oh no, he’s pretty and a troublemaker. conspirators are her weakspot, probably.
alcoholic, though? don’t ask him that.
instead, she produces a cautiously knowing smile — it feels like a test, somehow, and she’s honestly not sure what the right answer is. does she raise a red flag, or bow to her slight fear of authority figures?
eventually, the latter wins out ; she’ll deal with any moral struggle or secondhand guilt later.
“ yeah, that’d be me. as for secrets, i’m a changing-combination locked box — on my honour. ”
[ more like self-medicator. speaking of which. james reaches
into the top drawer of his desk and shakes to white capsules
from a yellow pill bottle. he washes them down with the last of
his drink. ]
[ it’s not a test– he just really doesn’t want his students to know
he drinks while he grades their papers. it’s just a precautionary
measure, really. james sets the glass atop aforementioned
papers and lifts a brow. ]
“ let’s hope that honor
holds up, huh? ” he pauses.
“ why psychology? ”