Chapter Text
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEE—
Ryland Grace rolled over and smacked his alarm clock with a groan. He blearily forced his eyes open, squinting at the clock under his hand. 5:30am. Sighing, he dragged his arm back under the covers. Five more minutes. He snuggled into his pillow, slowly drifting back into a slumber...
~Bling-a-ling Bling Bling Bling-a-ling Bling Bling~
He growled, picking his phone up from the nightstand. 5:32am. Yeah that seems right. He grumbled. Why do I have to be responsible and set multiple alarms and… He closed his eyes again. It's so early, I mean I could probably sleep another half hour…
~Bing Bing Bing-a-bing Bing—
“Alright fine, geez. I'm Up!” He grumbled, though he only had himself to blame.
He stood in front of his calendar, having dragged himself out of bed and into his kitchen, his fox slippers staring up at him with judging expressions. His second-hand coffee pot hissed behind him, as if also protesting having to be awake so early, while the caramel sauce and cream waited patiently beside it. Why are we awake so early?
Scribbling x's through the days he'd forgotten to cross out, he landed on the current one according to his phone. Monday, August 14th. “Oh, school starts today.” He scratched his chin and yawned. “I'm 35 years old, I don't go to school.” Grace turned to go back to his room, before stopping in his tracks as realization hit him like an asteroid.
“Ah. Yeah. I'm a teacher.” The coffee pot clicked off indignantly.
Grace locked up his bike and headed towards the school building. The sun peaked at him from behind its blanket of clouds as it lazily rose from the horizon. Even the Sun doesn't wanna be awake. He sipped his third cup of coffee, making a mental note to start taking his meds again. Now that I'm back at work, I don't think caffeine'll be enough to keep me on track. What do the kids say, ‘locked in?’ Wait, did I lock my door?
“Grace is here?! Hey GRACE, wait up!” Grace's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice, earning a fond chuckle from the blond man. “Bye Adrian, love you! Mwah, love love love.”
“Morning Rocky, morning Adrian,” Grace called, nodding towards the person in the car, who waved back. They then pulled out of the parking lot as the other man caught up.
“Walk too fast, Grace. Excited for class?” Rocky asked, tapping his cane in front of him and stepping up onto the curb.
Rocky was much shorter than Grace, at about 5’7. His dark skin glowed in the morning sun, as if it was happy to see him (and why wouldn't it be). He wore his deep brown hair in thick, loose locs that fell just short of his shoulders, which he decorated with beads and ribbons. Many necklaces and bracelets adorned him, as well as his jade wedding band. His soft brown, un-seeing eyes hid behind a pair of star-shaped sunglasses, and his cane was decorated with many, many stickers.
“You know I like to get here before any students, Rock.” Grace replied, taking a sip of his coffee.
“How many coffees today?”
“...Just the one…”
“Liar. How many?”
Grace sighed. “This is the third…”
Rocky clicked his tongue. “Bad bad bad.” He punctuated each ‘bad’ with a soft thwack from his cane against Grace's shin.
“Hey, ow, stop it! Keep that thing on the ground, you're gonna trip!” Grace swatted at his friend's shoulder, who chuckled.
“You said you were gonna cut back, that was your new year's resolution.”
“...there's still time…” Another thwack against his shins earned a much louder “Ow!”
“You hear about the new teacher, yes?”
Grace rubbed his shin awkwardly, then continued walking, only tripping a little.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. English, right?”
“Yes yes yes, since Mr. Szymanski retired.”
“Right, yeah.” Grace shifted his bag on his shoulder. “What was his name again?”
“Bad news, I brought it up hoping you would know. Should have known better.” The two reached the steps leading to the front door, Grace taking Rocky’s arm and helping him up. “Grace is Stupid.”
“Wow Rock, love you too. You’re welcome for helping you up the stairs and all.” Rocky stuck his tongue out at Grace. “Well, I think it started with a B. Mr. B… Buh… uh…” Grace swung the door open.
