"You're just moving your peas around." Toby's laugh made me look up from my plate to him. I blushed a little, shrugging as I paused picking at the peas on my plate with my fork. We were both in the staff cafeteria, using the free time during our break to grab something to eat. Most of the other teachers had come in earlier, so while we were eating the rest of the staff were leaving the small café.

I remember when I'd first walked into the staff cafeteria. I'd been a bit surprised at how small the place was, and at how similar the food was to the food served in the main student cafeteria. You'd think they'd feed their staff better.

When we were eventually done eating, we headed back to the art room and the atmosphere just felt tense — or it was more likely just me being paranoid. Toby headed for his desk, and I headed for mine. I couldn't help watching him type on his laptop. I fidgeted with my fingers, biting my bottom lip as two parts of my subconsciousness argued over whether I should go ahead and show him my painting, or whether I should just keep it to myself.

I'd gotten to work earlier than him today, and I'd managed to walk through the hallways with the canvas unquestioned. The canvas was now presently leaning against the wall beside my seat. It was turned to its back so that the part of it with the painting was not in plain view.

"Toby..." I called out. It came out in a small squeaky voice, and I began to doubt whether he'd even heard me until he looked up from his computer to face me. His expression eventually changed to that of concern. I didn't blame him. It probably looked like I was about to pass out or throw up from nervousness.

"What's wrong?" he asked, making me shake my head as I looked away from him to stare at the canvas leaning on the wall. I bit my bottom lip as I contemplated what to do, before looking back over at him.

"Nothing really..." I started, pausing mid-sentence. "I wanted to show you something — my painting," I eventually got out, making him look over at the canvas that I'd been looking at.

"Okay..." he trailed as I got up and picked up the canvas. I turned it over so that the painting of him was in full view. I tried not to look at his expression while I did it, so I cast my eyes to the ground and just held out my painting with outstretched hands. I was shaking, and it felt like I was baring my heart to him.

What if I can't handle it? I thought to myself as scenes from my dreams last night of him rejecting me played in my head. I tried to calm myself down. It was just a painting — a painting I'd poured my heart into, but still a painting none the less.

"It's wonderful..." The sound of his words made my chest swell with warmth. I looked up from the floor and turned my attention to him. He had a small smile on his face that widened as I made to mirror the action.

"It really is," he said, getting up from his seat and walking over to me. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders when he took the painting from my hands to inspect it. "I'm really flattered."

"I'm so happy," I said, making him turn to me with a curious look on his face. I felt my face warm up even more as I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. "I just worried that you wouldn't like it - maybe even get mad at me," I muttered, trying to explain myself. Toby laughed a bit, dropping the painting by my desk, so that it was resting on it before he pulled me into a side hug.

"You're an amazing artist, who wouldn't be flattered?"

"I wanted to impress you. You mean a lot to me," I muttered into the hug. I was conscious to avoid the L word. I didn't want to scare him away from me completely, and I realized that if I let it slip too much he might decide not to be friendly towards me anymore, and I didn't want that.

He didn't say anything about what I'd said, he just hugged me more tightly, and after a while, he pulled me into a full-on hug so that I had my face buried in his neck. We stayed like that, hugging each other, and it was so silent that I could hear his breathing as well as the sound of my heart beating - or maybe it was just the adrenaline, and maybe it was just the absolute happiness I felt from just being able to be like this with him. I'll never know.

"Why are you perfect?" Toby's question confused me, making me shift a bit in his hold. What does he mean?

"Why are you a perfect person, and why do you want me, someone's who's very far from being perfect? It flatters and confuses me at the same time..." he sighed, hugging me even more tightly. I could smell his cologne, and the faint scent of adhesives. I soon felt his fingers in my hair, going through them in swift motions.

"You're so perfect," he continued to mutter as he ran a hand through my hair. The wall clock ticked in the background as I stared at the paintings hanging in every corner of the walls I could see. I was confused, yet happy. It didn't make sense, but then again, my emotions never did.

