Homophobia feat. Queer Teacher Alliance
Prompts: hi, sorry if requests aren’t open, but you wrote a fic called Homphobia feat. A Two Hour Math Test and it’s honestly been one of my comfort fics, and I wanted to request something kind of similar? A human au where one of the sides (preferably patton but you can do whichever character you want!) accidentally outs himself while arguing with a homophobic teacher about LGBTQ stuff and starts getting bullied for it by the students and the teacher. The other sides (actually good teachers) find him having a breakdown and comfort him and stand up for him against the other teacher, and it’s just emotional hurt/comfort and validation all around. Absolutely no pressure to do this if you don’t want to/it’s too similar to the other one /gen! wishing you a lovely day :D - anon
hello there! first not-anon fic request so I'm kind of panicking a little but it's fine!! anyway, I've recently reread Homophobia feat. a 2-hour Math Test, and it's been really comforting for a person who grew up and went to school in a very rural part of America (eugh republicans everywhere). I was wondering if you would be willing to write another work in that realm of Virgil suddenly having this insanely elaborate (insanely gay) support system that he didn't think was possible. or him turn table-ing on that support system and helping them with their problems. idk just something I've been thinking about! love ur stuff and I hope you'll take my request into consideration!! <3 - vinnbee631
Read on Ao3
Warnings: homophobic language, outing, panic attacks/anxiety attacks
Pairings: gen
Word Count: 5851
Listen, all high school days suck, this one was just shaping up to suck more than literally all of the other ones ever. Namely, he was stuck in a class where not only was there a homophobic argument going on—as in, both sides are being homophobic and just debating on how best to be homophobic—but the teacher is doing literally fucking nothing to stop them.
Okay, first off? There’s actually nothing wrong with not being straight. Big mind shock there to some people apparently, but yeah, nope. Nothing wrong with not wanting to get into a relationship or have sex with the opposite gender.
Second, there’s no curing it because there’s nothing wrong with not being straight. There aren’t some fucking factory settings you can just reset to default and everything’s all heterosexual and cisgender again.
And third, there’s never a good reason to be using slurs in a classroom. Never.
All things that Virgil would love to say out loud but he’s currently seething a bit too much at no one else saying a goddamn thing. Especially the teacher. Come on, the teacher is supposed to be the one educating everyone, that includes educating bigots on their ignorance so they can, you know, not be ignorant and bigoted anymore? Ring any bells literally at all?
Apparently not because it’s been ten fucking minutes of this shit and the teacher hasn’t even so much as blinked.
Eventually, Virgil gets fucking sick of this—fair—and raises his hand to ask to go to the bathroom. Which is another stupid thing about high school because why in the fuck should I have to ask to go to the bathroom? What else am I gonna do, fucking piss myself in the middle of the classroom? Hell no.
The teacher waves offhandedly and he gets up to go, but not before one of them catches sight of him leaving and decides, like an idiot, to try and involve him in the conversation.
“Hey, Virgil! Virgil, you think I’m right, don’t you?”
“Uh, I haven’t super been paying attention.” Which is true.
“Where’re you going? Class isn’t over yet.”
Oh, don’t I know it. “Bathroom.”
“You’re not going to meet up with someone for, y’know, reasons are you?”
There are somehow more discreet and much better ways to ask if someone in your high school class is going to hook up with someone in the bathroom, and Virgil would prefer hearing literally any of them right now.
“Oh my god, Kyle, you can’t just say something like that.”
Thank you, other homophobe.
“Besides, Virgil would never be gay. He’s a good person!”
Okay, back to fuck you, other homophobe.
“You can’t just blame sexuality on morality! You can’t just automatically assume all bad people are going to be gay or that all good people aren’t gay!”
That on its own as a sentence? Fine. Sure. Whatever. In the context of this conversation? Virgil really wants to throw a desk at Kyle’s head. He tries to just continue out of the classroom, but Kyle catches him by the sleeve and he grits his teeth.
