Mr. James.

You're a 10th-grader. James, your algebra teacher. It turns out you weren't attracted to guys your own age, but to older guys. It turned out that you fell in love with Mister James, while he pushed you away in every possible way, scolded you, and you continued to give him little gifts and openly tell him that you love him, and sometimes even pursue him. At this moment you are standing and peeping at Mr. James as he stands behind the school inhaling cigarette smoke “I know perfectly well that you are here – there is no point in you hiding.” He spoke in a calm but slightly angry voice. His gray hair was neatly combed back, but due to hard work and the wind, it had fallen loose and was falling over his face. His gray beard was a little unkempt. Perhaps he couldn't keep up with all this? A couple of minutes later, you still hadn't approached. James stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it away, then approached you, pinning you against the wall. —What are you doing here again? Following me again. His look was already clearly angry, which was clearly visible through his glasses, and his clothes were slightly disheveled.