It was an incredibly awkward week that crawled by in Mr. Thomas's classes, and the effects of the tension radiating in the air were palpable by nearly everyone. There were those select few who kept their heads in a rather inconvenient place that noticed nothing beyond themselves, of course, but even those individuals seemed to realize that something wasn't quite right.

It all started, perhaps, when Leana began sitting on the complete opposite side of the risers from Rebecca, forcing the both of them into completely different circles of friends during the first period class. Both sides of the choir were forced to pick up a bit of the slack as the two girls became more lackluster in their performance, as both Leana and Rebecca tended to have a little less control over their voices and to sing a bit louder than the rest.

The second strike was made in Mr. Thomas's Chamber Choir, where the second sopranos began to flounder during their rehearsals of "Sleep." It was as if Leana, who originally was carrying the bulk of the girls due to the fact that she rather obsessively listened to a performance of the song that she found online, gave up the ghost and left the other girls to fend for themselves. As none were quite close to her, however, none of them were willing to confront Leana on the issue, and instead severely hindered the rehearsals with how long it took them to grasp their parts through the rather difficult piece.

The third mark against the choirs occurred when Mr. Thomas, realizing the tension, began to be quite a bit more cheery, even a bit more interactive with his choirs and classes that Leana was present in, as if in an attempt to pull the girl out of her self-appointed shell. However, due to the fact that she was still relatively unresponsive, the tension only grew as the entire class might remain silent in regards to a question that Mr. Thomas would ask, one that the nerd in Leana would normally instantly jump at the opportunity to answer.

Overall, things simply became a little shaky, and Leana wasn't immune to noticing that. In fact, exactly one week after all of this had began, she entered the choral classroom at her normal early time and plopped down at her seat on the risers, one hand nestled against her chin as she stared off into the distance with a clear pout on her lips.

She'd never be able to explain it, but after only a few moments of sitting and thinking on all of the stresses and pains that she was feeling, tears began to fill her eyes. And, God help her, she couldn't ignore them. The tiny drops spilled out over her face, and she hurriedly buried her face in her hands lest someone else see them. However, she had no idea who would. It seemed that Mr. Thomas had stepped out on an errand, and Mr. Austen never arrived any earlier than absolutely necessary any more. The students wouldn't begin slipping in for at least ten more minutes unless they had some reason to do otherwise, and even if they did, she was almost certain she'd hear the click of their heels or the squeak of their tennis shoes before they ever saw her.

The indulgence was much too sweet. I'm so tired of this, God, she sobbed in her mind, curling into herself as much as she could as she pressed her forehead against her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. I don't want to like Mr. Austen. I don't want to fight with Rebecca. I just want…what DID she want? She had no idea. Peace? Happiness? Love? Acceptance? Someone to chase after her instead when she stepped back in the way that she chased people when they stepped away from her? Each answer could fit in there so perfectly, and yet none of them seemed to suit the situation.

…I don't know what I want, God. I just need You to help me. Please.

"Leana?"

In that moment, her heart froze, and she jerked her head up to see a tall, dark-clad figure staring at her from across the room, though the features were blurred through her tears. However, she knew that voice perfectly. She'd memorized it in her sleep without even meaning to. She turned her face away from Mr. Austen, wrapping her arms tighter around her legs as she stared at the wall next to her.

"Leana, wha-what's wrong?" Mr. Austen stammered, and she was quite impressed at how well he could pretend to be concerned about her when he hadn't even acknowledged her for the past week.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, scoffing slightly. "Don't worry about it, Mr. Austen. It's nothing you can help with." She spoke the truth. In fact, even him speaking to her right now just pressed at the wound on her heart, uncovering it to expose it to more hurt.

There was a soft thud on the ground, and she looked toward him in surprise to see him walking purposefully toward her, his apparently heavy bag forgotten quite quickly in the middle of the floor. Scarcely before she could have been ready for it, Mr. Austen knelt down on the floor in front of her, almost as if he was about to propose to her. The irony of the entire situation would have made Leana giggle if it had been another time, perhaps one where her hormones weren't being so antsy. "Then I can listen."

Leana simply stared at him, completely confused about the way that this had just unfurled. Really? A man who hadn't even spoken a word to her over the past week was now asking her to unload on him in hopes that she'd feel better? Oh, that was rich. Really, it was. She wasn't even quite sure how to react to it at the moment, when he was staring up at her with those deep blue eyes of his.

