Chapter Text
It had never been Dan’s first choice, career-wise.
As a matter of fact, throughout his university years, he’d always looked upon his graduate friends with scorn if they’d gone into predictable, un-specialist jobs like marketing or real estate - things that have nothing to do with the degrees they spent three or four years obtaining.
But then university had ended, and Dan had been thrown, quite unprepared, into the cutthroat world of job-seeking.
He’d tried, of course, to find jobs in his field, but as it turns out, there aren’t many people in need of sociology majors nowadays. He’d flirted with the idea of doing a masters course, but that shit is expensive, and by the time he’d gotten around to considering applications, the deadline had already passed.
So, he’s twenty-two, fresh out of Manchester University, all but still clutching his freshers-week wristband, with no prospects whatsoever, and a rapidly depleting bank account. With his rent deadline looming over closer, he decides to just suck it up and look on his university’s ‘graduate scheme’ page.
Marketing is definitely out, as Dan can’t stand the way people in those jobs talk. The idea of driving the young, naiive hopefuls that he once was around to different shitty flats and house shares in a company Fiat, lying through his teeth to persuade them to part with their maintenance loans for a damp-riddled, cockroach-infested prison cell is also too much to bear.
So, with reluctance, Dan starts looking through the adverts for the one job he thinks he can just about handle, and that might have a chance of taking him on:
Teaching Assistant.
Low pay, early mornings, and screaming adolescents five days a week. The idea of it is not appealing.
Nevertheless, he diligently sends out his CV and some cover letters to local secondary schools, then quickly closes all tabs pertaining to it in order to watch some Stranger Things.
The following morning, he wakes up to an email inviting him for an interview.
*
Four months of training, a fuck ton of reading manuals, health and safety guides, curriculums and other such palava, Dan finds himself being led down an eerily empty school corridor towards his first actual class.
Even the tapping of his shoes against the shiny linoleum floor of this place is beginning to bring back horrible high-school memories. He shudders, asking himself for the umpteenth time why the fuck he ever took this stupid job.
Think of the money, he tells himself.
“…so don’t expect the students to be too enthused.” Vice Principal Green finishes, briskly striding along just ahead of Dan.
“I’m sorry?” Dan asks.
Vice Principal Green looks over his shoulder. “I was just saying that as it’s the first day back, the students will likely be a little more… sluggish than usual.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry!” Vice Principal Green says brightly, his cheeks rosy as he gives Dan a broad smile. “I’m sure you and Mr Lester will get them back into their regular rhythms soon enough!”
“Yeah,” Dan says, smiling back. He doesn’t add that the idea of motivating a shit-ton of sullen teenagers to do schoolwork after a month and a half of fucking around all summer is petrifying. “Mr Lester? Is that-”
“That’s who you’ll be assisting for your first lesson, yes.” VP Green says, coming to a halt outside a door marked ‘Classroom 9′. “He’s been a history professor here for two years now. You’re in luck, as he’s an excellent teacher, and particularly popular amongst the students. It’s always much harder for the TA’s if the teacher is incompetent or disliked.”
“Oh…” Dan says, feeling his stomach quiver. “Well, that’s… good, I guess.”
“Yes, there’s no better person to get your bearings with, I assure you.”
Dan nods, eyeing the closed door in front of them with a modicum of fear. Behind it is a class of twenty-six Year Nine students, all of whom he is going to have to help this ‘Mr Lester’ to control.
Dan’s never liked teenagers anyway. He didn’t even like being one.
Why the hell did he take this job?
“Well then, unless you have any more questions, it’s almost nine o’clock.” VP Green says, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “Ready to be thrown to the lions?”
Dan laughs politely, but it comes out sounding nervous and weak. Embarrassingly, VP Green places a reassuring hand on Dan’s shoulder, smiling that broad smile again.
“Brave face, Daniel!” VP Green says. “Or should I say, Mr Howell.”
Dan swallows, hating the sound of that already. “Right.”
Then, VP Green is removing his hand and opening the door in front of them.