“Dude, seriously I’m just trying to use the bathroom. Lemme go.”
“Wait, wait, hold on, you gotta convince Leslie that I’m right.”
Virgil doesn’t have to do shit.
“Look,” Leslie says like she’s talking to a person incapable of understanding any sort of logic, “if you make bad choices, you just have to recognize why they’re bad and then you’ll come to your senses enough not to do it anymore. If you just give someone the space and support they need to understand why the choices they’re making are bad for them, they’ll realize that they need to stop making those choices.”
“You do realize that most of them don’t give a shit about what’s good or bad, right? They like it, they enjoy it, they’re not gonna want to change. You can’t just make someone change their sexuality, that’s not how it works.”
Again, single sentences by itself? Fine. Hell, Virgil might say something similar. But right now? The way it’s being used? Kyle’s face really looks like it needs a desk in it right now.
“Virgil, you agree with me, right?”
No, Leslie, I sure the fuck don’t.
“If gay people would just…understand that their lifestyle is unsustainable and unsatisfying, they wouldn’t be gay anymore. It’s the same with alcohol and drugs and all that stuff. If you understand why it’s bad for you, you won’t do it anymore.”
Virgil blinks once. Twice.
You ever just…need a moment to process how much stupid someone just said to you? Like you need to take a second to look at the massive suitcase in front of you before deciding it’s too much to unpack and just throwing it all in the dumpster?
“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Kyle says—which is fair— “gay people are criminals. They’re breaking the law and they should be punished for it,” which is not fair.
“Actually,” Virgil says, still trying to tug his sleeve away, “it is legal now. Gay marriage is legal, Kyle.”
“Yeah, but so was slavery at one point. Doesn’t make it right.”
“Did you just compare gay marriage to slavery and think it was a good comparison?”
Kyle waves his hand like that just dismisses Virgil’s very good point about false equivalence. “And it’s against religious law too.”
“You do realize that we live in a secular state, right?”
“What’s that mean?”
“There’s a separation of church and state. Religion doesn’t govern, it doesn’t make the laws. We have religious freedom for a reason. And there are plenty of other religions in the country that—“
“Okay, okay, but like, it’s still wrong.”
“Why?”
Kyle looks at him strangely. “Dude, why are you so upset?”
“I dunno, maybe because both of you are being idiots? There’s nothing wrong with being gay!”
“There’s nothing wrong with people who are gay, no,” Leslie says quickly, as if he’s agreeing with her, “but if they made better choices then—“
“You’re wrong too,” Virgil says, “being gay isn’t a choice. You don’t just wake up and choose to be gay.”
“Hah! See?”
“I’m not agreeing with either of you, you’re both wrong. Now I really need to pee so if you’ll excuse me—“
“Dude, just tell us why you’re so upset about this and we’ll—“
He sees the moment Kyle’s eyes widen and his sleeve is let go like it’s gonna burn him.
“No,” he says, shaking his head, “no, no, no, you can’t be, we’ve—we’ve shared a locker room, there’s no way.”
“What are you talking about, Kyle? I told you, there’s no way Virgil’s gay, he’s a good person.”
“What part of sexuality isn’t morality did you not get,” Kyle hisses, “he’s—oh my god, I’m gonna throw up.”
“Virgil, just tell him you’re not gay.” Leslie looks up at him. “You’re not, right? You’re not gay, are you?”
Now, see, here’s what Virgil should do. He should just shake his head and tell them they’re both fucking idiots and go to the bathroom. He should be like ‘that’s none of your goddamn business’ and leave. Hell, maybe he should just say that no, he’s not gay, so they’ll let him get out.
He doesn’t do any of those things. He just stands there.
“Oh goodness,” Leslie mumbles like she’s about to faint, “no, no, Virgil, you can’t.”
