Archive of Our Own

“I just don’t get it!”

“Get what?”

“Ignore her. She’s back on her Mr. Harrington crush and it’s even worse than before the holidays.”

Mary glares at her friends around the cafeteria table. Okay, so maybe she does have weird obsession with her shop teacher slash guidance counsellor’s love life - but what about it? Life needs some excitement and mystery!

“It just doesn’t make sense why he’s single! He’s nice, he’s funny, he’s hot for his age -“

“He’s, like, fifty. Gross.” Angie butts in.

“Yeah, and you don’t have a crush on Tom Cruise.”

“Just on him in the eighties! That’s not the same!”

“Still.”

Paul, who has been silently following their conversation, says, “maybe he has some dark past. Remember when Jackson asked him if he went to any political protests in the eighties and he said he was too busy fighting monsters and evil governments? And I overheard him fighting with Mr. Munson in the hallway the other day -“

“God, we’re they fighting again? What about?”

“Dunno. The usual stuff, you know how they are. Anyway, he threatened to smash Munson’s kneecaps in with a spiked bat. I’m telling you, dark past .”

Their teachers’ fights are legendary at this point, the two of them never in the room for more than a minute before the start bickering at each other. Angie groans. “God, that was a joke! They’re always bickering, I doubt that they mean even half of the stuff they say.”

Mary tries to get the conversation back on track by adding, “and anyway, fighting the government definitely gives him hotness points.”

“Gross, dude!”

“What about the scars on his stomach?”

“Which scars?” Angie and Mary say, in sync, like scary, mind-melded twins.

“I saw them when he was having a dunk-off with some of the guys. His shirt, like, lifted up, and he had these insane scars on his sides.”

Angie hums. “Maybe he fought a tiger.”

“Mr. Harrington? Nicest guy in the world? And where would he even find a tiger to fight! No way.”

It’s in that moment when the devil himself walks up to them with a confident grin and a swagger in his step. The devil himself, being, obviously, Mr. Steve Harrington, Shop Teacher, Guidance Counsellor, Basketball Coach and overall loveable-but-kinda-cringey dad to most of the students at this school.

“Sup, you guys?”

“Hi, Sir,” Mary squeaks out. Angie elbows her in the ribs.

“What topic has got you all heated?”

A series of exchanged glances. Paul tries to stomp on Mary’s foot, misses, and squashes Angie’s toes instead, which leads to her howling in pain and Mary snickering with schadenfreude.

Mr. Harrington squints at them.

“Do you know any tigers, Mr. Harrington?” Mary blurts the question out before any of her friends can stop her.

Mr. Harrington furrows his brows . “Why would I know a tiger?” His voice is incredulous.

Angie elbows Paul. “Nothing, Sir. Just a dumb debate.”

“Okey-Dokey,” Mr. Harrington says, squinting at them some more. Then he grins. “Well, you guys enjoy lunch. and Pete, remember I still need that concept art for your lamp on my desk by tomorrow!”

Pete groans, and Mr. Harrington gives them finger guns, then walks off into the crowd of students.

As soon as he’s out of range, Paul asks, “did that answer sound a bit suspicious to you guys, too?”

Angie drops her head on her forearms. “I hate it here.”

“Hey, Mr. Harrington!”

The man in question twirls around on his desk chair and faces Teeny and Jo with a grin. “What’s up, you guys?”

“We’ve been learning how to read tarot cards. Want us to read your future?”

“You know this is not what I had in mind when I suggested getting a hobby other than being on social media.”

Jo shrugs. “Yeah, but it’s fun. And it’s got nothing to do with One Direction, just like you suggested.”

“Alright,” Mr. Harrington sighs. “Let’s have it, then.”

Jo pushes the guidance counsellor sign on his desk to the side and fans out the cards in a confident, albeit a bit clumsy motion. “Okay, pull a card.”

Beside her, Teeny is bouncing on her feet, eagerly watching the proceedings

Mr. Harrington leans forward, hesitates, then picks a card. He turns it around to reveal the Lovers. “I’m guessing this means I’ll be lucky in love?”

