Rushing down the stairs from a meeting with one of the language teachers, Dreyar stopped halfway from the stairs to his office when a tidy, well-mannered man stood from the bench facing the bulletin board. Waiting until the nervous man had stopped in front of him, the man only a head taller than he, Dreyar narrowed his eyes and spoke with a small voice, "You are?" The Headmaster's brows raised and he frowned when the man stood expectantly in front of him, appearing no older than some of the pupils.

The man lifted his right hand to press it flat against his stomach, the other holding his small leather briefcase, "Freed Justine."

"Justine?" Dreyar slurred the name, his body curving backward from the unfamiliar man.

Justine let his hand fall from his stomach, his blue eyes narrowing beneath his glasses, "The temporary contract teacher."

Dreyar jumped a little at the thought, his own hand raising to point at the other, "Quite so." With a rush Dreyar hurried to his office, Justine following after with a slow swinging step. In the office Dreyar settled himself in his seat, Justine in the seat opposite after straightening his tie, "The examinations are at the end of term, which gives us, er-" Dreyar placed his hands between his knees, looking towards the shaded window for a calendar, "Three months, at the outside." Lifting one of the hands Dreyar indicated Justine before looking back to the school crest, nervous about meeting the others eyes, "You were at Cambridge. You know the form."

Justine gave a nervous smile, eyes darting to look at the stapler on the others desk as his fingers tightened around the handle of the briefcase, "Oxford." Air puffed from his lips with the word, head shaking slightly, "Jesus."

Dreyar smiled a little and lowered his eyes to look at the empty page in front of him, "You see-" Dreyar braced his shoulders against the air, suit rumpled, "I-I thought of going." Justine nodded his head, lips twitching as the older man rambled, brows politely raised in question, "But this was the - the '50s." A small content noise filled Dreyar's throat as he once more looked away, leaning on the padded rest on his chair as he pressed his palms together, "Change was in the air, and a spirit of adventure." The old man's body turned as though posing for a portrait and the air seemed to fill with nostalgic of something that never came to be for ineptitude. Dreyar raised his brows at the other as if including the man in his own ranks. Excited, for the praise given by someone he wished he were.

Justine drew back, averting his eyes from the sad old man with the slightest of hints of an indulgent smile, "So, where did you go?" Justine returned his eyes to the other, as though slightly interested in the answer.

Dreyar's lips tightened, his pleased smile falling as he looked away from the one who asked, "I was a geographer." The words came rushed from his lips, "I went to Hull." The words were dull as if presenting a challenge, and true enough Justine's lips dipped down as he glanced away. Dreyar coughed, both returning to look at one another as the old man settled himself in his seat, "They're a likely lot, the boys," Dreyar smiled, hoping to save his image, "Erm, erm- all keen." With a gasping revelation, Dreyar lifted his hand in pointed thought, "One oddity - Strauss," The man's shoulders fell as his voice turned condescending, "Determined to try for Oxford!" Dreyar laughed, thinking of the boy's face, "Christ Church, of all places!" When Justine did not return the laugh Dreyar continued with strain, "No hope. No." Dreyar leant forward, unable to stop his mocking of the boy, "Might get into Loughborough, on a bad year," Justine licked his lower lip, smiling with raised brows at the Headmaster, "Er-" Dreyar sniffed quietly, "Otherwise, all bright." The man stuttered suddenly, aware of what he was supposed to be asking the man, "But they need polish." Dreyar's hands seemed to dance across the table as he figured some diagram in his head, "Edge." Nodding towards the other, Dreyar settled back into his seat again, "Your job." Justine found it hard to suppress his smile at the other's tomfoolery, but did so anyway, "We're low in the league," The Headmaster's voice became gritty, his dreams making his smile, "I want to see us up there with Manchester Grammar School; Haberdasher Askes; Leighton Park," Dreyar stopped, eyes raised towards the ceiling, "Or is that an open prison?" A wistful noise passed him, "No matter." Justine's face twitched with laughter though he did not vocalise it, and as he did so Dreyar leant forward with furrowed brows, "There is a vacancy, in history."

Justine nod his head, head moving to the side as he thought, "That's very true."

Dreyar said nothing for a second, looking away before narrowing his eyes, "In the school."

Justine's face cleared of his frown, almost as though he were to laugh at himself, "Ah."

