Chapter Text
“We’ve only got three doing A-Level next year.”
“I’m jealous.” Izzy grunted, fiddling with his lighter. “Class size that small you’ll be able to control the little twats.”
“It’s not good, Iz. No one’s interested in drama anymore.” Edward sighed. “They all just want to- to learn how to code and shit.”
“I don’t blame them. More fuckin’ employable.” Izzy replied through a cigarette. “We’ll all be replaced by robots soon.”
He chuckled, reaching over and digging in Izzy’s pocket for a cigarette of his own. “No one could replace you with a robot, a robot wouldn’t be able to scream at asthmatic kids the way you do.”
“If they’re really asthmatic they shouldn’t be doing P.E.” The shorter man grumbled, leaning back and letting him fumble around. “That’s all I’m saying.”
Edward just grinned, lighting the cigarette he’d managed to conjure and leaning back against the stone wall of the sports hall. The November sun had struggled over the horizon at last, casting a gentle golden light onto the dew-covered rugby pitch. For Edward, it was sights like that that made arriving at school at 7:30 in the morning worth it. Not that he would ever express that sentiment to anyone. Teachers at Harrison School for Boys had about as much love for the school and their jobs as the students had for the school and the teachers.
Izzy was a concentrated form of this dislike, 5’8” of pure rage, teaching healthy living and exercise to kids, only to chain smoke in his car. Theirs was friendship born out of a necessity to survive the ordeal of teaching teenagers with more money than you’ll ever have. A shared love of Sisters of Mercy and council estate childhoods strengthened the bond later on.
Students were beginning to trickle across the grounds now, older boys stepping smoothly out of BMWs and Porsches, younger ones speaking to their personal drivers through the window of equally flashy cars.
“Yo Mr Hands! Give us a fag will ya? And I don’t mean Mr Teach!” Someone shouted, and Ed glanced over in time to see another boy playfully tackle the speaker into the grass, laughter floating up into the grey morning.
Izzy shifted uncomfortably, squashing his cigarette underfoot. “Little twats. Don’t know how you stay so unbothered.”
“They do more homoerotic shit in a day than I do in three months.” He muttered, watching the boys wrestle on the damp ground. “It’s hard not to see the irony.”
Edward yawned, taking one last drag and stubbing out his cigarette too. “Besides, better they say that stuff to me than some poor lad in their class.” His mind drifted to Lucius, who sat in the drama room every day and ate lunch by himself, and Jim, who stayed after hours to practice with the lighting and sound tech and paid their own way through school.
“Well they’ll be doing extra fucking rugby drills this afternoon.” Izzy spat, straightening up and punching Ed on the shoulder. “See you later. Have a shite day.”
--
“There’s a new English teacher.” Lucius was standing in front of the doors to the classroom when Edward returned from the staff room for third period.
“Is that right? Haven’t seen him.” He sighed, moving past him into the classroom. “Is he nice?”
“He’s a bit mental. But like, in a cool way. I guess.”
Ed wasn’t really listening, rummaging through drawers looking for the A-Level scripts. “Uh huh.”
“Jamie Ritchie said Shakespeare was a poofter and he took him outside and screamed at him for 12 minutes.”
He paused and turned around. “Did he now?”
“And he didn’t let him come in the whole rest of the class! And all of those boys, you know the ones, like they didn’t know what to do, and he said he liked my views on Lady Macbeth and, and-”
“I think he’s gay.”
Ed jumped and clutched his chest in surprise as Jim sauntered into the classroom, hurling their bag just past Lucius’ head.
“Now you can’t just make assumptions about people like that, Jim. Allies fight homophobia too.”
Lucius snorted. “Yeah right sir, like there’s “allies” shouting at homophobes in this school.”
“With a last name like that too?” Jim interjected, and the two fell about laughing.
Ed tossed some scripts on the table and tried to lean as casually as he could against the props cupboard. “What’s his last name?”
Lucius failed to stifle a giggle. “Bonnet. Like a fucking hat .”
