Teachers USUK

Chapter 11

Arthur's POV

"So, how did your little date go?" Francis asks, leaning over my desk as I try to leaf through a stack of paperwork the principal gave me.

Not only do I have to enter the grades of my own students. I have to now enter the grades of the football team and cheerleaders. So, I'm staying late tonight in order to finish.

"Wonderful," I say with a sigh, not even bothering to deny that it was a date.

He rolls his eyes. "You're in love, mon ami. I can see it in your eyes." He grins mischievously at me, and I laugh. "Plus, you seem much happier now that you two have gotten on better terms."

I smile, staring up at the ceiling and picturing those lovely blue eyes of his. "I am happier," I admit. "I don't know. I guess I've just been waiting for this for a long time."

"But if you ask Alfred," Francis says. "He's still trying to prove himself worthy of you." He gives me a calculating look, and I grin.

"Yeah. It's cute watching him try to impress me," I say, placing my hands behind my head leisurely. "He doesn't even realize how adorable he is."

"I never thought I'd see the day when Arthur Kirkland, legendarily straight-laced, British buffoon, calls another human being adorable, one that isn't his son."

That comment actually manages to make me laugh. "I can't say that I blame you," I return, shrugging lazily. "But he's special."

The Frenchman chuckles before sighing. "Well, as much as I love talking about your blossoming love affair, I need to head out. Don't stay too late, Angelterre. You need beauty sleep more than I do," he says, waving goodbye as he heads towards the door.

"Gee, glad to know we're friends," I state, rolling my eyes as his smug laugh rings through the air.

"See you next week!" he calls. "Just be glad that it's Friday, no?"

I roll my eyes and throw a halfhearted wave over my shoulder. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. It looks like a late night work load. I text Peter, telling him to warm up some leftovers since I won't be home in time to order dinner. It's probably for the best. As much as I love to cook, I'm not the best at it. I learned that the hard way during a pretty nasty semester back in high school.

I wake up a few hours later. "Shit," I curse quietly to myself. I feel asleep grading those bloody assignments. Oh, this is just what I need, lack of sleep and an aching neck. Rubbing the sore muscle, I gather up the papers I have left and decide to bring them home. I don't like bringing my work home, but I'm so swamped that I'm willing to make an exception. Besides, Peter is going out with friends tomorrow anyway, so I'll have the day free to get this done and maybe do some grocery shopping.

Yawning, I stand up and pull at my shirt collar. Is it just me or is it hot in here? And why is it all hazy in here? If I didn't know any better I'd say there was probably a fire.

It registers rather quickly that something is very, very wrong. 

One of the first thoughts that runs through my head is what is going on. I look around, feeling the heat, seeing the smoke, but I don't notice any actualy flames. Something is very wrong, though. It's hot, stuffy, and unbelievably hazy. I can barely see my hand. 

The smoke scratches my throat, making me cough. It burns the back and inside of my throat, flaming hotter than a wildfire.

I stumble passed my chair, managing to fall and send the papers I had gathered scattering across the walkway in front of me. All I can see is smoke, and my body is suddenly so weak. 

Everything hurts, and I have no idea what's going on.

Alfred's POV

"Shit," I curse quietly to myself, leafing through my bag. I totally forgot my phone in the auditorium. I groan and slip on my shoes, grabbing my jacket and keys as I hastily leave my apartment. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm entirely dependent on that little electronic device.