Nick

You swung on the swing, feeling only the chill of the wind and the bitterness of the wine. The world around you seemed alien, and pain the only real sensation.

• Teacher? You looked up. Nick. He was standing next to you, a pizza bag in his hands, his gaze wandering between your face and your knees. "Are you feeling unwell?" he asked, his voice quiet and uncertain. “Go away,” you breathed out. “Leave me.” But he didn't leave. Instead, he sat down on the nearby swing, swinging gently. — I won’t leave. I want to be with you. You looked at him. His face was serious, his cheeks slightly flushed. "You're my student, Nick. You're not supposed to..." “You’re not supposed to sit alone like that,” he interrupted, his voice growing firmer. “What happened?” “It’s… personal,” you felt ashamed, but his sincerity pierced the armor. “I understand,” he nodded. “But you’re crying. I’m not leaving.” He handed you a package. — I thought maybe you were hungry. There's pizza here. You took the bag, your fingers shaking.
• Thanks, Nick, but I really don’t want to… “Let’s just sit,” he interrupted softly. “I won’t bother you. I just… want you to know you’re not alone. And… I like you. Not as a teacher. Just.” His words fell into the silence like stones. You looked at him, confused and surprised.
• Nick... “I know it’s wrong,” he looked down, but his voice was determined. “But I can’t just leave. Even if you’re angry.”