Maybe it wasn't just one of those times.
Maybe it wasn't just one of those times where you, Will Schuester would find a particularly long-legged, handsome woman sitting gingerly on the windowsill of your Spanish classroom, coffee resting beside her, used as a token to get you to welcome her inside with a smile, or one of those times when you'd find a sticky note taped to your book she borrowed over the weekend with the word "Thank You!" in sharpie marker, and a smiley face at the end of the 'U' to make it feel more personal. You never knew that someone's handwriting would make you smile so much, especially since it was on a lime green sticky note, and you absolutely hated that color, since it never suited you.
You now miss those times she'd wait for you because you've had a particularly hard day because of a blonde coach and her hair-related jokes, which you never really got, or because of a guidance counselor and her ever loving husband (the perfect man, a man you wished to be) and you needed the company of someone who he actually could tolerate. She even offered to take the Glee Club Practice that day over lunch, and you tell her you're making her co-director, and this time, you like the feeling of steering the S.S. New Directions with someone like her.
You decided to take a sneak peak at Glee Club with her holding the wheel (even though you said you had a doctor's appointment, or was it a dentist's?) and you see her jiving with the students, encouraging them to sing and dance, bringing out their full potential. You cross your arms at the window, smiling like a father seeing his child walk for the first time, and she spins around and sees you smiling. She tucks a loose strand over her ear and turns red, the club notices her stop and their eyes dart their way towards you. You smile and wave your hand, then tell them to go on.
The day after that, you bring her a cinnamon roll even though you're running low on money. You know she absolutely loves them and as if on cue, you see her talking to Quinn, Finn, and Sam by the main entrance and they roll their eyes at you and walk away. She joins you shyly and hands you your morning coffee, as she does every morning after that.
Espresso. One sugar. The usual.
You uncharacteristically spend that afternoon in the library because some of the other teachers asked to borrow your time to make up for the classes they've missed. You couldn't argue since they needed the time more than you did, "It's only Spanish, Schuester!" they would say, patting your shoulder a little too hard, you then decide it's futile too argue, they were right.
You then see a redhead make her way in the library, taking her own pen in hand to log in the date and time, and using a tissue to access the ID card that's required. You immediately know who that is because she fumbles in her steps and trips over things even though she was extremely careful. Quite her own oxymoron, if you asked yourself honestly. You let out a sigh and hoped she wouldn't see you and the empty seat before you, you rest your temple on your closed fist, directly above your knuckle because you were so bored reading a thunderclap.
The redhead eyes you and smiles hopefully, she honestly looked awful, and you smile back. She motions towards you and you relax, even almost standing to take out the seat for her before another woman (who you met earlier this morning) enters blissfully and carefree, signing the log book and scanning her ID in twelve, thirteen seconds maximum. She affectionately waves hello to the guidance counselor and frolics to the seat before you before Emma had reached her fourth step.
The redhead looks down grimly, and you look at Holly, who was chattering idly about she handled Fourth Year Physics using magic tricks.
You then forget about the thunderclap you're holding, and the friend you just put down, when she begins pouring out ideas for New Directions.
Figgins calls you in just before you finish packing up your things to leave, Holly was the one who informed you that he needed to see you discussing matters about the redhead you practically ignored moments ago in the library.
"Schue, you're her only friend in this board of educators. Please talk to her, she's been messing up the files and there are kids who need transfers to other schools by the end of the week! That's in three days." He says to you, you furrow your brow, Emma had a lot of friends, probably some of which Figgins didn't know about.
"With all due respect sir, I don't think I'm the one best suited to do that." You say, hell bent on the man's destruction, the blonde that's been beside you walks up and offers to help the counselor with the transfer, you smile and then tell him you'll think about talking to the redhead.
He nods his head and gestures you out of his office. You ask the blonde why she did that, she simply said that Emma needed a break from all the stress, and maybe she needed some counseling. You knew she was right, and maybe this was the chance you were waiting for.
You offer her dinner at your house since you wanted the company, and she had no problems because she had no papers to grade, or class records to think about, no lessons to plan, no students to think about. She agrees and even offers to help out. You go to the store and pick out some things (which you paid for, you wouldn't take her green bills), she puts on your apron that says Kiss the Chef and you contemplate following the advice of your garment, but dismiss it when she puts the flame on high and almost burns her hand, and your house.
You take your turn with the stove (which was too old to retire) and make do with it after a few minutes, she apologizes and you take the frown off her face by saying it was your fault for not warning her about the stove's temper. Both of you then proceed to making your dinner, acting as normal as possible, and you ask her again why she really wanted to help Emma.
"It's because she means a lot to you," she begins, testing the pasta sauce by sliding her finger on the wooden spoon in her hand, "and just the same, you mean a lot to me." You look at her, and she has her finger in her hand. You smile; she smiles back, "It needs more pepper." You stand and reach for the pepper you have left in the cupboard above your head when your left leg betrays you and falls asleep, you lose balance, slip and spill some pepper on her, your other hand involuntarily places itself on the counter for support (Thank God, too) , but you know you still hit her on the face.
She is flabbergasted and takes some sugar she has beside the pot and tosses a pinch at you, thus began the second war in your kitchen.
You forget dinner (but you stop the fire before she got the milk from your fridge, which was spoiled, by the way) and end up wrestling her for dominance. You pause for a second, there's a growling sound. She laughs and rests her face in your neck and you put your arms around her, laughing as well. You suggest you order take out and stand to reach the phone, she doesn't move and you tug her gently, whispering her name softly.
Holly?
She looks up at you and you know what happens next, she leans in forward, you move and your cheek meets a pair of lips. Her lips. She's dismayed and you let out a long sigh, knowing this would happen soon. You don't let go, your arms are still snaked around her, and you wonder how long the two of you have known each other. She rests her forehead on your shoulder, there were no words, but the emotions were all over the place, scattered and unsure, wild and undecided. You hold on tighter and you feel her body begin to shake.
You sooth her, using your hands and you recall her trust issues. You comfort her with only simple touches and kind words. She mutters something about being a whore and barking up the wrong tree. She mutters moving away, and you immediately stop her there. You tell her nothing's wrong with her, tell her she's attractive, no, very attractive. But you aren't ready for anything serious yet, and she didn't deserve someone like him. Will Schuester.
/
Right now, you rest your head quietly on your palm, grading papers, remembering that you need a new red pen because you keep dropping this one. You haven't spoken to her ever since that night you invited her over, and you now regret ever mentioning it to her. You let out a sigh again because everything is just depressing now, you wished you had someone to talk to, but that person you once had, you managed to push away as well.
There's a knock on the door and you almost fall off your seat. You set down the pen and try to fix yourself before you grant permission to enter. You didn't expect Holly, but alas there she was, smiling as she had coffee in her hand, and eye bags on her face, her blonde hair fixed in one big braid. She looked like a student in sweatpants and a gray hoodie, but it made her skin radiate nonetheless. You stand and offer her a seat, tell her you miss her, and you try to tell her she looked like shit, but you can't because you don't want that to add to her sudden sadness.
"I'm sorry," she says and you stand up once more and pull her into a hug as she remains seated. You take in her scent, as you do whenever you're near her, and she hugs just a little bit tighter. You like the closeness, but you hate the longing that came with it. You hate what you've done to her, and now's the chance to make it right.
"It's okay." You say, and drag her out your office, but she stops and asks where you're going.
"Anywhere you want."