“Not always…” Hans mutters. “Sometimes I am though- people must like it if they laugh, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.” Rosa offers. It’s a genuine apology, she hadn’t meant to make anyone—even someone who annoys her—feel bad.

“For what?” Hans asks, wearing that same look of confusion.

“What do you mean ‘for what’, for laughing!” she exclaims.

“Oh. Well, it’s not like it’s a big deal…”

The boy’s return to his usual air of superiority is miraculously short-lived, “But…thanks.” he adds in a softer tone.

Distant noise from the street catches their attention. Hans perks up to look down the road, Rosa notices his sharp intake of breath, and his feet tapping incessantly. She decides not to mention the fact that he’s kicking her bag.

Bright headlights from an approaching vehicle quickly become visible. As it moves closer, Rosa is able to recognize it as her dad’s car. With a sigh of relief, she begins to collect her things.

“I’ll uh, see you tomorrow!” she calls on her way to the street.

“Mmhm…” Hans answers absently, not meeting her eyes. He’s turning his head rapidly in either direction.

Whatever.

Slamming the trunk of the car shut, bag safely stowed inside, Rosa greets her father as she occupies the passenger seat. He’s turned to face her, but his gaze falls past her face to the window.

“Rosie, who’s your friend over there?” he questions in response.

“Oh, just some other kid on the team.” Rosa replies, “We’re not really friends, though.”

Her father hums, clearly mulling something over. “Why don’t you go ask him if he needs a ride home?” he asks, much to the girl’s horror.

“Dad, no!” she protests. “He’s so annoying, and we’re not even friends— it’s awkward!”

“Rosa…” her father challenges.

Knowing his tone means he won’t be taking negotiations, Rosa reluctantly exits their vehicle.

“Hey!” she calls, now standing directly below the stairs. “My dad wants to know if you need a ride home…do you?”

Hans seems surprised by the question, he sits up straight, and stops his fidgeting. “Um, no, that’s okay…my uncle is coming to get me.” his voice wavers.

“Are you sure?” Rosa presses, “It’s kind of getting dark…”

“Uhh…” Hans starts, seemingly considering a change of response.

For a split second, their surroundings are illuminated by a passing car. The boy’s eyes appear shiny as their dampness reflects clearly in the artificial light.

“My dad doesn’t mind.” Rosa adds, “Even if you live out of the way, or something.”

“…Alright.” Hans acquiesces.

Every pre-teen’s worst nightmare is to be trapped in an enclosed space with some rando from school. So to Rosa’s surprise, the ride isn’t all bad. It's mostly thanks to her father, who’s always been a great conversationalist. He instantly knew how to get Hans to smile. Asking him questions about this and that, letting him prattle on as long as he wished. A few times Rosa had even found herself joining in on the discussion.

Now, pulling up in front of this large villa, the air has shifted. Iron gates guard the property, their posts each capped by a sharp point. The fortifications do their job well. From the street the structure is barely visible, she’s only able to make out an occasional glint from darkened windows.

Her dad helps the boy retrieve his things from the trunk, Rosa can hear his muffled voice outside the enclosed space.

“Do you have a key?” he questions.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag.” Hans’ smaller voice responds, punching a combination into the gate.

“And be sure to call your uncle when you get inside!” her father calls.

He remains outside the vehicle for a minute or two.

With a flicker of light from inside, and the shut of the car door, “Nice kid.” he comments.

For once, waking up isn’t a struggle. Not only is she now an official member of the fencing team, but they’ll be starting a new book in Czech class today.

Fantasy is Rosa’s favorite genre. She loves to immerse herself in fantastical worlds of adventure, comradery, and romance. All through the day she can barely contain her excitement, but as she enters Mr. Kafka’s classroom she makes a most unfortunate discovery…

The desks are arranged in pairs.

Selecting a partner to work with is the most stressful task a relatively quiet student can be faced with. Rosa kind of knows a few of the girls in the class, but they already have partners. She could ask a girl she doesn’t know at all, but actually she'd probably rather die. Her best bet is to sit alone at an unoccupied set of desks, and wait for the teacher to force someone to work with her.

From her chosen vantage point in the back of the room, Rosa can observe the rest of the class. There’s some girls practicing their braiding, two other kids kicking each other in the shins under their desks, and Hans arguing with the teacher.

Here we go again…

“Can we please be a group of three?” he whines.

“No, Hans. The assignments for this book are meant to be completed in pairs.” Mr. Kafka calmly explains, causing the boy’s pleas to grow more frantic.

“Come on, please? We’ll be so good, and I’ll never talk in class ever again!”

“HANS!” their teacher’s voice bellows. “I just told you no, now go find someone else to work with or I’ll pick for you!”

Rosa can’t see his face, but Hans’ silence is very telling. When he turns around, his eyes dart frantically side to side as he scans the room, until they land on her. The boy walks at a needlessly quick pace in her direction before stopping abruptly in front of the pair of desks.

“Um, can I…work with you?” he asks quietly, keeping his eyes downcast. “If you don’t want to that’s fine though because I don’t wanna make y—“

“Sure!” Rosa proclaims, interrupting Hans’ backtracking.

A small smile breaks through the hardened nervousness on the boy’s face. “Oh good, that’s good because Mr. Kafka won’t let me work in a group of three and my uh…friends were already a group…I told you he hates me!” he rambles, practically falling over into the unoccupied seat.

Throughout the class Rosa is able to observe Hans’ behavior. Usually she makes an effort to sit as far away from him as possible, so this is new territory.

Observation 1: He will NOT sit still. Even when he’s reprimanded he still taps, bounces, or fiddles. Hasn’t he learned to control himself?

Observation 2: His odd commentary seems equally involuntary. If a question is asked, he immediately shouts either what he thinks is the answer, or some loosely related anecdote. Then he seems confused when people laugh, or when he’s scolded.

Observation 3: He’s actually not all that horrible. He doesn’t talk down to her like some of the other boys do, and he’s pretty funny. He even seems interested in the romance-heavy story they’re reading. Although their teacher is getting mad at his poorly timed interjections.

At the conclusion of Czech class, it’s time for lunch. Following her usual routine of standing in line for 10 minutes, Rosa heads towards her usual table. She’s not really friends with these girls, but they don’t mind her sitting there.

Directly behind them is a table occupied by the rest of the fencing team. She’s never paid much mind to them, but there’s nothing better to do at the moment than listen in. Their conversation is rather dull though, they’re just trying to get each other to admit who they like.

“Hans, come on, tell us!” one boy goads.

“I’ve already told you, I just don’t like anyone right now…” Hans offers nervously.

Another boy adds an obnoxious laugh. Rosa recognizes the voice as Erik, the other heinous boy from practice.

“You know what that means.” Erik snickers. “GAAAAY!”

The rest of the boys erupt into laughter as Hans tries to save himself. “NO!” he shouts desperately. “I just don’t like anyone because I HAVE a girlfriend already!”

This statement grabs the attention of every 12-13 year old boy seated at the lunch table, inspiring hope for their future prospects. One of their own has a real, live girlfriend.

“Well? Who is it?” one of the boys prods.

“Uhhh…you wouldn’t know her, she uh— goes to another school.” Hans responds. His tone does not sound confident, but Rosa doubts the other boys’ ability to pick up on it.

“Where does she go to school then?” someone else demands.

There’s a silence prior to Hans’ answer. “In Hungary.” he states plainly. “Her name is uh— Karolina! Yeah…we met when my uncle had to go there for work.”

Most of the boys have a laundry list of follow up questions, but Jan doesn’t seem so convinced. “Yeah, right!” he sneers, “Did you mean to say Karl?”

This poor joke earns more raucous laughter.

“Whatever, you can believe me or not…I’m gonna go throw this out.” Hans interjects. His voice sounds mostly calm, but Rosa picks up on a twinge of despair.

Once the laughter has died down, she hears another voice join the group.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Erik responds almost instantly, “Yeah but I don’t think he’ll mind, he’s probably done eating.”

