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A New Light - part iii

ryland grace x teacher!reader

part i - part ii - part iii

summary: The school year continues, and you and Ryland are struggling to keep your emotions in

a/n: sorry bout the wait for this part! i had to really force myself to sit down and churn this out. i was rolling once i started tho so the w/c kinda got away from me, oops... enjoy! (also i finally learned how to use dividers! :P )

tags: gn!reader, coworkers to friends to lovers, nerdiness to the max

w/c: 3.9k

Ryland claps his hands together. It’s third period, right before lunch, so Mr. Grace is fighting for his students’ waning attention. He can feel himself growing tired as well. He keeps throwing glances to the analog clock mounted above the classroom door. After teaching the same lesson for 5 periods a day, most teachers are holding on by a thread by 3:30’s last rung bell. Ryland usually forces himself to grow even more energetic as classes go on, which definitely conflicts with his students' depleting energy. But all the man cares about right now is drinking another coffee with his lunch.

“Okay!” He puts on a smile, counteracting his grogginess with fake enthusiasm. He grabs a marker from his desk and uncaps it. “Who can tell me what our atmosphere is made of?”

The San Francisco 7th grade science curriculum is actually pretty neat. The official curriculum, titled “Earth and Space Sciences”, starts on Earth at the beginning of the year and makes its way out. Actually, the lesson plan starts inside the Earth with units about the planet’s layers and plate tectonics. As the school year goes on, the curriculum goes into outer space and planets, the stuff Ryland actually cares about. In late November, they just finished ecology, so now they’re moving on to the atmosphere before they can get to the good stuff.

A flurry of young hands raise into the air. The question was relatively simple and his students were relatively smart (when they wanted to be), so he knows they’ll have an easy time answering.

“Larry, yes.” Ryland points to the scruffy brown haired boy in the second row.

“Oxygen!” He says confidently.

Ryland nods, writing down Oxygen O2 on the board. “Good, what else?”

Suddenly all those enthusiastic hands are nowhere to be found. Ryland looks over his shoulder with a raised brow. “C’mon guys, I know you know there is more than O2 in our atmosphere.” He places a hand on his hip. Maybe he was overconfident in their knowledge.

Seconds pass before Regina raises a tentative hand from the back of the classroom. Ryland points at her and nods, urging her to speak.

“Carbon?”

“Yep, there’s a little CO2” He writes Carbon Dioxide CO2 on the board. “We’re still missing the main one actually-”

“What do you mean, Mr. Grace?” Rekha’s voice interrupts. “Oxygen’s already on the board,” she sasses. She’s really a sweet, and incredibly smart, kid, but sometimes she thinks she knows more than Grace, which can get on his nerves. She’s not the one with a PhD in molecular biology after all.

Ryland is ever so patient with his students though. “Good point, Rekha. While humans do need oxygen to survive, it only makes up about 21% of the atmosphere. The majority, or 78%, of the atmosphere is made up offfffff,” he drags out the word giving time for a brave soul to guess. He’s met with silence once again.

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, it's nitrogen.” He unceremoniously writes Nitrogen N on the board.

An array of “Ohhh”s comes from the room. Rekha mutters, “I was about to say that,” under her breath.

Ryland smiles and continues the lesson. “But there are also much more than just elements flying around in our atmosphere.”

“Like birds?” Micheal, ever the wise guy, snickers.

The science teacher couldn’t roll his eyes harder. “Yes, birds, though I meant on more of a microscopic level. In this unit we’ll also be learning about particulate matter.” He sounds out the word as he writes it on the board. He might have been a PhD student but that in no way means he can spell. “Airborne particles are basically all the stuff floating around in the air that we can’t see. This contributes to pollution and climate change, which we are very familiar with in San Francisco.”

“My dad says climate change isn’t real.”

Ryland sighs. He pulls his glasses down under his chin and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Remind me to have a private conversation with your dad, Larry.”

A soft knock on the door captures his attention. He looks up, readjusting his glasses, to see you already leaning against the doorframe with a stack of papers in your arms. You smirk as you make your way over to his desk at the front of the class.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Grace,” you say softly.

“N-no-” Ryland shakes his head. He cannot be caught drooling over you in front of all his children. “No problem. To what do we owe the pleasure?” He leans one hand on the desk, trying (and failing) to look suave.

“These are for you. From the principle.” You go to place the stack of papers on his desk, only to find there is literally no space. Between the lab equipment, office supplies, and… beanbags(?) practically every inch of his desk is covered. “Uhh, I’ll just… hand these to you then.”

Ryland holds the dry-erase marker with his mouth (ink side away, obviously). He reaches out and eagerly takes the papers out of your hands. Your hands touch for a moment- a mere graze if anything- sending a spike of heat up his arms. How fudging juvenile is that? This isn’t some cheesy romcom.