“Sí, sí , and he walks into the class like this- wait, wait..” Jim dashed out of the classroom for their grand re-enactment and Edward raised an eyebrow.
“You have to see this Mr. Teach, just wait.” Lucius grinned.
Suddenly Jim burst in, arms spread wide. “Hi all! ”
Lucius screamed and fell about laughing all over again, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god he’s literally so mental, Mr. Teach you have to meet him.”
Maybe I do , Edward mused, smiling gently as Jim pranced about the room while Lucius tried to recover his wits.
“Right, well-” He clapped his hands together. “Though I do appreciate your…attempt at accent work Jim, this doesn’t look much like your exam pieces!”
--
“Right mate, I’m off for my cigs. Want me to lock the door?”
“Nah,” Lucius sighed, glancing up from his sketchbook. He practically teleported into the room as soon as the lunch bell rang and stayed until Edward kicked him out. “They all thinks its gay to even look at the drama room so…” He didn’t have to specify who they were, Edward knew the gangs of roving teens that would snicker when he walked by and tormented Lucius with all their might whenever they could.
“Alright, well-” He turned towards the door and stopped dead. A man, around his age, pale and blonde but with a warm smile on his face stood in the doorway, poised to knock. When he met Ed’s eyes he took it as an invitation, stepping further into the room.
“Mr. Teach? Oh! Hello, Lucius wasn’t it? Excellent student you’ve got here!”
Lucius smiled nervously and shot a look at Edward that he couldn’t quite interpret. The man continued on.
“I was wondering if we could have a small chat? I’m the new English teacher. For A-Level?”
Bonnet.
Ed managed to recover himself before the silence became too awkward.
“Uh, right. Lucius uses this room for, uh, quiet lunchtime studying.” Lucius nodded fervently, glancing between them. “I was just heading outside, let’s talk on the way?”
“Oh! Certainly! Goodbye Lucius! Until we meet again!”
“Um…bye…” Lucius mumbled, returning his attention to his sketchbook.
Edward closed the door behind them and was already digging around for cigarettes as he jogged down the wood-panelled old stairwell, Bonnet rushing to catch up.
“What can I do you for then, mate?” He smiled, glancing at the flash of golden curls out of the corner of his eye.
“Well, I’m new, obviously- I’m Stede by the way- and I just thought-”
“ Stede? ” He wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.
“Oh, come now, you teach at a private boys school, you must have heard the far worse names rich people give their kids.”
Rich parents then , Edward thought. Alright, Stede Bonnet .
“Right, well, I’m Edward.”
“Edward.” He said it so gently, like it might dissolve on his tongue.
“Just Ed is fine.” He rushed to correct the gentleness. Not like that, not for me . “Anyway, you were saying-”
“Yes! I’m teaching Shakespeare this term and feeling a little out of my depth-” They pushed the doors out into the overcast afternoon, sounds of rugby and rap music from car speakers floating towards Ed’s ears. “-and I just thought that since you’re the drama teacher, you could help me out a little. Or not. Or you could just be my Shakespeare friend.”
“Is that a euphemism?” He grinned, offering Stede a cigarette.
“Sorry?” He held up a hand in polite refusal.
“Never mind. Well I mostly do modern stuff with the older kids but sometimes I’ll do a bit of Romeo and Juliet or something with the GCSE lads. It’s hard though, no one tends to be willing to be Juliet.” He joked.
Stede shook his head in what seemed like genuine regret at the attitude of posh English boys towards gender in theatre. “That’s a shame.”
“Sure. Well I have some lesson plans from a few years ago I can give you, if you like.”
“Really? Oh that would be wonderful!” He beamed, beamed at him like he’d fucking hung the moon. “Thankyou Ed.”
How are you still making it sound so gentle?
He cleared his throat. “It’s no bother.” He raised a hand at Izzy, who was practically screeching at a group of 14 year olds in rugby gear. Izzy waved back, and even from a distance he could feel the shorter man’s gaze on Stede. He leaned back against the wall and sparked his lighter.
