Molly P.O.V.

[Two weeks later]

I'd dwelt a lot on Mr Stump since our first session, the activities of that time especially burned in to my memory, on some kind of repeating video-reel. The entire story had been confessed to Pete, in the hope he’d be able to shed some light on to whether my music teacher’s behaviour actually was as questionable as I’d thought (he'd said very categorically that it was). We'd had several guitar lessons since then which had been fairly uneventful, but every one of his touches had started to send small sparks between both of our skin that left me reeling very slightly each time.

In today's music lesson, Mr Stump is at the whiteboard, talking through some piece of theory or another that I’m only half listening to. I doodle a little circle pattern on my folder as I stare wistfully at my teacher. My mind's far away, just wondering about him. What was his time like at school, I imagine? His friends, the subjects he liked most, the special spots he liked to slip off to. I wonder if he was ever bullied. His dreams for when he finished, did he always want to be a music teacher? Thousands of questions swirling around my head... there's so much I don't know about this man, but I've got this weird urge to find out, to have him tell me everything about himself. This intense curiosity is catching me out.

And urgh, I've given up pretending I don't find him captivatingly handsome. It was too much effort. So yes, I admit I'm ogling a little here too.

I'm not the only one not completely with it. The rest of the class is incredibly fidgety, whispers flitting across the room, no-one seemingly doing the task we've been set (whatever that might be). "Sir," Lindsey suddenly asks, "Could you sing for us?"

Mr Stump looks rather surprised at this impromptu request. "Sorry?"

"You said a while ago that you sang a lot, but we've not heard you yet and, no offence, but it's Friday and no-one can concentrate on this stuff."

Everyone murmurs in agreement, calls of "Yeah, go on, sir!" punctuating the noise.

"Alright, alright, calm down," Mr Stump yells, waving his arms to try and shh us all. "OK, you want me to sing, I will. Just the one song though."

He stares at the floor for a second, I guess trying to choose an appropriate number, before opening his mouth and taking a deep breath. "It's a god awful small affair, to the girl with the mousy hair..."

And oh wow. His voice is deeply rich and honeyed, soaring and swooping around the words, and the long notes he draws out echo round the room with their intensity. His eyes are closed as he loses himself in the melody. He's magnificent, and the whole class is struck dumb.

When the song's over, he opens his sparkling eyes and fixes them straight on me, his cheeks slightly flushed. We stay like that, neither of us seemingly able to look away, the class oblivious as they applaud and whoop enthusiastically.

Then he abruptly ducks his head, looking sheepish as he thanks everyone and tells them to get back to work. When the class is quiet once more, save some muttering and scuffling, he wanders over to me, stooping by my desk.

"How do you feel about another guitar lesson tonight?"

---

When I get to the practice room, Mr Stump isn't yet there, uncharacteristically late. I sit tuning my guitar for a few minutes before looking round absently and seeing an abandoned electric bass propped up in the corner. Putting my acoustic aside I wander over to take a look and see it's a pretty basic model, one of the music department's own, most likely. To give myself credit, I am quite a competent bassist, and at present I'm far more at ease playing a bass guitar over a standard one. I pick it up, perching on a nearby stool, and run my fingers over the strings, smiling at the deep comforting hum. A little plucking later and I've slipped effortlessly in to Under Pressure, which I will defend to my death as one of THE greatest bass lines of all time.

Dum dum dum dum dududum dum, dum dum dum dum dududum dum.

Bouncing my head and tapping my feet in time, I play the song gently, looking round bashfully at the still-empty room before starting to sing. Well, by sing I mean just a vaguely-passable Bowie-Mercury impression, but hey, I'm only entertaining myself.

Or at least I think I am. I've just warbled the cue "Insanity laughs, under pressure we're cracking," when a voice behinds me suddenly follows it up with Freddie's line, "Can't we give ourselves one more chance?" I almost fall off the stool in embarrassed horror, turning an undoubtedly scarlet face to a chuckling Mr Stump. Well, shit.

"SIR?? Um, sorry, I didn't know- err, how long have you been there?" I stutter.

"A little while." His grin is definitely not having its usual positive effects on me. "But don't let me stop you, carry on, you were doing really well!"

I gawp at him dumbly. "Err...I...um.."

"One of my favourite songs that, you know. If you carry on with the bass, I'll join with the guitar," he says, pulling up a chair beside me and putting his instrument over his lap. "And keep on singing too!" he beams.

"Um, O-OK," I mumble, scrambling around in my shock-stilled brain for the notes I'd just been doing, hesitantly picking up from where I'd left off. My voice is a little raspy, especially when followed by Mr Stump's harmonious croon, but after a line or two (and a few of his encouraging smiles) I actually start to get in to it, trying to give my all to each Bowie-style-quaver I sing. Mr Stump's musical enthusiasm is clearly highly infectious.

When the song ends, he laughs freely and says "That was fantastic! Really good fun! How did you find it?"

I can't help beaming back, surprised at how at-ease I feel with him at that moment. "Yeah, I enjoyed it. We could maybe do it again sometime..." I drift off in to a mumble at that bit, taken aback a little at what for me is a pretty forward invitation.

"I would love to! Perhaps a little Queen rendition or whatever could be how we start all our sessions from now on, get us all warmed up?" His prepossessing face is open and friendly as he shifts his guitar on his lap, warm eyes fixed on mine, their usual aquamarine a slightly lighter and more piercing shade.

"That sounds good," I murmur with a smile.

"Excellent! So, now we've seen your bass skills, let's move on to guitar, shall we?" he says, winking at me in a way that makes my heart flutter.

Notes

Once again I wish to apologise about the delay for this chapter. Also, you might notice the formatting is different this time, I've decided I prefer it a bit more spaced out (easier to read) and I'm going to edit the rest of them at some point soon too. Cool.
Side note- Patrick's Life On Mars? cover is the most incredible thing ever, definitely check it out on youtube if you haven't heard it already! Hope you're all well and happy and still liking this :)