Summary: Wes has a secret admirer. He just hopes it's not a student. Oneshot. Wesvis.

Warnings: High school teacher AU. Teacher . definitions. Wooing with origami. Wes and Travis are both nerds in this one. Jonelle is awesome and I love her.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way.

This is completely self-indulgent schmoop and I regret nothing.

OOOO

Word Of The Day

"WORD: a. something that is said. b: plural: talk, discourse putting one's feelings into words"

—Merriam-Webster Dictionary

XXXX

He sees it right after second period starts, sitting nonchalantly next to his pen cup. Wes stops talking mid-sentence, carefully picking up the little paper animal. There's writing on it, but no name, no identifier as who might have left it there.

"What's this?" he asks, holding it up.

His class, being apathetic teenagers, mostly yawn or stare blankly at him. One girl squints at the origami animal and says, "I think it's a giraffe."

"Looks more like a llama to me," another kid says.

"Yes, thank you." Wes rolls his eyes, setting the origami animal back on his desk. "Frank, please define hyperbole for me."

Twenty minutes later, as his class is filing out, he picks up the origami creature. Carefully, he turns it, reading the writing down its long neck.

Susurrant, noun: softly murmuring, whispering.

Wes frowns and sits back in his chair. "What in the world…?"

XXXX

"Maybe it's from a secret admirer," Jonelle says at lunch.

"What kind of secret admirer," Wes asks, stabbing his salad, "leaves origami animals and dictionary definitions?"

The nurse shrugs. "Maybe they heard about you meeting Alex by dropping a dictionary on her foot. Plus, you're an English teacher. Words are kind of your thing."

Wes is finally at the point in the breakup where he can think about Alex without wincing. He's proud of that. "Okay, first," he holds up a finger, "Alex was the one who dropped a dictionary on me, not the other way around. And second, I like more than just words, you know."

"Uh-huh," Jonelle says without conviction. "You keep telling yourself that, you bibliophile. Let's talk about your admirer. Who do you think it could be?"

Wes munches viciously at a crouton. "I hope it's not a student."

"Could be a teacher," the nurse points out. "Maybe Kendall?"

He stares blankly at the mention of the computer teacher. "Why would Kendall leave me origami?"

The look he receives is full of endless sympathy. "Oh, my oblivious friend," she says, patting him on the arm in the most condescending manner. Then she lights up. "Oh, maybe it's your crush!"

He flushes. "I don't have a crush."

"Yes you do. You know. The sexy math teacher, Mr. Marks."

"I thought you hated him."

"I do." Jonelle shrugs. "Doesn't mean I don't have eyes. The man is sexy as sin."

"Point." He shifts under her gaze. "Just don't say crush, okay? I mean, geez, it's so…so…high school."

She looks around the room. "Oh gosh, I wonder where I got that."

"Whatever." Waving it aside, he shifts again. "Besides, it's not Travis. All he ever does is tease me and make fun of me."

"Ever hear of pigtail pulling?"

"We're high school teachers, Jonelle, not kindergarteners."

"Trust me, some men never grow out of the kindergarten stage."

He shakes his head. "No. Trust me on this. It's not Travis."

XXXX

Travis has parked his bike next to Wes's car, and they arrive at the parking lot after school at the same time.

"You're still driving that deathtrap to school?" Wes asks, digging out his keys, "You're setting a bad example for the students."

"Better than that midlife-crisis you're driving," Travis scoffs, eyeing Wes's car. "This here proves that I'm the cool teacher and you'll forever be the fuddy-duddy."

"Fuddy-duddy?" Wes echoes incredulously.

"Yup." Travis swings up on his bike, flashing him a huge grin. "Big ol' fuddy-duddy." He slips his helmet on and cranks the throttle. He gives Wes a cheerfully flippant wave as he pulls out of the lot.

Wes stares after him, shaking his head. No way a man like that could do something as subtle as origami animals. It's definitely not Travis.

