Chapter Text
“Mr. Berryman will see you now.”
The blonde secretary’s voice has always scared the shit out of Christopher, as long as he’s been around this school for his daughter Apple to study and become, in his own words, whatever she wants to become . The older woman is not even that scary in looks, but it’s her voice, the way she sounds, the way she makes herself heard in every single room — that’s what scares himself.
Also, now that she said those exact words, he catches an accidental Fifty Shades of Grey reference. It’s very, very far from reality, as he’s not even going to see an entrepreneur, a businessman, but rather a high school teacher. Chris laughs at himself for thinking of that damn movie — and for remembering he once went on a date with the main star. She was nice. She was funny. She loved his kids.
She just wasn’t what he wanted then. But that’s another story.
As soon as Christopher stands up from the waiting couch on the hallway, the so-called Mr. Berryman himself pops his head outside the door of the teachers’ office. He smiles, and Chris feels relieved it’s not an old man ready to punish him for supposedly giving his daughter a bad education or something like that.
He used to hate teachers when he was a teenager, too. He probably has more fears than he gives himself credit for, but he suppresses all of them so his two kids won’t make the same mistakes that he did several years ago when trying to face those same fears.
“I’m glad you came to talk, Mr. Martin”, the Berryman teacher smiles more openly and opens the rest of the door, offering his right hand for Chris to shake in a greeting. “I must say, you don’t have to be scared. Apple didn’t do anything wrong.”
“It was my first thought as soon as I got the call. I think you know what I mean, Mr. Berryman”, Chris excuses himself while breathing relievedly, shaking Mr. Berryman’s hand and smiling back at him.
“I could see you from the window inside the office. Your legs were fearing for your whole life, if you let me guess.” The teacher’s joke is more than enough to finally break the ice between them. “My name is Guy, by the way.”
“Christopher. But Chris is fine, too.”
They’re still shaking hands when Guy finally realizes that and gives the other man a space for him to walk inside the room. Once the door is closed behind them, Christopher takes the liberty to sit at one of the wooden chairs across the desk, his legs not shaking anymore, but his hands still sweating in nervousness. He waits patiently for Mr. Berryman — it will take some time for him to call this man by his first name — to settle down on his side of the table, click on a few things on his laptop and only then look back at the desperate father in front of him.
“As you must know, I’m your daughter’s English teacher in this school, but I also teach some poetry lessons at the elective classes everybody takes. Apple reached me at the beginning of this semester, wanting to be part of those classes, and I took her under my wing as I do with everyone that chooses it.” Guy’s eyes gain some kind of shine, and Chris is still confused about where that conversation is going. “She wrote some amazing pieces of poetry and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering where she got that from.”
“Is she that good?” Christopher asks, amazed with what he just heard. “I mean, she never shows me what she writes, so I have to trust your word now.”
“Well, if she chose not to show you, it wouldn’t be my job to do that without her permission…” He jokes again. “But I guess there’s this one thing I could show you that she wrote and gave to me last week. The task was to write a happy memory that the students had recently. It didn’t matter with whom those memories were made, it just had to be happy.” Mr. Berryman turns his laptop screen at Chris’s direction. “She wrote about you, Mr. Martin… I mean, Christopher.”
I showed you my favorite song
You said it was your favorite, too
You called Moses out of his cabin
He’d judge something we’d do
Life with you is always a surprise
We never know what to expect
Until we get what’s on your mind
And we just go along with it
Chris readed the first verses out loud as if he was reciting a prayer, so precious were the words his daughter wrote. He couldn’t stop smiling, his eyes couldn’t stop shining — he understood why this teacher’s eyes were glowing, too.
“It’s beautiful”, his English accent makes itself present in his voice, something he uses to hide when talking to other people out of fear of being joked about — another of his inner fears. But he doesn’t care. It’s his daughter making him talk like this.
“It really is.” Guy’s voice gets more excited. “She’s very quiet in the classroom, but as soon as she lets her words talk for themselves, it’s magic.”
“I assume there’s something else you’d like to tell me just to justify my presence.”
Chris definitely does not mind being there at all. He likes to be present in everything that concerns his children’s needs; he just knows a teacher wouldn’t make him appear in the school outside of class hours just to tell him that his daughter is a good lyricist.
Also, Guy Berryman is a good view. But that’s a thought he will have to suppress from now on.
“There is something else, actually”, Mr. Berryman clears his throat as he notices Christopher’s look upon him. “There is a poetry contest in our state coming up. It would be a great opportunity for Apple to let her verses bloom in full and even know other people that write such beautiful things like her.”
“I imagine you haven’t told her about it, either.”
“Thought it would be better to present the idea to you before getting to know if she’s open for that, too.”
“I think it’s up to her, not to me”, Chris shrugs. “Listen, I know you have all the best intentions in the world, but in our house, we promote some kind of autonomy over things we can’t control. For example, this poetry contest. I would never forbid her from being a part of it, but if she said no, I wouldn’t force her to do it either. That’s how we work.”
“Sounds like a good environment.”
“It has worked so far”, he smiles fondly. “But I appreciate very much that you took your time to tell me this. I’m amazed.”
“Most of our students don’t want to be artists. Your daughter is already one and she’s getting to understand that.”