By shifting slightly, Rosa is able to watch the scene unfold in her periphery. When Hans does return he stops a couple meters short of the table. Noticing the other boy’s presence, he simply turns and walks away, past Rosa’s table. The rest of the boys either don’t notice, or just don’t care, as there’s no break in their discussion at all.

Compelled by her mother’s spirit, Rosa decides to follow him. The boy chooses to sit at an empty table as far from his teammates as possible. Somewhat nervously, Rosa approaches the opposite side of the table.

“Can I sit with you?” she asks softly.

Hans looks up at her with wide eyes. After a moment, he slowly nods his head.

Sitting in silence—especially with someone who usually never shuts up—feels strange. Luckily, there’s something Rosa’s been dying to get off her chest.

With a deep breath, “Okay, can I be mean for a second?” she whispers. The boy’s mood seems to instantly improve. His affirming nod is faster this time, accompanied by a grin. Both children lean further over the table to prevent eavesdropping from passersby.

“I fucking hate Erik.” Rosa finally lets out.

For a moment Hans’ scandalized expression causes her to worry that she’d chosen the wrong audience. Until…

“Oh my God, me too!” he enthusiastically agrees, “He’s so fucking annoying!”

Yes, there’s nothing quite like talking shit about one’s peers. With their mutual hatred forming an unbreakable bond, the remaining free time passes easily.

Never, in her long 12 years on this earth, has Rosa laughed so much during a school lunch period.

“HANS CAPON. OFFICE…NOW!” a frustrated adult’s voice pierces through the air.

Rising from his chair, “WHAT?!? What'd I even DO?” the teenage boy’s equally frustrated voice follows.

The boy wears the same school uniform as the rest of the children. Navy blazer, matching slacks, white button down, and a yellow tie with navy stripes; but with far more lapel pins than allowed by the dress code, or by the fashion police.

“You know full well what you did…” the adult responds, “I can hear you mumbling from here— this is a testing environment!”

“I WASN’T CHEATING!” he attempts in desperation, “I have to talk through the equations or I can’t keep tra—”

“I don’t even wanna hear it. Either you go willingly, or I call someone to come get you!”

Well, it’s over. He can’t risk causing a scene, and being forcibly removed from a class would certainly constitute one. Shoving things into his bag, and muttering angrily the whole time, Hans throws his test down on his teacher’s desk, and slams the door on his way out.

If it weren’t for the display of explosive anger, he’d have been allowed to finish out the day; but now he’s been deemed ‘emotionally compromised’, so Hanush will have to come get him. It’s ridiculous really, he thinks. What 15 year old isn’t emotionally compromised? By that logic, everyone should be getting picked up right now!

His first year at the upper school has been hellish…not that the lower school wasn’t equally hellish, but teachers at least seemed to have a slightly higher tolerance for him there.

Unfortunately, the ride home is far from silent. Hanush had begun the lengthy process of chewing out his nephew as soon as he’d set foot in the school building. Tuning back in for a moment, Hans realizes the man is far from through.

“—and don’t you know I have to WORK? This is the THIRD TIME THIS MONTH!” his uncle’s voice bellows. “One more time, and I am CUTTING OFF YOUR ALLOWANCE!”

Oh, that is hilarious.

“I don’t even GET an allowance!” Hans screams.

Pulling into their driveway, Hanush turns to face him, blinking silently.

“BECAUSE YOU LOSE THE PRIVILEGE EVERY MONTH!” the man finally screams.

Damn, that’s true— but no matter. He can’t let his uncle have the last word.

“Well it’s my money…” Hans mutters, knowing it’s a mistake before the words finish leaving his mouth.

“Do not even START that with me, BOY!” Hanush warns. “That money is in a TRUST— for you to benefit from as an adult, NOT to spend on NONSENSE as a CHILD!”

Hans does his best to turn his entire body away from Hansh’s direction. He is NOT a child…15 is practically an adult!

He’ll sit here in silence. Just so his uncle knows how mad he is.

Receiving no response from his ward, Hanush continues. “You are to go to your room, and STAY there— I don’t want to see you again until dinner.” he spits.

Hans’ confusion at this statement shows clear on his face. Usually they don’t eat together, Hanush is almost always too busy to eat dinner at a normal time.

“An associate of mine will be joining us.” Hanush clarifies.

Aaaaand there it is.

“He’s bringing his son along, I believe the boy is two years your senior. You’ll be expected to entertain him while I speak with his father.”

It should be impossible for Hans to feel more outrage than he already does. But getting used as entertainment for some random kid he doesn’t know feels demeaning, and his uncle’s next sentence makes it even worse.

“There’s a lot riding on the success of this deal, so try and conduct yourself with some decorum.” Hanush concludes.

Hans should just bail. He should sneak out, and go to Rosa’s house like he usually does. Settling for verbal vengeance,

“Why…are you so obsessed…with RUINING MY LIFE?!?” Hans screams in response, before exiting the vehicle.

Slamming the car door shut feels good, but it’s completely ruined when Hanush yells “19:00!” at his retreating back.

Safely sealed away in his room, Hans begins to brood. Hanush thinks he fucking knows everything…WELL HE DOESN’T!

He is so mad right now…so FUCKING MAD! No one has EVER experienced this level of rage in the HISTORY of the ENTIRE WORLD! Pacing back and forth—evading stacks of empty cups, and nearly slipping on food wrappers— he attempts to choose an outlet for his pent up rage.

Oh Gerard, if only you were real…

Hey, wait a minute!

Rushing to his CD case, Hans selects a disc he knows Hanush hates.

Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge.

What inspired cover art, he thinks to himself on his stroll to the boombox. Very carefully, so as not to break it, he pops the lid of the player to reveal…

JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE?!?

No, Gerard— PLEASE listen…he means NOTHING!

Evidently the desperate plea to his god had not been penance enough. When he removes this…crap…album and replaces it with some real music, the player refuses to read the disc.

Dramatically throwing himself into his desk chair, Hans debates his choice of outfit for tonight’s dinner. Normally he’d choose something that Hanush had asked him to burn, but not when there’s a cool, older boy he’s meant to hang out with. For that he has to look ho— um, respectable. Like a good, respectable friend….who’s NOT gay.

He’ll settle for nixing the suit jacket, and losing the tie, and unbuttoning the top of his shirt slightly, and adding the very slightest bit of eyeliner.

By the time Hans is through with his preening, it’s a perfect 15 minutes past the dinner’s start time. He CANNOT have this boy thinking he’s overeager to…hang out, or something.

…Does this outfit imply that he is???

Losing confidence in his looks by the second, Hans descends the staircase; and as he enters the dining room, any remaining confidence quickly jumps ship when he spots his proverbial date for the evening. Sitting in the seat closest to the door is Jan.

Who is Jan? Well, Hans would be happy to elaborate. Not only is he the most popular boy in school, he’s the captain of the rugby team, and he has the most kissable— no, lickable— NO, fuckable— WOAAAHHH…where did that come from?

Not appropriate.

“Ah here he is!” Hanush’s voice calls, inadvertently offering Hans a distraction from his obviously diseased mind. “Come Hans, sit.” his uncle’s voice commands.

For once in his life Hans has no problem complying with a request from Hanush. He’s able to sit right across from Jan, stare into his deep brown eyes, fantasize about running his hand through those curls— oh crap Jan is talking to him!

“—any sports?”

“What?” Hans lilts, still half in a stupor.

Jan chuckles, “I asked if you play any sports!” he laughs.

Hans can’t help but respond with his own bubbly giggle.

“Oh, yeah— I do, I’m uh…fence.” he manages to get out.

“Are you a fencer, or an actual fence?” Jan jokingly responds.

It’s either from the embarrassment over his own response, or the fact that the joke just really wasn’t funny, but Hans’ responding laugh sounds extremely awkward— at least to his ears.

“I’m a fence-er, not an actual fence, silly!” he laughs, with a wave of his hand that wasn’t at all intended to be flirtatious.

