The first thing Desmond noticed what that this class was hard. His other classes could never measure up to this sort of difficulty. His first progress report two weeks into the semester was graced with a d-minus—his lowest grade to date. Needless to say, good ol' Bill Miles wasn't pleased. After a venomous lecture about how he had better get it in gear, he was forced to stay after school and get help. Desmond didn't fight back anymore. If staying after school meant he didn't have to deal with his father's unwarranted hostilities, then all the better for him.
At first, Dr. Hastings (Dr. Hastings. That means I've got a bloody PhD! I've got a right to be a pompous bastard.) was reluctant to offer up his precious time to tutor students. They would come in expecting him to offer up grade-changing advice (such as, do your bloody homework, slacker), and be right on their way once they thought it was enough. But when Desmond came in every day after school, unflinchingly, he began to wonder if this kid actually cared about the class. As in he wasn't just in it for a grade. Desmond would ask thought-provoking questions that even he had to think about before answering. Oh, what would the country be like if the South had succeeded in their secession? Let me just hypothesize about this for a few hours, why don't you? No, I can't give you a straight answer, because I'm not bloody omniscient, boy. It was incredibly frustrating sometimes. But refreshingly so.
As for Desmond's grade, it immediately saw a positive change. After three weeks of tutoring, he'd brought it back up to his usual B. He was pretty happy about that, but the real perk was not having to go home right away. And if he decided he had a ton of homework and Dad shouldn't bother him, he could sit out in the barn and read. And Bill wouldn't trouble him as long as he was working. Well, not as much. He was still bothered, but having good grades made it less often. But staying at school as long as possible was definitely a good idea.
So even after his grade was brought to an A, Desmond continued to stay after class, just to make sure he had everything correct. Or maybe just to talk, and have an intelligent conversation with someone who somewhat appreciated him - someone with a really nice British accent that he just couldn't get enough of.
Oh god, he wasn't really doing this for that, was he?
He tried to keep this realization quiet one day as Mr. Hastings described the factors of the Confederacy's defeat. He was either really good at hiding his feelings, or the guy was oblivious to anything that wasn't history. He was safe. So for the time being he tried to focus on what the man was saying, and not how incredibly sexy he sounded when he said it.
Fuck.
He figured it was just a useless crush, and he'd get over it. It didn't stop him from enjoying it while it lasted, though.
Mr. Hastings found himself looking forward to someone to talk to during his long hours after school. He elected to stay because, well, when you give out tons of bloody assignments, they expect you to grade them. And there was no way he was going to take them home. So while he went through and failed as many papers as he passed, he helped this one shining student, well, shine. Yeah. Why the devil did this kid care so much? Seriously, he'd never encountered a single student that had shown this much interest in bloody American history. Sure, there were those above-average students that were all about their perfect straight-A record, but they'd never… it was strange. And nice. If he wasn't careful, he'd have an expert to talk about this stuff to. How frightening.
After a couple months of near-perfect test scores, Shaun began to wonder. Really, if Desmond already knew all there was to know about the bloody subject, why didn't he go out and have fun like a normal teenager? Seriously, Shaun remembered the horrors of public school, and even he looked forward to getting the hell out of there at the end of the day, regardless of his interest in the subject. He wondered if he should encourage Desmond to do the same. Really, he was flattered that the kid wanted to spend this much time with him, but it didn't seem entirely… appropriate.
… Wait, why?
He blinked, frowning. Why would he think that…? He shook his head. Desmond was asking a particularly difficult question again, and he was supposed to have an answer.
At the end of the day (bloody hell it was almost six!), he decided to man up and… mention it. Yeah. He really hated to do it, but it was for Desmond's own good as a social human being that he go out and talk to other people.
After he explained something and Desmond was pondering it, he decided that if the conversation should go awry and awkward and all the things he'd rather avoid but couldn't, then it would be slightly less awkward if Desmond left right now. Yeah. Here goes. He cleared his throat.
"Look, Mr. Miles… You come in here almost every day for help, and yet you're doing perfectly fine on the assignments and exams. You don't even need my help. Are you just coming in here to bask in my radiating genius?"
Desmond's eyes widened slightly, then he frowned, looking almost ashamed. "No, I…" He paused for a moment, frantically searching his brain for the right words to say. "I just… don't want to go home." He frowned at the floor, twiddling his thumbs.
Shaun instantly realized that Desmond was, in fact, quite serious. He frowned, sitting forward in his chair and giving Desmond his full attention. "… Is there something going on at home?"
Desmond looked up, a little surprised. "N-No, not really. I just… don't get along well with my dad. And I like to avoid conflict, so I make excuses not to go home." He frowned, looking to the side. "And I didn't wanna just walk around because that's boring, so…" He didn't mention that half the reason was just to listen to his voice, but yeah. He looked up with uncertainty, a little hopeful…?
Shaun frowned, then looked at his own twiddling thumbs. "… I see." He paused. There wasn't really anything serious going on at home, so he couldn't intervene in any way. Not that he'd really want to in the first place, but… There was one little thing he could to do help.
"Well, considering how well you're doing in this class, I won't make you do tutoring assignments anymore. But… if you feel the need to make yourself useful, I have plenty of papers to fail if you like." He smirked.
Desmond grinned. Problem solved.
And so all was well. Desmond was happy to help out, since that meant Shaun could focus more on radiating his genius and all that. And spewing more of that British talk all over him.
It wasn't going away, was it? That nagging little crush that he fantasized about all too often, just wishing the man would throw him up against the wall and ravage him-
Yeeeah. Perfectly justifiable teenage thoughts. Nothing to be ashamed of. He groaned inwardly as he listened to Mr. Hasting's perfect voice. He wished the man would just call him Desmond, not that 'Mr. Miles' bullshit.
It was getting out of hand. He could barely concentrate when the man talked. If he didn't do something about it now, it was gonna get really awkward. So he did the most logical thing.
"Hey, uh… Mr. Hastings?"
The Brit glanced up from his work absently. "Yes?" He was confused as to why Desmond would address him with such uncertainty.
Desmond shifted uncomfortably. "I uh… I don't think I can stay after as much anymore. I'm kinda sucking in my math class, and my dad is nagging at me to get a job." He frowned in distaste.
Shaun scowled. He couldn't help but feel a little cheated. Cheated? Was that the word he was looking for? That was a little unwarranted, wasn't it? He shrugged the look off his face and looked up. "I see. If you're struggling in another class, it would be logical to study more of that, and spend less time basking in my intellect."
Desmond looked almost hurt. "Yeah… I'm really sorry. I've tried really hard, but I just don't get it. And with Dad…" He shook his head. "I'll be fine, sorry. I didn't just wanna stop coming though, and make you think I didn't care…"
Shaun smirked humourlessly. "Don't worry, I'll manage. It's not your job to help me, it's your job to be educated! And if you're having trouble with that, make that your priority. I suggest you run over to your teacher's room before they leave."
Desmond nodded, hurriedly. "Y-Yeah, sorry!" He turned and rushed out of the room.
Shaun scowled. He shouldn't be feeling neglected. It wasn't the kid's bloody job to keep him company. Maybe if he ever made an attempt to connect with the other teachers, or with other people really, he'd have some friends. He sighed in frustration. That was his problem. He'd figure it out after this stack of papers.