Dreyar lowered his voice and put his hands on the table in order to lean on them, "Get me scholarships, Justine," The man in question blinked his eyes in recognition, knowing what the Headmaster meant, "Pull us up the table and it's yours." Dreyar gave a shrewd smile, "I-" Dreyar removed himself from the table, arms flailing as he looked to the ceiling lamp, "I'm corseted by the curriculum. But I can find you," Dreyar turned to the timetable tacked to the wall by his desk, "Er-" Standing, Dreyar moved closer to see the small squares, fingers brushing over the dusty cabinet that kept his files clean, "Three lessons a week."

"Not enough," Justine said with indignation, wondering how it was he was going to manage.

Dreyar stuttered with a hand behind his back, "I-I-a y-yes, I agree." Dreyar lifted his other hand to run it over a filled in square of lessons, "However," Dreyar turned back to his newest employee, "I think I know where we can filch an hour."

As this conversation occurred in the Headmaster's office, in the classroom of Teacher Bob, Rouge sat by the piano with Sting leaning over his shoulder, "Elle écoute la java mais elle ne la danse pas elle ne regarde même pas la piste," Sting clear voice rang through the classroom as he leant against the old wooden musical instrument, the other's in the class facing the front as though unaware that the music was vibrating through the air, "Et ses yeux amoureux suivent le jeu nerveux et les doigts secs et longs de l'artiste," Bob sat in his chair beside the piano, eyes closed and head back as he listened to the clear tenor of his most attentive student, "Ça lui rentre dans la peau par le bas, par le haut elle a envie de chanter c'est physique," Rouge glanced up at Sting, the other's fingers dancing in rhythm to his own against a sheet of paper, "Tout son être est tendu son souffle est suspendu c'est une vraie tordue de la musique." As the words ended and Rouge's fingers ran the length of the keys the class began to clap.

Bob stood as the two boys returned to their seats in the disrupted room, all the tables placed where they had not been before, "Où voudriez-vous travailler cet aprés-midi?" With a flourish Bob threw his arms out, looking expectantly to those he taught.

"Je voudrais travailler dans une maison de passe," Natsu said, propelling himself from his table with a grin.

Bob smiled, laughing, "Oh la la!" Natsu lifted a handkerchief from his pocket as he stared into Bob's eyes.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Gajeel called from a seat at the front of the class, Gray at the table behind him.

"A brothel," Sting braced his arms against the table where he sat beside Jellal, licking his lips as the others cheered.

"Ah!" Gajeel laughed, a half-smile appearing on his face, "Oh hon hon!"

"He'd like to work in a brothel," Sting repeated as Natsu pointed a waving finger at him, the boys pink brows raising as he smiled.

"Trés bien!" Bob said to Sting, turning to look at Natsu who still stood in front of the class with finesse, "Mais une maison de passe o tous les clients," Bob swept his hand along the length of the classroom, pointing to each pupil, "Utilisent le subjonctif ou le conditionnel," The pupils groaned, sighs and curses passing their lips as they tried to think of all their lessons, "Bien."

"D'accord, monsieur," Natsu rushed towards the classroom door, barely getting out of it before turning to rap on the glass panes.

"Voilà," Bob turned to the rest of the class, his arms turning to point at the door, "C'est un client."

Sting rushed across the classroom to the door, flinging himself from the desk he had perched upon, settling his fingers on the handle before opening it with a smile, voice two octaves higher than it was previously, "Bonjour, monsieur," Sting gave a small curtsy in his trousers, the bottom of his shoes squeaking against the floor.

"Bonjour, chérie," Natsu said in a deep, heavy voice that sounded as though he were a chain-smoker who gargled rocks. Bob pressed his lips together at the sound and shook his head with laughter.

Sting looked at Natsu over his shoulder, closing the small curtain that covered the glass on the door, "Entrez, s'il vous plaît," Sting walked passed Natsu who still stood at the side of the room, watching as though something critical was happening, "Voilà votre lit-" Sting placed his hands on the end of the table Jellal and he had sat on, the other boy removing himself to help Sting move the table into the centre of the room, Elfman dragging his own table over to place the two together, "Et voici votre prostitué," Sting finished off with, placing a hand on Gajeel's shoulder who was still sitting close to the front, 'oh, fuck off' was the answer given by the boy, although Gajeel did begin to stand up.

"Oh la la!" Bob laughed with the others, smiling at Natsu who had come to stand by him.

"Je veux m'étendre sur le lit," Natsu said, the handkerchief in his hand being waved to Gajeel who was making his way around the tables.

"Je voudrais," As Bob spoke from where he was perched on his desk Natsu moved to rest against the tables that had been arranged for him, "'I would like to stretch out on the bed' in the conditional or the subjunctive," Natsu and a few of the others looked down, thinking, as they often did, that languages made little sense, "Continuer, mes enfants," With those words, a flurry of movement occurred.

