Oh, God. I am so fucking stupid sometimes. How did I forget that Ms Hudson had gone on maternity leave and that we now had Mr Holmes?!

Mr Holmes who is sexy as hell and now standing at the door to his room, frowning at me.

Yes, hello sir. Don't mind me. Just sitting here, drinking tea in your classroom. No big deal. Briefly, I wonder if there's actually rules against this. There was a no eating in class rule but this wasn't a class... and I'm not eating.

Mr Holmes pulls me out of my thoughts when he speaks up.

"Uh, James, right?" Mr Holmes asks, entering fully and closing the door.

What do I say? Oh my God, this is the first time I've spoke directly to him - not that I've spoken yet.

Don't make me sound stupid, brain. Please make sensible words come out of my mouth.

He's so pretty...

Shit. I didn't say that out loud, did I?

In the end, I just nod. "Yeah. That's me"

"I've been meaning to speak to you. One on one. Ms Hudson spoke to me about you. She was worried" As he speaks, Mr Holmes walks over to the desk I'm sat at and turns the chair for the desk in front of me so it's facing me. He sits then, giving me a smile.

I want to hit him and tell him to stop being so pretty. Fucking hell. He looks edible.

"I, er" I clear my throat "Yeah, I suppose. I'm.. not good with speaking to people in English. Never mind another language" I mumble the last part and lower my eyes to the tea in front of me, my fingers coming to fiddle with the handle.

"I was informed that you'd been asked to try and be friends with me?" Mr Holmes lowers his head, trying to catch my eye.

I just nod. Of course Ms Hudson makes me promise to try and be friends with a sex god of a teacher. I'm not sure whether I should thank her or hate her.

I'll just do both.

"Jim, calm down, I'm n-"

I clench up fists and snap "Don't call me Jim. My name is James. That, or you can call me by my last name; Moriarty"

Mr Holmes' eyes widen. "Ms Hudson called you Jim"

"She's my friend. She's allowed to"

My teacher holds his hands up in defence and nods. "Okay, okay.  So when we're friends, I can call you Jim?"

I narrow my eyes, anger rising. "You're just assuming I'm going to be your friend?"

Then... He fucking starts to laugh. He shakes his head and holds the edge of the seat to shuffle forward. He leans an elbow on the desk and watches me with an amused smile.

Forget hitting him for being pretty. I'm just going to hit him.

Why the hell is he laughing? Who is he to decide who I'm friends with?

This is why I hate people.

"You promised Ms Hudson" He points out, distracting me.

"I promised to try" I correct him. "I never promised that I would definitely be your friend"

"Well" Mr Holmes sniffs "I don't see you trying very hard" I open my mouth to argue back but don't get the chance because he speaks up again. "How many of your paragraphs have you learnt? You have just under a week"

I fall silent. I haven't learnt a single sentence of the five paragraphs I'm meant to learn for this oral exam. Not only did my accent suck but my memory is also shit and I'm too awkward to speak in front of anyone.

Mr Holmes watches me intently, clearly knowing the answer from my reaction but waiting for me to tell him. I'm not sure if I like that or not. It was something Ms Hudson would do so I couldn't get away with not speaking. I wonder if she told him to do that or if he just wants to make sure he read me correctly.

"None" I admit, seeing he wasn't going to pipe up.

Mr Holmes nods, not looking the least bit surprised. "Do you have your French book?"

"Of course" I answer before realising what I just walked into.

Sneaky bastard.

"Well, get it out and read the first one to me from the page"

Immediately, I shake my head. "No"

"I wasn't asking" Mr Holmes says, trying to use the 'teacher voice' on me.

I snort and shake my head, wrapping my hand around my cup and lifting it to my lips. I sip before putting the cup down and leaning towards the glaring teacher. "No"

"James-"

"Sir, I'm on my break" I say over him, voice innocent.

His eyes narrow and I simply smirk, lifting my tea to my lips again.

Mr Holmes' eyes stay on mine and I do my best not to think how gorgeous his eyes are. Even though I'm looking at his eyes, I can see his milky throat where he once again has the two top buttons of his shirt undone. His shirt is a midnight black one today and it wasn't quite as tight as the purple one but it still make him look fuckable.

I stop my thoughts there and focus on staring/glaring back at him. It feels like a challenge. Well, Mr Holmes, challenge accepted!

"Ms Hudson was right" He tells me after a few moment of us staring pass, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh?" I ask smugly, pleased with my victory.

"You're difficult..." He trails off, running a hand down his face and sounding tired.

I just smirk even more and tilt my head to one side. "I try"

Mr Holmes starts to chuckle then and the sound is like a low rumble in his chest, echoing around the room beautifully. It was the kind of laughter you stop and look around for, trying to find the owner of that music-like laugh. I'm not that surprised. He has a beautiful voice, it makes sense his laugh is also beautiful.

When he stops laughing, he looks at me with a soft smile. "Seeing as we're trying to be friends, what say you eat your lunch in here like you used to with Ms Hudson?"

I nod, by far more comfortable in this room than the cafeteria, and say "Yeah. Okay."

Lunchtimes with my tasty looking French teacher, what could go wrong? 

Well... That depends on your definition of what's 'wrong'.

Before either of us can say anything, the bell rings to signal I had five minutes to get my arse to my next lesson. With widened eyes, I grab my bag and down my tea and rush into the storage closet/tea room and put my cup in the tub we kept for dirty cups. I then rush out of the room, nearly missing Mr Holmes saying "see you at lunch".

"Yeah. Whatever. Bye" I call back, hurrying into the sea of students.

If I'm late to my Maths lesson, the fat git of a teacher will probably sit on me.

As I'm trying to get half away across the whole school, I'm elbowed and shoved more times than I can count. It makes me feel physically sick - having so many random people touch me. It's like this everyday for me. People shove and touch me in the corridors and it makes me want to double over and ruin my pretty shoes.

Usually, I head to lessons early so I avoid this swarm of teenagers. So many hands and skin...

Oh, God. I need to stop thinking about it.

Shutting off my thoughts, I push through the students and barely manage to keep the bile down.

I. Hate. School.