There’s a hum of chatter amongst the students as they converse excitedly about their summers, catching up with one another after the long break. They’re sat in pairs, two to a table, though they lean across chairs and kneel beside one another in order to be able to speak with their friends.
Just as Dan remembers it, the faint scent of Lynx body spray and that suffocating girly equivalent hovers in the air. Apart from the fact that the girls in this class seem to have Cara Delevigne eyebrows painted onto their faces, and the boys are all sporting that haircut with the shaved sides and the quiff, Dan imagines he could be walking into his own class back in Reading.
War flashbacks attack him from all sides.
“Ah, Mr Lester,” VP Green bellows, grinning widely. “Glad to see you’ve survived the long break!”
Dan turns his head, watching VP Green stride from the door towards the front of the classroom, over towards a wooden desk in the corner, beside which stands a tall young man in a red and black checkered shirt.
The young man grins back, placing the papers back down upon his desk as he shakes the outstretched hand extended towards him by the Vice Principal.
“Hah, I thought about running off and never returning, but alas-” he places a dramatic hand over his heart, gazing out at the uninterested teenagers before him. “Their thirst for knowledge is a siren call.”
VP Green laughs heartily, clapping him on the shoulder.
Dan just blinks in astonishment at the display. This man surely cannot be the famed ‘Mr Lester’ that was described to him a few minutes ago.
For a start, the guy looks to be about Dan’s age. Perhaps a little older, as it’s difficult to tell with young men in their twenties, but definitely not by much. Also, he’s… attractive.
Never once in all of Dan’s years of education has he ever felt anything more than a mild appreciation for his teachers or professors. Most of the time, he actually loathes them.
To find one of the various downtrodden, weary, moody people Dan has had teaching him over the years attractive is something so alien to him that he can barely begin to comprehend it.
But here is Mr Lester, looking like a damn snack in his short sleeved plaid, his thick-rimmed, scene-y glasses, and his actual goddamn skinny jeans. Dan has no idea how to respond.
“Who’s the lanky nonce gawping at Mr Lester, sir?” A boy at the back of the class shouts, hauling Dan out of his inappropriate thoughts at once.
Both VP Green and Mr Lester turn to the door, still smiling.
“Ah, yes.” VP Green says, remembering Dan at last. “Everyone, take your seats now, that’s it. I’m going to introduce to you our newest Teaching Assistant, Mister Howell.”
Dan gives the class an awkward wave. “Hi.”
“Good morning, Mister Howell.” The class sings in one, unified, monotone.
It’s unexpected, and Dan stands like a lemon for a moment, dumbed by the strange, cult-like chant.
“Um, g-good morning.”
“Hey, knock it off you lot.” Mr Lester says around a wry smile. “He knows this isn’t Primary School. No more teasing the new TA on his first day, alright?”
The class chuckles, and Phil grins at them all, shaking his head in mock-disapproval. His tongue peeks through the thin gap between his two rows of teeth as he smiles; Dan instantly melts at the sight of this.
“Right, well I’ll be leaving you in Mr Lester’s capable hands,” VP Green says to Dan, clapping him once on the shoulder. He glances at Mr Lester apologetically. “Sorry, but I must run - first day back and everything. A thousand things to do. Are you alright to introduce yourselves?”
“No problem,” Mr Lester says brightly. He places his hand on Dan’s upper back. “I’ll take care of him.”
VP Green nods, smiling at them both before walking to the door. He waves to the class, none of whom seem to notice, and then disappears into the hall, closing the door behind him.
Dan swallows, realising that now he is truly on his own. Well, apart from Mr Lester, that is.
Gathering himself, Dan turns to shake Mr Lester’s hand. He has warm, large hands, which are surprisingly soft to the touch. He draws his own hand away quickly, cheeks warming as he realises what a weirdo he’s being for even noticing something like that.
“Hey,” Mr Lester says, quieter now, so the kids won’t hear. “I’m Phil. Welcome to the Algerian War.”
“Cool, I’m Dan- wait, what?”
Phil just grins enigmatically, then spins on his heel to face the front of the class.
