Based on this request: Alfred as Mr. Jones, the bizarre new teacher at World Academy who's maybe a little too enthusiastic with his space and physics lessons, but somehow still manages to make people learn. Student A's blossoming crush and ensuing pursuit of a relationship with the oblivious teacher (preferably successful, and with some kinky student-topping-teacher sexytiems in the classroom).
Why are you so long, ridiculous fic. T_T I feel stupid just looking at you.
Er, also, the update won't happen until later tonight or tomorrow morning, likely. I just noticed that Past-Part Fills Part 4 was over 9,000 comments and there's the potential (uhh, maybe?) of maxing before I can put a "continued here" link on that old thread. Also, I want to start formatting this stuff. So... if you're lookin' at this, shoo. Go drink some cocoa or bubbly, you goose. /gently nudges off
General Relativity (168/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:21:33 UTC
CSLXXVIII. It Rotates Exceedingly Slowly in the Plane of the Orbit and in the Sense of the Orbital Motion
In middle school, Matthew started having slightly weird dreams about Kiku’s older brother, who was both prettier than most girls and prone to laughing at how cute Matthew was in curls. Matthew wanted to wrap his fingers in his hair. He wanted to kiss him like the way his parents did when they thought no one was looking.
When Matthew realized his sexuality had opted to be the only unique thing about him, he spent two whole days being smothered by his comforter and two of his father’s quilts. It wasn’t that he was ashamed or even especially surprised about being gay. Years of ignoring girls’ skirts and kissing games gone sour were sort of telling. He simply felt, when faced with a world that wasn’t likely to be as easy going about it as he was, outnumbered. He wanted to stay in his cocoon of clean linen and veggie snack packs forever. He wanted, as he always had, to hide. To be invisible.
His parents indulged him for a little while. But by the third morning, they’d had enough of taking orange juice in to him and petting his messy hair. “You know,” his father said, touching the slope of Matthew’s back like it might crack in two, “whatever it is that’s scaring you so, I bet I can give it what-for.”
“You can’t give the whole world what-for, Dad,” sighed Matthew. “It’s too busy giving me what-for right now.”
“Oh, so it’s that. Sorry to tell you, but the world gives everyone what-for.”
That wasn’t entirely right (or wrong). Matthew thought about it and reread page 64 of Oliver Twist, when Oliver was running away from the workshop of the undertaker in the dead of night and his friend, Dick, caught him before leaving to impart a kiss. He traced the words inked black onto the page: The blessing was from a young child’s lips, but it was the first that Oliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the struggles and sufferings, and troubles and changes, of his after life, he never once forgot it.
Matthew wished he had someone to give him a blessing. He went back to the middle school on Monday with a new layer of protections (hunched shoulders, furtive and uneasy smiles) and wondered if he would ever feel safe again.
General Relativity (169-170/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:28:27 UTC
CSLXXIX. 43 Seconds of Arc per Century
It was Saturday morning.
“How bad is it?” Matthew asked.
Kiku didn’t take his time in answering, which meant it was bad. He was a person that thought a response should be thoroughly contemplated before reaching the gullet. “You must come back here. It’s spread like a wildfire-first the dorm, then the co-eds, and I’m fairly certain it has already reached the girls’ dorm, as well. If you wait until Monday to start combating it, the damage will already be done. Are you with Mr. Jones? No, don’t answer that,” he added just as quickly. “Feign confusion. Do not act in fury. A furious man is one that appears guilty.”
He was going to be sick. Matthew closed his eyes and took a few deep, overly complex breaths. Under his neck, Alfred’s sofa was damp with his sweat. He couldn’t seem to stop it, the sweating. “What are they saying?” he finally rasped into the cell phone.
“Matthew, I don’t think-”
“Kiku. Please.”
“A number of things,” said Kiku uncomfortably. “There has not been much dissolution of truth yet, though I’m not sure if that is to our fortune or not. They say that a student caught you and Mr. Jones together, being intimate. That-not during sex, but after. They are, of course, speculating on how long it’s been going on or if this was the first time. Who is the one being seduced. Whether anyone else has been, ah, approached.”
“Approached?” Realization dawned and Matthew covered his mouth, quite sure, at once, that he was going to retch. He didn’t. He removed his fingers after a moment. “Like Alfred would’ve ever propositioned a student! Fuck.”
“Mostly, I think no one believes any different.”
“Mostly,” Matthew mumbled.
“I have been keeping my ears open. There are mixed reactions. Some students are finding the whole thing hilarious. I think they are going to congratulate you on-ah, bagging Mr. Jones.” Kiku sighed, like it was too much to handle. “Others… are others. There is some talk of blatant favorism. Grade boosting. You’ve never been much with physics and that only encourages them. It is the quiet ones that bother me, honestly. They either don’t care or care too much. But you know, even with all of this, you should make it out unscathed if you push back.”