XXXX

There's another animal on Tuesday, tucked inside his top drawer on top of his post-it notes. Wes picks up the blue dolphin, reading the words on its side.

Noetic, adjective: of or pertaining to the mind.

"What's that, Mr. Mitchell?" Rozelle asks as she slides her quiz onto his desk.

"It's a dolphin," he remarks, setting it next to the giraffe/llama thing from yesterday. "It's nothing important."

But he can't help staring at the paper animals all the rest of the period.

XXXX

After school, Wes is stuck on the dance committee. "If I have to go, then you're going with me," Jonelle always says, and signs him up every year.

"I got another one," he murmurs to the brunette as the speaker rambles on about dress code. "It was a dolphin."

"Was the word just as sexy as yesterday's?" she asks.

"Words can't be sexy, Jonelle."

She gives him a You're lying and we both know it you bibliophile smirk. "You're out of luck if it's a student, but if it's a teacher, I'm telling you, your best bets are Kendall or Travis."

Wes looks across the room at Kendall. She's cute, but there's no attraction there. Not on his end, anyway.

Travis is not here, because Travis avoids committees like the plague. Travis also doesn't do subtle, sweet things like writing dictionary definitions on origami animals.

"It's not Travis," Wes says. Much as he'd like it to be, he's sure of this one.

XXXX

The next one is perched on his chair before he gets to class, which is impressive considering how early Wes gets to school. He almost sits on it.

The words are written across the wings of the white bird, the word itself on one wing and the definition on the other.

Internecine, adjective: mutually destructive.

There's also two little arrows by the tail, but he can't figure out what those are for.

Smiling to himself, Wes sets the bird next to the dolphin. He's collecting quite a menagerie here.

After third period, Grace sees the origami. "That's so cute," she coos, picking up the bird. "I love how these little guys can fly."

"Fly?" Wes says blankly.

"Uh-huh. See?" She pinches the bird's tail, right by the arrows, and pulls gently. The paper wings jerkily move up and down. "Isn't it cute?"

Wes takes the bird back, trying it out himself, and a smile gentle curls his lips. He doesn't say it aloud, but yeah, it is pretty cute.

XXXX

"Hi, Alex."

"Wes." The librarian gives him a warm smile, setting her books down on the cart. "It's good to see you."

"You too," he says, and he means it. They'd dated a long time, and though their breakup had been amicable, it had hit Wes hard. Hard enough that Wes thought about going to work at another school entirely. But it's better now, and it's even getting to the point he thinks they can be friends again without the ache overwhelming him.

"So," she says, leaning against the shelf. "What can I do for you? Need more books for your free choice shelf?"

"No, I, um…I was wondering if anyone had come in this week to use the dictionary."

"The dictionary," she says slowly, like it's some reference to the way they met. But it's really not.

"I was just wondering if you'd noticed the same person coming to look at it a lot the past few days. Or even one person spending a long time with it."

"Hmm." Her eyes roll up as she thinks, but finally she shakes her head with a little frown. "No one comes to mind. But most kids look up stuff on their phones or computers anymore."

"What about teachers?"

"Not that I can think of." She gives him a look. "What's this about?"

"Nothing," he sighs. "It's nothing at all."

XXXX

"It bugs me," he tells Jonelle. "I don't like surprises or mysteries."

"Don't we know it," the nurse says, pulling her lunch bag out of the fridge. "We all remember the Secret Santa fiasco of 2009." She grins at him over the top of the fridge door. "But admit it. You're a little bit flattered and intrigued. Am I right?"

"Shut up," he grumbles, which just means she's right. He pushes past her and grabs his own lunch bag. "It's not even—"

There's something wrong with his lunch. The bag is much too light. He opens the bag with a frown that quickly turns to a scowl when he sees his yogurt is missing.

"Goddammit…" His head comes up, and he scowls around the lunch room. "Alright, who took my yogurt?"