“Twhanc yow,” he gargles with the marker still in his mouth. He plops the stack down on his, mostly unused chair. He preferred to sit on the edge of his desk most times, (when there’s space).

You just chuckle as Ryland takes the marker out of his mouth and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. You catch yourself staring for a moment, before casting your gaze to the windows.

“It’s nothing.” You shrug. “It was actually a good excuse to see your teaching in action. I feel like I’m really learning things.”

Ryland looks behind you to the students. “See, kids, you’re never too old to learn. You always have potential energy.” The kids groan loudly as Ryland beams. His science puns not only bring him great joy, but, oftentimes, bring the children great sadness… which brings Ryland even more joy. :D

“Hey! At least I didn’t tell a chemistry joke! Those are too… element-ary.”

A total uproar emerges as students cover their eyes and flop onto their desks. Micheal looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Stop him please,” he begs. That makes you let out a hearty laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from snorting. Ryland stares at you in awe, surely looking at you as if you’re the sun itself.

“I’ve got to side with the kids this time, Mr. Grace.” You snicker from behind your hand.

Ryland fake gasps. “What? I thought you loved my jokes!?” He’s still kidding around, but part of him appears genuinely hurt.

“I do, I do… usually. But these are especially bad.”

“Traitor.” Ryland hangs his head. He looks back up with an evil grin. “You’re all wrong. My puns are proton-tastic!”

All control has been lost in the classroom. Some kids are fake crying. Regina, the quiet and shy girl, rolls out of her seat and plays dead on the floor. Okay, that’s a little dramatic. These jokes are not that bad… in Ryland’s opinion. Sensing the looming chaos, Ryland raises his hand.

“Alright, alright. No more jokes. Let’s reel back in.” He waits until all the students are back into their seats. Meanwhile, you're barely holding yourself back from laughing more.

You sigh. “Well, I better leave you to teach. I think I’ve caused enough unrest.”

Part of Ryland wants you to stay, even though he knows that would be wildly unproductive. You just made the class fun. The kids like you- he really likes you. Over these past few months those feelings have only gotten worse. Feelings, he’s decided, he’s going to do absolutely nothing about ever. And before anyone scolds him for being a coward, Marissa’s already got the scolding covered, thank you very much.

The man smiles. “Thanks again for the papers.”

You nod, opening your mouth to say something else, when the board behind him draws your attention. Your eyes squint and it looks like you’re thinking about something intently. You bite your lip and lean forward over the desk. Like very far forward. Like you hook your fingers under the overhang of the desk to keep yourself from face planting, that’s how far you’re leaning.

Ryland’s heart beat quickens. In another context, he would have leaned in to meet your lips. A context where you two had been in an established long term relationship and the room wasn’t full of impressionably youths. A soft “Wha?” leaves his mouth. You jerk your head, beckoning him to give you his ear. He turns his face and leans his ear closer. He can feel your soft airflow tickling his cheek. It’s incredibly distracting, but he focuses on your words.

“I’m no scientist, but I’m 90% sure you spelled ‘particulate’ wrong.” You lean back with a gentle expression.

“I did?” Ryland scratches his head as he turns back to the board. Sure enough, it says Particualite Matter instead of Particulate Matter.

“Motherfluffer,” he curses (kinda). He can tell you weren’t trying to embarrass him in front of the kids, especially after that whole fiasco. But this isn’t the first, and surely won’t be the last time, he’s completely butchered the spelling of a word and got roasted by 12 year olds. He pulls on his collar, feeling hot and embarrassed. The last thing he wants you to think is that he’s dumb or something- even though you would never think that- especially because he puts so much pride in his intelligence.

“Appears I did,” he concedes. He chuckles, laughing off the embarrassment.

“Yeah, it’s c-u-l-a-t-e not c-u-a- y’know what, I’m sure you’ve got it.” You wave a hand dismissively. The last thing you want him to think is that you’re some kind of annoying smart-ass- even though he would never think that. “I’ll get out of your hair.” You scurry off to the door.

Rather than finding it annoying, Ryland finds your comment pretty helpful, but you are off and running before he has the chance to reassure you. Ryland speaks up, quickly, “everyone say bye!” The class bids you a goodbye, waves in all. You wave back happily as you step out the door. Ryland’s eyes meet yours from the other side of the room. There is that signature shy look on his face that you’re slowly growing to love the more you see it. You mouth a “bye”- just to him. The world pauses for a moment. The door closes slowly as you leave.

Ryland takes a deep breath. Releases it. His eyes are still fixed on the door. He smiles after you, feeling a little more energized all of a sudden.

“Mr. Grace?”

“Huh? Wha- oh, right yes.” He erases the board and respells the word correctly. “Okay, back on track,” he continues teaching.