Shockingly, Jan smiles at this response. “You’re so cute.” he almost whispers, before taking a confident sip of his drink.

Wait, WHAT?

Up until just now, Hans—as well as the rest of the school—was 100% certain of Jan’s heterosexuality; and he’s also pretty sure he heard from Rosa that Jan is already dating Klara.

...Yeah, they might talk about him sometimes— so what?

During this period of emotional crisis, Hans has neglected to respond to the compliment. Jan is still sitting there smirking when Hans feels something sliding up his leg.

“I meant it.” Jan whispers again.

Is this what hyperventilation feels like???

Somehow enough time has passed that there’s a dessert in front of him, but Jan keeps moving his eyes towards the door in a subtler version of a nod.

“Hans, why don’t you go show Jan around?” Hanush requests. “We’re going to talk business here, you’d both be bored out of your minds.”

“Yeah, you could show me your room.” Jan subtly teases.

For the second time in his life, Hans has absolutely no issue complying with a request from Hanush.

Hans sighs deeply, staring out the classroom window. This must be what love feels like! He’s sure of it. Does Jan love him too? Oh, he must! People don’t do the things they’ve done unless they’re in love, that’s for sure.

Completely missing the announcement for this Friday’s test, Hans debates his next course of action. In every romantic movie he’s ever seen there’s some kind of grand gesture. He can’t do anything too grand at risk of being found out, but maybe he can cram enough feeling into a smaller gesture to get the same point across.

Still pondering how best to show his affections, Hans exits the classroom with his head in the clouds. He should buy Jan a thoughtful gift. Maybe flowers? No, those are for girls. Chocolate? That could work…he should probably ask Rosa, just to be safe. She doesn’t need to know who it’s for, although she is growing concerned as to his whereabouts recently…

After failing to come up with a single additional gift that Jan might like, Hans must admit that he doesn’t know his boyfriend all that well. It’s to be expected, he supposes. They haven’t been dating more than a month, and most of their time spent together thus far has been um…physical. Although, Jan does seem to like having his arm around Klara right now, maybe that could—

Wait…

Hans prays to god that no one else in the hallway can hear his heart shattering into a million pieces. This doesn’t make any sense…would Jan really do that? Just go up to any random boy he wants and tell lies?

No matter how hard he tries to rationalize his boyfriend’s actions, Hans quickly feels his eyes start to sting. Unable to suppress his emotions, he begins to panic— and this five alarm fire is of the worst variety.

YOU’RE. CRYING. AT. SCHOOL!!!

Desperate to conceal his display of soul-crushing sorrow, Hans rushes to the bathroom. It’s not the most private location, but it’s better than nothing. At least here he can silently calm himself behind one of the stalls.

Soon after his eyes start to dry, there’s a knock at the door.

“Go away.” he mumbles in annoyance.

“It’s me.”

Hans’ breath hitches at the voice, it’s Jan’s. He has to stay strong.

The stall door creaks slowly open until Jan is visible through a small crack. “What do you want?” Hans asks, doing his best to sound angry.

Jan opens the door fully, and gently leads Hans into the open area. “Aw, baby, don’t cry…” he soothes, brushing the hair out of Hans’ face.

This affectionate gesture only causes Hans’ eyes to well up once again. “You’re dating Klara?” he sniffles.

Jan’s eyes quickly soften, and a delicate smile now adorns his face. “Baby, you know we can’t let anyone find out about us.” he chuckles. “Klara’s just a bit of insurance is all.”

Hans isn’t sure what about Jan’s tone isn’t sitting right with him, but the softness in the boy’s eyes is too enchanting for him to care. “I don’t know…” he hesitates.

“Come on now.” Jan reassures, “Why would I walk down that hall, where I know I see you every single day, if I wanted to hide something from you? Why would I do that?” he presses. “You have to be able to trust me, baby. Like I trust you.”

Well…he does have a point, Hans supposes. It would be pretty stupid of Jan to overlook something like that.

“I guess you’re right.” Hans surrenders.

Bringing a hand up to caress the younger boy’s face, “You know you’re the one I really want.” Jan whispers.

In an instant, the gentle touch turns to a rough grasp at the back of Hans’ head. The taller boy uses his strength to pull Hans close, joining their lips with aggressive want; and oh God, this must be what getting drunk feels like.

Hans has no choice but to melt in the other boy’s embrace, to let his hands fall to that gorgeous waist, to allow Jan to reach under his shirt—

*creeaaak*

The boys jump back, scrambling to right themselves at the sound of the bathroom door.

Luckily the intruder doesn’t seem to notice Hans’ untucked shirt, or the fact that Jan now holds his blazer awkwardly at his front. He walks to a stall, unphased, and locks the door behind him.

Clearing his throat, and with a silent kiss blown in Hans’ direction, “Call me.” Jan mouths as he makes his exit.

The LAST thing Hans wants is to be standing at this gala right now. He knows Jan loves him, he really does, but watching his boyfriend dance with Klara is making him sick. He HATES the way Jan looks at her. Even if it is only an act, it looks so convincing...

In an attempt to ignore what’s staring him right in the face, Hans allows his mind to wander. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if people knew about their relationship. Then they’d be able to dance, and Jan wouldn’t have to pretend to love someone else.

He doesn’t WANT people to know.

Ever since the incident in the bathroom, Hans has been plagued by a self-deprecating voice in his head. Week after week, it’s getting harder to ignore. He is weird, why would Jan want people to know they’re together? Then they’d both be outcasts.

No, their relationship has to stay a secret.

Perhaps it would be different with someone else, Hans thinks, wandering into dangerous territory. Maybe someone else would love him more, like maybe…that beautiful stranger on the opposite side of the room! Hans hates to admit this, but this boy is a great deal more attractive than Jan.

It could be perfect. They could get married, and live in a castle, and—

No one else could ever love you.

As always, the voice is correct. No matter how hard he tries, nothing he does is ever good enough. Not for Hanush, not for his peers, and not for Jan.

Watching his beautiful stranger go off with someone else, Hans’ daydreams are crushed, leaving him with a painfully dull ache in his chest.

Right then and there, Hans decides that he NEEDS to do something…he can’t let Jan leave him!

He needs to come up with a gesture. Yes, that’s worked in every movie he’s ever seen. He’ll do something so romantic that Jan will ditch Klara for good!

That’ll fix everything.

Oh, did Hanush want him to meet someone or something?

He can’t really remember…

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Big Feelings

“I’m working with WHO?”

To avoid classroom conflicts, it’s sometimes best to break bad news in the private sanctum that is the hallway. However, any effort spent to discreetly call only one student to the front of the room, then casually walk them outside under the scrutiny of their peers, is for naught if that student decides to yell.

“With whom.” Henry corrects, unable to resist such low hanging fruit.

The girl’s brow furrows with poorly suppressed ire. “I know for whom you’re gonna have to call an ambulance…” she mutters under her breath.

It wasn’t that loud…he can just pretend he didn’t hear it.

“Gia, it’s this, or getting kicked off the gymnastics team...and you know what that means for you.” Henry tries.

Hitting the girl with an unsubtle reminder of her situation seems to crack her previously impervious resolve. Her face falls slightly, yet she huffs, and crosses her arms.

She also has those dark circles under her eyes again, Henry notes; and a closer survey of the girl’s current state reveals a missing tie, and an incorrect button down. Troubling, but not urgent.

“I am literally begging you right now” Henry continues, “please make the smart decision for yourself. If you get yourself thrown out of school, then they win.”

Not necessarily true, but emotional arguments work so much better on teenagers than logical ones. If there’s one thing he knows about Gia, it’s that she can’t stand to lose…and it’s not like he specified who ‘they’ is.

Henry watches the girl’s face closely as her eyes light with newfound purpose.

“So we’re in agreement then?” he asks.

Gia certainly doesn’t agree based on her expression, but she does nod in understanding.

“Good. Now go sit down.”

