Be asking how's it going (say the goings well)

Naamloos deel 1

Harry Styles expects his first year of teaching to go at least minimally bad, if he's being honest.

Expects himself to get overly frustrated when one of the boys gets cheeky with him one too many times. Expects to feel sad when he sees students who have lots of potential not trying at all due to their own laziness. Assumes, even, that he'll let a curse or two accidentally slip out when discussing Romeo and Juliet later in the year because, Jesus Christ, it's not a love story.

So yes, minimally bad, he repeats it to himself like a mantra as he struggles to unlock his class room door with hands full of coffee and books and general teacher things.

Minimally bad, minimally bad.

Because he knows it's unreasonable to expect everything to go perfectly, no matter how hard he tries.

Minimally bad, minimally bad.

Because he's placing his coffee and books on his desk, pulling out the obligatory first day, get to know each other work sheets and he's nervous enough to want to pack up all his things and walk back to his car before anyone sees him.

Drive back home and hide under his comforter until he eventually gets evicted from his flat for not paying rent on time, tries to ring his mum and ask to come back home only to find his phones been disconnected for not paying the bill.

He'll have to live on the street, eat lunch out of a bin while begging for spare pounds-

A loud shrill from the class room speaker cuts into his reverie and he shakes the unreasonable thoughts from his head before glancing down at his watch and realizing class starts in ten minutes. Which means his students will start trickling in within the next five.

He sucks in a breath and walks toward the door with his hands clasped in front of himself, the hugest grin he can possibly muster plastered on his face. And he waits.

He's 2 minutes in and is just starting to hear the faint chatter of voices coming down the hall when he realizes what a right creep he looks like.

Lurking by the door with a Jeffrey Dahmer smile, looking more like he's ready to stick someone's head in a freezer than teach them how to write a proper essay.

And that has him rushing back to his desk, sagging into his chair before realizing that's a bit too casual and leaning up, resting his elbows on the mahogany.

He's beginning to over think his greeting choices once again when two girls walk into his class room, heads bent as they laugh quietly to each other and take seats quickly in the front.

They don't even glance at Harry as their conversation continues, and he's beginning to feel like such a knob for worrying over something as silly as the placement of his body when his students enter the class room.

He lets out a small sigh and begins to relax before repeating to himself once again minimally bad, only minimally bad.

He can do this.

*

He absolutely cannot do this.

To be fair, the first half of the day had actually gone well, with only minimal embarrassment and general awkwardness on Harry's part.

His first 3 classes were actually pretty quiet, which Harry chalks up to the earliness of the morning. No one seemed to be too much of a trouble maker and the most he thinks he'll have to deal with is a few chatter boxes, once everyone gets more comfortable in the classroom.

He completely ignores the way some of the girls', and even a few of the boys', eyes bulge as they send discreet glances to each other after having a look at Harry. He's not so egotistical as to think he's that good looking and knows it has more to do with the fact that he's young and not balding with a beer belly.

So. He ignores it.

He ignores it until he can't.

It's his fourth class of the day and Harry is just beginning to get in the swing of things, is feeling more confident than before and is actually able to believe it when he tells himself he can do this.

The late bell has just rung and Harry is half way to closing the class room door when it pushes open suddenly and a short boy with brown hair and square glasses falling off his nose stumbles into the room, out of breath with a fierce blush across his cheeks.

And. Okay.

Harry tries, tries really fucking hard, to not think about how attractive this boy standing in front of him is. Because he's obviously a student and at least 5 years younger than Harry, and Harry is a teacher for god's sake. So he can't. He cannot notice the sharp cheek bones, the deep blue eyes, or the sweeping brown hair.

The boy speaks before Harry has the chance to and he almost groans at the high pitched, fluttery sound of it. He is so fucked.

"I'm-I'm sorry I'm late. I just got a bit chatty in my last class with Mrs. Flack, yeah? See, I have a mate I haven't seen since before summer so we were doing the old catch up and I guess we shouldn't have done that in the middle of class so she kept me after to have a talk, I'm sure if you emailed her she'd tell you the same-"

"It's alright Mr.- " Harry cuts the boy off before he has the chance to ramble on further. Students are starting to snicker and the boy is flushing even deeper and Harry is beginning to imagine those cheeks reddening for reasons other than embarrassment and he'd very much like this whole exchange to end about 10 seconds ago.

"Tomlinson." The boy rushes out and Harry nods before glancing down at his role sheet to see Louis Tomlinson before looking up with as easy of a smile as he can muster.

"Right, Louis, go ahead and have a seat anywhere. We were just about to begin."

Louis nods quickly before hefting his rucksack higher on his shoulders and hurrying to the back of the class room to sit next to a boy sporting a leather jacket and quaffed hair.

The boy is smirking at Louis and Harry sees him whisper something under his breath that has Louis replying with a fuck off and Harry turns around quickly, pretending not to hear the exchange as he begins calling out names for role.