“You smoke in view of the kids?” Stede asked. Not judgemental. Curious.
“If anything, seeing me do it puts them off.” He smiled dryly. “I’m saving lives here.”
“Ah.” The other man fiddled with his cufflink for a moment. Ed felt so underdressed next to him, his purple threadbare jumper and faded chinos tatty and cheap compared to Stede’s sleek blue waistcoat and perfectly ironed shirt. “Why would seeing you do it in particular put them off?”
“Well they’re teenagers, they’ve got no critical thinking skills. You teach English, you know that. They see a gay guy smoking, they think smoking’s gay.” He took a long drag and shook his head.
Stede was very quiet for a moment, and Ed felt a twist of panic. Maybe he wasn’t what the kids had made him out to be, maybe he was just like every other rich boy in this place.
“It really hasn’t changed, has it?”
“I-” I wouldn’t know , he thought, this isn’t my world . “I suppose not.”
“It’s good to meet you, Ed. I hope we can speak again soon.” Stede held his hand out to him.
Ed stared at it for a moment. A few ornate rings but no wedding band. He blinked and shook it firmly.
“Y-You too.”
--
Stede had a panic attack during second period. He shouldn’t have expected much else really, but it still hurt.
Different school, different town, same Stede Bonnet .
He hadn’t really meant to shout at that boy. There was just something about the way he’d spoken, the way he’d looked, the way he’d acted, the way another boy at the back of the class had flinched…
His therapist had told him that when the anxiety got too much, he had to recognise it as his younger self wanting to protect him. He should thank his younger self, but ultimately put it aside. Instead his younger self had loudly lectured someone about the impact of homophobia for 12 minutes while the rest of the class listened in. On his first day.
At least even the staff toilets in this school were ancient and dusty and had an air of wealth to them. He leaned his head against the wall and steadied his breathing. He’d promised Mary he would try and make one acquaintance on the first day, to get some momentum going.
“I know you Stede. If you don’t speak to any of your colleagues on the first day, you never will.”
It all seemed too much now, after everything. He couldn’t really face going into the staff room and introducing himself to a bunch of dead-eyed, underpaid educators who couldn’t care less. He needed a good reason to speak to a singular person.
When a snotty 13 year-old complained in 5th period they’d “already done this shite with Mr. Teach”, he made a decision before he could think twice.
Had he been too talkative? Had he not said enough? Had he cut the conversation short? Should he not have asked about the smoking?
He groaned and gently rested his head on his knees. Why did he have to make everything so difficult for himself?
A group of boys sprinted down the corridor, shouting and laughing and Stede flinched despite himself.
--
“So he was nice? The drama teacher?”
Stede fiddled with the latch on the window of his new apartment. He had the key for it, but even then it appeared to be stuck. “I don’t know Mary. He seemed to be tolerating me at best.”
“I’m sure it was just your imagination. People like you, Stede.”
He hummed noncommittally, giving up on the window and perching on top of some cardboard boxes with labels like ‘STEDE PLATES’ and ‘BOOKS FOR DAD’. “Are the kids there?”
“Louis is in bed, but-” There was a short, inaudible conversation on Mary’s end of the phone. “Alma wants to say hi!”
“Oh! Yes! Hi sweetheart!”
“Hi Dad!” It had only been a month since he’d moved out, but she already sounded older. “How was your first day?”
It was panic-inducing, sweetheart. Dad felt like he was going to die and he didn’t make any friends. “It was good! You would like it here, if they let in girls. It’s very old and fancy.”
“You fit right in then!” She laughed, bright and clear. No harm meant.
“Sure I do, honey. I feel right at home.”
“That’s great. Mum says we can come and see you when Christmas holidays start! And you can maybe come here for actual Christmas Day. Don’t quote me on that, though.” Don’t quote me on that. It was something Doug always said.