Before he could stop himself, he crashed into a person who was going out at the same time. Grace took in the sight of the new person. He was a little shorter than Grace, maybe 5'10 or 11, and stocky. Very well built, actually. He was Asian—Korean maybe?—with shoulder-length, wavy black hair that was pulled back out of his face. Deep, dark, chocolatey brown eyes looked up at him. Wow, this guy has pretty eyes. Grace’s eyes wandered down, noticing something fairly obvious for the first time. Oh hey, he has a prosthetic arm. Neat. He then realized, in the collision, he had spilled his coffee all over this stranger. Oh no.
“Gah-what the fuck, man?!” the stranger exclaimed in a deep, gravelly tone.
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh I’m so sorry-” Grace stepped back, barely keeping his balance, then started digging in his bag. “I-I think i have napkins o-or something.” As he pulled the napkins out and pressed them to the stranger’s chest, he noticed the guy’s lanyard.
Simon Butcher, Language Arts
Oh yeah, that was the name.
“Fucking- alright. Just give me those,” he snapped, grabbing the napkins from Grace. “Jesus fucking christ goddamn first day-” he continued grumbling to himself as he tried to dry himself off.
“Uh… at least it was iced. No burns, yay?” Grace babbled, cringing as the words escaped his mind, where they should have stayed. Mr. Butcher glared at him.
“Hey, what the fuck, question?” Rocky piped up.
“Oh, uh, Rocky, I… I may have spilled my coffee all over, um, Mr. Butcher…”
“Oh, New Guy? Name’s Rocky,” he put out a hand.
Mr. Butcher sighed. “Uh, yeah, nice to meet you I guess…” He briefly reaches his hand out, then pulls it away when he realizes he’s still holding a wad of napkins. “I uh.. I can’t shake your hand… napkins…” He looks around for a trashcan, fruitlessly.
“Cool cool cool, hate handshakes anyway,” Rocky retracted his hand.
“Uh, I’m so sorry, I-I mean,” Grace sighed. “I-I’m Grace, uh, Mr. Grace, I guess,” Grace also went to shake hands, immediately pulling back and facepalming, pushing his glasses askew.
“Yeah, uh,” Mr. Butcher threw his head back and sighed. “I think I’ve got another shirt in my car.” With that, he pushed past Grace towards the parking lot.
After watching him walk away for a beat, Grace groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Talk about first impressions, huh?”
“That guy’s rude.”
“I mean, I spilled a whole caramel iced coffee all over his chest on his first day of work. So, you know, he’s allowed to be a little peeved.”
“No, that guy’s an asshole.”
Grace pinched the bridge of his nose. “Language, Rock,” he replied, watching the first batch of kids start showing up.
“Ese tipo es un Pendejo.”
“Not what I meant and you know it,” Grace picked up his cup from the ground.
“Ce type est un connard?” The blond man shoved his friend's shoulder playfully, rolling his eyes.
He chuckled mischievously. “Hey, at least, silver lining?” Rocky turned to enter the building.
“What’s that, Rock?”
“Now you only had two cups of coffee. You’re cutting down!” he said, ducking into the building as Grace chuckled after him.
Spilling coffee all over a guy you just met was a sure fire way to ruin your entire day. Spilling coffee all over a guy who was your new coworker was a sure fire way to ruin your whole school year.
Grace was simply positive that he would never recover.
His first class distracted him well enough. He loved getting new students, so Introduction to Biology, a class full of new 6th graders, was a perfect way to start the day. The reason he so fondly regarded new students was because he had a bone-deep belief that there was a plague of teachers who inexplicably hated children. How one gets into teaching when one hates children was beyond Grace. It’s not like the pay was any good. But for whatever reason, by the time many students got to middle school, they had learned that a significant portion of the people in charge of them hated their guts. This was an excellent way to kill any passion for learning.