Natsu brought his feet to rest on the makeshift 'bed' that had been constructed for their play, bringing the stub end of a pencil to his lips from God knows where, "Mais les chaussures, monsieur," Sting bent over the end of the table to push the others feet from the desk, "Pas sur le lit."

"Oh!" Natsu allowed himself to be spun, stopping to pull his shoes from his feet with ease, "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, excusez-moi," With his shoes gone and Gajeel glaring at his feet, Natsu returned himself to his lounging position.

Sting curled his lip, raising a brow as he looked Natsu from head to toe before speaking, "Et votre pantalon, s'il vous plaît."

"Fucking hell!" Gajeel said whilst looking away to the back of the room, "Come on! Sir!" Rouge laughed as Jellal frowned at Sting, "Sir! Sir!" Gray cried, pointing to Natsu's legs. Bob did little more than wave his hand, shoulders crunching together and eyes dancing.

All this while Sting and Natsu had held eye contact, and the room quietened when Natsu suddenly stood. With quick, practiced, fingers Natsu unzipped his trousers and pushed them down his thighs, "Oh!" Sting brought a hand to his chest and raked his eyes over Natsu's legs before turning to face the rest of the class, "Qu'elles belles jambes!" Gajeel let a strangled laugh leave his mouth as he looked at Natsu's bare legs, "Et maintenant-" Sting walked around the edge of the table, raising a hand to indicate Gajeel, "Claudine!" As soon as the words left his mouth Sting turned to sit at the piano, Gajeel turning away with a pitched gasp and pulling his blazer overly tight on his body.

"Oui," Natsu took his sight from Sting to look at Gajeel who had turned back with fluttering lashes, and as they locked eyes Natsu dropped his trousers onto the floor beside his shoes, "La prostitue, s'il vous plaît," Settling himself on the table Natsu let his teeth show in a smile.

Gajeel laughed, moving forward to place a hand on Natsu's chest before pushing him down harshly when one of their classmates whistled, "Woo!" Walking around the end of the table, Gajeel spoke in a higher voice than Sting whilst pushing his blazer over his hips, "A quel prix?"

Natsu lunged forward to put their faces close together, "Dix francs."

"Dix francs?" Gajeel looked away to the ceiling, turning his shoulder to Natsu as he thought of what to say, "Pour dix francs, je peux vous montrer ma prodigieuse poitrine!" Gajeel turned back and threw his blazer from his shoulders, the material hanging from his elbows as Natsu gasped in fake awe as he looked to the buttons on the other's shirt with faked awe, "Ah, non, non, n-!" Gajeel cried when Natsu reached to touch his collar, but a knock on the door cut him short.

"Un autre client," Sting immediately said, moving to answer the door until it opened to reveal the Headmaster and another man, at which Sting stopped with wide as the his classmates turned to see who was imposing on their class time. 'Shit' passing from Ren's lips as Dreyar entered with a smile but with a souring face when he saw Natsu standing beside Gajeel, both half-naked.

"Ah! Cher monsieur le directeur," Bob said, hands behind his back as his pupils looked to him for support.

"Mr. Hector, what on earth is happening?" Dreyar squealed, eyes drawn to Natsu's legs as Justine shifted behind him to rest against the bookcase with a smile.

"L'anglais c'est interdit," Bob said with a smile, hands moving in a diagram of his own as he cast an eye to his class with a curdling expression, "Ici, on ne parle que français. En accordant une importance particulire au subjonctif."

Dreyar stumbled over his words, looking down to Bob's waistcoat as Justine stood straight to appraise the Headmaster, "Oh-erm-" Dreyar gave a gasp for breath before he looked back to his subordinate, "Qu'est-ce que c'est passé ici?" Dreyar pouted, before pointing at Natsu with a mottled hand, "Pourquoi ce garçon-er-Dragneel, isn't it?" Natsu nodding his head as he clenched his fists, "Est sans- Er-" Dreyar waved his hand, his fingers hitting Justine's thighs as the other man suppressed a laugh, "Trousers?"

The pupils turned away from one another with hanging heads, small cursing filling the air as Bob laughed, "Ah!" Bob turned towards his class, smiling at how they glanced up at him wth furious glares, "Erm- Quelqu'un?" Silence filled the air as the boys swayed, fingers bending into fists, "Oh! Ne sois pas timide." Bob scowled at his class before smiling, his words almost mocking in their cheerfulness, "Dites cher monsieur le directeur ce que nous faisons."