Stede glanced around his barren apartment. He didn’t even have a bedframe. How the hell was he meant to make it presentable in time for the kids to come over? “Alright, darling. I’ll talk to Mum about that and we’ll sort something out.”
“Okay! I’m giving you back to Mum now. Goodnight!”
“Goodnight! I love you!” Gone as quickly as she’d arrived.
“Yeah, I don’t know about Christmas Day…” Mary again. “I just- well I do have full custody and of course I want you to see them as much as you can but- I was thinking maybe you could do something with them on Boxing Day? I want to make Doug seem more…permanent to them. And I read a book that said-”
“It’s fine, Mary. It’s your decision.” Stede more than owed it to her to let her do what she liked with the kids. “Boxing Day is okay with me.”
“Great.” A massive relief, it sounded like. “Well, I have to go. Well done on your first day. Talk more to the drama teacher!”
“Thank you. I might.”
“You will .” She laughed. “Goodnight, Stede.”
“Goodnight.”
The silence in his apartment was deafening now.
--
“Who was that bloke you were speaking to at lunch?”
Izzy’s tone was too persecutory for Ed’s liking. “You know what? I don’t know why you care.”
His friend rolled his eyes, the English countryside speeding past the driver's side window. “Sorry for noticing you speaking to any other adult than me.”
“You should be sorry!” He joked, a pinch of guilt twisting in his stomach for getting so defensive. “He’s the new English teacher, if you must know.”
Izzy snorted. “Aww, were you having an intellectual discussion about- about ‘Waiting for Godot’ by the bins then?”
“Fuck off.” Too serious. Too defensive.
An awkward laugh from Izzy. Silence, then: “Are you impressed I knew ‘Waiting for Godot’?”
He was. Izzy Hands couldn’t give two shits about books, let alone theatre .
“No. That's, like, the most famous play ever.”
“Aw fuck you.” The car swerved a little on the empty road while Izzy reached over to try and punch Edward in the shoulder. “You are impressed.”
“You wish!” He deftly avoided his friend’s attacks, smirking. “Jesus, slow down, you’re going to get us killed! You can’t do 80 on a B road!”
“ I’m driving. And you’ve done 90 on this road!” Izzy shot back.
“Not in this weather! Slow down, man. I want to get back to my apartment alive.”
--
“I have some weed leftover here somewhere…”
Ed watched Izzy root around in his glove box through the open car window. “I think I might just have an evening for me tonight, man, don’t worry about it.”
“Seriously? You’re not going to celebrate with me? We survived the first day of school.” Sometimes he really did sound like a 16 year old. “No man, I’m tired. It’s not that big of an achievement now anyways. You’ve survived 11 “first days of school” with me.” He allowed a moment to take in Izzy’s heartbroken face. “And I know you don’t have leftover weed.”
Izzy sighed and slammed his glove compartment closed. “Fine. Have a shite night, Edward.”
“You too, Iz.” He sighed, stepping back and letting him drive away.
His bags weighed him down as he trudged into the building, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights and his aching knee only working to worsen his mood. By the time he reached his flat, he couldn’t even muster the motivation to grab a beer from his fridge, opting just to fall straight onto his couch. There had been a time where he and Izzy would've spent this evening getting high out of their minds and watching Christopher Nolan movies until they got too paranoid and switched the TV off.
I’m old, he thought with regret, taking out his hair tie and tugging his hand half-heartedly through his mane of salt and pepper hair. Old and boring. Even Izzy thinks so.
His mind drifted to Stede, the way he’d said his name, how he’d looked at him, fully listening, not just waiting his turn to speak. His rings, his ridiculous blue waistcoat. How kind he’d been to Lucius. Stede probably thinks I’m boring too .
Someone was stomping about upstairs, and he could hear a car alarm going off in the parking lot. An electrical buzzing was coming from his lights, or maybe the TV. His knee hurt.
“God, just shut the fuck up .” He groaned, curling up on the couch and pressing a cushion over his head.