Teeny giggles at her side, but Jo tuts. “No, it actually means you have to make a choice with big ramifications.”

Ever the romantic - and also ever hopelessly crushing on too-nice teachers slash basketball coaches slash guidance counsellors, and in Mr. Harrington’s case all three, Teeny butts in with a, “but it could also mean love is in your future.”

Mr. Harrington picks up the card to inspect it more closely. Then, he huffs out a quiet laugh, as if to himself. “Well, the love of my life certainly isn’t blonde .”

He checks his wrist watch, gets up and claps his hands together. “Alright, lunch is almost over. This was fun, it’s a great idea for a hobby. Keep it up!”, he says as he ushers them out of the room, locks the door behind him and rushes off into the crowds of students, probably to get to class on time.

Teeny and Jo are left behind, Teeny clutching their tarot deck and Jo with the card Mr. Harrington picked.

When she looks at it more closely, she realises that the lovers consist of a man with short brown hair and a lady with long, luscious blonde locks.

“Huh,” she says.

“Huh,” Teeny echoes.

Then, they turn to each other at the same time.

“Does Mr. Harrington have a girlfriend we don’t know about?” Jo whispers, and Teeny whispers back,

“Does he have a wife we don’t know about?”

Again, they both stare down at the Lovers card.

Then, Jo says, “Well, at least we know she isn’t blonde.”

Teeny snorts. “Yeah, that only leaves, what, eighty percent of all women as possible spouses.”

Jo grins at her. “We gotta start somewhere!”

“-and apparently he has kids?”

Francine drops her tray on the lunch table. “Who has kids?”

“Mr. Harrington,” Jake replies where he’s lounging in his chair, throwing a basketball up into the air and catching it with one hand over and over again. He’s the perfect picture of coolness, and so it’s even funnier when his hand slips and the ball hits him right in the face.

“Whatever,” he says, clutching his nose as everyone at the table snickers. “I heard him talking on the phone before practice the other day. He said, and I quote, the kids are coming over tonight so I have to make lasagna or Dustin will disown me .”

Francine furrows her brows. “Kids can’t disown you.”

Jake shrugs. “I think it was a joke, I dunno.”

Frank leans forward in his chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose where they were beginning to slide down. “That means his kids are old enough to have moved out already. And Mr. Harrington is, what, fifty? At the most?” He gestures around wildly with his spoon and Francine moves out of the way of flying yoghurt.

“Gross, dude,” she says.

Frank just pokes his tongue out at her.

“And anyway, he could’ve had kids in his mid-twenties and they would’ve moved out by now. That’s not that early.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type to settle down at twenty-five, though.”

Francine tilts her head, thinks about it. “I don’t know, I think he does. He’s, like, the adopted father figure of half the school. Maybe he was the same when he was younger.”

“Excuse me,” Frank exclaims, putting an aghast hand to his chest. “Mr. Munson is more of a father figure to me than Mr. Harrington. Not all of us are basketball jocks, some of us need the support of a nerdy adult in our lives.”

“Yeah, because you’re fucking nerds ,” Francine retorts.

“I wonder if Mr. Munson has a wife and kids. He’s never said.” Moss’ voice is quiet, as it always is, but they still manage to catch the table’s attention. Everyone tilts their head almost simultaneously, thinking about the school’s resident music teacher and band director.

“I don’t think he’s married,” Francine says.

“He doesn’t wear a wedding ring,” Frank adds, which makes all heads swivel around to stare at him.

“And how do you know that? Why are you staring at Mr. Munson’s hands?” Jake asks.

Frank shrugs, and only a slight flush of his cheeks reveals any embarrassment. He’s smirking as he answers, “hey, the choices of attractive guys at this school are slim to none. Obviously I prefer Mr. Munson to one of the smelly basketball boys.”

“Fuck off.” Jake flips him the bird.

“Did you guys know that Mr. Munson used to be in a metal band?”