Natsu gave his teacher a startled look, as though questioning the man's sanity before looking to the Headmaster, "Je suis un homme qui-"

"Vous n'êtes pas un homme!" Bob said in a hard voice, arms flailing as he thought, "Vous êtes un soldat. Un soldat blessé." Bob turned to Dreyar, the man looking as startled as the pupils though Justine did not flinch so much as turn to look at Dreyar in amusement, "Vous comprenez, cher monsieur le directeur?"

"Soldat blessé," Dreyar's voice was pitched high, Justine standing by his shoulder watching the pupils individually enjoying how they squirmed, "Wounded soldier, yes, of course."

"Ici, c'est un hôpital en Belgique," Bob lifted a hand and swept it around the room.

"Belgique? Pourquoi Belgique?" The Headmaster said with a sour expression and a twisted visage.

"Ah Ypres, Sir," Ren said from the back of the classroom, moving through the others to reach the front.

"Ypres?" Dreyar repeated.

"Ypres." Ren said once more, patting Elfman on the back.

"Ypres?" The words seemed unfamiliar though one would have thought that a geographer would recognise the famous town in Belgium.

Ren finally reached the front of the classroom, one hand in his pocket whilst he moved towards the Headmaster, "Pendant la guerre mondiale et numéro un," Ren stopped when Dreyar looked towards Bob, bowing his head with nervous eyes.

"Ypres!" Gajeel said with a relieved shrug.

Bob looked over the rim of his glasses, smiling at Ren, "C'est ça! Dragneel est un soldat blessé," Bob thrust his meaty hand towards Natsu, who glanced between the two teachers, "Un mutilé de guerre." Bob's face twisted as he said the words with glee, turning to look at the others, "Et les autres sont des médecins, infirmires, et tout le personnel d'un grand établissement médical et thérapeutique," Bob turned away with a satisfied smirk on his face, "Continuez, mes enfants." Instantaneously, all of the pupils moved and Natsu was pushed down with an ailing cry. Dreyar looked offended by the display, but Justine seemed ecstatic at his side.

"Il s'appelle sa mère," Ren said to Dreyar over his shoulder, Gray in the seat in front of him crying with a hand over his eye.

"Mon père! Mon père!" Gray said, collapsing in his chair as Gajeel leant over him.

"Il s'appelle son père!" Ren said with whoa.

"Il est distrait, il est distrait," Bob said, running his fingers in circles by his temples.

"Il est commotion cérébrale, peut-tre," Justine said, cutting through the noise to create shocked silence.

"Comment?" Bob said quietly, shocked, perhaps, that someone knew more than he.

"Commotion cérébrale." Repeated with the tone of someone speaking to a very young child, brows furrowing as he regarded the other with disappointment. "Shell-shocked."

Bob paused for a moment and turned away from the two, a pleased sound in his throat, "C'est possible. Commotion cérébrale." The pupils around the room melted from their positions, realising the futility of such an act, "Oui, c'est le mot juste," The two teachers shared a look, a happy one.

Dreyar smiled happily; pleased with Justine's work at silencing Bob. Dreyar placed a hand in the small of Justine's back before pushing him forward, "Permettez-moi d'introduire Monsieur Justine, notre nouveau professeur."

"Enchanté," Bob said as he took the other's hand in his own, Justine returning the greeting and the smile.

Dreyar's face curdled at the pleasant looks to their faces, rushing forward to push the two apart with a hiss, "Enough of this silliness!" With a start, Dreyar turned to call over his shoulder with a worried frown on his face, "No, n-not silliness!" Pulling both of the teachers forward, Dreyar spoke in hushed and girdled tones, "Mr. Hector, you are aware these pupils are Oxbridge candidates?"

"Are they?" Bob said with surprised, beady eyes looking up from the pile of books pressed against the wall, "Oh, nobody's told me."

"Mr. Justine will be coaching them, but it's a question of time," Dreyar leant closer to Bob, the latter frowning, both looking to the front wall as Justine continued to look about the boys with some humour, their body language screaming embarrassment, "I've found him three lessons a week, but I was wondering-" Dreyar's hand shook as he spoke, fingers pinched but Bob pushed his fingers into his ears, muttering 'no, no'. "Purely on a temporary basis." Dreyar pouted a little, voice growing ragged between his teeth as Bob began to hum. "The last time, I promise."

"Last time was the last time," Bob whispered, lips white as he pressed them flat and Justine turned to look with a frown.