It was never quiet in his stupid apartment.
--
Ed spent several anxious minutes under dark, brooding clouds waiting for a late Izzy to pick him up. When he did finally show up, Ed reached out to poke at a band-aid on his cheek.
“What happened to you?”
“What happened to your plan to get a car?” Izzy snapped, swatting Ed’s hand away.
“Alright, geez.” He didn’t say anything when the other man started speeding again.
The rain started just as they arrived at the still mostly empty parking lot. Ed grimaced at the huge droplets, streams becoming rivers on the windshield. At least he’d remembered his umbrella today.
“Fuck this. I am not getting out of this car until my legal hours of employment start.” Izzy grumbled, cracking his window just the slightest and lighting a cigarette. Ed made a noise of agreement and was about to light one of his own when his attention was snagged for a moment on the early bus arriving at the stop. A few students hopped off, including Jim, who looked from a distance like a very angry wet cat, followed a moment later by Stede. He glanced unhappily up at the rain and resorted to holding his bag over his head as he hurried along the road towards the school gates.
“Isn’t that your man? English guy?” Izzy frowned. “Getting fuckin’ soaked.”
“...Yeah.” He glanced down at his slightly forlorn umbrella. “I’m just going to-”
“What? Mate, come on -” But Ed was already stepping out of the car into the downpour, umbrella held bravely up against the onslaught.
“Stede! Hey!” He shouted, his bad knee slowing him a little as he hurried towards the other man.
“Oh! Edward! Oh, you don’t need to-” Stede recovered quickly from his surprise and let out a grateful laugh as Edward reached him, fitting them both neatly under the umbrella. “Thank you, you’re too kind.”
“Couldn’t let you catch a cold, could I?” He smiled nervously, Izzy’s stare from across the parking lot burning something fierce into the back of his head. “Let’s…Let’s get inside.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice!”
--
Stede wasn’t sure how he had ended up hanging out in Edward Teach’s extremely atmospheric drama classroom, but he was.
“I like your um…” He gestured at some slightly grotesque masks hanging above the man’s desk. “...masks.”
“Aw, cheers mate, yeah kids did them a few years ago, meant to show the different emotions and stuff. I think they’re pretty cool.” One of them appeared to be crying blood. Ed was busy dragging out desks into the centre of the room, a packet of worksheets tucked neatly under his arm.
“Do you need help with…anything?”
“Oh, you don’t have to, mate, but- well you could just put these out on the desks, one to each.” He handed him the worksheets and Stede took a cursory glance.
“Ah, this is the part of theatre I have no clue about.” He chuckled, squinting at the map of a stage with boxes to be filled in.
“Oh come on, you must know a bit. Upstage, downstage…” Ed pointed as he rattled them off.
“I get lost when it reaches the ‘down left’, ‘up right’ point honestly.” He admitted, laying worksheets on tables. “I get all confused if it’s my right or the audience’s.”
Ed didn’t laugh, he just nodded sympathetically. “A lot of people get confused with that. It’s your right because at the end of the day, no matter what the audience thought about your character, you’re right about what they’re actually like! You know their true motivations, their likes and dislikes. Not anyone else.” He turned around and picked up two chairs with very little effort. “That’s how I remember it, anyway.”
“What’s yours then?”
“Huh?”
Stede glanced down. “What’s Ed’s true motivations, his likes and dislikes?”
“I dunno. I love drama, but I love it because I love the theatrics of the everyday. You know Theatre of the Absurd? I’m more into the theatre of the…normal. The smile you have to do when you walk too close to somebody on the street, the fact that everybody's learned how to order at gimmicky fast food places, the concept of manners …” He smiled and shrugged. “What’s more dramatic and complicated than life? Compared to that, plays and shit are easy.”
Stede tried to hide the smile on his face. “And here I thought you were more of the strong, silent type.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I usually am. Just any chance to talk about…well you didn’t need to hear all of that did you?”
“I’m glad I did.” Ed had more passion about his subject than Stede had ever had about anything. “It’s…refreshing.”
