Teach Her | Cillian Murphy x Reader

6. Miss Elles

September 9

9:48 AM

My hand worked away, carefully writing notes in my notebook as Mr. Murphy taught the class. He stood at the front of the room, chalk in his left hand as he drew on the chalkboard. Although I was supposed to be focusing on the lesson, the only thing that was my on my mind was what happened last night. It felt special. I was the only person in this room that knew about what he did, I was the closest to him. Every time he glanced at the audience, making sure that everyone was paying attention, he'd look at me first; I always noticed the small things. Any ounce of attention he gave me I noticed.

"I'm gonna come around now," he said, placing the chalk down and lifting up his glasses that sat on his desk, carefully putting them on before crossing his arms against his chest. "I want to ensure that everyone understands the material, it's important that you're all caught up. You're free to ask any questions too." he said, slowly starting his way at the first row of students, reading over their notes and answering any questions.

I waited patiently for him to come over to me, continuing to jot down any other notes about the topic we were discussing. Before I knew it, he was making his way over to me. Soon he was standing beside where I sat, leaning over and placing his hand on my desk, looking over my notes. He was incredibly close, I analyzed every small detail; the watch he wore around his wrist, the way I could smell his cologne, and the way his much larger body hovered over my own.

"Hmm," he hummed quietly, moving his index against the paper, pointing at a certain section, "I think you could work on this section, make it more specific. It will help when you have to look over it for future tests and essays." he suggested, slowly taking his hand away, patting me gently on the shoulder. I looked up at him, where our eyes met, he was already looking down at me. I nodded carefully.

"Thank you." I shyly smiled, expecting him to leave immediately like he did with other students, but he didn't. Instead he looked around the room, before taking a seat beside me.

I gave him a slightly confused look. I hadn't asked a question? I hadn't done anything wrong? Why would he need to talk to me any further?

He leaned his elbow on the desk, his chin carefully sitting in the palm of his hand as he stared at me.

"Why do you think I'm talking to you right now?" he asked, through a much softer whisper than he was speaking in before - this wasn't about the schoolwork. I could tell because he was speaking in a way that wouldn't allow any other students to hear.

I swallowed. "Last night?" I asked. I could feel my face burning red, I could feel the sweat against my forehead and the way my hands were fidgeting in my lap, beyond nervous.

He answered with just a nod, not saying anything else. As he was just about to continue, a student's hand in the front row raised, followed by a "Mr. Murphy?" meaning that he had to leave. He quickly looked over at the student, then back at me before standing up, still looking down at me.

"I'll see you at 4 PM?" he asked, but I was too in awe because of what had happened; he had gently touched my thigh as he stood up, but I couldn't tell if it was on purpose or if it was just an accident. The safest bet was just assuming that he didn't mean to, it was just a coincidence that his hand carefully brushed against my thigh in a way that made my whole body feel like it was on fire.