“Right gang! We’ve got an hour.” Phil says, clapping his hands together. “You know the drill, get the tables out of the way, c’mon.”
“Um…” Dan stutters. “Sorry, what is happening right now?”
Phil laughs at Dan’s bewildered expression as the students hop animatedly out of their seats. Scraping sounds fill the air as they push their tables and chairs to the edges of the room, leaving a huge space in the centre.
“You’ll see,” Phil says, whispering it into Dan’s ear.
Not realising Phil had gotten that close, Dan shudders, somewhat embarrassingly. He can smell the toothpaste Phil must have brushed his teeth with this morning on his breath.
Oblivious to Dan’s reaction - thank God - Phil turns his attention back to the class. “Okay, yeah, but let’s use the tables to make two sets of barricades- yep one on either side of the room. That’s it, Jonah! Yeah, stack ‘em up Katie! Why not?“
“I’m not sure they covered this in training…” Dan says as Phil walks boldly into the space created in the centre, surveying the work of the students.
“Looks good guys!” Phil says, ignoring Dan entirely now. “Let’s get these barricades up quickly. Do you hear the people sing…?”
The students groan at the sound of Phil’s off-key singing, and Dan barks a laugh, unable to believe that Mr Lester, supposed genius history teacher, just launched into the chorus of a Les Misérables song in the middle of class.
Phil turns to face him then, grinning happily. “Get involved, Mr Howell!” He urges, walking over to grab Dan by the arm. “Are you my TA or not?”
“Well, yeah but… what do you want me to do?”
“Are you deaf? We’re making our barricades!”
So, not knowing how else to proceed, Dan obediently begins helping a nearby bunch of thirteen to fourteen year olds stack the tables and chairs until they have made a pretty impressive (and moderately safe) barricade.
“Okay!” Phil cries in a surprisingly loud, deep voice. “Right, if you’re born in the months of July to December, get on the right side of the room. If you’re born from January to June, left side.”
Dan stays on the left as instructed, listening in wonder to whatever this peculiar, charismatic man is about to say.
“So, the Algerian war.” Phil says, hands on his hips. “Who knows what it was about?”
A hush falls over the classroom. Dan has to admit, even he has no clue on this one.
“Who knows when it was?” Phil asks.
Again, he is met with silence.
“Where it was fought?”
Phil waits, sweeping his laser-blue eyes over the blank faces. He lands on Dan, smirking. “Mr Howell? Any ideas on this one?”
Absurdly, Dan blushes, feeling as though he’s just been singled out by one of his own teachers. He reminds himself that this is merely a replica of a traumatic time, and that he is actually in charge here, with Phil. He and Phil are - supposedly - on the same team.
Nevertheless, he doesn’t know the answer.
For some reason though, he decides to give it a shot. “Uh, Algeria?”
The class titters, and Phil smiles. “Good work, Mr Howell. Gold star.”
Just before Phil turns away, Dan swears he sees him wink.
“See?” Phil asks the others. “Not all my questions are designed to trick you.”
Over the next few minutes, Phil uses a variety of bizarre techniques to supply the class with the answers to the questions he just posed - including a game of charades, a session of mime, an actual interpretive dance, and signing.
He is theatrical in his movements, and seems to be well aware that the class is laughing at him as he clumsily acts out the French revolution of May 1968, using every mildly offensive French stereotype in the book in order to do it.
He laughs along with the rest of them, apparently more than happy to be the butt of their teenage jokes as long as the answer comes out eventually. Dan watches his unusual technique in amazement, finding that even he is learning, without really meaning to, as well as laughing along, enjoying himself with the others.
Eventually, Phil moves to the front of the class, standing on his desk. He throws his arms wide, letting the groans and ‘sir, what’re you doin’ mate’ comments bounce off his chest.
“Right!” Phil announces. “The year is 1954! It is time for the war to commence!”
Dan raises an eyebrow, smirking at the display.
“Those of you on the left are the Algerian natives fighting for independence from the French colony!” Phil declares, gesturing at Dan and his troop of thirteen year olds. He catches Dan’s eye, smiling mischievously. “And those of you on the right are the French military, determined to stop this uprising before it becomes outright anarchy!”
