Finally, psyche was over and so was the day. Regan was anxious to get home to see what she could scrape together for the impending dance. She had considered not going altogether, but it couldn't be all that bad - right? Besides, he was going to be there. Not that that changed much, but she imagined that it might make her feel just a tad bit better.

Mr. Moriarty dismissed the class, walked casually over to her desk and set their book down on it. She was tempted to open it right then and there, but that wasn't the way it worked and she knew it. It was all very exhilarating. She nodded to him knowingly as she packed up her things and left the room - the pair of them half holding eye contact as Regan disappeared out of view.

Outside the classroom, Irene intercepted her in seconds.

"I told you." she whined.

Regan looked around. The hallway was too crowed to discuss this. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh, hello? Just Mr. Moriarty making sex eyes at you all class-"

Regan clasped her hand across Irene's mouth and moved her to the side of the hall, out of the stream of teens eager to get out of the school and do whatever it was they all did. Regan eyed the crowd suspiciously, looking for any indication that any of them heard anything. Irene made a muffled squeak and Regan removed her hand. "You can't say things like that in public, Irene." she whispered harshly.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were so sensitive." she whispered back.

"I still don't buy you being nice to me. What's in it for you?"

Irene shrugged.

"Irene..."

"Don't question my motivations, just accept it okay dork?"

Regan raised her eyebrows.

Irene let out out a dramatic, exasperated sigh. "Fine! I just... I see the way you two look at each other-"

"I don't look at him like anything..."

"Oh cut the crap Regan and let me finish..." Irene snapped and Regan went quiet. "You two are the way I wish Mr. Holmes and I could be, you know? I just... Despite everything."

Regan smiled slightly in pity. "You really do like Mr. Holmes, don't you?"

"Like him?" Irene scoffed. "Regan, I think I love him. I can't help it. Sure, I get told all the time I could get any guy my age I wanted to - and that's neither here nor there, but I want him. And I can't have him. It kills me. So when I see you and Mr. Moriarty, it just gives me hope - you know? That maybe, we could... Well. Yeah." she confessed quietly. Regan almost thought she caught glimmers of tears in her eyes, but the girl blinked them back quickly.

"Irene, I had no idea... You've just always been so, awful to me?"

Irene chuckled. "Likewise." she rebutted, gingerly touching her nose. "I never really liked you, but that doesn't matter. I just wanted to tell you honestly and truly that Mr. Moriarty has feelings for you - and whether you want to admit it or not you have feelings for him too."

Regan pursed her lips. "I still don't know about that."

"Nonsense... Are you going to the dance?" Irene asked, quickly perking up to change the subject.

"I suppose."

"Got a date?"

"No."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't have. Keeping yourself available, eh? Or do you consider yourself already taken?" Irene winked, turning the unbelievable bitchy aura back on in an instant. But somehow Regan hated her just a little bit less. Maybe it was knowing that she had someone who understood what was going on, but at this point didn't appear to want to sabotage anything - not like she did before. She didn't approve of these sorts of two-faced antics, not usually, but Regan sensed a hint of sincerity in Irene. She chose to trust her gut on her - and hope it didn't come back to bite her in the arse later.

Regan rolled her eyes. "See you tomorrow, Irene. I hope Mr. Holmes is feeling well enough to be back tomorrow - or at the dance at the very last." she smiled.

Irene beamed back with this unsettling kindness. But Regan was happy for her, in a way, happy that she was still so willing to hold onto her love for a man who seemed almost repulsed by her presence and not afraid to showcase how uninterested he was to the world. She was either really brave, or really ignorant. In love they sort of became the same, didn't they?

"If you didn't take this home with you every night, what would I have to look forward to every class? And don't worry about Mr. Holmes, dear, he simply wouldn't stand for it. ;)"

Regan's heart did that strange little drop that it always did when she read something uncomfortable. The uncomfortable thing being that he had clearly harmed, directly or indirectly, Mr. Holmes. She assumed just to teach psyche - he didn't have anything other reason she knew of, unless he was incredibly passionate about teaching students as much as he possibly could. He was just slightly psychotic. Or maybe just incredibly amoral. Regan was still figuring him out. She knew for certain, however, that at this moment, to her, he was incredibly haunting and intense. Because she couldn't get the sound of his voice out of her head - and not for lack of trying. She tried listening to every infuriating and painfully catchy song, talking to other people, reading, watching TV. But every song reminded her of him, she saw him in other people, she read things in his voice and even added in his odd little stressed words to her reading, watching TV just made her bored - so that was no use. It was all useless. He was almost as ingrained into her brain as she herself was. It was almost as if she had to fight to get some room in her consciousness to think about things other than Jim Moriarty and that stupid smirk of his.