“Get the hell away from me,” Kyle spits, shoving himself into another chair, “get your goddamn hands off me.”
“You grabbed me,” Virgil points out, “I was just trying to leave.”
“Virgil, Virgil, sit down—“
“Don’t fucking tell him to sit down! I don’t want that anywhere near me!”
“Excuse me,” the teacher says, finally, like he’s just pulled his head out of his goddamned ass, “you three need to be quiet. Virgil, if you’re going to the bathroom, go.”
“Go and don’t come back,” Kyle spits, “I don’t want any of your gay shit near me.”
See, now, Virgil expects the teacher to, you know, maybe tell him off for swearing, at least?
“…Kyle, it’s not nice to be throwing around accusations like that.”
“It’s not an accusation if it’s true!”
The teacher looks up at Virgil. Virgil looks back at him.
Come on, man, just…just don’t be a piece of shit.
“…Virgil, when you return, why don’t you and I take a walk down to the counselor’s office so we can discuss your…mental health. I understand that high school is a very challenging time—“
Virgil tunes out the rest of whatever the fuck the teacher is spouting because oh my fucking god. He turns around and flees to the safety of the hallway.
Fucking go. Doesn’t matter where just fucking get the fuck out of this place and away from those assholes before you die.
His heart is fucking pounding and he wants to slam his head into the wall until he gets their stupid fucking voices out of his head and he hates this, he hates this.
He doesn’t know where his feet are taking him but a chill breeze tells him he’s near the east wing. The science classrooms and art classrooms are over here. They keep the windows open for the fumes. Right. That’s where he is. That’s all the way on the other side of the school. Great. Fun. This is fine.
He sinks into a crouch near one of the corners out of sight of the rest of the hallway. His lungs still aren’t cooperating. This is fine. This is fine. This is fine.
He curls himself into a ball. He pulls his hoodie tightly around him. He yanks on the strings until he can feel the hood digging into his head.
If he just stays here, if he stays a little bad where no one can find him, he’ll be safe.
“Whoa, hey, pretty sure you can’t be here, bud.”
Nope. No more teachers. He’s just gonna stay still and not move.
“C’mon, you don’t want detention, I don’t wanna write you up, let’s just get you back to where you need to go, okay?”
There’s a hand on his shoulder that’s trying to get him to look up and Virgil doesn’t care anymore, he’d rather be in detention than go back to his class right now.
“Hey, it’s—wait, V?”
That’s Mr. Dagenheart, isn’t it? He’s the art teacher, right. Okay. Probably not gonna get dragged off to the principal right away.
“V, can you look at me?”
Virgil peels himself up from where his face is plastered in his knees and stares up at Mr. Dagenheart. There’s a green streak across his mustache.
“You…got paint,” he mumbles in a ruined voice, raising a trembling hand to tap his upper lip.
Mr. Dagenheart just stares down at him. “V, you look awful.”
“…’anks.”
“No, wait, what happened? C’mon, come up off the floor, it’s even grosser than me. C’mere, come in here, come talk to me.”
Virgil lets himself get scraped off the floor and helped into the art room, sat on a stool as Mr. Dagenheart blusters around trying to find a cup that hasn’t got paint or paint thinner in it. Eventually there’s a clean plastic cup shoved gently into his hands as he tries to get the shaking back under control.
“Drink up, it’s safe. Promise. Got a fresh one just for you.”
“Thanks.”
Mr. Dagenheart watches as he drains the cup, quickly filling it up with more and setting it on the table. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing all the way over here? I’m not supposed to catch sight of you until after lunch when you and your other gremlins go bother Mackenzie next door.”
“I, um…”
How in the fuck is he supposed to explain what just happened?
“…I was trying to go to the bathroom.”
“Bathroom ain’t over her, V.”
“I know.”
“Did you get lost? Did you have a panic attack?”
“…kind of?”
Mr. Dagenheart nudges him gently. “I’m only gonna be able to do so much if you don’t tell me what’s going on, V.”