“You don’t need to say that.”
“It’s true! We always encourage children to speak about the things they’re passionate about, why not adults?”
“S’pose you’ve got a point.” Edward picked a thread out of his jumper and leaned against a desk. “What are you passionate about then, Stede?”
Nothing. Nothing at all, only… “My kids. If you could describe it that way.” He didn’t miss the surprise on Ed’s face.
“Kids, huh? How many?”
“Two. 7 year-old and 12 year-old. Boy and a girl. In that order.”
Alma painting his nails. Louis jumping out of a tree onto a trampoline during their last summer together. A trip to the coast when Alma was 5 where she developed her long-standing obsession with pirates. Reading ‘Treasure Island’ aloud to them at bedtime and Louis hiding under the blankets when the pirates got into fights.
“You must love them very much.”
Stede swallowed thickly and nodded. “Very much. Sorry, um, recently divorced. She has full custody technically.” Why are you telling him that? You barely know him. What do you know about him? That he likes theatre? And now he knows you’re a divorced father of two.
“I’m…I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, it’s for the best. Neither of us were happy, really. I still see them when I can.” He exhaled and put his smile back up. “I’m going to be late for my class!”
“Stede?”
“Mm?”
“Thanks for, uh, for helping me set up.”
“Don’t be silly, Ed. I had to repay you for the umbrella somehow!”
--
“Umm, okay…tell me why I just passed Mr. Bonnet? Coming out of your classroom?” Lucius demanded in his constantly perplexed sort of way.
“Well, Lucius, he was in my classroom, and then he had to go to his classroom, so I suppose that’s why he was coming out of my classroom.”
The boy rolled his eyes, sauntering through the room and opening the props cupboard. “Your silence on the matter speaks volumes , Mr. Teach.”
“What are you even doing here?” He demanded. “I have Year 9’s first thing.”
“Heaven help you.” He lifted a heavy looking folder nearly the size of himself out of the cupboard. “I left my art coursework in here overnight.”
“Don’t you have a locker?” Ed sighed, closing the props cupboard again.
Lucius snorted. “That won’t be broken into and ransacked? When I say this classroom is my safe space I mean it quite literally in terms of storage solutions.” He seemed to ignore the heartbroken look on Ed’s face. “Well, if you won’t explain the Mr. Bonnet sighting, I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh. Right. Have a good day, mate.”
“I won’t!” He replied cheerily, strolling out of the classroom as casually as he’d arrived.
Ed sank into a chair and rubbed his leg absent-mindedly. Divorced, but with kids. The smile on his face when talked about them. How he’d let Ed ramble on about staging and his stupid opinions about life and art.
“You’re not a philosopher, bro. You’re just mentally ill.”
“Maybe you just don’t understand what I’m talking about, Jack! You’re not interested in my thoughts on life because you’re too busy drinking yourself to death and trying to drag me down with you.”
“Oh fuck you, dude. You’ve gotten so boring.”
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and shook his head. The morning bell rang before he could dwell any further.
--
“Enjoy your little stroll?” Izzy asked at lunch. The rain hadn’t stopped, and Ed had been more than surprised when Izzy had allowed him into his car to smoke and hide. Maybe whatever negativity he’d sensed from him had just been his imagination.
“I did, actually.” He smiled. “Maybe you should make a friend or two, it’s actually an enjoyable experience.”
The other man frowned. “But you’re my friend.”
“ Yes, Iz, but I mean more friends. Most adults our age don’t have just one friend, I’ve discovered.”
Izzy just shrugged, staring out of the window at the few kids brave enough to run from the school to their cars and back. His band-aid was peeling slightly.
“Poor Izzy…” Ed pouted. “Injured and stuck with me.”
“I’m not stuck with you, you keep running off with your stupid English bloke. Don’t know why you fucking bother, honestly, just seems like a grown-up version of every little twat in this place- Christ, what the fuck!”