You chew your lunch as you read the packet in your hand. You’re going to have your students compare and contrast the writing styles of two short stories in class tomorrow, so you’re just going over all the material and marking the differences you want your students to notice. Part of the reason you love this creative writing class is that you can get the next generation to read all the stories you love, and equally get to read anything they recommend. This really is your dream job, in a way, though your dream job would probably come with higher pay.

You hear a knock on the classroom door when you’re highlighting a line of text. You look up. That’s strange. No one comes to you during lunch block.

You swallow the rest of the food in your mouth in a big gulp. “Come in!”

The head of a shy blonde pokes in through a barely cracked door. He almost looks surprised to find you in… your classroom. He smiles as soon as his eyes meet yours, however. Ryland walks in slowly. He’s holding his signature coffee mug in one hand and tapping the fingers of his other hand against his thigh. He switches his mug between hands and wipes the sweat off his palms onto his pants.

“Mr. Grace!” You try to sound aloof, but a grin has already made its way onto your face; you can’t help the happiness in your tone. “What can I do for you?” Despite how much you’d love for Ryland to just “pop-in”, you’re sure there is a professional reason for him coming to you. That doesn’t stop you from admiring him while he’s here.

Ryand scoffs. “Please call me Ryland. You calling me Mr. Grace makes me feel prehistoric.”

“Ha! Well, I am, what? Three years younger than you? You’re practically ancient.”

Ryland laughs. What a pretty sound. He bites his lip. You pick at your lunch. You both look like awkward kids flirting with each other.

“Okay, Ryland. In that case, you can call me by my first name, too.”

“Really?” Something about hearing his first name from your lips hits Ryland in the chest. His name felt like such a sacred thing in a profession where he’s called almost exclusively by his last name. Even when he worked in academia, it was uncommon to call your fellow scientist by anything but their last name unless you were really close. The only people that call him by his first name is was his family… and Marissa… and now, you.

“I don’t see why not,” you say. It feels so easy to you.

“Okay.” His smile widens.

“So, Ryland. What’s up?” You ask more casually than the last time. It only feels right, seeing as you two are now on a first name basis.

Ryland looks off before turning his gaze back to you. “I believe I was promised spelling lessons,” he says with a shy smile.

Your chest tightens. You don’t even know what to say. You’re shocked that he wasn’t bothered by you correcting him earlier, and even more shocked he’s here now, asking for spelling lessons just 30 minutes later. Mostly, it seems like an excuse to talk to you, which makes you giddy at the thought. If that was a pick up line, it was pretty smooth.

“Then I better pull up a chair for you.” Without another word, you stand from the desk and grab a chair from the side of the room. You slide the chair to the other side of your desk and pat the space for Ryland. Your room really was small, so you opted for a smaller desk. This made the setting feel even more intimate.

You sit back down in your chair just as Ryland sits in his. He’s making himself small, like he’s a bother. You could not see Ryland’s internal panic. In no world did he expect his terrible excuse to have lunch with you to work. Now, he has to survive the rest of the interaction. Unfortunately, he’s been sitting in silence for the last 20 seconds.

Ryland takes a long sip of his coffee. (He stopped at the teachers lounge before coming here. He was not going to face you uncaffeinated.) Ryland slumps in his chair getting more comfortable. The palpable tension melts from his body. Over time, Ryland has realized you’re nowhere near as scary as he’s made you up to be in his head. You’re kind and sweet, but there are still moments when his nerves get in the way and he forgets all logic.

“So… what’s the first word I should learn?” Ryland’s face wears a cheesy smile.

No spelling lesson happened the first time you spent lunch together. In fact, Ryland’s horrible spelling has persisted since you’ve started having lunch together everyday. You would feel bad about being a bad teacher if Ryland’s spelling mistakes weren’t so funny. Some students from his class have even begun reporting the wildly wrong ones to you. Sometimes you think he does it on purpose just so he can mention it to you and tell you how the kids were making fun of him again.

You’ve grown very close to the science teacher across the hall during these past few months; so close that Ryland doesn’t feel at all conflicted about calling you friends anymore. You’re more often together during free time than not. From chatting in the morning, joking outside your classroom between passing periods, sharing lunch together, and, sometimes, grading together after school, you quickly went from strangers to colleagues to nothing less than close friends. It’s gotten to the point that if you’re not together, students and teachers alike are asking where the other one is.

Ever since coming back from winter break during the new year, you’ve seen a whole new side to Ryland. He’s still that awkward rambler from before, but you’ve seen his cocky, sarcastic side too. It’s a real treat when he lets that part of himself loose, because he has no anxiety holding him back the same way he usually does.