Most of the faculty gives him careless shrugs, or they just ignore him completely. But he sees the man in the corner of the room hunch, and he stomps over.

"Did you steal my yogurt?" he demands.

Travis Marks looks up with the most innocent expression in the world. "Me? Absolutely not."

"Then whose," Wes asks, crossing his arms, "yogurt is that?"

Travis looks at the yogurt cup in his hands, then looks back up with a charming grin. "Why, it's mine, of course."

"You big fat liar!" Wes snatches the half-eaten yogurt from Travis's hands, turning it so they both see the bottom of the cup. "Look. WM. Wesley Mitchell."

Travis's eyes go wide. "What kind of bastard labels his yogurt?"

"What kind of bastard steals yogurt from another man's lunch bag?" Wes shoots back.

"Man, I didn't bring lunch today, I'm starving here."

"So get something from the cafeteria."

"I can't eat in the cafeteria, come on!"

Over Travis's shoulder, Wes sees Jonelle bring her hand up by her ear and tug the air. Pigtail pulling, she mouths with a grin.

With a bit more force than necessary, Wes thrusts the yogurt at Travis. "You can have it today because you already contaminated it. But do it again and I'll tell Sutton who's been stealing candy from the vending machines."

"It doesn't count as stealing if it falls on its own!" Travis calls as he walks away.

Wes glares at Jonelle's insufferable smirk and hisses, "It's not Travis Marks."

XXXX

Thursday dawns and there's no origami on his desk. Wes checks all his drawers, and even walks around his classroom twice, just in case it was tucked on the window sill or something.

There's nothing, and Wes tries not to feel disappointed.

"It's because you like being appreciated and admired, even from afar," Jonelle says, popping the lid on her lasagna leftovers and sticking it in the microwave. "We all do. It's human nature."

"I refuse to be that human," Wes grumbles, pulling his lunchbag out of the fridge.

"You can pretend you're better than us mere mortals, but the truth is you're as human as the rest of us." She points her fork at him. "You might as well admit it now and save yourself a lifetime of pain."

Wes is trying to come up with a witty response when there's a quiet ruckus across the room. (Since he was having trouble coming up with anything, he's mildly grateful for the distraction.) They both look over. Then they both simultaneously groan.

Travis has once again failed to bring lunch and is performing tricks for food. As they watch, the other man drops out of a handstand and accepts an apple from Ellen, the biology teacher. He adds it to his pile, which already contains a bag of chips and a soda, then holds out his hands. "What's next?"

Wes sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose again. "What do I even see in that idiot?"

"We all wonder that same thing," Jonelle quips, grabbing her lunch and moving towards the door. With one last glance at the object of his affection, Wes follows

When they're seated in the nurse's office, Wes opens his lunchbag. And stares. Always curious and lovingly nosy, Jonelle cranes her neck. "What is it?"

Slowly, Wes carefully takes out the delicate paper creature. It's pink and purple and patterned, the definition written on the side, and after a second Wes realizes it's a unicorn. He holds it up for Jonelle to see, which gives him a perfect view of the new word.

Spumescent, adjective: foamy, foamlike, frothy.

"Cute." Jonelle's eyebrows go up and down. "And now you know it's a teacher. I say figure out who it is and go for it."

Wes sighs, shaking his head. "You're degenerate. Why are we even friends?"

"Because I give fantastic relationship advice, that's why."

He chuckles and shakes his head again, turning the unicorn over in his hands.

She's got a point, though. Unless a really intrepid student snuck into the teacher's lounge, Wes's origami wordsmith is a teacher. Which means…

He points at Jonelle accusingly. "It's not Travis, so wipe that smirk off your face."

"Alright, alright. But can you imagine if it was?"

Wes can, and he shoots her a dirty glare for putting the thought in his head. Jonelle just laughs.

XXXX

Friday looms bright and clear, and Wes groans. The dance is tomorrow night, which means everyone is going to have dance fever. If there's anything more unruly than a full class of high school students, it's a bunch of teenagers excited and distracted.

