A Studious Affliction [Ziam] [Student/teacher]

Chapter Five.

It's practically Friday and I have a busy day tomorrow, so I'm updating now. Enjoy! Next update on Wednesday. xx

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The next week is torturous.

I am forced to watch Mr. Payne, six hours a week, strut his beautiful, beautiful body in front of me. I'm forced to watch him stretch so all his muscles strain against his clothes and his shirt rides up. I'm forced to pretend I don't notice when he's biting on the end of his pen or when his tongue darts out and wets his lips, slowly. I'm forced to endure the endless teasing from Niall and the way he'll use every situation to throw me under the bus and into the limelight, forcing me to talk to Mr. Payne and embarrass myself as I gawk. I'm forced to do so many things, all resulting in me getting flustered in class, only to fall into bed at night and lie restlessly, ending up either with my hand getting a little too personal with me or my dreams getting a little too steamy.

It's like having the biggest, softest slice of cake you have ever seen in front of you. Your favourite cake, in fact. Your favourite cake with perfect texture and moisture, and an all-around perfect presentation. And you look at it, at this cake, with a watering mouth and wide, consuming eyes, smelling its sweet aroma and feeling the emptiness in your stomach, knowing it's the only thing that will sate your hunger. You can practically taste its sponginess on the tip of your tongue and, sometimes, it even gives you a little preview. Like when it drops its pen and has to pick it up, or when it eats a banana before class when you walk in a tad too early. Like that.

And yet, you can't have it and you never will.

That is the sweet injustice of life. You can look but you can't touch. You can have it if you can afford it. There's all these rules and regulations and standards and, oh my God, I just want the piece of cake.

Please give me the cake!

"Zayn," Mr. Payne says suddenly, and my pen slips across my page as I jolt in surprise.

Great. There goes a whole paragraph.

Chuckling slightly, Mr. Payne says, "Scared? Sorry. I didnt mean to shock you."

I'm pretty sure I'd let him do anything to me at this point. A whole week and a half spent staring at the one piece of godforsaken cake. "I-It's okay, sir. I'll just... rewrite it."

He hums, leaning forward so his arms rest on my desk. He's crouched down next to me, his arm brushing mine and his breath fluttering over my face, making me gulp thickly and avoid looking in his direction because, if I look, I will not be able to look away. Not ever. No way.

Never.

"Here," Mr. Payne murmurs. His fingers tenderly ghost over mine, feather-light and gradual. My own loosen around the pen and Mr. Payne takes it gently, brushing his thumb up the length my hand. Then, as if nothing has happened, he pulls his hand back and flips my book around to inspect it. "It's easily fixed."

What do I do? How do I breathe? I can feel his knee pressing into my leg as he remains crouching. He doesn't even try to move it! It kills me by being so close to him and hearing his breaths, smelling his cologne, feeling his warmth... It all seeps into me like a magnetic attraction and I drink it in; I lap it all up way too enthusiastically, knowing that I will not be able to do anything but exactly that. I can't touch him - barely, anyway. Staring is even over-doing it. And yet... and yet...

"There," Mr. Payne says, turning my book back to me. He's fixed it without trouble; all the words are now readable and, sure, my work looks a lot messier but at least I haven't lost it all. "All better."