Grace loved teaching. He had too. He simply would not put up with the crappy pay and crappy coworkers otherwise. He had had his childhood dream job already. He was a field researcher, he had funding, but he still felt… hollow. That was until he met Adrian and Rocky. Grace had been collaborating on a project with them, in which they had to travel, so Adrian naturally brought their partner. And Rocky was an instant spark in Grace’s life. He was bright, clever, funny, and the passion with which he talked about his students… something clicked in Grace’s brain. That was what he had been missing. He put in his two weeks notice the second the project was over, then enrolled in some education classes. He even uprooted his entire life (nevermind how easy that was) to work at the same school as Rocky. (Rocky had to pull some strings to make that happen, and Grace tried not to think about the fact that he was practically a nepo-baby. Nepo-Bestie?) New students were exciting. Because he could see that ember of curiosity that is innate in every person. He could see it being smothered in many of his students. And, not every student was going to like him, or his class, he knew that. But some of them…
His favorite part of a new school year was watching those embers brighten. As he poured every ounce of passion he had into his lessons, he got to watch as those students soaked it in like a sponge, rehydrating their curiosity. That was why he did this. He loved his students. He loved teaching. So, his first few classes took his social blunder off his mind. There were new names (he never forgot a student’s name) and returning names, and the fervor of diving back into his deepest passion was a perfect distraction. Then, he had a free period.
And that’s when his day got so much worse.
He rounded the corner into the teacher’s lounge. (He definitely wasn’t going to get coffee, shh don’t tell Rocky) And there was Mr. Butcher, sipping on his own mug. Oh no.
“H-hey, uh, it’s… you.” Real smooth, Grace. The shorter man looked up from behind his mug. Was he glaring? Oh gosh.
“Hi.” the man replied curtly. The two fell into an uncomfortable silence.
Grace couldn’t stand silence.
“You uh, you had another shirt, awesome sauce.” Oh God I’m Going To Die.
“Awesome sauce?” the other teacher was definitely glaring at him.
Oh God I’m Going To Die.
“Hah, uh yep. Um. S-sorry again. I can uh, I can pay for uh, dry cleaning?” Grace stumbled over his words. “O-or, probably not, it was just a polo shirt, that seems excessive. Not like, not like just a polo shirt, that’s not how I meant that, I meant, um, what was it, a polyester blend? That doesn’t need dry cleaning…” Shut up Grace Shut up Grace Shut up Grace.
Mr. Butcher just stared at him intensely. Death would be a mercy about now.
“... cotton?...”
The other man remained silent. “Um, but if you need me to pay for laundry I can do that for sure. Again, I'm sorry. But uh, I've said that a lot it's probably getting annoying hah.” Shut up Shut up Shut up. “I mean I think this new shirt looks better anyway. I mean! Not that I'm worried about whether you look good or not ha! That's- that's not something a coworker should say or worry about!”
“It's Grace right? Mr. Grace?” The other man's eyes flicked down to the lanyard around Grace’s neck.
“Yep.” Grace squeeked.
“Mr. Grace, I need you to shut the fuck up.”
“Yep.” Sweet Death Please Take Me Now.
Mr. Butcher pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply, before letting the breath out slowly. “You came in here for a reason, what is it?”
Grace glanced at the coffee pot, sitting silently behind the intimidating man he was making a fool of himself in front of. I can't possibly say I'm here for coffee. Nope. No shot. But I have nothing in the fridge I can't just look in the fridge and take nothing but if I tell him I'm here for coffee he'll think I'm some coffee obsessed freak or it'll just bring up this morning again and I never want to think about that again and it's going to be in my nightmares tonight and—
Mr. Butcher scoffed (that was a scoff, right? Definitely) and Grace broke out of his stupor. He'd been staring at the coffee machine. I'm So Stupid.
The other teacher shifted to the side, gesturing at the machine. “All yours,” he said, returning to his own cup. Grace awkwardly shuffled over, half afraid if he got too close that Mr. Butcher would bite his head off.
This is normal. So normal. Stop being weird. He silently poured a serving into his travel mug (the same from this morning. Stop thinking about it) and stirred in a heap of sugar and powdered creamer. The burning sensation of being watched festered the entire time. He hates my guts so bad.