“Huh?”

It’s too early, Moss decides. They haven’t had their morning coffee yet, and before they have their morning coffee, they do not wanna deal with Frank’s excited rambling. Nevertheless, it seems like they have no choice in the matter as Frank sits down at the table in front of them and then straddles his chair so that he’s facing Moss and Francine, who is sitting next to them.

“I googled him last night because I kept thinking about that thing you said, Moss, you know, about Mr. Harrington having a wife and kids?”

Moss nods, and ignores the flutter their stomach does at the fact that apparently, Frank thought about them last night. Crushes are stupid, anyway.

“Well, turns out he was in a quite successful metal band in the late eighties and early nineties. Like, they have a Wikipedia article and everything!”

“Anyone can have a Wikipedia’s article these days,” Francine says grimly.

Before she can trail off into one of her tirades, Frank plows on.

“Anyway, they were very political and, like, left-wing anarchists. Critical of the government. That kind of stuff.”

Moss raises an eyebrow. “Okay, cool?”

Frank flushes, visibly, and Moss tries not to take it as a sign for anything at all. “ Well, that all leads my to my conclusion, which is: Mr. Munson is gay!”

Moss takes a second to think about it. It’s not the most out-of-the-world theory Frank has ever had. Mr. Munson is always gesturing exaggeratedly and wearing too many rings and running his fingers through his wild mane of hair. One particularly hot day last year he’d taken his hair up in a bun and Moss is pretty sure that at least half of all students that saw him that day sighed internally at the sight - Moss themselves included.

They’re still thinking about it during their lunch break when they’re heading to Mr. Harrington’s office for their weekly counselling session, and they’re so lost in thought that they almost bump into the man in question in Mr. Harrington’s doorway.

“Oh shit, sorry,” they say.

Mr. Munson just throws them a wide smile and folds his arms in front of his chest, leaning against the doorway. “That’s fine, Moss,” he says. “You good?”

“Yeah, totally,” they say. “What are you doing here, sir?”

Mr. Munson points a thumb over his shoulder. “Telling that guy to stop scheduling basketball practice during band practice. The ruckus those macho men make is unbearable.”

From the office, Moss Mr. Harrington’s voice answers, “yeah, because your band practice is so soft on the ears. Leave me alone, Munson.”

Moss, who has observed many a bickering conversation between the two of them, shrugs. “I hate band and basketball. I honestly couldn’t care less.”

The two of them gasp in unison, and Moss cackles.

“Jake says he heard him talk about kids on the phone.”

“Oh, drop it already!” Angie throws her hands up. Mary, who loves seeing her best friend all annoyed about unimportant subject, raises her eyebrows at her.

“What, and you’re not curious about his home life?”

“Of course I am! It’s been the number one topic at this school for the past month! I’m just done hearing the same three theories over and over again.”

Paul, who’s spread out on the grass with his head in Angie’s lap, pokes her in the leg.

“Mary just said it, though. The latest news is that he’s apparently got kids, according to Jake.”

“I thought he wasn’t married?”

“That’s the thing!“ Mary says. “Did he get married really early, have kids, and then get divorced? But Jo and Teeny said that he told them something about his true love when they did a tarot reading for them.”

“They did what ?”

“Yeah. Tarot’s their new hobby because Mr. Harrington thinks they spend too much time online discussion One Direction. It’s a whole thing, don’t ask. Anyway, his true love supposedly doesn’t have blonde hair . We don’t know anything else, but it means that she does exist! So who is it, his ex-wife?”

Just then, Francine, who neither of them ever really talk to outside of sharing school work and the odd but of gossip, appears by their spot on the school lawn. “Did you guys hear?” Her voice is high, rushed, overexcited.

“Hear what?” Mary leans forward.

Francine crouches down to their height and visibly takes an deep breath, then lowers her voice a bit. “José P. saw Mr. Harrington in town over the weekend. He was with a woman!”

“So?” Mary knows some important news are coming, but her teacher hanging out with a woman doesn’t really seem that exciting.