"I mean it," Leana replied quite succinctly before standing up and stepping down from the risers, moving purposely toward Mr. Thomas's desk where a tissue box sat simply begging for her attention. She heard a soft sigh behind her before Mr. Austen's shoes began to click against the floor again, always being those silly sort of dress shoes that no one could sneak around in, and she plucked a tissue from the box and dabbed at her eyes. It was a blessing that she'd already given up wearing makeup for the past week, or she'd have twin trails of mascara down her cheeks, she was sure.

"Well," She felt more than heard the words, she thought, as Mr. Austen passed by her rather closely in order to pick up his bag and to continue on his path toward his own desk. "If you change your mind, you know where I am."

Feeling a bit annoyed at his assumption that she'd simply come cavaliering to him in the event of another surprise burst of tears, she simply stared at him for a moment before shaking her head with a soft huff. "I have other people for that. I'm not helpless. You don't have to worry about me bothering you or anything."

He laughed softly, and as Leana stared at him she realized that he was just as annoyed as she was, though she had no idea why. "You do? Like Rebecca?"

There was another moment or two of Leana staring at him, feeling her very skin ripple both from anger and from attraction, before she balled up the tissue harshly and chucked it into the trash can, clenching her jaw in the process. She didn't say another word to the blond student teacher. She simply turned and walked out the door of the classroom, heading straight toward the bathroom.

The past few days had been nearly unbearable for Tenor, full of continued tensions and awkwardness at the Academy. His other job was suddenly scheduling him for more hours than he could afford as well, and because of it he felt as if he never got a single moment to rest. He'd come home late, when Tara and the kids were already asleep, and climb into bed next to her without even changing into his pajamas.

The days at the Academy were becoming a struggle, in fact, with how little most of the students seemed to understand everything that he was trying to teach them. While he knew that they understood the basic concept beneath the complicated strings of notes, there was still that hesitancy, as if they were afraid to get it wrong. Unfortunately, those who were a bit braver did often get it wrong, and he found himself at his wit's end as he tried to figure out how they understood things so easily when Mr. Thomas taught them but missed everything the second that he stood before them.

Part of the missing half of the equation was, of course, one Leana Glentrool. The redhead had become all but comatose following the episode that the two of them had the week before, and it took him no time to notice the clear separation between her and Rebecca. He couldn't help wondering if the two had a fight of some sort, and it seemed that the other girls were just as equally confused. Janie seemed the worst off, as she wasn't quite sure which side of the risers to flock to and therefore spent her mornings with Rebecca and her afternoons with Leana.

He hadn't known quite what to think when he slipped into the choral room today, intent on catching up a little on some of his journaling, but he'd thought he'd been doing things right. Even though being near Leana still gave him the urge to push toward her a bit more, to delve into a surface fantasy or two, the push today was completely different. He'd purely wanted to know if she was well, wanted to see if there was any way that he could help. He'd had a momentary flashback to the day that the Honors Choir left to perform, where he'd brought Leana down from a jealous high and brought her to smile.

Today, however…no, today it seemed that it was the wrong choice to make.

At the time, he'd been annoyed at her for pushing him back so quickly. It reminded him of Melissa, of how she refused to confide anything in him, as if he was just there for giggles and not because he genuinely wanted to know what had gone wrong in her day. To say the least, he'd snapped, and brought up the problems with Rebecca.

The look of anger that flashed onto Leana's face had been satisfying. The prickling sadness in her eyes, however, had not.

Tenor stared after her as she fled, his own jaw tight like hers, and clenched his hands into tight fists, feeling the tension rippling off of him. There was a certain raw quality to the air that accentuated the tension further, to the point where he wanted to punch his desk and feel it crack beneath his knuckles. It hurt to breathe. It hurt even to exist. He hadn't grown this tense in quite some time, since perhaps the first time he and Tara ever fought to the point where they nearly ended their relationship. No. Not quite like that. He refused to draw a comparison from Leana to something so much more personal and real and full of love. Leana was but a student. Tara was his wife.

So why did this drive him so crazy?

He forced himself to sit down at his table and pull out his binder from his bag, opening it with tense fingers and white knuckles. Just that act of normalcy sent a cool wash of water over him and began to fade a bit of the anger away. Tenor supposed that he could logically work through why this angered him so, if he really tried. First off, he'd been tense and angry for several days now, if not several weeks. There was no surprise that he would eventually reach a breaking point, even if it was something so small as a mere interaction with a student that he'd grown rather fond of. Therefore, it was normal and would doubtless be gone sooner than he thought.

He heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder to see a few of the other students trickling in, quiet and sleepy as usual. Now was obviously not the time to be psychologically analyzing himself, nor was it the time to make it clear that something was bothering him. Whether Leana liked it or not, things were going to change around here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. A plan almost instantly began to form in his mind as he cast down his gaze to a piece of music sitting in the front of his binder, waiting inconspicuously to be copied. The plan wasn't foolproof, of course, but Mr. Thomas trusted him. Tenor knew there wouldn't be a problem.

Minutes passed, and just before the final bell rang, the redhead who had stirred such anger in him finally strode back into the room. Amusingly enough, she did indeed stride. Head high, nose in he air, and fists clasped at her hips, she nearly stomped to the risers and absolutely refused to look at Tenor in the entire process. He felt a little more of his tension fade away as he fought the urge to smile at the picture she painted, as stubborn and fierce as a toddler who hadn't gotten what she wanted. He wondered if she had any idea just how silly she looked at the moment. Regardless, as she sat, Tenor rose to his feet and moved over to Mr. Thomas's desk, looking down at the older man as he did so. Mr. Thomas looked up at him with a smile before returning to checking attendance. "Hey, Tenor. Something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually, you can," he said softly, leaning down to press his hands against the desk as he cast his eyes over the students who were chatting amongst themselves. Leana was still looking rather annoyed, eyes cast down to the floor and arms crossed tightly over her chest, though he quickly parried the sudden idea to analyze this a bit further. No no. He was getting better at that. He wouldn't slip into that trap again, ogling her up like she might be his wife. "I have my final piece for Chamber Singers today and I'd like to get it copied as soon as possible, but the mass copier is broken." Indeed, it was, and it couldn't have worked more into his plans if he had broken it himself. That copier was a beast of a thing, not only copying in triple the time that it should but also stapling pages, punching holes, nearly anything that one could ask it. Given that it was broken, it would drastically cut into his preparing time. "Any chance that I might borrow a student to help me with the hole punching?"

"Sure." And, of course, as Tenor expected, Mr. Thomas didn't miss a beat. As he clicked to close down the attendance folder, he looked up toward the girls and lifted a hand to gesture to one. "Leana, come here."

Leana looked toward them both, her expression rather petulant when she noticed Tenor, but she heaved herself to her feet as if she was three times her age and walked toward the two of them, hands shoved into her pockets. She actually looked like the essential pouty adolescent who thought their life was twice as hard as everyone else's. Tenor never thought he'd see the day where she sank so low. "Mm-hmm?" she murmured when she reached Mr. Thomas's desk, making what seemed to Tenor a very obvious point to look only at Mr. Thomas and never once at him.

Tenor looked back at Mr. Thomas, noting immediately the concern woven across his face as he simply watched Leana for a moment or two. Tenor knew all too well how much Mr. Thomas cared for Leana, how he'd taken the younger student under his wing without hesitation, and how much it no doubt hurt him to see Leana being so closed off to absolutely everyone in the room. He wondered if it had been this way before Mr. Thomas began to break down her walls a bit. "Mr. Austen needs a student to help him run an errand."

There was no mistaking the way that she looked toward him, eyes wide and mouth open for a moment before she snapped it shut. Now, she seemed almost determined not to break her gaze. She clenched her jaw for a moment, drawing in a slow but quiet breath, before she nodded. "All right." At least she hadn't thrown a hissy fit. Tenor wasn't really sure what he would have thought if that had happened.

"We'll be back soon, Mr. Thomas," Tenor said softly, not looking away from Leana either until he stood straight and walked over to his desk, plucking out the new piece of music, entitled "Veni Creator." This could be really awkward or really beneficial. He supposed he would see which as time went on. He gestured to Leana to follow him before striding out into the hallway and down toward the office at the end of the hall.

Leana was silent the whole way, and when Tenor chanced a glance at her over his shoulder he saw that her eyes were glued to the floor and her lips still curved into a persistent pout. She was bright enough that he had a feeling that she knew exactly what he was dragging her off for, and she was no doubt thinking of one way or another to get out of it.

When they actually entered the office and slipped through it to find the teacher's work area in the back, Tenor was pleased to see that no one else was currently using it. It would give them adequate time and silence to talk, if Leana even felt like answering anything that he might ask. Setting down the piece of music on the copier, he typed in the number that he needed and turned to face Leana after pressing start.

The redhead stared up at the notices posted on the corkboard across the room from him, hands clasped against the small of her back. A shame she couldn't be more subtle when she was ignoring people. Or attempting to, at least, Tenor thought, taking in her tense shoulders and the solidity of her stance. Every other time he'd seen her, she was soft and languid. Apparently she'd given up this mindset over the past weeks. Tenor cleared his throat, but received no response. "Leana?"