He'll just have silent reading all day, he decides, unlocking the door of his classroom. He still has some tests to grade from Tuesday, so that'll be…

He stops in his tracks.

There's a plastic vase of roses on his desk.

Not real roses, he realizes quickly. They're made of paper, elegantly folded into shape, more intricate than any of the animals he's received all week.

A dozen paper roses on pipe cleaner steams, and Wes feels a smile tug at his lips.

Someone wolf whistles from the door, wiping the smile away. "Good going, Mr. Mitchell," Peter says as he enters the room.

"Who are they from?" Dakota asks, hanging off her boyfriend's arm.

Wes shoots them both a sharp look. "None of your business. Sit down and read." He turns to the board, writing Silent Reading in big block letters.

When he turns back, the roses are still there, and he finds himself smiling again.

XXXX

He doesn't read the words on the roses all at once. That would be an indulgence. Instead, he rewards himself; every tenth test he grades, he reads a rose.

The words are carefully written on the inside of the roses, spiraling the inner curve of the petals. A dozen beautiful words.

Coterie, noun: a group of people who associate closely.

Caprine, adjective: of or pertaining to goats.

Frippery, noun: finery in dress, gaudy or the like.

Embroil, verb: to bring into discord or conflict.

Epithalamion, noun: a song or poem in honor of a bride and bride groom.

Foofaraw, noun: a great fuss or disturbance about something very insignificant.

Panegyric, noun: a lofty oration or writing in praise of a person or thing.

Grok, verb: to understand thoroughly and intuitively.

Diffluence, noun: the act of flowing off or away.

Tautology, noun: needless repetition of an idea without imparting additional force or clearness.

Gloaming, noun: twilight, dusk.

Rimple, verb: to wrinkle, crumple, crease.

They're just words. But they're beautiful words, words someone chose with him in mind. Beautiful, interesting, sexy words for him. And with every one he reads, he gets a little thrill in his belly.

Maybe Jonelle is right. Maybe he just likes being appreciated and admired, even if he doesn't know the culprit.

XXXX

"God, Jonelle, it's just so romantic." Wes holds the vase in his hands, turning it so she can see the lovely roses. "Someone took the time to make all of these roses. It's just…I don't even have words."

"You have words right there in your hand." Jonelle smirks at his annoyed scowl. "You're totally besotted with your wordsmith."

He flushes. "I am not. I just think it's sweet. Look at how much work this must have been. For me. It's…no one's ever made that kind of effort before."

She just keeps grinning, sing-songing, "You're besotted."

"I'm not." Wes twirls one of the roses (gloaming) in his fingers, watching the tiny letters inside the petals spin. "I just…wish I knew who it was."

"Because you're besotted."

"Oh my god, will you stop that?" Wes shakes his head with a laugh. "You're a horrible friend."

"I'm the best friend you'll ever have." She licks yogurt off her spoon. "I say you go up to Travis, hold out a rose, and say, 'Did you make these?' If he says no, no harm done. If he says yes, then kissing and sex can commence."

Wes eyes her suspiciously. "Why are you so keen on getting Travis and me together? You hate him."

"I hate him because he's an ass," Jonelle agrees. "And if he breaks your heart, I can ply you with ice cream and we can bitch about him together. It'll be fun."

He pulls a face.

"But seriously." She leans forward. "You're my friend, Wes. If you think you can be happy with Travis, I think you're an idiot, but I'm not gonna stop you."

He quirks a smile, looking down at the rose in his hand. "Thanks, Jonelle. But I really don't think it's Travis."

XXXX

Sixth period, he gets evidence that it might, in fact, be Travis.

He's working on his lesson plan for next month (he likes to be prepared) when he hears a soft curse from the back of the room. He looks up to see Clyde bent over his desk, hands moving, and he's certainly not reading. Wes rises, strolling casually over.

He clears his throat, and the boy jumps. "What are you doing, Clyde?"