Also, you’ve learned more science facts than you would ever need. (Like so many science facts.) Often, either one of you is rambling on about their interests. You didn’t really get half the stuff Ryland was saying most of the time, but it never bothered you to listen. He becomes incredibly animated when he talks about something he’s passionate about, and you could watch for hours. His hands whiz around so fast it makes you dizzy. Though, Ryland could more or less say the same about you. You love telling him about your favorite books, or writing ideas you have. He just rests his face in the palm of his hand as he leans against the desk- shamelessly adoring you, but you’re too busy yapping away to notice.

One chilly afternoon (chilly for San Francisco standards) Ryland waltzes right into your room; he doesn’t even knock anymore, just bursts right in and sits down. You don’t even look up. You’re muttering to yourself as you scribble notes down in your notebook. Ryland looks at you curiously. Usually you set out the chair- his chair- on the other side of your desk after the last period, but this time the seat is nowhere to be seen.

“Hellllooo??” He waves in front of your face.

Your head snaps up. “Sorry, sorry. Just… thinking…” You daze off again.

“Thinking pretty deeply, huh?” He drags his chair over.

You don’t reply.

Ryland drops his lunch bag loudly onto the desk, startling you. “C’mon, who pooped in your Rice Krispies?”

“It- wh-what?” You laugh. Ryland’s bizarre sayings still take you out sometimes, but they’re very effective at getting you out of your own head. “Nothing, it’s nothing- just…”

“Juuussttt?” Ryland pushes his glass up his pointed nose. His crystal water eyes glint mischievously.

“It’s the kids. I mean, it’s not they’re fault, they’re doing great and writing things I could never even think of and I love working with them but… they feel stuck.”

He stays silent, giving you space to continue speaking.

You stretch back in your chair. “It’s this room! It’s so stuffy. I feel like the walls are closing in half the times.”

Ryland examines the room. It’s practically unrecognizable from before. You’ve decorated the walls with posters and tapestries, added a couple mini bookshelves, and placed plenty of lamps to utilize rather than using the big fluorescent light. The space honestly feels more cozy than claustrophobic. That being said, with the limited room and small windows letting in little natural light, it made sense that it would feel suffocating after a while. And somehow the room was always hot and humid, no matter the temperature. Too many bodies in there at once maybe, but that’s why you try to keep the door open whenever you can (which isn’t often because it’s pretty hard to keep a class of kids reading focused when they’re friends are passing by in the hallway on the way to the bathroom.)

You gesture around the room. “The desks barely have any room between them! The kids have no space to stretch or walk around without hitting something, or someone, else. It’s only February and their motivation is dwindling. How can I expect them to be creative when they’re in this jail cell?”

Ryland loves how poetic you get when you’re being dramatic. “It’s a pretty nice jail cell.”

You shoot him a glare. His hands raise in innocences. “That was pretty funny, you’ve got to give it to me.

You nod, it was pretty funny, but you don’t laugh. “Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out what I should do. There are no other classrooms available, and there is no other way to reorganize my class for more open space. This is my first year here and I’m trying to make it a good one.”

Ryland’s heart melts. He remembers his first year at Grover Cleveland, and how he would do anything for his students. He knows you’re trying your best; that makes him respect you more than anything. He decides he wants to help you. “Why don’t you just take them somewhere else?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes when the weather is nice, I take my students to do experiments outside, you could do that? Or you could take them to the library? There’s more space there and plenty of books which is your whole thing.” He gestures to the various literary texts across your desktop.

“There’s no reason you have to stay in your classroom,” he concludes.

You squint your eyes, the gears in your brain turning. “Ryland, you’re a genius.” You whisper. “I mean I know you’re a genius, but you’re seriously a genius.”

Ryland blushes. “I’m really not.”

“You’ve just given me the best idea.” You smile. He would do anything to see you smile like that.

Meanwhile, you could literally kiss him for solving this. You weren’t going to kiss him, because that would surely end in the ruining of a professional and platonic relationship, but you surely could!

“Shit, now I’ve got a lot of planning to do.” You tap your lip.

“Language!” Ryland says. He doesn’t really have a problem with people cursing around him, but it’s more of a force of habit to shun it. “And, wait, do I not get to hear this brilliant idea that I inspired?”

You shake your head. “I’ve got to make sure it’ll work first. You’ll be the- you’ll be one of the first to hear about it.”

Ryland pouts. He says he doesn’t pout, he definitely does. “No fair.”

“Oh stop. Tell me about- what is it that you were talking about this morning- bacteria aspirations?”

“It's bacterial expression. Don’t think I don’t notice you changing the subject.” He points a finger at you, but it quickly falls back to the table as he sighs. “Luckily for you, I have more to say about the evolution of bacterial genetics.”

He starts going on another ramble. You’re bursting at the seams, ideas bouncing through your head. You’ll have to talk with the principal after school. But, for now, you just get to sit and watch a hot nerd speak.

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