Virgil toys with the plastic cup, one of the edges almost tearing under his fingers. “I’m…I’m not bad, am I?”
“Are you bad? Whoa, hey, no, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, reaching out to put a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, “I just…you just surprised me, that’s all. No, V, you’re not bad.”
“I’m not a bad person?”
Mr. Dagenheart frowns but shakes his head. “No, Virgil, you’re not a bad person. Why are you asking me that?”
“E-even if I’m…if I’m gay?”
Silence.
Fuck. I fucked it up. I fucked it up so bad and now I’m gonna have to run again.
“Virgil,” Mr. Dagenheart says, looking more serious than he’s ever seen him before, “you are not a bad person. You are not a bad person, do you hear me? It doesn’t matter what your sexuality is, you are not a bad person. Being gay does not make you a bad person, you understand?”
Virgil just nods, a bit dazed by the sudden intensity.
“Can you say that with me?”
“Being gay d-doesn’t make me a bad person,” Virgil stammers, “but—“
“No buts, V. Being gay doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, Virgil. Being gay isn’t bad. It’s just gay. Nothing wrong with being gay. Promise.”
And to his absolute horror, Virgil sniffles.
“Oh, hey, c’mere, come gimme a hug. Oh, hey…” Mr. Dagenheart gathers him in for a gross and messy hug and it’s the best thing that’s happened to Virgil all day. “There, that’s better, right?”
“‘M sorry for—for crying you.”
“Hey, it’s my job to be gross, I don’t care.” He pulls back and pushes the cup of water at him. “Drink. I’ll get you a tissue.”
One tissue box and several cups of water later, Virgil rubs his eyes and takes a deep breath. Mr. Dagenheart watches him carefully, nodding when Virgil glances over at him.
“Did someone say something to you? Is that why—“ he waves a hand at Virgil’s general messiness— “this happened?”
“…yeah.”
“Can I call your homeroom teacher? He should know about it.”
“W-wait, what?”
“Virgil, if someone’s being openly homophobic, I need to tell someone. Especially since it led to you getting hurt.”
“B-but I’m fine.” Mr. Dagenheart gives him a look. “…do you really have to tell him?”
“I should,” he says, softer now, “but we can wait a bit if you’d rather do that.”
Virgil toys with the strings on his hoodie. “…you can tell him.”
“Thanks.” Mr. Dagenheart picks up the phone and dials a number. “Mr. Everheart? Patton, yeah, listen, can you come down to my room? Need to talk to you about something. Okay, great.”
He hangs up the phone and turns back to Virgil.
“He’ll be down in a moment.”
“And he—“ god, this is such a stupid question— “he’ll be—he’ll be fine?”
Mr. Dagenheart rests a hand on his shoulder again. “Yeah, V. He’s gonna be on your side about all this, I promise.”
Virgil nods, his eyes on the door.
“Hey.” Mr. Dagenheart nudges him. “I’m really proud of you, okay? Coming out is really hard, especially when it’s like this. Thank you for being willing to share this with me.”
“…didn’t feel fair not to?”
Mr. Dagenheart shakes his head. “It’s your life, Virgil. Your moment. Your coming out. There’s no shame in staying in the closet if it isn’t safe to be out of it.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
A few seconds later, there’s a knock on the door, swinging open to reveal a concerned-looking Mr. Everheart who only grows more concerned when he sees Virgil sitting there, very obviously have-been-crying.
“Virgil? What’s going on, are you alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine, I just—“ goddamnit, why is your soft concern making me cry again— “I jus’—I—“
“Hey, it’s alright, kiddo, you take your time.” Mr. Everheart rubs his back as he glances up, watching Mr. Dagenheart push more water toward him. “What happened? Panic attack?”
“Do you want me to tell him,” Mr. Dagenheart asks quietly, “or do you want to?”