Francine’s eyes widen dramatically. “He had his arm around her shoulders. And he kissed her head!”

“Oh shit!” Even Angie sits up straighter, done pretending that she’s not just as obsessed with figuring out their teacher’s love life as the rest of the seniors.

“And now here’s the kicker: she had brown hair.” Francine takes a deep breath. “You know, like Jo and Teeny said - his true love doesn’t have blonde hair !”

“Oh, shit !”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a moment, taking in the new information. Francine is visibly smug about being the bringer of gossip.

Then, Paul sits up with a start. “I gotta tell Moss.”

“I’ll come with you,” Francine says, eyes sparkling.

Angie and Mary are left behind.

“Well,” Angie says, “I guess that’s one mystery solved.”

“We still need to figure out Mr. Munson’s situation.”

Angie groans.

The gossip mill dies down a bit after the latest news. Apparently, Mr. Harrington has some kind of girlfriend-slash-wife and some kind of kids. The exact situation remains unclear, but then Anna P. gets caught making out with with Pete W. under the bleachers and Ricky barely survives the headmaster’s drug search by hiding his stash away last minute and the attention of the student body moves on to dissect different lives and tales.

One October Monday morning finds Paul sitting in Mr. Munson’s classroom, trying not to doze off. He’d stayed up late last night, texting Mary about how maybe, maybe, a court would effectively legalise same-sex marriage today, which means he’s uncharacteristically unfocused. It doesn’t help that Mr. Munson himself is more jittery than usual, his eyes periodically flicking to the door, his finger tapping on his desk. He was telling them something about the history of jazz earlier, but once he realised that no one was listening to his vague ramblings, he pulled up Youtube and put on a documentary on the subject.

They’re nearing break time when the documentary finishes up. Paul, who usually loves this class, eagerly stares at the clock at the wall - Mr. Munson has a strict no-cell phone policy in his class, and Paul really wants to check what’s going on with the court-case.

“Alright,” Mr. Munson is saying up front, turning off the projector and opening the blinds back up. “Now that we know the basics, I’d like you all to -“

They never do find out what he’d like them to do, because at that moment, the door bangs open, revealing a beaming Mr. Harrington, mussed-up? Hair making him look only slightly deranged.

“They passed it!” He exclaims, and Mr. Munson’s face breaks out in a grin.

“They did?” he asks, no trace of the sarcasm found in his voice that usually appears whenever he talks to Mr. Harrington.

“Yeah!” Mr. Harrington nods wildly, still beaming.

Mr. Munson laughs with disbelief. For a second, Paul wonders what they’re talking about, doesn’t dare to dream that it could be about -

But then, Mr. Munson takes a deep breath, sniffs, wipes a hand across his face and turns back to the class, his eyes shining. “Right, folks. Gay marriage is officially legal in Indiana. Go to break early, you rascals.”

The classroom erupts with noise, and Paul stays in his seat, frozen. His heart beats faster than normal, and he stares, and stares. This is really happening, right? He just heard that right? Shit. He might cry, actually, he thinks, and then Moss is at his side, whooping despite their usual calm demeanour, and Paul hugs them even though they’ve never hugged before.

“Shit,” he says, and doesn’t even try to hide his tears, and Moss is laughing at his side, and his eyes flick up front to find Mr. Munson, to thank him and Mr. Harrington for being the bearers of good news, but they have disappeared from the classroom already. Moments later, Paul is whisked into another hug by Moss, and then Mary, who had a free period, burst into the room and screams with joy, and Paul can’t really think about anything else for the rest of the week.

Halloween falls on a Monday that year, much to everyone’s demise. Fortunately for Frank, his first class on Tuesday is shop, which is cancelled on the first of November due to Mr. Harrington having an appointment that morning, so he can sleep for another two hours. It’s something that is desperately needed after he spent the night over at Jake’s house in a vague George Michael In His Wham! Years costume, consuming too many shots of tequila and trying - and failing - not to stare at Moss, who’d arrived as Ziggy Stardust, wearing a tight unitard that made their legs look fantastic.