The girl opens the door, and walks with her head held high towards the center of the classroom. On her way she passes Adam, who’s currently wracked with grief. He’s completely dead to the world— face down on the desk, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

Perhaps Henry should excuse him from class…

Although, what is an appropriate period of mourning for one’s project partner?

He’ll just send a card.

With all students seated in their assigned pairs of desks, class may begin. Henry launches into his third—and hopefully final—explanation of the project instructions.

“Now, please remember this time, choose a museum in an ENGLISH speaking country—”

“MYMOMSPEAKSENGLISH.”
“Oh yeah, so does my dad.”
“My sister pretended she knew how to speak English once.”

“GUUUYS…he’s WAITING!”

“…This is a PARTNER project. You are already seated with your partner, so we don’t need to-”

*squeak*

“— get up and wander the room. You can take notes on a shared document, and ALL the requirements are written in—”

“Mr. Kovář…what if we didn’t do this assignment and we wa—”

“We are NOT watching the K-pop movie!” Henry snaps, having heard this proposal many times before. “This is an English class!”

“No, no! It is in English, I SWEAR. Can we PLEASE—”

“ AS I WAS SAYING…the directions are written in your packet. Each partner should be doing EQUAL amounts of the work…and yes, it is VERY obvious when one person is—”

*SQUEAK*

“WutDaHel”

“—working, and the other one is on Cool Math Games— I DO know what that is, AND that it has nothing to do with maths. So—”

“Mr. Kovář I forgot how to say the numbers between 5 and 8 in English, can you say them?”

*SQUEEEAAAK*

“—don’t act surprised when…

Hyacinth, WHY is your desk in the middle of the aisle?”

Distinct from the neatly arranged pairs of desks sits Hyacinth. Her desk is about half a meter from its proper location, angled slightly away from her partner.

Frozen in a wide-eyed stare, “I couldn’t see.” she states plainly.

Henry usually loves his job, but sometimes, ohhhh soooometiiiiiimes…

“You couldn’t see the blank board? From the front row?” he challenges, eyebrows raised.

“Nope.” Hyacinth annunciates.

Switching to a lower, more threatening tone, “Move.the.desk.back.” Henry orders. “Or I’ll be forced to report to the headmaster that you can’t work as a team.”

The threat works— kind of. Hyacinth does move the desk back, but makes sure to do it in the loudest way possible.

“Anyway…you can use the rest of the time to pick the museum you want to research, and decide how best to present your work.” he finally concludes.

Thrilled to be done with the constant interruptions, Henry retires to his desk chair. These kids should be more than capable of completing two simple tasks in 20 minutes—

“Mr. Kovář can we do the Louvre?”

Jesus Christ.

“I said in an English speaking country, Marek!” he calls back. “That’s in France!”

“I know, but like, some people speak English there.” the boy explains.

Contact lenses seem to be causing Henry quite a few issues as of late. His eye definitely shouldn’t be twitching like that.

“Oh my GOD, he LITERALLY JUST said ENGLISH speaking COUNTRY!”

It’s always lovely when a student says what he can’t.

“Be nice, Anna.” he scolds out of obligation, “But it is true, Marek.”

“Mr. Kovář, are we allowed to sleep in class?”

This smug question comes from Hyacinth, whose partner has followed Adam’s lead in collapsing to the desk.

“Just let her be for now, Hyacinth. I’ll deal with it in a few minutes.”

Hyacinth gives him a perturbed scowl, but Gianna needs at least 10 minutes of sleep.

Henry lets out a heavy sigh as he returns half his attention to the laptop in front of him. He’s not usually this frazzled during classes, but it’s been a rough few weeks. Yesterday’s impromptu meeting was just the icing on the mouthwateringly plush…

…cake?

Inexplicable hunger pangs now present in his stomach, Henry must learn to cope with despair…

The only snacks he’ll be getting served are papers.

Capon is definitely gonna sue. If not on the grounds of injury to his daughter, then absolutely on those of emotional distress.

Henry visibly cringes at the memory of his own nervous breakdown.

In truth, he’d considered calling out of work this morning. The thought of having to face Žižka, or even— no, ESPECIALLY Adder after yesterday’s meeting is making him feel sick all over again.

All in front of his boss, he’d insulted, cursed out, and nearly made out with a PARENT!

Swallowing the truth dry in the absence of any refreshments, Henry must accept his fated life of ridicule over the situation. As his students might tell him, anxiety-induced vomiting is neither very demure, nor nonchalant; and some of his other jabs towards Capon had maybe, possibly indicated to Adder that he’s been…chalanting.

Another cool shiver wracks Henry’s body in remembrance of a truly award-winning line,

‘tHaT nOte WaS a dAMn LoVE cOnfEsSiON’

What the FUCK??? Was he SAYING???

Adder is gonna have a field day with that one, and if he has to hear one more crack about how much he’d like to lick Capon’s, he’ll actually hurl.

That’s it, Henry tells himself. He is D-O-N-E, done with Hans Capon. No more daydreaming, no more actual dreaming, and no more smelling the note. He’ll just look down at his keyboard, pretend to be grading, and try his best to ctrl-alt-DELETE all memories of that man from his brain.

Even the sound of his sweet little giggle…

He might’ve made that same noise if you’d had the guts to lean in a little more.

NOT. HELPING.

‘Sweet’ is possibly the worst word to describe that man. It's right up there with ‘adorable’ and ‘irresistable’. Hans Capon is not sweet, he is a criminal prosecutor. The scariest kind of lawyer.

Henry’s seen the man conduct press releases on the news before— and his demeanor is nothing short of terrifying. No emotion in his voice, zero empathy in his eyes, and surely no room for a relationship in his life.

But maybe you could fix him.

Weeeeeeell, the voice in Henry’s head seems to be on the right traaaack…but no. What makes the situation complicated is that he’s never actually met that icy litigator in person. In under two weeks, he’s met a ditzy blonde, a vengeful parent, and most recently a love-sick teenager, but never the detached sociopath from the news.

Whichever version of Capon is the real one, the man definitely wears a lot of masks. The existence of multiple leaves Henry with a single burning question:

Which Hans Capon will come for him next?

“Mr. Kovář, can you fix my Chromebook?”

Jesus CHRIST!

Last month, he’d inadvertently repaired one of these infernal machines with a fist slammed down in frustration. Now all the students think he’s some kind of magical fix-it man.

The first indication that he cannot fix said Chromebook, is the clear plastic bag full of key caps. The second indicator is the computer’s screen, which—much like his sanity—is hanging on only by ribbon cables, and a dream.

“Lukas, you’re just asking me this five minutes before class ends?

“You looked busy…” the boy mumbles.

“I have been sitting here, available for questions all class! What have you even been doing this entire time?”

“I dunno…” the boy lilts. “Can’t you just like, hit it with a hammer or something?”

Just breathe, just breathe.

Kids don’t know how technology works.

It is not a purposeful attempt to piss you o—

“YOOOOOO, Mr. Kovář’s crashing OUUUUUUUT!”

That’s it.

He’s leaving early.

It isn’t difficult to convince Žižka to let him go. Henry barely says two words to the headmaster before he’s waved away. As he walks to catch his train home, he hopes the wave wasn’t one of disgust.

Ambient noise from the metro usually can’t prevent Henry from dozing off, but his excessive worrying sure can.

It’s not like him to leave work early.

Now two of his classes will be left in a lurch. Some of those kids really need his help, and a substitute won’t be able to answer their questions as effectively…

Sofie always gets so nervous when she doesn’t understand something.

Then there’s Mara, what if someone eats peanuts during class again?

He should send an email right now, they need to send a sub who’s trained in first aid— oh, CRAP!

How is Patrick gonna remember to check his sugar levels at 13:00?

Following a brisk walk from the station, Henry frantically unlocks the door to his flat.

Desperate to get to his laptop, he must settle for greeting his dog with a curt pat at the door.

He drops his bag in the entryway, forgets to remove his shoes, and makes his way through the living room with the dog at his heels.

The room is simple. Functional. That’s all he really needs. Aside from the fact that it hasn’t been dusted in weeks, it’s a pristine living space.