Virgil shuffles, pulling his hoodie a bit tighter around his shoulders refusing to meet their gazes.
“Got outed during a homophonic argument,” he mumbles, “went…bad.”
“Oh, kiddo, I’m so sorry that happened. Are you okay?” Virgil just shrugs. “Yeah, well, I suppose that’s fair.”
“Better now.”
“I’m glad.”
“…do I still have to go back to class?”
“No,” Mr. Dagenheart says just as Mr. Everheart says, “goodness, no.”
“Yay.”
“It’s almost lunch, anyway,” Mr. Everheart continues, glancing at the clock, “if Mr. Dagenheart doesn’t mind us invading his classroom a little longer…”
“God no. Stay all you want. I don’t have anyone in here until last period.”
“Thanks.”
He pats Virgil’s shoulder. “’Course. Do you want to get your lunch? You hungry?”
“Not really. ‘M fine.”
“You should try and eat something,” Mr. Everheart encourages, “just to keep your strength up.”
“Maybe later.”
“Alright, later it is, then.”
Virgil has a sneaking suspicion he’s gonna get held to that.
“Who was it,” Mr. Everheart continues, “that was involved?”
“…um…”
“I get not being a snitch,” Mr. Dagenheart says, “but these people are using homophobic language on campus and they’re bullying you. That’s not acceptable, Virgil.”
“No, it’s not. And I can’t let it happen. Especially if they start doing it more.”
Virgil chews his lip. “K-Kyle and Leslie,” he mumbles, “a-and…”
“And…?” Mr. Everheart prompts. “I can keep your name out of it, if that’ll make you feel better.”
“…the, um…the teacher kinda…joined in too.”
“He did fucking what?”
“Remus,” Mr. Everheart hisses even though the hand on Virgil’s shoulder has tightened significantly, “language.”
“I’m not gonna give a shit about language if I’m getting told one of my colleagues is being homophobic,” Mr. Dagenheart seethes, “especially to a student!”
“Guys,” Virgil says a bit desperately, “it’s not—“
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Virgil. This is a big deal and it’s not okay.”
“He’s right,” Mr. Everheart says, “this is unacceptable, Virgil.”
He gentles a bit when he sees how obviously upset Virgil is about all of this.
“Hey,” he says, rubbing his back again, “thank you for telling us. We’re not going to bring your name into it when we take it up with the Dean, but you know we can’t let this happen again, right?”
Virgil nods, feeling tears well up behind his eyes again as he fiddles with the empty plastic cup. Mr. Everheart makes a sympathetic noise.
“Do you want a hug?”
“…sure.”
Why does he give such good hugs? This isn’t fair. I’m just gonna cry again. Nope, no more crying over those assholes, they don’t deserve it.
“There’s another sink in the back,” Mr. Dagenheart suggests, taking the now-mangled cup from him, “it’s cleaner. There are towels back there too, clean ones. Why don’t you go wash your face off? It might feel better.”
“O-okay.” He glances up with a watery smile. “Are you gonna wash the paint off too?”
“I think I like it, actually. Makes my face look more interesting.”
Virgil manages a laugh as he heads to the back room, listening to the two of them start talking quietly. Okay. Okay, this is fine. This actually turned out…kind of okay. Mr. Dagenheart seems pissed but not at him and Mr. Everheart seems like he wants to help and not make a big deal out of it. Good. These are both good things. He can work with this. Everything might actually turn out okay.
He turns on the tap and shoves up his sleeves, splashing the cold water on his face and dabbing it off with a towel. He’s just about to hang it back over the rail when he hears the door open again.
“There you are, I thought we’d have to search the whole building for you!”
“He left a note saying he’d be down here, it wasn’t exactly a stellar deduction.”
“Mm, and we all know who the expert at those is.”
Nope. Nevermind. He takes it back. This is not okay. This is very much no okay. No okays here.
He knows who just walked in.