"Sorry, Mr. Mitchell." The teen sits back sheepishly, and Wes's heart skips a beat. "I just can't figure out these folds."

On the desk is a square of origami paper, and instructions for a very familiar bird. The same one sitting on Wes's desk.

He has to clear his throat again, this time because something tight seems to have lodged in his trachea. "What is that?"

"It's, uh, extra credit for Mr. Marks's class." The boy fiddles with the paper. "It's about angles or something."

"I see." Sometime hopeful thuds in Wes's chest. "Well, put it away for now. You can work on it later."

"Yes sir." The teen puts the origami in his backpack and pulls out his book. Wes walks back to his desk in a daze, mind reeling.

Could it be…?

XXXX

Wes hasn't been to the math and science wing in ages, but he finds Travis's room easily enough. Wes pauses outside, taking a deep breath, before knocking and pushing the door open.

The room is empty. Wes doesn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Slowly, he ventures inside. In the back of the room by the window, there's a desk and a sign that says, 'Extra credit!' in bold, colorful letters. There's a stack of origami paper in a box, and a stack of instructions beside it. Wes flips through them, heart pounding. He finds instructions for the bird, the llama/giraffe (it is, in fact, a giraffe), and the dolphin. But no unicorn or rose.

These look copied out of a book. Travis could easily have the other two patterns.

Shaky with a giddy, teenage sort of hope, Wes moves to the front of the classroom.

He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he knows it the instant he sees it. Taking a slow breath, the lifts the calendar off of Travis's desk.

"Word of the day," he chuckles helplessly. Panegyric, the text reads, with the definition right underneath. He flips the next few pages and sees more words from his origami gifts.

"So," a familiar voice says from the doorway. "You figured it out."

Wes looks up. Travis leans almost casually in the doorway, but there's something tense in his stance, a wary tightness around his eyes. Like he thinks Wes might be upset and he needs to be prepared to make a break for it.

"You did all this?" Wes asks, throat tight. "The animals, and the roses, and…you gave me the unicorn because you stole my yogurt, didn't you?"

Wes doesn't think it comes out as an accusation, but Travis stiffens like it was. "Hey, it's fine, if you don't want it, it doesn't…I mean, you can keep 'em if you want, but they don't have to mean anything. Don't worry about it."

This is, Wes realizes, the first time he's ever seen Travis look nervous. The man is usually brimming with confidence.

Wes clears his throat. "No, uh…it's fine." He looks down at the calendar still in his hands. "I was…I was hoping it was you."

He'd been hoping, but he'd never dare say it aloud because he didn't think it was possible. But now…

With those words, Travis instantly goes from nervous to cocky swagger. "Well, in that case…" He straightens off the doorframe, strolling into the room. "Have you heard about this dance tomorrow night?"

Wes sets the calendar down, biting back a grin. "Yes, Travis, I have."

"Great." The math teacher sidles around the desk, smirking charmingly. "So, wanna go with me?"

"I'm already going." At Travis's puzzlement, Wes chuckles. "I'm a chaperone. I'm on the dance committee."

"I see." Travis's face smooths out. "Well then. Maybe I'll see you there."

Wes ducks his head, hiding a smile. "I'd like that."

XXXX

Saturday night, an hour before the dance is set to start, Travis sidles up beside him. "What are you doing here?" Wes asks. He hadn't thought Travis was serious about coming.

"Volunteered to chaperone," Travis says easily. "Just this once. Here, I brought you something."

He holds out a paper rose, made in shining silver paper. "For your buttonhole," Travis says with a wink, gliding off to talk to the DJ.

Across the room, Jonelle gives him a thumbs up and a grin. Wes scowls at her, but he can't hold it long, smiling as he tucks the flower into his jacket.

There's one more word written on the inside of the petals, at just an angle he can see when he looks down.

Amazing.

The definition is a single, three-letter word: You.

XXXX

All definitions came from .

Reviews, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Until next time~!