❝ HE'S PSYCHOTIC, OBSESSIVE, AND MY WORST NIGHTMARE.
OF COURSE, I'M THE ONE HE CHOOSES ❞
[ DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON AU]
[ TEACHER!TOM HIDDLESTON AU ]
[ BOOK ONE IN "THE NEFARIOUS" SERIES ]
[ ORIGINALLY...
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IF I HAVE TO BE honest, I'm not a superstitious person, at least I try not to be. Tossing salt over my shoulder, knocking on wood, and avoiding walking underneath ladders have never been things I've concerned myself with. Sometimes things just happen without divine intervention playing a role. Coincidences are only just coincidences; there's nothing special about them. Sometimes the stars align perfectly and we make something out of it, or maybe there really is a big man upstairs looking out for us, but whatever the case, I tend to avoid thinking deeply into coincidences that scatter across a lifetime.
Ending up in Mr. Hiddleston's class was nothing more than an accident. Our personalities complimenting the other is also a coincidence. And so was running into him when I was clouds beyond intoxicated. I would be lying if I said I wasn't at all suspicious at first, but weirder things have happened with far less meaning.
However, when I press down on the send icon, I find suspicion drilling into my thoughts when my English teacher's phone audibly blipped across the room.
There were a few minutes before his class was set to start, and Thomas and I were exchanging teases. Nothing to frivolous, but exciting words to push the friendship forward, seeing how I've been hoping to meet this boy for the past few weeks. But, seeing Mr. Hiddleston's phone light up shortly after I sent a text sparked some weird sense of curiosity. It has to be nothing more than a coincidence, but deep, deep down, my gut is telling me to watch. In spite of this nagging feeling, I try to reach the conclusion that I only wish it were me that Mr. Hiddleston was texting, the person who made a smile appear on his sharp features.
I watch as Mr. Hiddleston's fingers zip across the keyboard, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though it was clear he was trying to hide it. It made me wonder who he was talking to. Maybe his friend Chris was telling him about a bender he was on or maybe he was writing some engaging email to another teacher. At any moment, Mr. Hiddleston could look up and meet my stoic stare and yet, even with the possibility of embarrassment, an intuition tells me to keep my gazed locked onto the swift movements of his fingers. The force in unexplainable, so I let myself succumb to whatever my mind finds so important.
With one last tap of his thumb, Mr. Hiddleston sets his phone screen-down on his desk. Just as he turns to his computer, a familiar vibration buzzes against my palms. I nearly shoot up in my seat, not expecting the notification. Less, a text from Thomas.
