Chapter Text
Jon doesn’t hate being a teacher, per se.
He’s just … displeased by some of his students‘ behaviour. The way they keep sneaking their phones into class, draw eyes in the corner of their worksheets instead of answering the questions on them, and fervently deny that their obviously-written-by-AI-essay was written by AI.
It’s annoying as all hell, that’s for sure. But despite popular belief, he doesn’t actually hate his job.
It’s a normal Friday, which is how all horrible stories start.
The summer air said its goodbyes long ago, and in its place is now the cold and harsh November wind. Puddles and piles of mud decorate the way through the courtyard, and Jon’s steps are loud as he sloshes through them. He‘ll have to clean his shoes off once he‘s inside. What a lovely start in the day.
He greets the students outside the fence, making one passing warning about them throwing their cigarette buds on the street. The school had legal issues regarding that once, and Elias made him do all the paperwork. It was a rough few weeks.
There’s not a lot of people in the teachers‘ lounge yet.
Good, because Jon has to use the printer for a bit. Another worksheet his students will ignore; this one about the state of the German Empire right up to 1914. He types in how many copies he needs, and then cautiously leans back, hoping the machine won’t let him down right now.
He stares at the printer’s screen, where his worksheet is laid out on. It’s nice. It really is. Just sucks that history isn‘t a very popular subject with his students.
Jon understands why. This school is known for its art program. Its many workshops, museum trips, and truly amazing art teachers that have a kind of love for their craft that infects everyone around them. It’s not known for its history teacher. Jon being that sole history teacher.
After a long while, the printer sputters to life and begins making its usual noises, indicating that everything is fine. Jon relaxes for a second, content in his fantasy that he‘ll have a bit of peace and quiet before class, and then the door opens –
“Morning!” comes Martin’s voice.
Jon sighs, “Morning,“ then Martin already begins his small-talk.
“Phew, what a weather, huh? I think it’s officially time for me to abandon my bike.” Martin laughs as he pulls the zipper of his large woolen coat off. His glasses are fogged up and his face is all red, and he continues speaking in a volume that is just a bit too loud for 8AM, “The wind is strong, isn’t it? That one gust hit me, and I swear, I thought I would fall.”
Jon hums in acknowledgement. He rustles in his bag and pulls his laptop out. There’s a few things he was working on for his War and Consequences seminar, and he hadn’t had the time to check them yet. He was sure he’d transferred his presentation over from Georgie’s laptop, but he’d just need to make sure the images loaded in right. Also, it signals to Martin that he‘s currently not interested in conversation.
“I was just gonna make myself a cup of tea, would you like one too, Jon?”
“Uh …” Jon clicks uselessly through his files for a bit. “Um. Yes, that’d be lovely. Thank you, Martin.”
“Of course.”
Jon leans back in his chair. The presentation is right where he left it, and despite some text being formatted wrong, everything seems to be in place. There’s a short moment where everything is fine, then Jon casts his eyes back to the printer.
“Oh my God –” He jumps up and shuffles to stop the machine, because it decided to print his worksheets two sizes too large for some reason, “God fucking –”
Martin turns around from the kitchen area and makes a surprised noise.
“Ah! Sorry, must’ve forgotten to change it back!” Martin laughs and crosses through the room to him. The printer is still executing its command, even though Jon cancelled it three times already. The second page is out, its large letter size almost mocking him.
“Why in the world would you print anything in that size?” Jon scoffs.
“I was …” Martin’s hands land on the never-ending machine, “I’m sorry, here, let me help …”
They both fumble with it, until Martin just unplugs the printer altogether. He waits for a few seconds, then plugs it back in, and they both stare at the little screen as it boots back to life.
Jon sighs and maneuvers to the controls. He can sense Martin’s eyes on him and it’s annoying him to no end. It’s so early in the morning and he’s really not in the mood for this. Especially because, really, most of these Year 8 kids don’t deserve the amount of effort he puts into printing their worksheets the right size.
He manages to send the right command, and the sheets come out correctly this time. A sigh, and the little anxious fold between his eyebrows disappears.
