Chapter Text
Ludwig entered Jerma’s office in a huff. He dropped his bag down on the floor, threw himself into the seat, and folded his arms, waiting for material to read or watch. It was like the first few times Ludwig had arrived except worse. How had he gone backwards? Jerma didn’t know why Ludwig was so angry with him.
Granted, Jerma had caught sight of Ludwig a few times in the morning, and, although he was laughing and joking with his friends, he seemed a little lower energy than usual. The dark circles under his eyes spoke for why he was so unenergetic, so maybe he was just cranky.
“What’s up?” Jerma asked.
“The sky,” Ludwig spat. A little cheesy for his usual quick comebacks. “What other gay sh*t are you gonna force down my throat today?”
Jerma frowned at him. “What’s wrong, Ludwig?”
“Nothing,” Ludwig said with his eyes still on the table. “Just give me something to do, and shut up.”
Jerma passed Ludwig the lengthy booklet on transgender healthcare he’d found in Emilia’s room last minute, hoping they wouldn’t notice. Ludwig snatched it out of his hand, and, immediately, began reading.
Jerma watched Ludwig read. He was behaving strangely. Hostile in tone, but nonconfrontational in his avoidance of eye contact. When Ludwig was being aggressive, he would usually hold Jerma’s gaze fiercely and unwaveringly. He was usually a very confident boy. But, right now, he was acting like a cornered animal. Barking and gnashing and holding his head down. In all his experience with kids Ludwig’s age, he couldn’t identify what was wrong with him.
“Did you try out the technique I taught you yesterday?” Jerma asked, trying to figure out what could have happened within the last twenty-four hours of them seeing each other.
“Yes,” Ludwig said shortly.
“Did it work?”
“Of course, it did,” Ludwig told him. “It worked too well. Seeing your ugly face made me go soft in two seconds flat.”
Jerma smiled. “You’re not a very good liar.”
“What are you talking about?” Ludwig demanded.
“You’re not a good liar,” Jerma repeated. “What happened?”
Ludwig kept his eyes on the book, setting his jaw. It didn’t look like he was going to talk about it.
“It didn’t work,” Jerma said. “Listen, Ludwig, don’t freak yourself out over it. You might have done it too late.”
Ludwig sighed. The tension in his face dissipated. He didn’t look angry anymore, but he continued to avoid Jerma’s eyes.
“I didn’t think it would scare you this much. I wouldn’t have suggested it,” Jerma said. “Maybe, stick to thinking about something like bugs or grass or whatever. I was stupid to suggest that. Of course, it would make you feel tense with me.”
Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not gay.”
“I never said you were,” Jerma said. “Why’re you saying that?”
Ludwig shook his head. “I don’t wanna say.”
“It’s normal, Ludwig,” Jerma assured him. “Your brain is developing in so many different ways that, sometimes, the connections get mixed up. A lot of teens like you develop a certain fondness for adults that they’re close to, and, sometimes, that can end up looking like this.”
Ludwig felt a tightness in his chest at that. The fact that Jerma was verbalising how he felt was making it feel a whole lot more real.
“If that’s the case, then it’s probably best if we stop talking like this,” Jerma told him. “It’s not good to have those feelings for a teacher. Let me stress that it is normal, but it’s my responsibility as the adult to make sure that your feelings for me stop where they are, okay?”
Ludwig looked at him finally.
“From what I’ve seen, you’ve grown and matured over this past month,” Jerma told him. “You don’t need to learn anything else. I’m satisfied. You can go back to having lunch with your class.”
Ludwig’s face morphed into a sense of panic. “I don’t have those feelings for you,” he insisted. “I don’t. I’m not gay. What are you suggesting?”
“You don’t have sexual or romantic feelings towards me?” Jerma asked.
Ludwig laughed as if Jerma told a joke, but his laugh sounded more like a shout of dismay. “No. Of course, I don’t. You’re – like – so big-headed.”
“You swear that to me?”
“I swear,” Ludwig said hastily. “Nothing. Nada.”
Jerma didn’t believe him, but he let it go. “Are you going to spend your lunches with your classmates now?”
Ludwig chewed at the inside of his cheek nervously. “No.”
Jerma paused, squinting, perplexed. He leaned forward to him, and rested his elbows on the desk. “You want to spend lunch with me.”
Now, Ludwig really did look like a cornered animal, forced to admit that he liked Jerma’s company. “I don’t have anyone like you to talk to. My friends have their dads. My dad’s dead.” He shrunk into himself as he said it.
Jerma smiled at him appreciatively. “If that’s what I can be for you, then I’ll be that. I shouldn’t say this as a teacher and I shouldn’t show any kind of favouritism, but I really like you, Ludwig. If that’s what you need, I’m happy to be that for you. I want to do everything I can for you. You’re like a son to me.”
Ludwig’s face scrunched into a strange-looking scowl. “Don’t say that,” he said with a watery voice.
“I’m sorry,” Jerma said. “I’m not trying to upset you.”
Ludwig braced his elbows on the desk, lowering his head. Jerma reached out, and ruffled his hair.
--
Without the books and documentaries, Ludwig and Jerma’s conversations flowed more. It wasn’t one short chat, a pause while Ludwig read, and then another short chat about a completely different topic. Ludwig was asking more about Jerma, which seemed to prove to Jerma that Ludwig genuinely liked him like a friend – not just a teacher.
“How old is Kim?” Ludwig asked as he scraped up the remainder of his lunch.
Jerma faltered, and laughed slightly. “I never told you her name.”
“I stalked your Facebook,” Ludwig said like it was an obviously normal thing for someone to do. “She’s really pretty. She looks way younger than you.”
“She’s thirty-three,” Jerma said.
“Aren’t you – like – forty?” Ludwig said.
“I’m thirty-eight,” Jerma said defensively. Then, added, “Yeah, I’m forty.”
Ludwig munched thoughtfully, calculating in his head. “How old is your kid?”
“Thirteen.”
“Damn!” Ludwig said so emphatically that a piece of food flew out of his mouth, and landed on the desk. “She had him young. What’s his name?”
“Emile,” Jerma said, “because we conceived him in a French restaurant. Don’t tell him that though. He thinks we conceived him in France.”
“Oh, I’m French.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I’ve met your mother.”
“When?” Ludwig gaped.
“Parent-teacher meeting, Ludwig,” Jerma said.
“Oh, right, yeah,” Ludwig said. “Why’d you f*ck in a French restaurant?”
Jerma shook his head. “Everything seems like a good idea when you’re drunk.”
“I hear that,” Ludwig muttered.
“Excuse me?” Jerma raised his brows.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be drinking, young man,” Jerma said.
“I’m not drinking, Mr Harrington. I think you’re hearing things,” Ludwig chuckled.
Jerma smiled at him. “You know what? Call me Jeremy.”
Ludwig was taken aback. “Why?”
“It just feels weird. Us having these chats, and you calling me Mr,” Jerma explained. “Feels like there’s this power imbalance like that.”
“Okay,” Ludwig said, but he felt like it would be strange calling him by his first name for a while.
“Just don’t let anyone else hear you calling me that,” Jerma told him. “Just between you and me, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