Frank and Jake don’t share their first class on Tuesday, but Mr Munson, who’d been sniffing all through Monday, sent them an email that evening that he wouldn’t be showing up the next day, and that they could use this opportunity to enjoy their young years, but to please stay safe while doing so . This means that both Frank and Jake can sleep in, which they use as an occasion to drink even more than everyone else - Mr. Munson said to do so, right?

They drink so much, in fact, that on Wednesday, Frank still feels hungover from Monday night. He drags himself to his usual shop class, though, and is absolutely not prepared to be faced with Mr. Harrington’s usual beam turned up ten times brighter than usual.

“Hi, everyone! Grab your projects, come on, let’s go. Maia, you’ll drop that! Hang on, let me help -“

He’s bouncy, and energetic, and beaming throughout the entire two hours, even when someone nearly bashes his face in with a hammer on accident.

At the end of the lesson, while everyone is putting their material is back in the proper shelves - more or less - Frank lingers by Mr. Harrington’s desk on his way out.

“You’re in a good mood, sir,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Mr. Harrington says, and he makes a face that is way too fond to be seen in a cluttered high school workshop. The only way Frank can really describe it is soft . He’s fiddling with something, and when Frank looks closer, he sees a gold band on his ring finger.

He gasps, and Mr. Harrington chuckles. “Well spotted,” he says. “I got married.”

The room goes quiet. Heads snap around. Someone drops a bag.

“You what ?” Mary squeals.

Mr. Harrington grins, and raises his hand to wiggle his fingers around. The gold band is clearly visible now, reflecting the bright lights from the ceiling. “Cool, right?”

Frank doesn’t know if he’d describe getting married as cool , exactly, but it kind of fits Mr. Harrington.

“Why didn’t you get married before?”, someone in the back asks.

Mr. Harrington raises an eyebrow and smirks. “Legal trouble.” He claps, once, and puts his hands on his hips. “Now back to cleaning up, come on, everybody!”

They clean up, and file out the door chattering, and once they’re outside, Mary comes up to his side and grabs his arm. Frank vaguely remembers trying to tango with her in Jake’s living room on Monday, but that’s the beginning and end of their friendship, so far. Now, thought Mary stares at him with wide eyes and drags him to the side.

“Legal trouble?”, she hisses.

Frank decides that he’s just going to go along with this apparent newfound friendship, and whispers back, “I know, right? You think his wife was in jail?”

It becomes the number one topic of the gossip mill again in the span of an hour. The theories range from normal -

Angie: “She might be from another country and have problems with immigration, or something.”

-to weirdly specific -

Francine: “his first wife with whom he had the kids we’ve heard about was dragging out the divorce process, so they had to wait until everything was finalised.”

-to downright outlandish -

Moss: “His wife is trans and they couldn’t get married yet because she hasn’t transitioned legally, but they can now because same-sex marriage is real.”

(When asked about their theory, Moss just shrugs. “He’s weirdly good with gender stuff. Like, even for a guidance counsellor he’s really understanding.”)

No one figures it out, in the end, and it becomes another unsolved mystery.

It’s June, and it’s hot, and loud, and Frank might’ve had two glasses of wine on a empty stomach and he might be feeling it more than he wants to, but he just graduated, so he thinks he’s allowed.

He stares at Moss from the distance where they’re talking to their family in a beautiful bright red jumpsuit, and his heart starts beating faster as he remembers his plan to confess his crush tonight. He’s lost in thoughts about love and relationships and doesn’t watch where he’s going until he bumps straight into Mr. Munson, or Eddie, as he told them to call him now that they were no longer his students.

Eddie laughs, and steadies him with a hand at his elbow.

“You okay there, Frank?”

Frank blinks. “Yeah,” he says, and then a thought comes to mind. “Hey, can I ask you for some advice?”