“So … which tea?” Martin asks when the boiler starts to cry.
Jon leers over to him. Martin pushes up his round glasses and looks hopeful.
He answers perhaps a bit harsher than intended, “Darjeeling.”
“O-kay!” and then Martin disappears back to the kitchen area.
There’s a few moments where the only noises in the room come from the printer’s whirring, then Jon drops himself on an empty chair. It’s Friday. Just one more day. 8AM til 4PM. Then he gets the weekend to himself.
–
“I’m not following,” Jon says.
“Gertrude is sick.”
“Yes, I understood that part.”
“I just …” Martin sighs. There’s distant sounds of shoes squeaking on the vinyl floor. The last few students escaped their horribly long classes, leaving only the faculty and cleaning staff behind. The teachers’ lounge is deserted, most of them already left for an early weekend, and took their coursework home with them.
They’re standing in the hallway now. Martin, in his stupidly colorful jumper, clutches his array of worksheets a little tighter, so that the papers become wrinkly at the sides, and then sighs once more, “I really hate to have to ask this of you. It’s just … Gertrude was supposed to come with us on the art trip for the Year 13s. But she’s sick and we need someone else to chaperone. Basira and I can’t do it alone.”
“Tim,” Jon immediately supplies.
“Tim is off for the Paris trip.”
“Sasha?”
“Also on the Paris trip.”
Jon clicks his tongue. A small silence stretches in between them, as Jon tries to rake his brain for more teachers that aren’t currently preoccupied with administrative work. After a while, “... Melanie?”
“She’s also sick.” Martin makes a sound that is probably supposed to be a laugh, but it sounds much more bitter than that. “Listen, Jon, I really wouldn’t be asking this of you if there was any other option. Believe me. You can take this up with Elias if you want, I don’t care, but if we get no one else on this trip, it’s not gonna happen, and everything is already paid for, and then I’ll have to explain it to the students and – and their parents –”
“Yes, yes, I get it.” Jon sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, where his glasses dug little marks into his skin throughout the day. “When is this happening?”
Martin’s shoulders relax a little at that question. “Uhm … Sunday. Sunday night. We’d arrive Monday morning. I can send you the schedule if you want.”
“Good lord,” Jon scoffs, “That’s on short notice.”
“Sorry,” comes the immediate reply, like on instinct, “Gertrude just told me this morning. If I had known earlier …”
“Right.” Jon drops his head a little and the long hair strands fall into his eyes. God, he just wants to go home and sleep and not have to deal with all this hassle. “Fine. I’ll call Elias later, ask him to re-schedule my classes for next week, and then we can sort it all out.”
Martin beams at that, and the relief is evident on his face, “God, thank you, Jon. Really.”
“Yes, it’s alright. I’ll have to grade papers either way. Might as well do it in …” Jon trails off, just now realizing that he never asked where this trip was going.
“Florence.”
Another pause. Jon is suddenly acutely aware of the ticking clock in the hallway. It’s usually too loud in the building to hear that light, quiet sound. But now, it makes him all the more aware of the time that passes in silence. With every second that stretches between them, Martin looks gradually more unsure about his answer.
“Florence,” Jon repeats.
Martin sucks in air through his teeth and it makes a sharp sound, “Yes. Florence.”
“Florence. As in Italy. As in … very, very far away from here.”
“15 hour bus ride.”
Now’s a moment where Jon wants to just full-on laugh. Hysterically. There’s few things he desires less than being cramped in an enclosed space with a bunch of hormone-driven, annoyingly loud students for 15 hours, without the option of hurling himself out of the driving bus. If Martin had led with that …
“Oh, do you have, like, problems with carsickness? God, I should’ve known. I mean, it’s no issue! I can just … I can ask around. Surely someone else will –”
“No, it’s fine. It’s … it’s all fine.”
“Really?” Martin asks again.
… There it is. There’s his way out.
He could just say ‘Yeah, sorry, I have a real problem with travelling. You’d probably be better off without me.’ and Martin would accept it without a question. Hell, he’d probably bake him cookies because he felt bad he had asked in the first place.