Ed examined the band-aid he’d just ripped off of Izzy’s cheekbone. “Gross.”
Izzy rubbed his cheek and glared at him.
“Right, yeah. Don’t fucking say that shit about him, you’ve never even spoken to him.” He muttered, tossing the band-aid out of the car window. “For all your ‘we’re not like them’ rhetoric, you sure can be fucking presumptive sometimes, Iz.”
Izzy looked down. “Whatever.” Ed could see a medium-sized scratch had cut into the skin of his cheek; what the band-aid had been covering.
He shifted the focus before the guilt could sink in. “Now, Izzy, unless some insane woman has actually taken an interest in you, I can safely assume you aren’t a victim of domestic violence. So what the fuck happened here?”
“Nothing. Cat scratch.”
“You don’t have a cat.”
“It wasn’t mine . Just one out in the street.” His stare was boring a hole in the car floor. Izzy would never stop to even look at a cat on the street, let alone try and interact and bear the consequences.
“...Alright.” He’d learned from experience Izzy didn’t respond well to ‘you know you can talk to me’ or ‘i’m here if you need anything’. If he wanted to talk about something he would do it on his own ridiculous schedule. “Sorry for…doing that, anyway.”
Izzy had the nerve to look confused. “You do shite like that all the time.” He chuckled in his puzzlement.
I used to. I used to. Not anymore. Not anymore. I’m better now. I’m better now, Iz.
“Well, I’m trying not to.”
“Yeah right.”
The rain hadn’t stopped. He got out of the car and walked back to the school anyway.
--
Ed returned to his classroom to find Stede Bonnet yet again brightening the space.
“-you know, I actually saw a production of M- the Scottish play - nearly jinxed it there didn’t I, mate? I saw a production of the Scottish play where Malcolm and MacDuff were lovers! And they had, ah, relations, so your reading of scene 3 of that act isn’t as far out as you might think.”
“Really? That’s like…actually kind of cool, Mr. Bonnet.” Lucius’ sketchbook lay forgotten on the floor while he watched Stede, still slightly wary but more relaxed than Ed had ever seen the boy. He tried to play it off when he saw Ed. “Oh, hey Mr. Teach.”
“Hi, mate…hi, Mr. Bonnet.”
“Ed! I’m sorry to invade your classroom without your permission-”
“It’s not a temple. You can come and go whenever you like.” Oh yeah, that doesn’t sound desperate and pathetic at all, Ed. Smooth.
“Oh, I could never. I simply had to find Lucius, and I recalled you said he was here most lunchtimes.” It had been a throwaway comment. He’d remembered. He’d listened.
Ed’s brain caught up with the rest of the sentence and he shot a worried look at Lucius. “Has something happened? Is everything alright? Lucius, I told you if those boys-”
“It’s fine , Mr. Teach.” Lucius laughed. “It’s fine.”
“Lucius here has better insight into masculinity in the Scottish play than any pupil I’ve ever met. And some scholars too. I wanted to discuss his essay with him in further detail.”
Ed raised an eyebrow. “That’s…that’s great.”
Lucius shrugged, looking down, obviously embarrassed. “Just a big fan of masculinity.”
Ed snorted, which made Lucius giggle in turn. “I better get going. My art folio isn’t going to finish itself, though how I wish to God it would.” He sighed, gathering up his sketchbook. “Um. Thanks, Mr. Bonnet.”
“Always a pleasure, Lucius!” Stede smiled, reaching his hand out for a handshake. Lucius looked at it in poorly-veiled distaste, but shook it daintily after a moment.
“Bye, Mr. Teach.”
Ed nodded and let him pass.
“I suppose I should get going too. Can’t spend all my time in here, I do have to teach as well!” Stede chuckled once Lucius had left, moving to pass by also. Something inside Ed stirred and he gently laid an arm on Stede’s shoulder, staring dead ahead.
“Thank you.” He mumbled. “For being good to Lucius.”