"I want you to understand that I'm a terrible person, and you don't deserve a terrible person. I don't deserve a good person—"

"You're not terrible."

"You don't know that Caleb." His words were firm yet final, and the room fell back into silence, but this one was uncomfortable. He soon pulled away from me, and it was only then I noticed the redness in his eyes. I wasn't sure if it was okay to stare so I looked away.

"I told Brendan that I loved him and got rejected. I couldn't handle it. I wanted him, so I continued to pester him. I was obsessed..." Toby trailed. "I'm not really sure how to explain what happened next, but he snapped." Toby drew in a breath, making me look back up at him.

"He tossed me around. We were in a screaming match. This was late at night in the art studio. I wasn't even supposed to be there. He soon started manhandling me. He soon started asking me if that was what I wanted repeatedly... I'm sorry. I don't like to think about it, all I can really say is that it was a mess that ended up with me bruised, bleeding, and riddled with severe back pain for the next few days..." he trailed. My eyes widened when I put one and two together.

"He assaulted you?" I asked in a soft voice. Toby just stared at me, before frowning.

"I wouldn't say that... I was the one bothering him, and I wanted him to sleep with me..." he trailed off, like he was confused and was just realizing the context in which the incident happened. "If I hadn't pestered him he wouldn't have been aggressive, and I'd said yes when he was trying to intimidate me into running away with his 'is this what you want?' question. I'd said yes, chickening out last minute and not being able to take what I'd asked for can't take away my yes. I said yes. I dared him—"

"It does," I said, cutting him off halfway. He was still wide-eyed, and it seemed like he was overwhelmed by just thinking about everything he was saying.

"He didn't do that — don't say that," Toby said after the long pause. "I asked for it. I made him angry, and I deserved it."

I wanted to tell him otherwise, but he looked partly confused and stunned by his own thoughts and revelations. I didn't want to push him into a breakdown by poking buttons that shouldn't be poked at the moment.

"After that, I stayed away from him for a while, but I still loved him, so I went back to him and lied about having evidence I could take out of context and lie about if he didn't go into a relationship with me."

You wouldn't need to lie or take anything out of context to do that. I said in my head, frustrated that he couldn't seem to process how terrible what had happened to him was. I watched as Toby visibly shook in front of me. He was now hugging himself as he looked around the art room.

"I blackmailed him into a relationship with me. It felt good to pretend — pretend that he loved me. The relationship fell apart, but I'm already sure that's obvious... I don't want to talk about this anymore..." he trailed, looking away from me. The wide-eyed look was still on his face. He seemed scared of something — his memories.

"You're a wonderful person, and I don't deserve you. I'm selfish. You don't want someone as obsessive and destructive as me," he muttered, looking back at me now.

"You keep saying you're in love with me. You're not in love with me, you're in love with the helpful teacher figure you think I am — the same sort of figure I saw in Brendan. He was terrible — I'm terrible," he babbled, watching me. "I love you, and I will not let you make a mistake. Please don't make it hard for me to be a decent person for once in my life."

I just stood there with him, and he eventually walked away. He got to his desk, resting his head on the table's wooden surface when he took his seat. He left me standing by my seat trying to process what had just happened. My heart and mind were both racing from the amount of information he'd given me, and maybe my heart was a little confused about how to feel when he said he loved me.

Sitting back down in my chair, I returned to work, looking over at Toby ever so often to make sure that he was doing okay. He seemed to have slept off. He woke up an hour or so after I'd noted that he was sleeping. He looked over at me, but he looked away immediately after like he was embarrassed. I felt overwhelmed too. I wanted to talk to him, but I didn't want to push him towards a breakdown. The rest of the day went by, and Toby managed to leave the art room before me, so I couldn't confront him.

When I got home I just laid on my bed and stared at the wall. What am I supposed to do? I wondered, feeling helpless. I could barely express my own feelings properly, how was I supposed to comfort someone else and help them heal?