The way Apple’s teacher says those words make Chris feel even more overwhelmed with everything that is going on. He came to his daughter’s school expecting to be yelled at, to be reprimanded for something, yet all he can think about is why did my daughter hide her abilities from me? and stop thinking about your daughter’s teacher’s eyes if you have manners .
“I didn’t know that the art gene could go forward in generations like this”, Chris jokes — or, at least, tries to, “because I’m a filmmaker, you know.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that”, Guy says, visibly excited about it, but, in Chris’s mind, he’s just being polite . “Maybe it’s that. You use movies, she uses her words. It makes sense now.”
“I don’t think it makes sense, but I appreciate you trying to make it make sense, Mr. Berryman.”
Guy genuinely laughs. The wordplay he’s just heard, somehow, made him laugh like this. And he does it. Loud. He throws his head to the back, his hands tap on the table more times than he should, and suddenly, everything is a blurred mess between Chris and Guy. It was supposed to be a teacher talking to a parent about his daughter, but with just one phrase, this limit disappeared. No traces left behind.
“I told you that you could call me just Guy, anyway”, the teacher points out, this time trying to calm himself down, “and you’re welcome. But I can assure you it makes sense in my head.”
“I won’t judge”, Chris shrugs. “But, can you at least tell me how I can talk about this with Apple? Because I’m pretty sure she won’t like it if I say that I’ve read one of her poems behind her back.”
“Well, I shouldn’t be the one advising you on that because I’m not really familiar with the father-daughter relationship you two seem to have”, Guy raises his eyebrows, “but I think she will handle it better than you think so.”
They stay in silence for less than ten seconds. Yet, it feels, for Christopher, that he’s spending a whole lifetime watching Mr. Guy Berryman breathing heavily, looking back at him and thinking about a thousand things he’s not allowed to know. The nervousness takes over his body, but he doesn’t dare to stand up and leave the office. He’s waiting for something else.
He just doesn’t know what. There’s nothing else there for him. Right?
“Do you want to read more?” Guy asks, and Chris blinks quickly before returning to reality.
“I don’t think I should. She made it secret for a reason.”
“I understand.”
They still don’t make any other moves for another ten seconds. Chris feels like a criminal for staring at another man for so long, and he does his best to avoid the tense air between them, but it seems to be an impossible task to do at the moment. What are you thinking, Mr. Berryman? , he mutters inside his mind, even though he knows no answer will be formulated.
When he truly believes he could be arrested for caving so much inside a man’s soul, Chris stands up from his seat.
“I think it’s time for me to go.” He says, his voice clearly showing how much he wants to faint. “Thank you for your words. I didn’t know I had another art star at home.”
“No wonder where Apple learned to be an artist. I’m still amazed by the fact that Apple’s father makes movies for a living.”
“You can still call me Chris”, he corrects the teacher, “and I wouldn’t say I do it for a living. At least, not lately.”
“Tough market?”
“Tough market, I guess.”
“Especially in these dark times.”
“It’s not something my kids talk about very much because it’s some sort of a stress sometimes. To be a filmmaker in this town is basically to beg for being mocked.”
“I love movies.”
“You’d hate having to make one.”
“I doubt it very much.”
“Next time I’ll invite you to watch me and my team producing one. Then you’ll change your statement.”
“Still doubt it”, they laugh at the same time. “When are you going to film your next project?”
“I’m in a writer’s block right now, actually.”
Christopher did not expect to reveal so much of himself to an unknown man so early in their connection, but once the words slip out of his mouth, it’s too late.
“That’s sad”, Guy says.
“Most of the time, it is”, he shrugs, “but I spend the rest of the time thanking God for not pushing myself into another stressful work so easily. I only dive into a project when I’m truly in love with it.”
“I hope your creativity comes back soon.”
“Thanks”, Chris offers his right hand. “And thank you for telling me about Apple, again. It’s really nice to personally meet such a dedicated teacher.”
“I just do what everybody else should do in my place”, it’s Guy’s time to shrug while they shake hands above the office’s desk. “Thank you for coming, too… Chris.”
The way Guy Berryman says Chris’s name, the way it comes out of his lips like it’s a sweet candy coming in — it’s enough to burst something inside Christopher’s mind. He feels the need to run away from the scene as fast as he can, if he wants to keep his heart intact from another heartbreak.
It’s your daughter’s teacher, for God’s sake , he thinks while his lips still smile at Mr. Berryman. You’re not that desperate.
“Will we see each other again?” A failed act of one of his neurons makes Chris say those words louder than he should.
He shouldn’t have said it at all.
“Maybe if Apple gives us a positive response to the poetry contest”, Guy smirks and blinks at Chris, “then we’ll talk a lot more.”
Guy Berryman is enchanting . It’s the only phrase that repeats over and over inside Chris Martin’s mind, as he leaves the office, greets the secretary once again, plays with the keys inside his left pocket and thinks about how the fuck he dared to stare at that teacher for so long without falling in love so quickly.
Chris only hopes he doesn’t fall for him. He doesn’t need it in his life right now — another romantic interest that will end up hating him in the end? No, he doesn’t need it. To give his kids another glimpse of hope that he will find a happy romance for himself? No, they don’t need it.
He wants the feeling. But he definitely doesn’t need it.