“Don't spill that on anyone,” Mr. Butcher remarked.
Time to flee.
“Y-yep. Heh. This one would burn.” I literally hate myself. “Uh.. bye….”
With that, Grace made his clumsy exit, never once daring to meet the other man's eyes. Flee flee flee. He practically ran back to his classroom, shutting the door behind him a little too loudly. He leaned against it, letting his head knock back into it. The entire conversation replayed in his head on loop, torturing him with his own social ineptitude.
“This is gonna be a rough school year.”
Simon Butcher watched the blond teacher practically run for his life out of the teacher’s lounge. He dropped his head into his palm. “‘Don't spill that on anyone?’” Anger seeped out of his tone as he repeated back his own words. “Godammit Simon, why are you such a dick?”
He turned toward the counter he was leaning on and set his mug down, hunching forward and staring into the dark liquid. ‘Don't spill that on anyone.’
It's just fucking coffee. The guy didn't mean to do it. Why am I being an asshole over a fucking accident?
The smell of caramel wafted up towards his nose again. That was going to stick with him all day, huh? The other teacher's face materialized in his mind. He looked so scared, as if Simon might bite his head off if he got too close. Not like I gave him any reason to think differently.
Sighing, he planted his face firmly into his palm. This was going to be a long year if he didn't figure his shit out.
Ok, ok. Let's think about this. He tried to channel his therapist, taking stupid deep breaths to regulate his stupid emotions. Lay out the events. First day of a new job. Get here early. Literally run into a guy. He spills coffee all over you. Which you… freak out about. For some reason. He glanced over at the sugar and creamer. Sweetness.. he didn't need that.
Maybe it's because… you wanted to make a good impression? You were… you had a plan, and it was interrupted… or maybe… He paused, before allowing himself his next thought.
Maybe you got flustered because he's the hottest guy you've ever seen.
And he was. Tall, about 6’ from Simon's best guess. A not insignificant amount of muscle, with a sharp business casual suit hugging his frame perfectly. Dirty blond hair that was messy, but in a put-together way. Pretty blue eyes, glasses that were just barely hanging onto his face. Just a bit of scruff. He was Perfect.
Sinner.
“Oh shut up Ellie.”
That was another thing his therapist taught him. Give his undesirable and intrusive thoughts a name. His doubts couldn't weigh him down as easily if he considered them as an annoying other person or some shit. Whatever. He chose the name Ellie.
Sinner. You're going to burn in Hell for eternity. Ungrateful, sinful wretch.
Yeah yeah, fire and brimstone for fucking eternity because I think some guy is cute. Whatever, Ellie. He downed the rest of his bitter coffee. It had gone cold.
This was really it, huh? He was being a dick because he got flustered over a pair of pretty blue eyes.
Pathetic.
Pathetic…
Simon sighed. He was better than this. He… he was allowed to be better.
“I gotta apologize. Somehow.” He mumbled to himself. “T-tomorrow, maybe.”
He was pretty sure Mr. Grace wouldn't want to see him again today. Fuck, he probably didn't want to see him ever, not after being practically snarled at. But… Simon had to make this right. He poured himself another mug of coffee.
Fucking coffee. His eyes flicked over to the shaker of sugar once more. Caramel hinted at his nose again.
He picked up the shaker. I might know what could fix this…
He poured a small amount into his cup. He was allowed to have a little sweetness in his life.
Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic
Was time always this slow?
Grace sighed, his leg restlessly bouncing under his desk. He tried to reread his lesson plan for the day, but his eyes just… glazed over.
I'm So Bored.
Grace was really regretting only having one coffee today. He pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning. He would have had more, but after yesterday's events…
He sat forward, pulling a set of sticky notes out of his desk drawer and scribbling on one. This wouldn't do. He had to call his pharmacist and get his medicine refilled.
‘Call pharmacist. Meds.’