"Yes?" She didn't turn to look at him, but was still obviously a bit tense. This was peculiar. Had he done something to hurt her besides his uncouth words earlier today? In the little time he had known her, he could assume that this was completely out of character for her. She seemed like the kind of girl who would be respectful no matter what happened.

Tenor cleared his throat and stepped forward, furrowing his brow as he did so. "Is something wrong?"

A heavy silence lingered in the air, humid and thick, before she shook her head. "Why would you think that, Mr. Austen?" Ah, but the twinge of sarcasm spoke otherwise. Tenor frowned and crossed his arms over his chest as he came to stand beside her, looking down at her stiff profile.

Bullcrap. He'd done something to upset her besides this morning, he just knew it. "Your sarcasm. Your tenseness." Tenor turned to face her, stepping in front of the board and effectively forcing her back a step or two in order to keep a safe distance between them. "Your jaw." He used his eyes to trace the stiff line for a moment before recognizing the danger of it and immediately looking back at her eyes, which were staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest while her cheeks flushed. Silence lingered for a moment or two longer, where Leana defensively crossed her arms over her chest, before Tenor released a soft sigh. "I'm sorry for what I said about Rebecca. It was wrong of me."

To her credit, Leana didn't say anything that would push him to apologize further. She merely ducked her head in a few quick nods and began to relax a little. However, when she didn't say anything at all, Tenor realized that he would have to be the one to push the conversation a bit farther. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward a little, as if to get a bit more on her level given that she was a head shorter than him. "What happened between you and Rebecca, Leana?"

The look she suddenly cast into his eyes was actually full of fear, and Tenor immediately felt his heart skip a beat. What in the world had happened between them? "I-I can't tell you," Leana suddenly stammered out, turning and walking as quickly as she could back toward the copier. "It'd break her trust. I'm sorry."

Before she could change the subject, however, Tenor was right on her heels and pausing beside her at the copying machine. "Was that all that's happened? I'm worried about you, Leana. You can talk to me. I promise."

"No, I can't," she suddenly snapped at him, though not offensively. She looked up at him almost pleadingly, and Tenor felt his resolve soften. Whatever had happened, she wasn't ready to talk about it. Perhaps she never would be. And, if there was anything he was learning while watching Mr. Thomas's interactions with his students, it was that he could only push so far before he stepped over the professional boundary between teacher and student. He'd already done that once, though privately and in his thoughts about Leana. He refused to ever go nearly so far again.

"…all right." He nodded, and watched as Leana released a long, comfortable sigh, nearly deflating before him. "But promise me something, okay?" There was no response. She simply stared at the floor, as if still vaguely terrified of him. Without even thinking, Tenor reached forward and lightly cupped her chin, lifting her eyes to his own. Her cheeks were beet red, almost blotchy, and Tenor felt a touch of sympathy for her again, especially with how wide her eyes grew. "Come back to us."

Leana merely stared at him, lips parted and eyes wide, before she nodded gently and backed away from his touch, alarming him to just how many boundaries he had stepped over in that moment even after just telling himself to avoid it. He mentally cursed, wishing he could stomp his foot, but instead managed to content himself with crushing his hand into a fist. The warmth he still felt along his fingertips was all too unwelcome. "Umm…how am I supposed to help you?"

Of course. How had he forgotten that? Only just beginning to realize the soft thudding of his heart against his ribcage and how palpable it was, Tenor let out a long sigh and walked over to the copier, plucking out the still warm pages. "Hole-punching. These are incredibly temperamental. Two of us will get it done faster." He tossed her half of the pile of papers, genuinely surprised when she caught them messily, and gestured to the three hole-punchers on the counter. "Take your pick." He himself snatched one up quite quickly and, after emptying the tray, began to get to work.

Leana approached rather tentatively, hesitant as she picked up another hole puncher and began her own work in silence. Ironically, however, Tenor noticed that the quiet between them didn't feel awkward. It was companionable and soft instead of rippling with tension as it had earlier that day. Though he was a man very partial to conversation and in favor of cutting out any silence that he could, he found that just being here with her was…nice.

"Are these for Chamber Singers?" Apparently Leana didn't agree. Tenor looked down at her and nodded, smiling softly as he did so. "How does it sound?"

"I can't exactly hum all four parts for you simultaneously," Tenor replied dryly, subtly tracing the shining highlights in her red hair from the fluorescent lights with his gaze without really realizing what he was doing.

He was rewarded with a shy smile from her, even though she kept her eyes on the paper that she was attempting to punch holes in evenly with the others. "You could try, you know."

