11) About Two Thousand Insults And Other Things Normal Teachers Won't Spit...

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11) About Two Thousand Insults And Other Things Normal Teachers Won't Spit Out In Anger


The fact that Thijmen was going to be tutoring Benjamin meant that they would actually have to interact. Normally. With no demonstrations of how to eat soup or stealing pillows or getting into uncomfortable positions to get them back.

Was that even possible? So far, they hadn't shown any sign of being capable of it. There had been several courageous attempts, but they led to nothing. Dutch boy plus Benjamin plus social interacting just didn't click. Benjamin plus video games or Benjamin plus those cookies his mother always made around Christmas time went much better together.

For example, there was the morning greetings going down almost everyday. It usually started with exchanging stiff hellos.

"Hello," one of them would say. It had become a sort of contest, where the one who says hello first is the winner. Which results in the two sometimes yelling it out at the same time.

Anyway. "Hello," the other one would reply.

Thijmen would grab some coffee, and Benjamin would stuff his mouth full with something, anything.

Benjamin would chew whatever was in his mouth, and Thijmen would stare at him. Benjamin would later go on to explain what was in his mouth, and that was the end of their morning interaction.

Before, they didn't see much of each other around the house. But with the whole 'Thijmen equals French teacher' thing being on the board, they kept circling around each other. Neither of the two were bold enough to request a date for the tutoring to start.

It was at the moment their French teacher announced an upcoming test, that Benjamin freaked out and realized they would have to start tutoring sooner than they thought. If they didn't start now, he'd finish the year with an insufficient grade. He couldn't imagine his parents would be very happy with that.

So they had to make an appointment. Quickly.

During the ride home, Ben was staring at his hands in his lap, while he tried to find a way to bring the subject up again, but Thijmen saved him the trouble and asked, "so do you wanna start tutoring today or are you gonna do it yourself?"

Benjamin looked up from the fascinating view of his fingers drumming on his legs and met the Dutch boy's gaze instead. He nodded slowly. "I guess we can start today."

"Seems like a good plan to me."

So when they got to the house, they didn't go their own way and hide in their rooms until dinner was ready. They paused in the hall, looking left and right, trying to decide where they'd have their tutoring session, but it didn't occur to them they might have to use words to communicate such a thing.

Eventually, Thijmen cleared his throat and waved at Benjamin to follow him, murmuring, "let's go to my room."

Thijmen's room? Where time stood still? Where drugs and knives might have been hidden?

This wasn't arguable, though; Thijmen immediately walked away.

Benjamin lifted his finger as if he was about to object, but slowly lowered it again and started walking. Why bother?

On the way, walking through every possible room, Benjamin tried to remember the few words he actually knew in French. His pride was already deceased, so why not? Deceased to the absolute max. Six feet under. Wasted. So Benjamin just had to move past the whole I-don't-suck and move on to the look-at-the-few-things-I-actually-know.

And a smug grin fell on his lips. For in Benjamin Emsworth's head was a sultry French voice that perfectly pronounced all the words that he knew. It sounded like a voice that would make Thijmen very proud. It just never actually connected with his actual voice, a voice that, in a serial killer sort of way, butchered the French language.

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