╰┈➤ "Cᴏɴɢʀᴀɢᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs! Yᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ sᴜʙsᴄʀɪʙᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛʀɪᴀʟ ᴏғ ᴅᴀɪʟʏ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬." ⌫
𝐈 𝐍 𝐖 𝐇 𝐈 𝐂 𝐇, a primary school teacher is moved to a high school with the lack of staff. From teaching tiny five year olds to dealing with young ad...
Valentine's, birthdays, denial ft. librarians that sacrifice students for books
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" You want some more, more "
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Y/n leaned onto her palm with a dazed look reflecting back into her eyes from the window outside that had yet to show the sunlight. Legs lightly shaking back and forth beneath the desk, she stared at the small tents with blankets and pillows by the back of her class that she set up a few months prior, not long after her arrival to the secondary. The teacher often found herself missing the chaotic laughter of children running around, but this was nice too. Her lashes fluttered slowly like a butterfly leisurely flowing its wings on a leaf.
The second last week of January. As soon as the calendar flipped to next month, the entire city would be decorated in pink and heart shaped candies of all sorts. As much as she loved seasonal decorations, but Valentine's....
Another wave of headache rolled on. She sighed and pulled out the sticky note drawer. This time, a blank lilac purple note was slipped out— the pen was millimetres away from the surface of the page, before it paused. Her eyes squinted at the paper devoid of any marks, untouched and pure.
Tempted to scribble a void into it, she closed her eyes yet again and placed the pen down. The teacher sighed subtly and flopped her upper body onto the desk's tauntingly inviting surface. It was half past six, she was here ridiculously early due to have waking up at 2 in the morning and unable to fall back into slumber. That monster in 206 was here since 5:30... Well, he was a calculus teacher— he probably had more to mark and prepare. Y/n stared at the page in front of her.
After a good five minutes of staring holes into the poor note, she finally got an idea.
☆
Scaramouche stood aimlessly in the printer room, pretending to tweak around with the printer that was probably ancient enough to belong in a museum. His students always complained that their printouts looked like scattered splashes of black ink, which he rolled his eyes and told them to suck it up. In reality, he was constantly nagging at the school to replace the printer. Sending 5 page long emails every few days would make them pay some attention.
He looked down the hallway, listening for any footsteps in the distance. This had been continuing for quite some time, of him moving back and forth between his empty classroom and the printer room for the past thirty minutes without much purpose. But every time he popped back in to act like he had a reason to be there, his eyes would subconsciously graze his desk— which was still empty of a piece of paper that should've been there by now.