In stark contrast is his bedroom, which suffers all manner of disorder. Various incomplete projects lay strewn across surfaces, each in wait of some required tool, or piece. On his desk is the laptop he’s looking for. The computer is surrounded by papers and books, each for some work related purpose.

With 20 minutes spent on the email, Henry is satisfied that every student’s needs have been perfectly detailed. Now he can— oh, wait…some students have emailed him. Ugh, he knew the sub wouldn’t be able to answer questions adequately.

He never should’ve left early. This is all his fault. He’ll just work the rest of the day anyway, that way he won’t miss any time-sensitive messages. Sleep is for the weekend anyway.

There’s also the scholarship grants to write, and the yearly online trainings to do, and papers to grade, and of course it wouldn’t be fair to the kids if he didn’t have any new content for them tomorrow...

A soft nudge from a dog’s nose is as good as an alarm clock. God, how long has he been sitting here? Alright, it’s been hours. He has some time to take Mutt for a walk, but then he has to finish this.

He’ll have to text Sam to reschedule drinks.

Hurriedly locating a leash, it appears it is actually Henry who lacks room for a proper relationship in his life.

But alas…his students need him more.

“You’re LAUGHING???”

This is outrageous. Of all the responses he might’ve expected from his best friend, this certainly wasn’t one of them.

“My daughter is submitting PORNOGRAPHY for her school assignments, and you’re laughing.”

He can’t see her face as it’s down on the table, but he can sure hear her strained gasps for air, and her fist pounding the tabletop.

“Sorry-I’msorry” she struggles insincerely. “I just…GREG?” she exclaims before descending into another uncontrollable fit of laughter.

“It is NOT funny.” Hans argues, trying to keep a straight face. When his friend only laughs harder, “Rosa, this is serious! What’ll everyone think of my family if shit like this gets out? Hm?”

Wiping tears from her eyes, “Oh, I dunno…probably nothing they don’t already, to be honest.”

Hans’ expression must look more scandalized than it ever had before, because Rosa adds an explanation. “I mean, come on. She probably learned this shit from you in the first place.”

Just kidding. NOW he’s the most scandalized he’s ever been. “ROSA!” he nearly shouts.

“HANS!” she mimics back, “You’ve fucked like five different people in the past month.”

Damn, that’s true. But he can’t let her have the last word.

“Well I—”

“Oh, sorry. You’ve been fucked by five different people in the past month.” she adds with a smirk.

“I’ll have you know that I am VERSE.” Hans exclaims slightly too loudly.

Ignoring the glances from neighboring tables, “sounds like something a bottom would say…” Rosa mumbles into her wine glass.

In private, he’d have absolutely no problem delving further into details of his sexual prowess. But seeing as how they’re already earning stares in a public setting, Hans settles for a perturbed scowl.

“So, tell me…who’s the latest in your long line of amorous adventures?” Rosa inquires.

Okay, like, she asked…so you can totally tell her ALL about Henry!

This is a bar. You’re underage. GET OUT!

“I’ve been…taking a break.”

Rosa gives him a sharp look. “That is a LIE!” she accuses, “Tell. Me. Everything.”

“There is nothing to tell.” Hans insists. But Rosa still gets that warning look in her eyes.

“If you don’t spill it in ten seconds, I’m gonna cause…a scene.”

Fuck, she will.

He has no choice.

“So there’s this guy…” he tentatively starts.

“…and?” Rosa prompts.

“And…God, this is so embarrassing.” Hans mutters. “I just…wanna…

KILL HIM.”

“Oh—”

“WHAT an ARSEHOLE! I mean, UGH, I’m gonna RIP his fucking THROAT OUT! I’m telling you Rosa, he makes me FEEL things…violent things…”

In the five seconds following his outburst, Hans waits for Rosa to back up his anger like she always does.

“Wow.” she finally comments, “You are down bad.”

She may as well have hit Hans in the face with a sack of bricks. “Did you- did you not just hear what I said?” he stammers.

“I heard it. You haven’t been this worked up about something since 2013.” Rosa explains.

Ah, March 22nd. The second worst day of his life.

“That was COMPLETELY different!” Hans argues. “I cannot STAND this guy, he’s the one who started the whole problem with Hyacinth’s paper in the fi—”

“Oh. My. GOD. You’re CRUSHING on your daughter’s TEACHER!”

Shit, shit, SHIT!

“I AM NOT!”

“You SO are!” Rosa insists, “This is INCREDIBLE. Please tell me you have a picture!”

The nerve of this woman, really. Wait, why is he taking his phone out? Why is he opening the school’s website…and why in God’s name is it the most visited result?

Fuck, you’ve lost control again.

“Okay, I’m totally seeing this now.” Rosa adds, examining Hans’ phone. “He is really hot…could be a good boyfriend for you.”

Hans does his best to conjure a disgusted look. “You’ve clearly confused my anger towards the man with something else.” he states. “And besides, I don’t date.”

Rosa’s signature eye roll is truly devastating. “Oh calm down I’m only teasing.” she laughs, in a way that suggests she is not teasing. “I really do wish you could meet someone though.” she pauses, “I don’t think you’ve ever even been in an actual relationship.”

Hans is silent, unsure how to respond.

“As your friend, I worry for you.” she explains, “I want you to be happy.”

Hans starts with his usual excuse “I don’t know- I mean- Hya—“

Rosa completes this thought “Hyacinth is 14 now, you’ve dedicated over a decade of your life exclusively to raising her, and it’s about time you do something for yourself.”

“I just—”

“No, I don’t wanna hear your excuses. You’re dating the hot teacher, and that’s final!”

Stupid Rosa, and her ludicrous ideas. Hans can’t even focus on this immensely boring meeting because of what she’d had the audacity to say to him.

What’s really bothering him is that she’s right. He hasn't ever experienced a real relationship. With his stress levels lately, he could tragically die of a heart attack without ever knowing true love!

He should probably get around to having that soon. How hard can finding a willing participant be? Surely there are some reasonable people he works with to choose from…people who aren’t a massive conflict of interest in his home life.

God, how could Rosa even suggest something so heinous? It’s his daughter's teacher for christ's sake!

Hell, just thinking about the man is getting him worked up…and his heart racing…and his hands sweaty…

That meeting really was something. Not once in his adult life has anyone spoken to him like Henry had. God it makes him so mad.

It’s all he can do to keep from imagining if it were just him and Henry in that meeting. That surely would’ve been a disaster...

Maybe they would have gotten into an even more heated argument…

Maybe their eyes would’ve met for a little too long…

Maybe Henry would’ve lost it…

And grabbed his face with both hands pulling him into—

NOPE.

Hans stands up with a sudden gasp. His chair falls to the ground from the sudden motion, causing at least ten other members of the legal team to stare in shock.

“Mr. Capon, are you alright?” one of the paralegals asks as Hans rushes to the door.

Struggling to collect himself, “Um… yes, I uh… I just need some air.”

Hans does not need some air, what he needs is to get himself under control. True love is a fucking myth, a fully grown adult should not be indulging in such fantasies…

This is all Henry’s fault.

If that criminally attractive man had just agreed to fuck him in the first place, then this would’ve been over and done with. Now the lust chemicals he’d reserved for Henry have gone unused, and are confusing his brain! Yes, that makes scientific sense.

Wait…that’s how he can fix this mess! All he has to do is finish what he’d started a few weeks ago. Even just one time should be enough to satiate his inner demons.

That’s it.

He’s leaving early.

He has a teacher to conference with.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Proximal Development

Facilitating peer-to-peer relationships between children is a fool’s errand. While most teachers understand this simple fact of life, most administrators do not. Thus, Henry has been made to play project matchmaker for two girls, both alike in lack of dignity.

Deep in his end-of-day reflection, all Henry can do is debate how best to handle the situation. No further blood has been spilt, but there are numerous other ways to render civil hands unclean. These include, but are in no way limited to: passive aggressiveness, poorly concealed arguments, and petty tattling.