That was Mr. Prince, Mr. Mackenzie, and Mr. DeLuca. Shit.
What in the fuck are they all doing here? Do they all meet up for lunch or some shit? Fuck, that’s exactly what’s going on, isn’t it? They’re all here for their lunch break and that means Virgil’s gonna have to find somewhere else to hide for the rest of the day and shit, he’s not gonna be able to make it out of this room without anyone noticing, is he?
Fuck, why did it have to be them?
‘Cause Mr. Prince is gonna wanna know exactly what’s going on and he’s—god, extra doesn’t even begin to cover it and he may or may not be part of the reason Virgil realized he was gay in the first place, how in the fuck is he supposed to explain what’s going on?
And Mr. Mackenzie is super fucking serious and no-laughing all the time, he’s not gonna react well to Virgil being all emotional and crying and being upset about things, not when he’s got work to do and he has his class later, fuck.
And Mr. DeLuca is fucking scary. Fuck, he’s given Virgil panic attacks before, he fucking eats students alive if they try and pull dramatics in his classroom, he’s so fucked.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Normally, we’re the ones who come to meet you.”
Don’t tell them I’m here. Please, for the love of god, don’t tell them.
“I got called down,” Mr. Everheart says, “Remus wanted to talk about something.”
“Oh?” Mr. Prince must pull out a stool or something. “Do tell.”
No. Don’t tell. Don’t say shit.
“Whatever it is, surely it can wait until we’re at lunch,” Mr. DeLuca says smoothly—yes, please, leave so I can run out of here— “now, if you don’t mind, shall we?”
“Gimme a second.”
Virgil has about two seconds before Mr. Dagenheart appears around the corner and shuts the door to the back room, coming over and taking the towel from his hands.
“Hey,” he says quietly, “look at me, Virgil.”
The others are still here. They could hear him.
“Hey.” Virgil’s eyes snap to his. “There. Good. Can you take a deep breath for me?”
Breathing is stupid.
“Come on, in and out, you can do it.”
He can hear them talking through the door. Did Mr. Everheart just say there’s a student back there? Shit, he did. They’re talking about it now. Fuck, why did they have to talk about it?
“Virgil,” Mr. Dagenheart says firmly, “you’re panicking. Come on, just focus on me. Breathe in…”
Slowly, Virgil lets him walk him through a breathing exercise, squeezing his hands to make sure he can still move them and everything. But Virgil can still hear the others talking so his gaze keeps darting to the side and eventually Mr. Dagenheart asks if he wants them kicked out.
“N-no, you’ve—you have lunch plans—“
“You’re more important than my damn lunch plans, Virgil, now do you want me to kick them out?”
“…can you just make them be quiet?”
And of course he goes right over to the door, throws it open, and yells: “all of you shut the fuck up, you’re making it worse.”
“That is not what I meant,” Virgil hisses when he comes back over looking way too pleased with himself.
“Yeah, but I don’t get enough excuses to do that anyway. Now,” he says, reaching out to take his shoulders, “you doing okay? If you wanna hide in here for the rest of the day that’s fine with me, we just gotta get some food in you first.”
As appealing as it sounds, it does smell like paint fumes in here and Virgil’s few remaining braincells would appreciate not being murdered.
“Okay,” is the response he gets when he says as much—slightly edited, thank you— “do you wanna come back to the front now? You don’t have to tell ‘em anything, but they are gonna ask you what’s wrong.”
“Why?”
“Aside from the fact that you’ve kinda obviously been having a panic attack—“ rude but okay— “they’re gonna care, Virgil. And they’ll be on your side too, okay?”
“…they will?”
“Yeah, V. Promise they will.”
“How obvious is it that I’ve been crying?”
“…listen I’m not a very good liar, V, but you do look okay.”
Virgil glances around for anything that might be vaguely a mirror and gives up, pulling his hoodie down to cover his shaking hands and following Mr. Dagenheart back to the front of the art room.