“Wait,” Dan says, “we’re not actually gonna-”
“Trois, deux, un… fight!” Phil cries, jumping down from his desk as an unholy roar erupts throughout the class.
To Dan’s utter horror, the students run at each other from opposing sides, their fingers becoming guns, their rulers and pencils transforming into knives and swords.
Phil sidles over to him, nudging him in the side. “Why are you waiting on the sidelines, Dan? You’re letting the Algerians down!”
Dan cannot speak. He watches as the students wrestle each other to the ground, fake-throttling one another, pretending to stab and wound and maim.
Every single one of them is immersed in the imaginary bloodshed, their school-kid personalities gone for the time being. For now, Dan realises, each of these children is a soldier in the Algerian war.
“This is amazing.” Dan can’t help saying.
He shakes his head, marvelling as he watches a ‘French militant’ straddle a wounded ‘Algerian’, pinning her to the floor. She struggles against her oppressor’s grip in vain.
“How dare you steal our land and our produce!” The ‘Algerian’ girl cries bitterly. “The Islamic people of Algeria were peaceful until you came and colonised us you fucking French frogs!”
“Silence, citizen!” The ‘French militant’ snarls. “We dragged your sorry excuse for a country out of the depths of poverty! What use will this insubordination bring you? Do you know how many would die to be French?”
The ‘Algerian’ girl spits at him. “Good for them! Because I’d rather die than become French!”
“Then die you shall!”
He mimes stabbing the ‘Algerian’ girl through the heart. She chokes, then falls silent, her head lolling to the side. Dan wants to give the two of them a round of applause.
“They get really into it.” Phil muses happily, still beside Dan. “History is so much more exciting when you can really put yourself in the shoes of the people involved. That’s what I find, anyway.”
Dan turns to Phil, feeling pretty dazed by him at this point. The azure blue of his eyes locks onto Dan’s, drowning him in skies and oceans and bubblegum ice cream.
“You’re not like any teacher I’ve ever met.” Dan says quietly, a little dizzy still.
The shrieks and clatters of the warring teenagers still echoes around the room, creating a strange, lively atmosphere.
“In a good way?”
Dan considers this. If he’d had a history teacher as cool and exciting as Phil when he was in school, he almost definitely would have learned substantially more than he did. Either that, or he’d know a lot less, because there’s an equally good chance he’d spend every history lesson staring at, and fantasising about, his hot teacher.
“Definitely a good way.” Dan answers,
Phil smirks, and Dan almost collapses at the sight of it. “That’s good.”
“Why is that good?”
Phil chuckles lowly. He takes a step closer to Dan, making his lungs seize up.
“Think I might get jealous if you had a different favourite teacher to work with.”
Dan swallows, trying very, very hard to see this obvious flirtation as something entirely platonic.
“Well… it’s only my first lesson on my first day.” Dan says, sounding bolder than he feels. “I’ve got classes with plenty of other teachers yet.”
Phil nods, running his gaze quickly up and down Dan’s body. “I see, so you’re not picking favourites just yet?”
Dan grins at him. “Not yet.”
“Hm,” Phil nods, turning away with a smirk. All of a sudden, the bell rings. “Alright everyone, cease fire! Time to head to your next classes. Let’s get these tables back in order before we leave, shall we?”
“Wait!” A long, dark haired girl interrupts, indignant. “Sir, who won the war? Don’t leave us hanging!”
“Ah,” Phil grins. “An excellent question, the answer to which…” He pauses dramatically. “I will be saving for next class!”
There’s an enormous, collective groan. Dan marvels at it, wondering if he’s ever groaned in frustration at a class being cut short before.
The students chatter animatedly as they restore order to the classroom, and Dan helps them get everything back into place. At last, they’re all filing out of the door towards their next lessons, and Dan breathes a sigh of exhaustion.
He turns to Phil, feeling a little nervous at the prospect of being alone with him.