“He’s a very talented young man.” Stede whispered, patting Ed’s hand gently. “Your influence on him is apparent.”
He moved past, and left Ed standing in his classroom, the feeling of Stede’s soft shirt on his fingertips, the smell of his cologne (sea salt? lavender?) in the air, and the sound of his voice ringing in his ears. His voice, gentle, quiet, confiding.
“Fuck off.” He grumbled to the masks on the walls.
--
It was Stede’s fault really, he should have been more vigilant. He didn’t think he had needed to be vigilant at a private boys school where the most common crimes were tax evasion and possession of drugs, but, well, lesson very much learned when he found himself yanked into the alley between two of the school's uglier buildings as he stepped outside at the end of the day. He yelped and raised his hands, looking down his nose at the point of a very sharp looking flick-knife.
“I only carry card!” He squeaked.
“Jim, come on , he’s a teacher you can’t just-” A nervous looking boy in an orange beanie was wringing his hands behind his attacker, and behind him…
“Lucius!?”
“Hii Mr. Bonnet.” Lucius smiled sheepishly. “Um, don’t mind Jim, let’s just…Olu?”
“Yep, okay, let’s-” The boy in the orange beanie reached out and plucked the knife out of the third, and most dangerous looking person's hands (did he recognise them from somewhere?).
“Okay, Jim? Can we talk it out?”
“ Fine .” His attacker adjusted their hat and crossed their arms (Jesus Christ, they were in his A-Level English Lit). “You like Mr. Teach?”
It took Stede a moment to realise they were addressing him. “Um, yes? Yes, I’d say we’re even frie-”
“It’s a yes or no question!” They growled.
“Yep, okay. Yes.”
“Okay. Are you gonna fuck him up?”
He blustered indignantly. “Excuse me? Listen here young…person, I know you feel very cool -”
“Answer the damn question or I swear-” They started forward towards him and he squeaked again.
“It’s a tough question!” I think so. Probably.
Lucius raised a nervous hand. “I think what Jim is trying to express is, um, we like Mr. Teach a lot and he has his ups and downs-”
“And he’s on an up right now,” the larger boy, Olu, continued. “And we’d like it to stay that way.”
Stede looked between the three of them. “Okay…”
“So don’t fuck him up.” Jim concluded. They motioned with their head to the other two, who both managed to at least be slightly apologetic (“Please don’t report them sir, they’re under a lot of stress, like, all the time”, “It’s less dislike for you and more like for Mr. Teach. Don’t take it personally”) before traipsing after them, an argument picking back up as soon as they left the alley.
Stede clutched his chest and exhaled slowly. Amazingly, it was one of the more positive violent altercations he’d experienced in a private school during his life.
--
Ed lit a contemplative cigarette as he surveyed the monster that was his bookshelf. Novels, novellas, textbooks, sketchbooks, notebooks, journals, biographies, instruction manuals, and of course plays. Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Baldwin, Beckett, Browning, Chekhov, Coward…Sartre, Shakespeare . He reached out to touch the spines of the Bard’s works, some cracked and battered from his uni days, others ornate and pristine, special editions gifted by friends and family.
“There’s no way you’ve fuckin’ read all these.”
“Why would I buy them and not read them?”
“To impress guys. ‘Check out all these books, yeah, I’m so smart and sexy’. Like that.”
“Have I impressed you, Jack?”
Ed took a long drag of his cigarette and tugged out ‘Macbeth’ from where it was wedged between what could have been ‘Much Ado About Nothing’, the title on the spine too faded for him to be certain, and a hardback ‘Hamlet’, ornate decorations swirling across the binding. ‘Macbeth’ was battered and a little torn, and a blue pen on the inside cover had scrawled Edward Teach, 1998 in a messy handwriting. Tucking it under his arm, he set a beer on his nightstand next to an ashtray, pushed off a pile of clothes onto the floor and sat on top of his bed to read.
--
Ed dreamt of blood on his hands and broken glass.
Stede dreamt of children in danger and indecision.