As soon as he gets through the doorway and feels all of the eyes looking at him, though, he wants to shrivel up and disappear.
“Virgil?” Oh, hey, Mr. Prince, what’s going on? “Virgil, is that you? Are you alright?”
No, as a matter of fact, I am most certainly not. “…yeah.”
“You don’t have to lie to us, Virgil,” comes Mr. DeLuca’s voice and Virgil isn’t quick enough to stop his flinch.
“What’s happened,” Mr. Prince asks as really fucking warm hands land on his shoulders and steer him to a stool, “what’s wrong?”
“Let’s not overwhelm him,” he hears Mr. Dageheart hiss, “c’mon, Ro, don’t be an idiot.”
“Oh, y’know,” Virgil tries, aiming for casual nihilism and missing by a few major philosophical paradigm shifts, “getting homophobic comments hurled at me, trying not to have an existential breakdown, just your every day high school things.”
“Someone was using homophobic language to bully you?” Mr. Prince’s grip suddenly tightens on his shoulder. “Did they out you as well?”
“…kinda outed myself by accident, but…”
“No, Virgil that’s not—look at me.”
He looks up because he’s a fucking idiot and sees Mr. Prince staring at him all soft and concerned and he is going to die, this is how.
“Do not ever blame yourself for other people’s ignorance,” he says firmly, holding eye contact, “you are not to blame for their shortcomings and it is not your job to make them understand just how little they know. That’s not your responsibility nor should you feel like it is.”
“…okay.”
“He’s right,” Mr. DeLuca says and since fucking when has he been that soft, “don’t spend your time trying to make other people better, it’s a thankless job with no reward.”
“…aren’t you a teacher?”
“I said better, not smarter.” But then he’s reaching over and carefully pulling Virgil’s collar away from his neck so it doesn’t choke him, and he’s still looking at him with a soft expression and Virgil is really confused, because why is Mr. DeLuca not skinning him alive right now, “Virgil, look at me.”
The concern is getting stronger, he can see it.
“Hey,” he says and how is his voice getting softer, “hey, what’s the matter? What’s scaring you right now?”
“I believe we are.”
Mr. Mackenzie, always there with the great observation skills. No wonder he’s a science teacher.
“Give him some space,” he says, and sure enough everyone except Mr. Prince backs up a little, “let him breathe.”
“Hey,” Mr. Prince murmurs, still rubbing Virgil’s back, “it’s okay. We’re right here. You just take your time, okay? No rush.”
Fuck it. I just got outed, had homophobic insults hurled at me, and I’m currently in the middle of a bunch of mental breakdowns. I’m allowed to be a mess.
Virgil buries his face in his hands and takes several heaving breaths, trying to focus more on the faint waxy smell of oil pastels and the warmth of the hand between his shoulders. There are a few quiet murmurs around him but other than that, he’s given the space he needs to process what’s going on.
When he finally raises his head, it’s to a tissue box and another cup of water, both of which he accepts gratefully and tries to be a bit more of a person. When he’s gotten as far as he’s gonna get with that, Mr. Prince ruffles his hair and smiles at him.
Not now, gay panic. Please for the love of fuck not now.
“Virgil,” Mr. Mackenzie says, also speaking softly, what the fuck is this, “aside from my class, what else do you have this afternoon?”
“Uh…a study period.”
“Are any of you free this last period?”
“I am,” Mr. DeLuca says, “I’ve got one class and that’s it.”
“I would not be opposed to you skipping class today,” and what in the actual good fuck is happening, who are you and what have you done with my science teacher, “considering this is just to be a recap mainly for students who failed coursework for the last week and your scores were exemplary.”
“I—uh—what?”
“He’s saying there’s no reason for you to sit next to homophobes if you don’t want to,” Mr. Dagenheart says, “and so you can spend the first period here with me—if you want, and then Janus’ll take you for the second one.”