Both girls have reason enough to dislike the other, but they’ve made their strife into everyone’s problem. As if running that class didn’t already make him feel like a glorified babysitter, he now uses 40% of their time diffusing fights.

Henry pushes away from his desk with a deep sigh. Things would be so much easier if those two could just learn to ignore each other, but they’re clearly not mature enough to realize that.

He can’t think about this anymore right now. The fluorescent lights of the classroom have become a strain on his eyes, and it’ll be easier for him to work at home. He just needs some air.

Throwing the double doors of the school open to bask in the natural light is not the healing tonic Henry thought it’d be. There’s little that can help the feeling of despair when one’s livelihood rests in the hands of feuding teenagers.

If these girls can’t get along, he’ll have to email home…and then he’ll get sued, and arrested, and his entire family will be disgraced!

Hans-fucking-Capon. Can’t that man just take the L and move on? No, of course he can’t. He’s too much of a spoiled bra— um…narcissist.

Although, it can’t be denied that he’s got quite a few reasons to be a narcissist. Hans is rather striking, with those baby blue eyes, and golden blonde hair; gorgeous body, too.

Fuck, under any other circumstances he’d be exactly Henry’s type…

Except that he's a RIGHT PRICK!

A typical rich ARSEHOLE who couldn’t give a damn about anything but himself!

AND he’s…

a naughty, naughty boy who deserves a good-

“Oh, Henry! Fancy seeing you here…how are you doing on this very fine day?”

JESUS CHRIST!

Startled by the sudden address, Henry whips his head to the side in the voice’s direction, and nearly collapses when he finds its owner.

It’s Capon, leaning up against a bright red Ferrari. If Henry remembers correctly, which he does, the man wears the same outfit from the day of their initial meeting.

Kurva.

Seeing as how Capon’s greeting actually was that loud, Henry can’t just pretend he didn’t hear it. He carefully selects his standard, workplace greeting from the list of acceptable options. “I’m well, Mr. Capon. And yourself?”

Henry’s blood runs cold at the toothy, artificial looking grin offered to him in response.

“I am doing wonderfully!” Capon responds, “It’s such a beautiful day, I figured why not come collect Hyacinth from fencing practice myself?”

There must not have been many applicants for Father of the Year, because the proverbial bar seems to be on the floor. Henry must expend considerable effort to resist rolling his eyes.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Sir…but the fencing team left for a tournament about an hour ago.”

The look of shock on Capon’s face is about as genuine as his smile.

“Oh darn!” he exclaims with an exaggerated snap of his fingers. “Silly me, I thought that was next week!”

Throwing a dramatic hand across his forehead, “What ever am I to do with myself now?” he laments with an absent sigh.

“Well, I suppose I could go get a drink aaaaall by myself…” Capon continues. “Unless, someone, some knight in shining armor, were to escort me?”

For a moment, Henry is dumbstruck. He’d expected an earful of complaints, but is Capon actually flirting with him?

Unwilling to lose himself in such fantasies, Henry tries to remember the disingenuous smile Capon had just given him. This man wants something, and it’s not to be his friend. As his students might say, this is all very Adam-pilled and Eve-coded.

“Respectfully Sir, I try not to make a habit of drinking with my students’ parents.” Henry states coldly. After a few seconds, he can’t resist adding, “Especially not when I’ll just be bribed, or extorted.”

Capon’s fleeting look of shock isn’t surprising, he’s obviously used to getting his way. What is surprising however, is the physical recoil from Henry’s scorn.

Any brief show of weakness from Capon is just as quickly covered, as he regains composure almost immediately.

“Oh I completely understand, you’re certainly very professional. But I can assure you my intentions are all above board.”

It’s all part of the act, Henry reminds himself. This man is a professional liar.

“You see, we simply got off on the wrong foot.” Capon explains, “I only wish to remedy that with a bit of…comradery.”

“So bribery, then?” Henry questions, crossing his arms.

There’s no recoil this time.

“Oh, nonsense!” Capon reassures with a devious smile. “In fact…why don’t I make you a deal?”

Dark storm clouds begin to roll in, blanketing the sky in an eerie gray. How convenient, that the school’s founders had placed the building so aptly at a crossroads.

And lead us not into temptation…

“You come with me, and we have one drink.” he proposes. “Just. One.”

Low rumbles of thunder can be heard faintly in the distance.

But deliver us from evil…

“After that, if you’re still suspicious, I will never speak to you again.” Concluding with the raise of his right palm,

“Scout’s honor.”

About a million voices of chastisement echo in Henry’s mind. Most notably, the secret eleventh commandment he’d recently learned about:

Thou shalt not stick thy prick in crazyyyyyyyyyy

Yeah, there is absolutely no way he’s getting in a car with this maniac. He doesn’t have to be a true crime fanatic—or an avid Bible reader—to know that the worst thing he can do right now is move to a secondary location.

“So…” Capon lilts, breaking Henry’s train of paranoia, “What do you say?”

Stuck between a rock and a remarkably hard place, Henry must find a socially acceptable way to say no…and fast. If he’s too rude he could get fired, but if he’s not firm enough Capon may never leave him alone, and if he waits too long then he might become entranced by—

“Alright, one drink— and that’s it.”

Lightning cracks across the sky at the signing of this unholy contract. The promise of anything made of gold is too great a temptation—even for those most devout—to resist.

The serpent practically squeals in a song of excitement, though Henry finds it to be more of a demon-like screech.

“You will not regret it.” the tempter adds, extending his hand. “And you now get the distinct pleasure of calling me Hans.”

It’d be rude not to accept his handshake, Henry figures; and after all, they’re quite a ways from Georgia.

“Well since you’ve already pleasured yourself with using my first name, I guess you can call me Hal.”

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?

“Oh—OH GOD, uh, thatcameoutwrong, not like—”

In a dramatic rescue of Henry’s teeth, his floundering is interrupted by the sweet sound of Cap— er, Hans’ laughter.

“You’re pretty funny, Hal.” Hans croons, keeping hold of Henry’s hand long enough to guide him to the passenger door.

As the car doors slam shut, so too does his escape window. The car roars to life with what must be the loudest engine rev allowable by law.

“296 GTS.” Hans states, “You like it?”

Assuming he’s speaking of his gaudy vehicle, “Yeah, it’s uh— loud.” Henry responds.

Probably to punctuate that point, Hans revs the engine once more before pulling away from the curb.

Desperate for something to do with his hands, Henry looks over the various knobs and dials on the dashboard until he recognizes the radio volume, which is set to zero. Who the hell drives in complete silence? Music will be the perfect remedy for any awkward silences, he thinks as he twists the dial.

‘Who’s the cute boy with the wide blue eyes, a—’

The admittedly catchy—but definitely girly—tune is cut short by Hans, who lunges for the volume like his life depends on it.

“I-uh, drove Cindy to school this morning.” he explains through awkward laughter.

Henry feels the corners of his mouth twitch upwards into an involuntary smile. Hans’ fall from his initial bravado is objectively adorable, especially with the return of those pink cheeks.

“You’re pretty funny, Hans.” Henry tries, with a new vote of confidence.

Maybe he isn’t so sca—

“Well, plenty of people already find me quite humorous. So you’ll have to try a bit harder to flatter me, Henry.”

Aaaaaand there it is.

Hans’ choice of bar is at the end of a quiet street. Henry’s not really sure what he’d been expecting, but is pleasantly surprised on walking through the door. The building itself is rather old, and it seems the proprietors have somewhat leaned into that. Historic artifacts have been incorporated here and there, and they’ve opted to use mostly wooden furniture instead of going for a more modern look.

The general vibe of the place is pretty cozy. There aren’t so many patrons that the space feels cramped, but not so few as to stoke feelings of awkwardness. It’s just a regular bar for regular, everyday people.

With Hans leading, the two make their way towards a table at the back of the room; and before Henry can protest, Hans makes sure to pull his chair out for him.

Good grief.