Usually he self-medicated with caffeine when he was out. It's a stimulant, just like Ritalin, so it's practically the same. But, after yesterday… yeah he simply couldn't look at the stuff without his skin crawling, let alone bring a mug to work. Absolutely not. And the one he'd downed this morning was black and hot, more of a necessity than the pleasurable experience he usually tried to make his morning cup to be.
Grace looked out the window, his leg resuming its motion, while his fingers matched the rhythm tapping on the desk. Thankfully he'd not seen Mr. Butcher on this second morning. But one could never be too careful after a social disaster.
What was he doing? Oh yeah, note.
He pulled the haphazard note from its stack, going to put it at the corner of his desk where he knew it'd bother him enough that he wouldn't forget it. But… there was already a note there.
‘Call pharm. Get meds. Lock in.’
His head dropped squarely onto the desk, a groan escaping his soul.
I will literally marry the first person to bring me an iced coffee I swear…
Knock knock.
Grace straightened quickly, almost falling out of his chair. “Who's there? Uh, Come in! Doesn't matter who's there…” he muttered that last bit, rushing to straighten his desk and self, dragging his glasses back onto his face fully.
The door creaked open, slowly revealing… Mr. Butcher. Oh gosh…
“Uh, h-hey. Is, um, is this a bad time? Can we talk?” the intimidating other teacher said… almost timidly. Weird...
“Uh, yeah! I mean, uh, no. No it's not a bad time, yes we can talk. Hah.”
Mr. Butcher opened the door the rest of the way, stepping into the room fully. Shifting his bag off of his shoulder, he dropped it onto a nearby desk. He had an iced coffee, with what looked like a lot of cream. I didn’t take him for an iced coffee guy. Huh.
“ What can I do for you?” Grace tried his best at a normal voice, but it came out somewhat strained. I’m literally so pathetic.
If the other teacher heard the tone, he mercifully didn’t mention it. “I, um…” he trailed off, simply refusing to make eye contact.
This. Is. Weird. Grace was absolutely befuddled. This guy was so intense and intimidating yesterday, for good reason. Now, he was… well. Timid. Quiet. Guilty? That just couldn’t be.
Finally, Mr. Butcher let out the breath he had apparently been holding, and stepped towards the desk. He set the coffee down in front of Grace, who looked at it briefly, before shooting a puzzled look up at the other man over his glasses.
“It’s uh. It’s a peace offering,” the man practically whispered.
“...A What?"
Mr. Butcher sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. (Frustration?) “A peace offering. It’s um, it's a caramel one, like the one you uh…” He gestured over his chest area. “Well, you know. Anyway, I just wanted to say, uh. Say Sorry.”
For the first time in a very long time, Grace was stunned into silence.
Peace offering?? Apology?? For what? I thought…
“I-I thought… I thought you hated me…”
Mr. Butcher snapped his head up, his own look of confusion spreading across his brow. “Hated you? Why?”
Grace set down the pencil he hadn’t realized he’d been clutching. He leaned forward. “W-well, I… I guess that is a bit silly isn’t it. Sorry. I just, uh, I get like that sometimes. But… you glared at me. Like, a lot, yesterday, sooo… I assumed I ruined your favorite shirt or something.” He allowed himself to let out a small laugh.
The other teacher gave him a curious look, tilting his head slightly (kind of like a dog… shut up Grace.) “Sorry. I… For that, first of all. I don’t mean to glare.” He moved forward more, leaning on Grace’s desk. (Wow his arm is strong looking) “And I’m sorry for… well, for being a major dick.”
Grace was really looking up at him now, now that the other man was practically leaning over him. Wow he has really pretty eyes. Focus Grace! “I mean… I spilled a whole coffee on you so I mean—”
“No. That’s not a good reason to be an asshole to someone. Especially someone I just met.” Mr. Butcher looked away. (Thank god, the eye-contact was making me squirm) “I was uh… I had something else on my mind. And that wasn’t fair to you, you don’t deserve me being a bitch to you.”
Silence fell between them once more. Mr. Butcher had returned to looking at Grace directly. He didn’t shy away from it this time though. The gaze was… intense, granted, but also… sweet. Comforting? Weird.
