Mr Tharby x Mr Rogers: a Lexi birthday special

Prologue

A Christmas Carol, Blood Brothers, Kamikaze, Mr Tharby knew it all. He was a tight-fisted hand at the desk, and wrote wonderful essays gracefully with a pen so lucky to have his hand clasped around it. Mr Rogers knew this. 

Mr Rogers was a genius- a man blessed with wisdom and grace- one who was quite fond of the arts, literature especially. So why, he a man with such passion and fondness for his work, is he  outclassed by such a- a know it all? Of course, he was quite the hypocrite by thinking that, but could you really blame him? He deserved the reputation that covetous, google-using old sinner had. The nerve of that man, he just wanted to knock him down a peg, or a few. He sighed painfully, projecting his anger into the pile of paper he was now straightening on the desk, now banging them against it a little too forcefully; pledging to usurp his position on the social scale. 

Meanwhile, Mr Tharby lounged back in his comfy chair, mindlessly playing Block Blast while his students engaged in Red Zone. All he was thinking about was that sweet, succulent, shepherd's pie he'll be miraculously greeted by once he returns home. He wore a cute, content grin as he fantasised about it. 3 o'clock finally came, and his class started to stampede out the door, excited to finally get home. When no students were left, Mr Rogers barged in, his infernal resentment towards Mr Tharby very evident in his demeanour. He glared at Mr Tharby straight in the eye, his own icy and bitter. 

"Mr Rogers!" Mr Tharby greeted enthusiastically, "Did you need anything? I was just about to start marking, but you're free to stay a while."

Ugh. Such naive positivity, how could Mr Tharby be so carefree whilst he himself was losing it? He knew- or well, thought he knew- what it was; what Mr Tharby's game was. Mockery. Absolute, ruthless mockery that made every fragment of his sadistic soul want to strangle him right then and there and get the last laugh. Obviously he didn't, for the sake of professionalism and maturity. As much as he wanted to revert back to his natural instincts as a human being, fighting out something so trivial like animals was not only a waste of time but also harmful to the reputation he wished to increase.

Mr Tharby stared at Mr Rogers. He couldn't read his expression, he just hoped and prayed to Shakespeare that it wasn't bad. He put on a brave face, consciously trying to increase that level of charisma he always had. He'd always admired Mr Rogers, so he'd hate to disappoint him- he pleaded in his head for Mr Rogers to stay for just a little while longer.