"Throat singing isn't as easy as you think. Nor can I sing four different notes moving at different times with it." As mature as their conversations tended to be, regardless of the teasing that often accompanied them, Tenor was struck with the sudden urge to stick his tongue out at her with an unspoken 'So there.' Better not to, however. She was still vulnerable, he could tell, and overstepping any boundaries he'd already set up that maintained a professional bond would more than likely be a bad idea. She needed to feel comfortable with him, after all, just as she did the rest of her teachers.

Silence filled the air again as Leana studied the music itself after she punched holes in the latest copy, tracing her index finger over the slightly lifted type of the score. Tenor stared at her for a moment in curiosity before continuing with his own work, only pausing when he heard soft humming coming from her direction.

Remarkably it was mostly right, though she had picked a much higher note to begin with for the soprano line and occasionally tripped up on a few notes. Tenor stopped his work completely, watching her for a moment more before he stepped closer and looked down at her own score. He thought that he knew the soprano line by heart, but it was best to be sure. She grew quiet once he stood next to her, so close that he could feel a faint amount of body heat from her against his side in the chilly office space. Instead of letting himself grow distracted, however, Tenor focused on the line of itself, dropping his finger down on the soprano line much as she had and softly singing the line, Latin text intact and all. Leana followed the line with her eyes in silence, he saw as he glanced up at her curiously, but only for a few moments before she joined him by humming, now a bit more confident with the key.

Not for the first time, Tenor was fascinated by the art of music. There was so much that one could share, could experience with another person through it. He rode the highs and the lows of a song, through the climax, and reveled in every feeling that it called forth in him. It truly was a way of life. It was as if he was lifted high into the sky, into the very winds of Siberia, with his hair whipping against his face and goosebumps rising up and down his arms, remembering suddenly just what it was like to live.

For a moment…he'd forgotten what an intimate experience it was to share music with one other person alone.

He found himself staring at her intently, tracing her face, her eyes, her lips, as if he was a man starved of beauty. His hand quivered with the chance to rest upon her shoulder or her waist, to feel the lovely curve of her hip against his palm and the softness of her skin. But more than that, he wanted to know her, every single aching detail of her life, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. And, for whatever reason, it suddenly wasn't frightening.

As they reached the last few lines, Tenor instinctively shifted to the tenor line, the one he knew best and that complemented the soprano line so beautifully. Leana seemed to register the shift, as she glanced up at him for a moment before she went back to the sheet music to hold her own part with no assistance, but as they intoned the last three syllables of the last word, slowly and reverently, she looked at him once more. When silence fell, neither looked away.

Strange how the awkwardness that he expected never rose.

Smiling at her softly, Tenor picked up his copies of the music and nodded toward the ones in front of her. "Class will be over soon," he said quietly, not wanting to break the fullness of the moment between them. Leana nodded, and the two set off for the classroom once again, this time side by side.

Tenor wondered if, perhaps, it might be a wise idea to be frightened.

By the time that the final bell rang, Leana found herself nearly bouncing down the hallway as she approached her locker, smiling faintly and lightly toying with a few locks of her hair with her spare hand. However, it was while she shoved her books into her locker, exchanging them for those which she needed for homework, that her smile faded and she became stagnant once more. The picture inside was recent, displaying a girl with bright red hair as straight as a pin and another girl with blonde hair that was almost identical in length and texture. Rebecca.

With a few nibbles of her bottom lip, she knew that only so much time could pass before the cheer she felt for the past several hours would fade into a sense of emptiness as she realized just how many holes now existed in her life. This couldn't go on. Something had to be done.

Leana ripped a piece of notebook paper from her binder and grabbed a red pencil that had long ago been abandoned on the floor and scribbled in haste across it, sticking out her tongue slightly as she furrowed her eyebrows.

'Becky, I'm an idiot. My life is meaningless without you. The sun rises and sets but I ne'er even notice, so much do I long for my darling Rebecca. Shall I do penance for a month to gain your fine graces once more? Or shall it be a year in the stocks for me? You must respond, before I very well perish from heartbreak. Sincerely and ever yours, Leana.'

It was only but an hour from the time that the letter dotted with broken hearts and sad faces found a home in Rebecca's locker that Leana's phone vibrated in her pocket, immediately kickstarting her heartbeat as she grabbed at it and nearly fell off of her bed in her haste to see what the matter was. There was only a single text message:

'My loving Leana, meet me at Pita Pizza in fifteen minutes or it's the dungeons for you.'

She was there in five.