It’s ok. Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.
“I forgive you.” Grace surprised himself with his answer. It was genuine. Not just a placating response to please the other person, a real, true acceptance. For the first time since they met, Grace saw the other man smile. It wasn’t a large, toothy smile; it was a closed mouth one. Soft, sweet, (fond? Couldn’t be…) and genuine. If Grace thought his eyes were pretty before, he wasn’t prepared to see them with joy. Wow…
After a short time, Mr. Butcher blinked away their mutual silence. “Well, that’s settled then, I s’pose.”
“Right, yeah, all squared away, sounds good.” Grace moved to straighten his papers, his eyes landing on the coffee on his desk. The thought he’d had just before Mr. Butcher had showed up flashed through his mind, making him mentally cringe and push it away. Then, another thought crossed his ever tumultuous mind.
“How’d you know yesterday’s coffee was caramel?”
Mr. Butcher laughed. (That’s a nice sound) “I uh, I have a keen sense of smell. I was wearing it the whole day so…”
“Sor—” Mr. Butcher squinted at him. “—right, yeah. It’s behind us.” Another short silence fell between them.
“I don’t think your friend, uh, Mr. Rochelle-Rodríguez?... I don’t think he likes me very much…”
This took Grace’s brain a second to process. “Oh. Rocky? Heh, that sounds like him. He holds grudges, and he’s very protective of me.” He chuckled. “Uh, friendly advice? If you want him to like you, never call him that again, he exclusively goes by Rocky. Even his kids call him ‘Mr. Rocky.’”
“Ok.”
“I mean-his students. He and Adrian don’t have kids yet.”
“Ok..”
“I mean, if they even want kids, I-I don’t know, I'm not a part of their family planning, ya know? Hah.”
“Ok…”
“Adrian is his spouse, by the way. If that wasn’t, you know,” Grace knocked his knuckles on his desk nervously. “Obvious…”
“You talk a lot.”
Grace paused briefly. “Yeah.”
They fell into one more silence. Mercifully, Mr. Butcher turned to the clock on the wall. “Well, I’d better get back to my room before students start showing up.”
“Yeah yeah yeah, cool cool cool,” Grace responded. “Have a good day, Mr. Butcher."
The teacher stopped at the door, midway through picking up his bag. “Uh... Simon.”
“Hm?” Grace looked up at him one more time.
“Um, My name. I… I don’t really like my last name so… Call me Simon.”
Grace smiled at him softly. “Alright Simon.”
Pleased, Simon turned to leave.
“I-I’m Ryland, by the way,” Grace spit out impulsively.
Simon paused, turning towards him. It was his turn to smile softly. “Alright, Ryland. Nice to meet you.”
He has really, really pretty eyes…
“...Nice to meet you too…” he almost whispered. With one last nod, Simon left the room.
“What the heck just happened?”
Ryland… when’s the last time someone called him Ryland? He leaned back in his chair, throwing his mind back in time. It was Linda, wasn’t it? Wow, it’s been a while. Why did I tell Simon to call me that?
Everyone else knew him as Grace. To the other staff and the kids he was ‘Mr. Grace.’ To Adrian, he was still ‘Dr. Grace’, or sometimes ‘Gracie’ if they were being playful. To Rocky he was just ‘Grace.’ Heck, in his own mind he was just ‘Grace.’ When did that happen?
‘Alright, Ryland.'
It’s not like he disliked his name. He picked it. It was a long and arduous task, after he came out. He went through so many names; Ryan, Colt, Ken. But none of them stuck like Ryland. When did he stop going by that?
‘Alright, Ryland..'
It sounded good when Simon said it. Not that he disliked ‘Grace.’ It was just… interesting. The shift must have happened in grad school. Being called by your last name was Grown up, and Professional.
‘Alright, Ryland…'
Alright Simon, maybe this school year won’t be such a disaster… Ryland took a sip from his coffee.
Way too sweet. Just the way he liked it.