Sitting at the bar would have been easier. Directly facing the party responsible for his hellish few weeks feels too intimate. The soft glow from the fireplace next to them doesn’t help— and why does he keep staring like that?

“So, you come here often?” Hans lilts, with a huffed laugh at his own joke.

Unsure if what he’s feeling is cringe, or fear, “Uh, no…I’ve uh— never been until now.” Henry quickly replies.

In an instant, Hans’ expression shifts to something far more sinister. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table to rest his chin atop laced fingers.

“You’re afraid of me.”

Henry’s silence must serve as confirmation, because Hans attempts to dissuade those very rational fears.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite your head off…” he coos, training his eyes up and down. “That’s not the reason I asked you here.”

“Then why DID you ask me here?” Henry snaps.

No matter how attractive this guy is, he’s grown tired of being toyed with.

“I mean, really, what ARE you playing at? One day you’re attacking me over email, or screaming at me in meetings; and the next you’re showing up at my job to see me, and lying about the reason you’re there! What kind of lunatic does that?”

When he looks up, Henry finds himself seated across from a stranger. This man is completely unrecognizable from the seat’s last occupant. His eyes are downcast, shoulders slumped, and Henry swears his lower lip may be quivering.

“I…I just…”

“Well?” Henry prompts, unwilling to let him off that easy.

“I just wanted to…apologize.”

Whatever Henry had been expecting, this was not it.

“Huh?”

“I told you, we got off on the wrong foot. I behaved…badly— no, horribly to you. I just…don’t want you to think I’m a complete prick, that’s all.”

Every bone in Henry’s body tells him these are the words of a liar, but there’s a genuine softness to Hans’ face that suggests the opposite.

“We can head back now, if you want.” Hans mumbles.

Well…he sure seems sorry, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just talk like normal people. Perhaps seeing a more realistic side of Hans Capon will help quell the feelings associated with his nervous breakdown. Being regular friends should be far less confusing than whatever the hell they’ve currently got going on.

The eleventh commandment doesn’t mention anything about being friends with crazy…right?

Deciding to take the plunge, “Well, we are already here…and I guess that’s all water under the bridge now, anyway.” Henry reassures. “Besides, compared to how some of these parents act, you were a dream.”

Hans smiles slightly at this. “More like a nightmare…” he mutters with a laugh.

“Eh, we’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” Henry offers with a dismissive shrug.

The exaggerated gasp from Hans is unexpected.

“You?” he questions in feigned surprise, “You’re telling me, that teachers can make mistakes???”

Absolutely devastating. The—former—worst person he knows has actually made a pretty good joke.

“Hey, let’s not get crazy, now.” Henry jokes. “I said things I’m not proud of.”

“Like?”

Damn, in his profession he should’ve known he’d be asked for an example.

“Well, for starters, the only reason I have these…” he explains while rolling his sleeve slightly. “Is because in uni I thought it’d piss off my dad.” Henry concludes with a laugh.

Thankfully Hans laughs too, although he does avert his eyes. Observing him more closely, Henry can spot a soft touch of pink on his face.

“Um, what’d you study in school?” Hans asks abruptly.

Unable to hold his playful comment, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you left out the ‘where’ part of that question!” Henry teases.

Slightly rosy cheeks turn a delicious shade of crimson as Hans stammers.

“I’msosorry…I just— uh, was curious about your credentials.”

Their conversation is momentarily spared the awkwardness by a waiter. Then, when prompted for their drink orders,

“Pilsner.”

Both men respond in tandem.

“What?” Hans asks once their waiter is out of sight.

Shit, he’s been staring!

“Nothing! Just not what I expected, that’s all.” Henry quickly explains.

The man across the table regards him inquisitively. “And…what were you expecting me to order, exactly?” he prompts, “Magical elixir?”

Before he can stop it, “Yeah, or maybe witch’s brew…” Henry hears himself say.

Profuse apologies about to spill from his lips, he’s once again interrupted by the sound of that—somehow sweeter than before—laughter.

“Yeah, okay I deserved that one.” Hans admits.

A brief, but oddly comfortable quiet falls following the receival of their drinks. The silence allows Henry to fully analyze his da— um, acquaintance.

Hans’ face really is quite striking. It shouldn’t be possible for features this sharp to seem so soft— the blonde hair must help achieve that look. All the times he’s seen it, that hair has been meticulously styled; but right now there’s a few locks out of place and one has fallen onto his forehead. It makes the once unnatural seeming man look a little more…real.

“Literature.” Henry moves to continue their conversation.

“What?” Hans lilts, as if in a stupor.

“It’s uh, what I studied in school…literature.” Henry specifies.

In response, Hans jumps slightly with a short inhale. “Oh! I uh— forgot I asked that. Like, books?”

With an affectionate laugh, “Yeah, something like that. Mostly classic stuff, a lot of Shakespeare.” Henry elaborates. “I always liked to read, so it seemed like the easiest choice at the time. It’s no law degree, bu—”

“Do you like poetry?”

On a typical day, Henry is interrupted approximately 67 times— this time is different. Hans’ interruption seems to have come from a place of interest. He regards Henry with a wide-eyed grin, as if he’d been too excited to restrain the question any longer.

“I know some, definitely studied a few poems in uni. I like them well enough, but I think I prefer novels.” Then, noticing a slight drop in Hans’ expression, “Do…you like poetry?” Henry tries.

Pink rapidly returns to his face, “Well…I don’t usually tell people that.” Hans mumbles. “But I guess my brain already decided it trusts you— so yes, I do like it.”

“You? Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about something so embarrassing, would I?” Hans jokingly argues. “Now that’s two things you didn’t expect out of me today.”

“Yeah…” Henry surrenders. “I guess you’re ri—”

“Well? Go on then.”

69 times now.

Hans rolls his eyes at Henry’s confused stare. “I told you something embarrassing about myself, now you trade me.” he states, as though it’s common law.

There are numerous things Henry could offer to Hans in exchange. Like how that note is still locked in his desk, or how often he thinks of that blush, or that he regrets not going for that kiss every day of his life…

But that would require admission to himself first.

“I uh…really like reality TV.” he finally blurts out.

This time Hans’ laugh is more similar to the giggle Henry’s so dearly missed.

“That’s quite a jump from Shakespeare isn’t it? he teases, “Wherefore art thou, hot new bombshell in thy villa?”

Henry only hopes his unrestrained laughter doesn’t sound awkward.

“Self report!” he finally manages to accuse, “How would you know that line if you don’t watch it?”

The scandalized expression on Hans’ face would concern him, but,

“Oh, kiss my arse!” Hans exclaims with an eye roll. “Can’t you let me have my one liner?”

It would appear that it’s Henry’s turn to blush.

Keen to turn the tables once more, “So…where did you go to school?” he taunts.

After tossing a crumpled napkin in Henry’s direction, “Here in Prague, if you must know. Those of us with children can’t just go flitting about across the Atlantic.” he sarcastically points out.

Damn.

Henry had noticed Hans’ age in prior meetings, but he’d assumed it was probably due to a strict skincare regimen. With this information, the man is likely his same age— possibly younger.

Feeling a new sense of empathy for him, “That must’ve been difficult.” Henry offers. “Attending school while raising a child, I mean.”

The pair of eyes looking back at him now seem more distant.

“It was...” Hans replies absently. “But I don’t regret it, Cindy’s kind of all I have— well, her and my uncle. He did try his best to help me.”

That’s a feeling Henry knows well. What family he does have left, he’d protect with his life.

Suddenly, Hans’ demeanor turns humorous, “It’s honestly a miracle she's still alive, considering the years she spent with a teenage boy caring for her.” he jokes.

Henry cannot, in good conscience, laugh at this. Though he does offer a smile to prevent things becoming awkward.

“I’d like to hear more about you. Tell me all about Hans Capon, and his embarrassing love of poetry.” Henry teases.

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?” Hans chuckles.

With a genuine smile, “Nope.” Henry annunciates.