“Or we can go see Dr. Picani and see if he’ll write you a note to let you go early.”
Hold on. Back up.
Slow down.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve just been through a traumatizing experience,” Mr. Mackenzie says, “and therefore are not in an opportune place to learn or benefit in any way from school. The solution I’m proposing is that you spend the rest of the day away from any of the students who could harm you further, be that spending time with Mr. Dagenheart and Mr. DeLuca, or by being excused for the rest of the day.”
Virgil blinks. Okay, yeah, that makes sense, but… “Why?”
“Because your well-being should come before your academics.” He tilts his head when Virgil stares at him like he’s grown two. “What’s that look for?”
“I dunno,” he says warily, “something about one teacher being homophobic and then a whole bunch of them being weirdly out-of-character supportive.”
“A teacher was part of this?”
“Name, Virgil,” Mr. DeLuca says firmly, “now.”
“Don’t scare him,” Mr. Mackenzie chides, seemingly focusing on the second part of that, “Virgil, if we have behaved or acted in any sort of way to make you believe that we would not support you for something like this, we deeply apologize.”
“It’s our job to make students feel like they have a safe learning environment,” Mr. Everheart says—right, he’s here too.
“Though I do want to know the teacher’s name,” Mr. Prince adds.
“…why are you guys doing this?”
Mr. Prince looks at him for a second, before a small smile comes to his face. “Raise your hand if you’re gay.”
Virgil’s eyes widen as every single one of their hands goes up.
“Virgil,” he prompts gently, “did you hear me?”
“Do not pressure someone to come out,” Mr. Dagenheart hisses, “what is wrong with you, Ro?”
“Right, right, sorry.”
“N-no, no, I—“ Virgil slowly raises his hand too— “I got it.”
“See?” Mr. Mackenzie smiles. “We’re with you, Virgil.”
“And whoever that teacher is,” Mr. DeLuca says in his scary voice, “he most certainly will be taught a lesson of his own.”
The cheesy villain line makes Virgil snort as he lowers his hand. “Thanks, guys.”
“Think nothing of it.” Mr. Dagenheart taps the table. “Now, I need food and I’m pretty sure everyone else does too.”
“Virgil, did you bring a lunch?”
“…nope.”
“Great, what’s your favorite kind of pizza?”
“My what now?”
“Thursday is pizza day,” Mr. Prince says by way of explanation as Mr. Mackenzie starts typing on his phone, “and it’s not my week to pay.”
“Excuse you?”
“No, I looked at the calendar, I’m next week.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hey, no, wait, I paid last week, so it is Ro’s week.”
“It is not!”
Mr. DeLuca rolls his eyes fondly as the others dissolve into bickering, beckoning a baffled Virgil over to him. “Are you alright, now?”
“…still a bit confused and upset, but…yeah? I think so? I mean, pizza sounds good.”
“I mean it, Virgil,” Mr. DeLuca says, reaching out to ruffle his hair, “if anyone ever says something like that to you again, I don’t care who it is. You come and you tell one of us, do you understand?”
“Mhm.”
“Good.”
“You…you really don’t mind me being in your classroom at the end of the day?”
“Of course not, sweetie.”
What the fuck—why are petnames happening? Oh, shit, I’m crying again. Oh, fuck, that’s why. Shit.
“It’s going to be okay,” Mr. DeLuca murmurs as he slides the tissue box back over, “everything’s going to be okay.”
Maybe…maybe yeah. Maybe it will. Maybe this day won’t be so bad after all.
Maybe this day is going to be pizza with his cool gay teachers. Maybe it’s going to be spending one period helping Mr. Dagenheart go through some of the old artwork from long-graduated students to decide what to put up on the wall and what to toss. Maybe it’s going to be spending the other with Mr. DeLuca who is secretly a big dorky goofball who likes bad math puns and the same science fiction TV shows that Virgil does.
Maybe today’s gonna be okay.
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