But there is something stupid that comes rushing into Jon at that second. Something about the situation that makes him throw away all logic and reasoning, and, instead of the decline he had steered towards at the beginning of the conversation, answer with “Yes, Martin. I’ll handle it.”
–
“‘Yes, Martin. I’ll handle it.’ God, why would I say that?”
Tim laughs on the other end of the line. “Hey, now you’re part of it! We can exchange experiences and all. I’ll send you pics of the Louvre, you’ll send me pics of … wherever it is you’re going …”
“You have a 3-hour trip, Tim. I‘ve got 15 hours of nausea and insanity. I won‘t be able to sleep at all.” Jon is sprawled on his bed. His hair is wet from the shower and faux tears run down his cheeks from the eye drops he just put in. “That Michelangelo better be worth it.”
“Oh come on, quit acting like you’ve been sentenced to death. I thought you liked Italy.”
“I’ve got seven students that are in the middle of their seminar papers, scheduling meetings with me every day. I’m behind on my grading, my classes are an absolute disaster, and there’s only so many times I can explain the events of WW1 before I lose it.” Jon says while his fingers run along the veins of his right wrist.
“So, you’re getting a change of scenery!” Tim exclaims. “It’ll be fun. I know I was cheering when Sasha told me about the Paris trip. Don’t wanna jinx it, but you know. City of love.”
A long pause, before Jon throws in a sharp: “Right.”
“Oh, get over yourself and be excited for me.”
“Your love life is of no interest to me.”
Tim laughs, “Ouch. I’ll just ignore that.”
Jon rolls around in his bed. He doesn’t want to mope around, but there’s just so much work, and he’s already falling behind, and spending an entire week in Italy sounds good in theory, but gets in the way of so many other things.
“It’s very interesting that you called me to talk about this,“ Tim says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you say you don’t want to go on the trip. And you’re trying to get someone else’s opinion on the matter, right?”
“Right.”
“But you know my stance on things like these. You could’ve called Georgie instead, and been all ‘Oh, goodness! I am beyond repulsed by the mere idea of partaking in a voyage to –’”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“My point is: You could’ve called Georgie and talked to her about you not wanting to go, and she would’ve comforted you, and told you something about ‘You need to put yourself first’, and then you would’ve called Martin and told him that you wouldn’t be coming along. But you didn’t call her. You called me. Which implies, deep down, that you want someone to convince you to go on that damn trip.”
The line is quiet for a long while.
Then Tim goes, “Do you want us to go back to meaningless arguing?”
“Very much so, yes.”
“Okay,” There’s movement on the other side, and Jon guesses Tim is spinning in his chair. He always does it when he’s on the phone, “New argument: You get a week away from Elias!”
“He’ll still be watching over me,” Jon counters, “Being in Italy doesn’t magically remove me from being assistant headteacher.”
“Well, yeah,” Tim thinks for a few seconds, “But you don’t actually need to see him. So that’s a plus.”
There’s another longer silence, in which Tim thinks of something to say they haven’t discussed yet. Difficult, since their conversation has been dragging for the better half of an hour already.
Then, “Martin and Basira are nice company.”
Jon bites his tongue. There’s a part of him that wants to protest and say that No, Martin and Basira might be the biggest issue of this trip, but he doesn’t. It’d be too difficult to explain, and Tim wouldn’t understand it anyway, and now he’s too deep in this already.
He groans loudly into his room and Tim laughs at it.
“Fine. I’ll go.” Jon says after a while, “Just … send me nice pictures of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Will do, boss.”
–
The bus is loud and unruly.
Despite departing at 10PM, and despite Martin asking them a couple of times to be a bit more quiet, the students keep their volume up.
Basira is sitting on the far left of the front row, somehow managing to ignore the ruckus behind them. Martin is right next to her, and Jon somehow got the two right seats on the other row to himself. Though he’s tucked so neatly into the seat, he’s barely even using one. He is wearing ear plugs, and even took off his glasses to sleep, yet he is still staring through the window with tired eyes. Poor guy, Martin thinks.