“Okay, well it was good to meet you.” Dan says, suddenly a polite, nervous wreck.
Phil laughs at him, but walks over and smiles, reaching out his hand. “You too, Dan.” They shake hands, but this time Dan doesn’t let go quite as fast. “Thank you for putting up with all the madness. You actually coped pretty well! I’m impressed. Most TA’s take a while to warm up to my… methods.”
“I’m not most TA’s.” Dan says, meaning it as a joke.
Phil regards him with a tilted head, still smiling. “No, I get the sense you’re not.”
Dan coughs, reddening. “Well, I should get to my next class.”
“See you in 1962?”
“Hah,” Dan responds, “yeah.”
He turns to leave, desperately floundering for some sort of witty, charming and flirtatious remark to leave Phil with.
“Oh, Dan?” Phil asks, and Dan whirls to face him, a little too eagerly perhaps.
“Yep?”
“Keep me updated on your list of favourite teachers, yeah?”
Dan smiles, nodding. “Afraid you’ve got some competition in this school?”
“Mrs Laughton might be sixty-three and have a permanent scowl tattooed onto her face, but she’s got a certain… je ne sais quoi.” Phil says, leaning back onto his desk. He gives Dan a wink. “She could steal your top spot.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Dan tells him honestly. Phil smiles broadly, a glimmer of something caught in the crystal blue of his eye.
Then, because he’s embarrassed, Dan ducks out of the room.
Needless to say, every single one of his other classes that day seems spectacularly dull. He finds himself thinking about Phil throughout most of them anyway, barely able to focus on what the teachers are saying.
The bell rings for lunch, at last, and Dan breathes a sigh of relief, heading down to the staffroom. He’s boiling the kettle for a much needed cup of coffee when he feels a presence beside him. Startled, he looks up, straight into the blue eyes of Phil Lester.
“So?” Phil asks, smiling cheekily. “Any new contenders for Dan’s favourite teacher?”
Dan smiles, feeling his cheeks glow with warmth. He shrugs, attempting to be enigmatic as he pours the boiling water into his mug.
“Maybe.”
“Ooh, mysterious.” Phil says, catching on. “Keep me guessing. I like it.”
Dan coughs, his blush deepening. “It takes a lot to impress me, I’ll have you know.”
“Hmm, interesting.” Phil says, watching Dan pour the milk into his mug. “Maybe I’ll have to introduce a new topic next week. Something more stimulating than the Algerian war.”
Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Just for me?”
“I think you underestimate my commitment to being top of your favourite teacher list.”
“So what topic could you introduce to peak my interest?” Dan asks, smirking.
Without a word, Phil plucks the coffee mug from Dan’s hand and takes a sip, never breaking eye contact. “Well, around the time of the Algerian war, France was going through a kind of …decadent phase, liberally speaking.”
“Decadent?” Dan echoes, preoccupied with watching how Phil’s lips curl around the rim of the mug.
“The lefties were chagrinned about all the censorship laws and the capitalist infrastructure of the Fifth Republic, so they acted out.” Phil explains, handing Dan his coffee back. “They made saucy films, wrote erotic novels, cavorted with each other as much as possible.”
“I’m not sure that’s classroom appropriate, Phil.” Dan laughs, feeling the butterflies begin to burst from their chrysalis’ in his belly.
“Yeah, you’re prob’ly right.” Phil agrees, eyes dragging over Dan’s body again.
Dan blushes, sipping his coffee and nodding. Phil stands up straight, as if he’s about to leave. Just before he does, he leans in close to Dan, their faces dangerously close.
“Maybe we should save that lesson for after class.”
Before Dan can respond, Phil has drifted away, already immersed in conversation with Mrs Laughton, a geography teacher.
For fuck’s sake, Dan thinks, trying to will his brain to calm down after that unexpected comment, he absolutely cannot let himself get involved with a teacher.
No matter how intimidatingly hot and amazing he is.
Dan watches Phil talk animatedly at the sour-faced Mrs Laughton, and realises belatedly that he’s actually biting his lip. Fuck. This is going to be one frustrating year.