She thought about Irene's observations, and all that she told her earlier that day. About what was Jim's apparent obscenely obvious attraction, and that she'd been really meek herself. Did he think she was just curious? Did he think she was obsessed with him, or was he perfectly aware of the degree of interest she had in him... That was an odd concept to even think about, interest - in a teacher. Regan smiled, because now was the time for the giddy reaction to how surreal and odd this situation was, she thought spitefully. Considering everything, she decided that she might put in an appropriate level of effort into their interactions. "What, and just seeing me isn't enough for you, Mr. Moriarty?" she wrote. They were running out of space in the borders. She read the poem again to herself - as she often did. She read it so much that she was very close to having memorised it. But she still blushed like an idiot everytime she read it and she was starting to hate the way she reacted to him.

She came to the conclusion that if Mr. Moriarty had no idea just how she felt then he was a fucking idiot and didn't deserve any of it anyway. She didn't quite have words for the way she felt, but she knew he gave her butterflies and that was all she needed to know.

Fridays were always spectacular. Besides being the undisputed best day of the school week, there was also a half hour long school assembly in the morning to relax and possibly get some extra moments of sleep in before the rest of the busy day. She arrived at school and followed the crowd into the gym - heading straight for the back benches. Irene waved her down, despite getting some surprised (albeit disgusted) looks from her usual group, and pointed to the place next to her. Suddenly overcome by a swelling of accomplishment, she pushed past the rest of her peers who were seated in the row and sat with Irene. She didn't care much for popularity, but that was probably because she'd never experienced it up till this moment.

Irene suddenly looked very concerned while staring off into the distance. Regan followed her gaze to the very front row, where a disheveled looking Mr. Holmes was hobbling over on crutches. He had a foot bound in a bandage - not plastered, so probably not broken. Regan felt slightly guilty, was that indirectly her fault? She couldn't be responsible for any bad blood between Mr. Holmes and Jim - but she was goading Jim into wanting to be around her. Was this the result of that? She played with the spectacular fire that was Jim, and evidently she wasn't the one that got burnt. Not yet, anyhow.

It was Jim who really caught her eye though. He was reading, hair falling over his eyes as he focused intently on the book. His lips moved ever so slightly as he absentmindedly mouthed the words he was reading, lashes twitching as his brown eyes languidly scanned the pages. He looked so beautiful, and he wasn't even doing anything really. The P.E teacher, Mr. Watson, who was sitting on his right side - bumped Jim's arm as he turned to talk to the approaching Mr. Holmes. Jim looked abruptly up from his book, and glared at Mr. Watson with an incredible amount of malice and disgust. Even from a distance, Regan could see flames flicker in his eyes. He sneered, then turned back to his book. So he was in a bad mood, she took a note of that. She probably shouldn't try to push her luck in that case.

Principal Lestrade addressed the school, asking for attention and getting none. Eventually, though, the crowd sobered down - probably out of boredom and a new found, surprising anxiety to get out of assembly and on with their Friday. He covered a variety of terribly boring topics: how great it was to see everyone, briefly introducing new students and Mr. Moriarty as a new teacher (who looked like he was going to throttle Lestrade right then and there if he didn't stop talking about him to the school), warning the students that smoking around the back of the library was not on - and the dance on Sunday, attempting to rope students in for various mundane tasks. The same idiots volunteered as every year, it all ran like clockwork - so much so that nobody else really seemed to be paying attention as the volunteers might as well have been jumping out of their skin at the opportunity to get some extra credit.

It was at this point Regan tuned out and stared at the back of Jim's head. She noticed Mr. Holmes glancing over at Jim with a stone-cold look on his face. That look alone dissolved any hope Regan had that perhaps everything that lead her to believe that Jim wasn't involved with Mr. Holmes' injury was a series of coincidences - Jim did it.

She nudged Irene.

"At least Mr. Holmes it here, right?" she whispered.

Irene's expression, which had been as bored and disengaged as Regan's but a moment ago, lit up. "Yeah..." it dropped again, "He's hurt, though. What do you think happened?"

Regan looked away. "No idea."

"I hope he's okay."

"I'm sure." Regan assured her. In reality, he appeared to be in quite a bit of pain. She returned her gaze to Jim, who was now smoothing back his hair.

"Try to be a little less obvious, Regan." Irene teased.

"Girls!" Lestrade snapped.

Almost as if on cue, a hundred heads turned around like owls to face the two blasphemers to dared to speak during assembly. Among those technicolour faces, was Jim's. Despite the hundreds of pairs of eyes and endless information for her brain to take in - somehow she found the right pair. He shook his head, but with this cunning little smile that would've killed Regan given her already emotional state - since the entire school's attention was on her and Irene. She crossed her arms and leaned back - cocking her head up. One might suggest that her small taste of popularity had already gotten to her, but Regan was feeling it. She was enjoying the thrill of the rebellion - even if it was just talking in assembly. Eventually attention shifted back to the front and an exasperated looking Lestrade. Jim's was the last face to turn. His eyes must've lingered just a touch too long on Regan, as Mr. Watson turned back to look at Regan and then back at Jim - but he just shrugged.

Kind of an almost filler, internal conflict sort of chapter here before we get to the juicy stuff. I promise there'll be some fluff up in here very soon. ;)