“Sure, what’s up?” Mr. Mun- Eddie pulls him to the side a bit, away from the center of the crowd. He’s wearing a bedazzled black suit jacket over t-shirt and somehow manages to make it not look pretentious. Frank can see why he would fit in a rock band.

He clears his throat. “So, like, when you were a rockstar in the eighties-“

Eddie snorts. “Oh, so you guys found out about that?”

Frank nods with a grin. “Anyways, like, did you have a whole load of fans with crazy hair who were in love with you?”

Again, Eddie laughs. “I think you’re overestimating my success. I only ever had one fan with crazy hair who was in love with me.”

“Did you ask them out? How did you do it? Because my hands always get sweaty, and my heart beats faster-“ he stops himself from rambling on any further. Damn the wine.

Eddie looks at him with a small smile playing on his lips, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“Sometimes you just gotta take a chance, Frank. And if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out. That’s life. And if it does work out, well. Then that’s only the beginning.”

Frank blinks. “What happened to them?”

“To who?”

“Your superfan.”

Eddie twirls a silver band on his ring finger, one that Frank has never noticed before. He grins at Frank. “I took a chance. And, eventually, married him.”

It’s the first time that Mr. Munson has acknowledged that he isn’t straight, and Frank can’t help but stare. “You-“ he swallows the words.

Mr. Munson winks at him. “Yup,” he says, and then claps a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Now go celebrate. And take a chance. You never know what good things might come from it.”

He walks off, but before he can disappear into the crowd, he turns around again to face Frank. “It’s gonna be hilarious when you figure out the second part, it always is,” he yells, and then leaves a confused Frank behind.

He isn’t left to stew for very long, though, because then Jake and Francine and Teeny and Jo appear at his side and drag him away to partake in a tasting of the free wine their school is offering at this graduation, and then he has other teachers to talk to, and parents congratulate them, and it’s all in all a great pre-party.

The parents and teachers leave in groups of two and three, and then everyone has cleared out and Frank is sitting outside in front of the school with a bunch of his friends, waiting for their Uber to take them to someone’s house for the real party.

The parking lot is to their side, which means that no one is looking when a car door opens, and then slams closed, and a motor starts up. Frank is sitting on the floor with his head leaning back against the brick wall when the glass door behind them slides open and Mr. Harrington walks out in a nice black suit, his jacket draped over his arm. When he spots the pile of freshly-graduated teenagers waiting to be picked up, he laughs.

“You guys okay?”

The pile of limbs affirms his question and he grins at them.

“Be safe tonight. And have fun.” He finger-guns them - possibly for the last time ever, Frank realises, and almost tears up at the thought - and the pile answers with a choir of “thanks Mr. Harrington” and “bye Mr. Harrington.”

They watch as he bounces down the steps in the dim light, and as a vehicle pulls up from the parking lot, and as he opens the door and gets in and leans over in his seat to kiss the person hello, exchanging a few words before closing the door behind him-

And then Frank recognises Mr. Munson- Eddie’s infamous, beat-up, close-to-falling-apart van that he has seen in the school’s parking lot almost every school day for the past four years, and he gasps.

Francine beside him seems to have reached the same conclusion, because she gasps, too, and yells,

“Wait, what?”

From the van, they can hear roaring laughter. Mr. Harrington leans out of his open window. “Figured it out then, finally?”

The students stare as the van turns and they clearly see Eddie behind the steering wheel and Mr. Harrington sitting shotguns, the pair of them wearing matching grins.

“Bye, you guys,” Mr. Harrington shouts, and the van honks, twice, and then it pulls out onto the street and away into the night, leaving behind a group of stunned, silent high school graduates.

“God, we’re stupid,” Moss murmurs, and drops their head on Frank’s shoulder. Frank hums in agreement. It feels weird to have this big riddle solved now, after years of trying to solve it.

Paul speaks from where he’s spread out over at least four people’s legs. “What about the kids, though?”

And just like that, there is a mystery around Mr. Harrington’s private life again, and the world keeps spinning on its axis. They sit in silence for a while, until Moss asks,

“Did anyone actually order an Uber?”