Alex | 18+

Are You... Metally Stable?

Ahem." I clear my throat, fiddling with my fingers. We've been sitting in silence for the last three minutes, with only the clacking sounds of his keyboard filling the room.

He still doesn't take his attention off the screen.

Awkwarddd.

This is greatly unfair. Why does he get to sit in the comfortable, spinny, wheely chair with armrests and everything while I have to sit in the short, hard wooden one? It doesn't even have a backrest, for Christ's sake! Dude definitely did this on purpose.

I clear my throat again, making it sound intentional this time.

"Silence." He voices, sending a subtle 'do not mess with me' look my way before placing his attention back on his computer screen. I wonder what he is so engrossed in?

I have an idea... I hear my cackle in my head. Po—

No. I shake the thought out immediately. I believe your hands would be occupied with something else, not typing. Is he... texting his—

I glance down at his hands. Manly, veiny, and decorated with rings, albeit none engagement rings.

— girlfriend?

I frown. Poor girl. I hope she realizes her worth and finds someone better soon. But who would even date a grump like him in the first place anyway?

I take a look over his features. He furrows his brows, causing faint creases to appear between them, and his lips pull in a slight frown. He looks... concerned?

Hah, is his girlfriend breaking up with him? Good for her. Applause and cheers sound themselves in my mind.

I suddenly snap out of it and think of what I'm thinking. Why am I so weird? Who the heck thinks these things? I'm definitely a little delusional.

Wait... what if it's not concern that he's showing? What if it's... frustration? His girlfriend could be sexting him right now, and he can't do anything about it because I'm here.

I let a mortified expression slip on my face. Nah that's it. I'm definitely fucked up somewhere in the head.

The room suddenly sounds extra quiet. I realize the clacking of the keyboard has stopped—for a while now, actually. Curious, I glance up.

I find Mr. Dubois side-eyeing me, fingers frozen, hovering over the keyboard. He looks at me funny, and I find it funny, so I might've accidentally let out the ugliest snort.

To that, he looks at me even more funny. I clench my jaw and bite the inside of my cheek in a meek attempt to fight the grin stretching on my lips. Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh.

I stare at him, refusing to blink for some reason. I feel my eyes tearing up. Oh god, this is impossible. My neck and shoulders stiffens and I can't breathe. There is no doubt I resemble a tomato right now, both from amusement and embarrassment.

He looks fucking mortified at the sight of my face.

Acting on impulse, I lean forward and snatch a piece of paper from his desk and cover his face from my vision.

Holding the paper in front of me, I let my posture shake a little as I shut my eyelids and start taking deep yet uneven breaths.

Goddamnit, why do I do this to myself? Why of all situations, do I have to laugh in the most serious ones?

I take a deep breath. In, out... in, out... in, out...

I like the sound of that.

For fuck's sake, not right now.