"I'm thinking of the boys."

"I am, too." Bob said, removing his fingers from his ears as he glanced at Justine, the man looking out of the window, "No, absolutely not." Lifting his fingers, the man ran them repeatedly in front of the headmaster's face, "No. No, no, no." Bob turned slightly, still not meeting the headmaster's eyes and almost to the point of snarling in his annoyance, "C'est hors de question, et puis, si vous voulez m'excuser, je dois continuer ma leçon," Bob smiled at Justine, the man almost smiling back before the other turned and indicated to his own class, "À tout à l'heure."

"Fuck." Dreyar muttered as the bell rang, turning without looking at Justine though the man followed. Justine looked into the room once more, and as he shut the door he could not stop as smile as the pitched laughter of Gajeel rang through the room, the other's hissing in similar fits as Bob stood fast beside the piano.

Elfman, however, refused to laugh, shoulders square as he moved towards Bob, "It's true, though, Sir." Bob smiled as he walked past the boy, Elfman glancing to the other's as he tugged at his jacket, "We don't have much time."

"We don't even have to do French," Ren admitted, wondering to his friend's side, rubbing his neck with a pencil before it was shoved behind his ear.

"Now, who goes home?" Bob ignored their worries in favour of taking the motorcycle helmet from the top of his cupboard, smile wide on his sweaty face. In a sudden flash, the room was busy, the loitering boys spurred into a rush as they moved silently towards their bags, muttered curses colouring the air. Gray rubbing his hand under his nose, breathing deeply as he shared a look with Jellal, as none of the others were raise their heads - for fear of catching Bob's eye, "Well, surely I can give somebody a lift." Bob's hand fell down, smile still wide as he looked about the room, "Who's on pillion duty? Dragneel?" In a flash of inspiration, Bob looked to his favourite pupil who was crouching at his table, stuffing books into his bag.

"Not me, Sir." Natsu started nodding his head, recovering from how he had frozen in panic when his name had been called, "I'm - I'm going into town."

"Fernandez?" Bob said, mildly disappointed in the boy though understanding the boy's fascination with Miss Lucy.

"Naw I'm off for a run, Sir," Jellal said, Gajeel snickering from where he stood close by.

"Akatsuki?"

"Er-" Ren said, refusing to look up from the book in his hands, "Computer club, Sir."

"Ah." Bob pouted,

Sting stepped forward with his folders pulled tight to his stomach and a simperingly puppy-like smile on his face, "I'll come, Sir."

Bob pulled his leather jacket from the stand, shaking his head with a saddened look, "Oh, no, never mind."

Sting's face fell as Bob moved his weight towards the door, and Rouge gave a heavy sigh before moving forward, bag swinging from his hand as his voice fell in pitch, "I'll come, Sir," Gajeel gawped from the back of the room, nudging Elfman. Both aware of how grumpy their teacher would have been the next day, had someone not agreed to go with him for the journey home.

"Ah! Cheney." Bob smiled happing as Rouge picked up the spare motorcycle helmet.

As Bob left the room, Rouge turned and smiled gitishly to the rest of the class, smiling softly for Sting, "The things I do for Jesus."

"It's never me," Sting whined once Rouge left, Gajeel walking past him with a snort.

"You're too young still," Gray said, pushing himself off from where he perched on one of the ashen desks.

"It will happen," Natsu said, rushing over from the other side of the room to gather a few stray pages, "Now that you've achieved puberty."

"If rather late in the day," Gray said, puffing out his chest and holding the folder closer to his side, glancing to the door and then back down to Sting.

Natsu leant forward, head the same level of Sting's, and tapped his temple against Gray's shoulder, "Mr. Hector is likely, at some point, to try and put his hand on your knee." Natsu lifted one foot onto a spare chair and opened his pencil case to check the contents, "This is because Mr. Hector is a homosexual and a sad fuck." With a sigh, Natsu looked up at Gray and then back to Sting with a small smile, "The drill is to look at the hand and go, 'And what does Mr. Hector want?'" Moving away, Natsu took the paper with him to where he had left the bag on the floor, "Well, he has no answer for this and so will desist." Lifting the bag, Natsu watched as Gray bumped his folder against Sting's head fondly, the two moving out of the room while Sting sat and mourned the journey home.

Outside, Rouge followed the brisk pace of Bob, throwing his leg over the back of the small motorcycle with his leather bag held close to his stomach. Bob called over his shoulder, "Thrutch up", and then they were off in a whirlwind of smoke and peels of laughter from other students.