From then on, he’s able to talk to Hans as if they’d been life-long friends. They have the same taste in drink, television programming, and most importantly humor. As it turns out, some lawyers are very funny; and more importantly, Henry can easily cause the no-longer-icy litigator’s face to scrunch up with laughter.

They’ve been seated here for what must be hours. Outside, the sun is setting, and the artificial glow of headlights is as good as an alarm clock.

“Oh— SHIT!” Hans exclaims suddenly, causing Henry to jump.

“What’s wro—”

“I actually do have to pick up my daughter now…” Hans hurriedly mutters, “We have to go, I’m so sorry— I just can’t be late for that or—”

“It’s fine!” Henry interrupts, “I totally get it, no worries.”

Hans visibly relaxes at the reassurance, “Thank you.” he sighs in relief.

When their waiter brings the check, Henry is far too slow to retrieve his wallet, as Hans has already scanned his card by the time it’s produced.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Henry insists.

Collecting his coat, “It’s really the least I can do.” Hans replies. “I’m sure the trouble I’ve caused you the last few weeks is worth triple.”

Face inexplicably heating up, “Thanks— all water under the bridge.” Henry repeats.

Quiet evening air creates the perfect setting for a walk, though the journey to Hans’ car is rather brief. Henry is allowed the privilege of opening his own door this time, and when he braces for a jarring engine rev, he’s pleasantly surprised by its absence.

During his second attempt to use the radio, Henry notices Hans’ posture stiffen.

“You can uh— change it if you want.” he offers, gesturing to a second dial.

“And did you ever think that I might like it?” Henry jokes, earning a smile from his new friend. “So rude.”

The rest of the ride is spent in remarkably good company. Hans…Henry…Sabrina…what more could one ask?

Safely parked outside the school, both men exit the vehicle. Though the sky has cleared of its earlier foreboding, Hans’ eyes may still hold more stars.

“Hal?” he questions softly, “Can I ask you something?”

As Henry offers a silent nod, he can’t help his pulse from quickening. Nerves, he supposes.

“Why did you agree to come with me?” Hans almost whispers.

He’s so close that Henry has no difficulty hearing him.

“I mean, if you hate me so much…” he specifies when there’s no response.

There must be a reason— there has to be a reason, and it better be a damn good one.

“I don’t hate you.” Henry answers, taking a step closer.

In the low light, he finds himself transfixed by the way Hans’ pupils dilate…or are they getting closer?

“I just…I…I…”

Bright headlights of an approaching bus are as good as an alarm clock, abruptly waking Henry from the dream-like world he’s been caught up in. This was never really going to work, was it? He’d only be fooling himself to believe otherwise.

“Dad! Can we get food?” a girl’s voice calls from what feels like a mile away.

Hans quickly steps back before responding.

“Yeah, just decide before we’re in the garage this time!” he calls back.

Hyacinth’s face becomes more, and more displeased as she approaches the pair. Looking between the two adults, “Am I in trouble?” she worriedly asks.

Noticing the terror written on Hans’ face, and recalling how mortified he’d have been to learn that his dad was hanging out with his teacher, Henry quickly jumps to his rescue.

“No, of course not! No need to worry. I was here late grading papers, and I just ran into your dad as I was leaving!” he explains.

This seems to calm Hyacinth, as her shoulders relax to a resting state.

“Well, we better get going!” Hans quickly adds, steering his daughter towards the passenger side. As they go, he discreetly turns back to mouth ‘thank you’ in Henry’s direction.

Watching the car drive away, it becomes apparent how late it’s gotten.

He should go home.

Now he actually does have to grade those papers tonight.

Oddly, this metro ride home is more unnerving than his last. He hasn’t skipped work, and he’s no longer concerned about a lawsuit, yet his mind is racing.

Why did he agree to go with Hans?

The question continues to haunt him throughout his evening, and the answer is beginning to look like something terrifying.

He does NOT like Hans. He can’t, that is SO unethical! Even if his feelings were reciprocated, which they’re NOT, they could never do anything about it. Having a relationship with a parent, let alone this parent, could get him fired…and it’s not like Hans would want him anyway.

In his experience, rich people don’t date outside their own social circle. All that can lead to is angry family members, and scorn from society.

Well…society already scorns him, but that’s WORSE.

There is absolutely no way that anyone from a family of that status would be caught dead with Radzig’s illegitimate child, even if the man has more money than God.

That’s it. He can’t think about this anymore. He does NOT like Hans Capon. He’ll just sit on his couch the rest of the night, and grade these papers.

Just sit here, and grade these papers.

Just sit here…and grade…

Just sit here…

“Henry, oh Henry…
Wherefore art thou, Henry?”

A distant voice calls out in awful pain.
This horrid cry our hero seeks to ease.
With bounding strides he travels cross’ the plain,
Following the noise that carries on the breeze.

Of heavy stone a tower stands erect,
Its highest window frames a silhouette.
The man above in height as well as sect,
But with his beauty one could pay their debt.

This prince is captive to an awful witch,
So cries of sorrow he cannot prevent.
He dares not run, for fear there’d be a snitch;
So for forbidden love these sighs lament:

“Deny thy boss, and warnings of thy mates.
Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And take from me the name which carries weight.

Tis but my name that is thy enemy;
thou art thyself, though only peasant be.”

“I come to rescue thee!” our knight decrees,
But rhymes still cast like ships unto the sea.

“What's in a name? That which we call a note,
By any other word would smell as sweet;
And would I not, when stripped of Capon coat,
Be naught but thy perfection in the sheets?

My dearest Henry, I will doff my name,
And for my name, which is no part of me,
Bestow thy trust, and I’ll be yours to claim.”

A claim to which this knight will surely see.

Transfixed by lust our hero, Henry stands;
Though be that true, his heart should keep its pace.
Determined now to win the fair lad’s hand,
The humble knight must prove he speaks with grace.

“I take thee at thy word, my lovely prince.
Call me but love, and Capon thou won’t miss.”
With words as these the knight will sure convince
The prince to share much more than just a kiss.

“With so few words I cannot fully tell
Yet thy tongue’s uttering, I know the sound.
Art thou not Henry, thus my knight as well?
If so, huzzah! For true love I have found!”

Sir Henry shouts into the skies above,
“What must I do to stake my claim to thee?”
“Just come inside!” the prince cries out with love,
“On thine own body thou dost hold the key!

I’ll wait so patiently for thee, my sweet;
Do climb the highest stair unto my floor.
Just for thee I’ve prepared a little treat,
By mode of dress which suits the common whore!”

Though chivalry states there be no reward
For coming to his aid so gallantly;
The knight’s desires shan't be underscored,
So up the stairs to fill his fantasy!

Atop the tower herein waits his prize,
In naught but garters and unbuttoned top.
The bulging not contained to our knight’s eyes,
Delay this fuck, and his own heart might stop.

With eyelids weighted down by wanton lust,
“How wilt thou have me?” his prince calls to task.
“Upon thy lap? I’ll bounce quite well, do trust.
Or I’ll take thee prone, if that’s thine ask.”

Both tempting options cause the knight to drool,
Though it’s a different thought that sets his mood.
“Forgive me if I’m made to sound a fool,
But what I ask of thee is rather lewd.”

A smirk appears across the prince’s face.
“Oh.” he growls, his thoughts just coming to;
Then bends atop the bed with practiced grace.
“Though I’m a brat, don’t leave me black and blue.”

With a cute flush of pink that stains his cheeks,
“I’ve been so naughty, I’m the one to thank!
Since punishment I’ve earned over some weeks,
Across my arse, please land a solid—”

“JESUS CHRIST!!!”

Gasping for air, Henry is roused from a dead sleep drenched in sweat.

More like a nightmare, indeed.

Desperate for water, Henry stumbles into the kitchen. Through his frenzied thoughts, he’s unable to recall when exactly he’d lost that bet, but what he’s just experienced can’t POSSIBLY mean anything else…

He’s lost his soul to one blonde-headed demon.

Unable to deny it any longer, Henry stands faced with the horrifying truth of his situation.

As his students might say:

Chat, he is so cooked.