The Eurotunnel passes in no time, and they begin their long journey through France around midnight. Martin can’t sleep. He never can on trips like these. It might be some stupid instinct, but he wants to always be alert and able to help, in case there’s an issue.
He concerns himself with the schedule. Monday, one guided tour through the center of the town. Tuesday, a trip to the Galleria dell’Accademia – where the David statue is! On Wednesday, a day trip to Siena. Thursday will be spent at the Uffizi Gallery, and Friday evening at a restaurant. He’s almost shaking with excitement at the schedule. He was only in Florence once, during his time at the Academy, and he’s more than in love with the city. It’ll be great to visit it once more.
Around 1AM, the bus becomes quiet. Basira has dozed off as well, but Jon seems to not want to sleep yet. Every now and then, over the hum of the bus’ engine, Martin can hear the gentle turn of a page. Jon’s glasses are back on, and he has a little reading light clipped to the top of his book; one of James Baldwin’s. Martin almost wants to lean over and comment on that, then decides not to.
It would be … weird. Right?
It’s weird. His relationship to Jon, that is.
They’d known each other since they were in their twenties. Shared lectures, yet never talked much outside of them. Jon always seemed to have a distaste for anything that wasn’t factual and objective, and Martin was … well, Martin studied art. Those viewpoints didn’t exactly mix well.
He falls asleep around 2AM, and wakes up at 5AM. Everything is quiet around him, except for the low humming of the bus and the gentle conversation between their two bus drivers. Some Slavic language. Martin guesses it might be Polish, but he could be wrong.
With a gentle motion, as to not wake the sleeping Basira, he sits up and casts his gaze through the bus. Everyone seems to either be resting, or quietly watching something on their phones.
Jon now finally managed to fall asleep, too. His knees are pulled towards him on the seat, and he threw his long woolen coat over him, the fabric swallowing him whole. One of those travel pillows is clipped around his neck, and Martin has to fight a smile. Somehow, it’s nice to see that, despite only knowing him in an academic context, the man is capable of looking so … peaceful.
Martin goes back to sleep.
The sun rises. One by one, the bus wakes up, and with every stop, the mood gradually increases, until they cross the Italian border, and everyone’s in high spirits.
–
After a long and dreadful night they finally arrive in Florence.
Jon stretches his legs as well as he can and puts on his glasses to look through the windows.
And it’s beautiful. It really is.
He was only in Italy once, back when he and Georgie were a thing. It was raining the entire time and they spent most of their time just reading in the hotel room, so he doesn’t remember a lot of the actual vacation.
But now, as they drive to their hotel, they pass the historical buildings left and right. Narrow sidewalks, where people have to navigate their way past each other. And, despite the colder months, the air is still warmer, somehow. The yellow and red house fronts shine beautifully in the sun and Jon can see a large church peak through the house rows in the distance.
“Okay!” Martin announces once they stand outside their hotel. It’s not exactly as nice as the buildings they passed earlier, but it’s not like Jon expects a lot for a hotel that primarily hosts school groups of 30. “I hope we’ve all had a nice and restful trip – Big thanks to our lovely drivers, of course.” He sways over and gestures to the two men at the front of the bus that told Jon on an earlier stop that ‘Oh, your students are so nice! We’ve rarely had this much fun on a trip’, to which Jon raised an incredulous brow.
“You’ve all got your timetables,” Martin continues, “So we’ll meet each other back here at 6PM for our guided tour through the city centre. Until then, you’re free to do whatever you want. The rooms are also checked in already, so if you prefer to just sleep a little more … you can do that, too.”
“Oh, and just so you know,” Basira says and holds up a hand, “You’re not allowed out of the hotel past midnight.”
A loud groan echoes through the student crowd. Jon chuckles.
“Yes, even those of you that are of age. I know, very mean. There’s a list down – Hey, quiet! – There’s a list down at the lobby. We’ll put it there at 8PM and collect it at midnight. We want you all to sign in each evening, so that we know you were not out past curfew.”
Jon leans over to Martin and whispers, “Like that‘s going to stop them.”
“It’s more of a guideline so Elias doesn’t get into trouble.”
