poeta nascitur, non fit ~ steven meeks x fem!reader

splintered stanzas: my confidante~

Mr. Keating, as all the other Welton faculty were given, had a small studio-esque apartment on the second floor of the faculty building. That being said, it was not very much to look at. Thankfully, Keating had a knack for homemaking and had thus born a beautiful, sacred space in which (y/n) felt wholly accepted and loved. 

Of this, she was reminded often by the older, blue-eyed and mostly smiling man. 

"Sweetheart," he chided gently as she stared without preamble into her now-cold tea, analyzing it's lovely and delicate painting. "I can see that stunning mind of yours at work. Penny for your thoughts?" she sighed before looking up at him, right into that gentle, fatherly aura. 

"Well, erm," she ran an ink-stained hand through her wind-disheveled hair. "You know, Steven Meeks? I uh," she scoffed "I've grown to care for him. Very much, in all his goofy, know-it-all glory." Her eyes by that point, were squinted shut to shield against his reaction, which was not at all what she had originally expected. 

Instead, he laughed. A loud and hearty laugh, one of the pure embodiments of joy. "I knew it. It's in his eyes, my dear, and yours as well." (y/n) blushed slightly into her tea. 

"And, what do you think?" the question felt almost wrong to be asking. Now, it was his turn to be silent, looking out the window with a pensive face. Slowly, he turned back to her, solemnity transforming into a bright grin. 

"That young boy is one of the most promising I've ever seen in any Academy. And not only in his studies, oh no - he is a genuine, all-around, wonderful young person." The older man gushed passionately, "One that I think would be wonderful to you should you choose to pursue dramatic and romantic entanglement, my dear." (y/n) could have cried with relief. Keating, after all, was her closest companion in this odd, new country she found herself a resident of, and his opinion was held very highly to her. 

"Oh, that's brilliant!" she cried, happy beyond words "Steven and I... well, it's complicated to say the least." the girl shrugged, trying to play it off. Keating, still sitting opposite her, only watched patiently, waiting for her to open up to him further. 

"Don't mistake me for a fool, (y/n)," he chided gently "The two of you were looking like a pair of lovesick puppies instead of learning Iambic Pentameter-" He was interrupted by a quiet, accented murmur. 

"I could write in Iambic Pentameter in my sleep." she chuckled lightly at his surprised face. 

"Trust me, I know." he nodded to her, swirling the cold tea in her teacup before reaching for a small pastry on the table between them. Before she could grab one, however, he stopped her hand with his, gazing at his little beloved. "I want you to understand that if you have found someone who cares for you as you deserve, I could not possibly be happier for you." 

"Bene facis," she choked out, tears brimming in her almond-shaped eyes, feeling even more gratitude towards the man who stepped in her mother's place - whom was still living in London, although there was a photograph in the room upon an antique dresser - to help her live a beautiful life. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The remainder of her visit with Mr. Keating had consisted primarily of eating pastries and companionable silence between the duo as they both worked on schoolwork or annotated novels. Around six o' clock, the man took a look at the clock and piped up. 

"You should call your mother, my dear," he pointed at the time "before it gets too late for her." (y/n) closed her leather-bound book with a snap and her eyes widened.