“Sounds about right”
“We will contact you if you haven’t signed in by midnight”, Basira adds, much to the dismay of the students that assumed they could use the school trip to party, “So it’s in all of our interest that you guys sign these. Alright?”
A low murmur of agreement comes from the crowd, and then Jon takes it as his sign to urge the students inside the hotel lobby.
It’s another 30 minutes until Jon can finally lie down in his hotel bed. Luckily enough, he got his own room. He was already worried sick he’d have to share with someone else. Martin, in that case. And he wasn’t sure if he’d manage to do that for an entire week. But no. Room 232 is his now.
Martin’s is 233, so he isn’t really that alone, after all.
–
Florence is really gorgeous.
Of course Jon’s view is distorted by the lens of a tourist. He’s aware of that. He knows that living in a city is completely different from visiting it, and that a tour guide would only show them the nicest parts of a city. But he’s not above the simple appreciation of a building’s architecture.
They’re standing in front of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore, and it’s … absolutely breathtaking. Jon is not a religious man. Far from it. He spent his life researching different religious warfare and concluded, for himself, that if there is a loving God, he would be ashamed of all the hatred that rules the world that he created.
But there’s something so intimidating about the sheer size of the cathedral that he feels he, for the first time, understands what it means to be godfearing. To be so small, and in the presence of something so powerful. So beyond his comprehension.
It‘s terrifying. But it‘s so hauntingly beautiful.
They walk alongside the river for a while, and Jon simply watches how Martin keeps in step with the tour guide. How she constantly looks over at him for supplemental information from an artistic standpoint, and he happily supplies her whenever he gets the chance.
Hm. No wonder the kids like Martin’s art history lessons more than they like his own history lessons.
Jon can tell the students are interested in the city, but he can also tell the strain on their faces. It’s been a long bus ride, and he has to stop himself from yawning many times throughout the tour, despite how interesting he finds it.
Given, he’s not exactly huge on art. It’s an important part of the city’s history, surely, but once things stray from a sociological and political standpoint, and start to dive into color analysis of the subject's clothes and the paint layering techniques the artists of Florence used, he begins to lose interest. No offense.
It is interesting to hear Martin’s running commentary, though. He and Basira stop every now and then and have a short conversation about a particular architectural choice in a building or church, and it sounds completely foreign to Jon, the words they’re using. Cenotaph and choir screen and transept, and so on.
The tour ends after almost two hours, and Martin makes sure the guide gets a round of applause at the end. A few students nervously shuffle through the crowd and ask the tour guide a couple of follow-up questions, which she happily answers.
“Right then,” Basira announces to the leftover students. “You’re all free to go now. Go get yourself something to eat, and don’t forget to sign in those lists, alright?” Some of the students are already leaving and she raises her voice even louder, “I don’t wanna see any missing signatures on those lists!”
The students leave in flocks and the three teachers are left behind on the town square, surrounded by tourists and annoyed locals. “Alright,” Basira sighs, “I hate to be rude, but I am absolutely tired. I’m gonna go back to the hotel now.”
“That’s fine. Do you want us to come with you?” Martin asks, then his head snaps over to Jon, “Oh, I mean, do you want to stay in the city for a bit longer, or do you also want to go back to the hotel?”
“Uhm …” Jon stammers. Honestly, he is a bit too tired to form an actual response right now. In his head, he’s still in London, grading seminar papers, and not 1,500 kilometres away from home, surrounded by the greatest art of the 15th century. “Uh, to be honest, I am a bit tired, Martin. I’d probably head back to the hotel, too.”
“Oh, no worries!” He’ll just wander around the city alone. Basira and Jon shoot him some sympathetic glances, and Martin waves his hand, “No problem! You two just head on back. I’ll be fine.”
With some reluctance, they agree. Martin can tell, despite them just being colleagues and casual friends, that neither of them feels particularly comfortable with just deserting him in the middle of a foreign city. That’s a nice feeling, somehow.
Right, then. Time to explore.
–
Martin goes to collect the signature list at midnight.
He spent the last hours of sunlight walking around the city. An old SLR camera hung around his neck and he got some beautiful shots of the architecture around him. As much as he’d liked to share this view with someone else, he understood the others were tired.
His “dinner” – if it generously could be called that – consisted of some packaged sandwiches he got from a local grocery store. Tomorrow, he could buy himself something fancy. Once Basira – or maybe even Jon? – joined him.
He gets into the lift and drives down to the hotel lobby.
Its carpet is old and has some stains he doesn’t want to inquire about. Still, they tried to make the place look nice. Paintings and pictures in golden frames adorn the walls, and there are a few tables and chairs set up. All mismatched furniture, made to look more cozy.
When he gets to the counter the list rests upon, Jon is already there.
“Oh!” Martin exclaims, “I didn’t know you were going to check it.”
The other man barely looks up, still scanning the students’ names. His usual formal attire is gone now, and in its place, Jon wears a large knitted jumper. A dark green one. He pulls it off pretty well.
“I thought you’d be out longer. And it wasn’t an issue for me – I wanted a break from grading papers.”
Martin leans on the counter next to him and looks over the list as well. Almost everyone signed in. Just a couple of students – all from the same room – forgot. But Martin doesn’t think they’re out drinking. He just thinks they legitimately forgot.
Jon chuckles. His fingers trace over a few names, “Isn’t it interesting that all the signatures from room 146 look completely identical?”
“Oh, you know, friends do copy each other’s writing style.”
Jon nods in understanding, like they are discussing a deep philosophical topic, “Yes, of course. They wouldn’t just send one of their friends downstairs to sign in for them. That wouldn’t make sense.”
“No, of course not,” Martin says, “That would be against the rules.”
Martin collects the list and Jon laughs as he shakes his head, “You know, they can just sign in and then leave afterwards. That’s probably what all of them are doing right now.”
“Yes, Jon, I’ve been on school trips before. Like I said, this list is just so Elias doesn’t get into trouble. If one of the kids ends up passed out drunk and gets arrested by the local police, we can hold up the list and say, ‘Oh, but it wasn’t our mistake! Here, we told them to stay inside!’ and all that.”
“If it works.”
They make their way to the lifts again. Jon hits the 2 and Martin hits the 4. At that, he gets a curious glance and a raised eyebrow.
“Ah, I just want to check if they’re in their room. Didn’t sign in and all.”
“You want to wake them up to make them sign a list?”
Martin scoffs, “You know how Elias gets about these guidelines. The guy will use any mistake to make us look like idiots. And besides, I don’t want to do it like Tim and send panicked messages out to students. ‘Hi, you didn’t sign our stupid curfew list. Please don’t die. Concerned regards, your teacher’.”
“Hm,” Jon huffs a laugh, “I suppose that makes sense. Though I doubt anyone’s in any actual danger.”
“Yeah, I doubt that, too. Just … wanna make sure.”
The lift closes its doors after an eternity of waiting, and begins its painfully slow ascend. Martin plays with the edge of the paper, avoiding direct eye contact with Jon in the cramped, and uncomfortable space. He tries to find a topic of conversation.
“So …” he starts after a bit of silence, “You like the city?”
“Hm? Yeah, it’s nice. I … I was thinking of visiting the Galileo museum. I know the trip is more centered around art, but I wanted to check out some of the science stuff, too. Now that I have the chance.”
“That sounds nice. Glad you can have some fun, too.”
“Yes. Definitely.”
The lift slows down. They’ve reached the 2nd floor. Jon leans up from the wall and turns to Martin.
“Well,” he says, and then Martin interrupts.
“Thank you for the help. Seriously, I don’t know how I would’ve done this without your help.”
“Oh.” Jon looks as though he hasn’t expected a sudden heartfelt statement. Tiredness still clings to his eyes, and his hair strands fall into his face, “Yes. No problem. No problem at all.”
The lift door wants to close and Jon sticks his hands in the gap to keep it open. “Well, good night, Martin“, he says.
“Good night,” Martin mirrors, “See you at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Yes. See you.”
Then he exits, and Martin can see him turn left in the hallway and retreat back to his room. The lift door waits just a tad too long, and then finally shuts its doors.
-