The soft, white-noise sounds of the shower running in the apartment fell abruptly to silence. Matthew glanced toward the bathroom and ached. He didn’t want to see the pale, blotchy mask that Alfred would be wearing, but he didn’t want to leave him alone, either. “Shouldn’t I wait until this blows over, or…?”
“Matthew. This is not going to blow over.”
CSLXXX. A Displacement of the Spectral Lines of Light Reaching Us from Large Stars
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make himself leave the apartment.
Kiku called four more times before Matthew turned his cell phone off. The idea of heading back to campus made his breathing funny and loud in his ears; his fingers started to tremble, bile eating the back of his throat. He’d be eaten alive like this, so he just didn’t go at all. Maybe after the weekend, he’d feel stronger. The rumors couldn’t last forever. There were other, more scandalous things to talk about-right?
Alfred said nothing one way or another about it. They piled into the bed and curled around each other, miserable and hooked into self-loathing, uneasy with touch but unable to help themselves. “I’m sorry,” Alfred whispered against his cheek. “I’m so stupid, I-”
“Shh,” Matthew said. He blinked hard on the slow burn of tears. He wanted to say, Don’t, because this is my fault. I was the one that started it from the beginning. I didn’t lock the door. It would’ve taken three seconds. Why didn’t I lock the door? What the fuck was wrong with me that I didn’t lock the door, that I’d take it that far on school grounds, and god, oh god, did some part of me want us to get caught-did something in me want someone to open that door?
The answer, no matter its form, was terrifying.
“What do we do now?” asked Alfred without expectation of a reply. He engulfed Matthew in his arms, but he was the one shaking; even his teeth chattered, as though he were cold.
General Relativity (171-172/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:34:51 UTC
CSLXXXI. Light Produced in an Analogous Manner Terrestrially (i.e., by the Same Kind of Molecule)
It was Sunday night too soon.
“We deny it.”
“We deny it,” repeated Alfred, bright eyes stark against the ashen gray of his cheeks. He hadn’t regained color yet; he hadn’t smiled, either. It was more than a little frightening to Matthew, who was used to his irrepressible positivity. The fear thinned him through and through until he was little more than rice paper.
Matthew rubbed his hands, trying to be reassuring. “Yong Soo saw us kissing, sort of. But everything else is supposition. We deny it.”
“Okay.”
“You need to call the Dean. You need to tell him what Yong Soo thought he saw and relay your concerns. If you broach him with it first, it sounds better. Tell him that we’re close, but only as friends, and that’s an easy thing to mistake at times. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I was out staying with a friend and when I came back to campus, I heard the rumor, gave you a call, and let you know what was going on.”
Alfred blinked at him: once, languid and slow. “Okay.”
We are absolutely in trouble, Matthew almost told him. No matter what we say, we are absolutely in trouble and if I lose you because of this, if I lose you because we were stupid just once, I’m never going to forgive myself. I have completely and utterly failed you. I’ve failed you. I told you we could keep this secret.
He said nothing else. Except, winding Alfred’s fingers into his own, “I may or may not come to class this week. But I’ll be in touch, all the time.”
Alfred gathered his hands and kissed them, breath damp and sad against his knuckles. He mouthed something against them, but Matthew couldn’t discern it. He thought maybe he didn’t have to.
CSLXXXII. A Second Fundamental Difficulty Attending Classical Celestial Mechanics
I will be brave, Matthew told himself.
It was peculiar to be in the real world again. He stood in front of the dorm hall under the stars, staring up at the patchwork of windows lit here and there, flickers of normalcy arranged in plant-box rows. He thought about how many people he might see before he got to his room. He thought about whether it was like sticking your hand in an icy pool: the first dip was the most painful and each after, less so. He thought, too, that it was always going to hurt.
“I will be brave,” he whispered.
(It was, in the end, not bravery that moved Matthew to take that next step into the building. Rather, it was the memory of the desperate kiss Alfred laid to rest against the corner of his mouth before he’d gone-a hidden kiss, a favor to take into battle, a thoughtless gesture that Matthew plied meaning on for strength.)
General Relativity (173-174/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:43:09 UTC
CSLXXXIII. An Attenuated Swarm of Fixed Stars
Matthew thought that his voice would quiver when he lied. It didn’t. He thought maybe his cheeks would redden when questioned by even the most well-meaning student. They barely colored. He was worried that, the first time someone hooted at him on the stairwell, he’d snap and ram them up against the cement-block walls. Instead, he looked them in the eyes when he said that’s bogus, he wrinkled his nose as if the idea disgusting him, he rolled his eyes and flipped off anyone who dared to whistle.
“What, Yong Soo said that?” he remarked, disbelieving.
“You know how he exaggerates.”
And when that didn’t work, “He’s such a damn liar. You can’t believe anything he says anymore. I don’t know where my friend’s gone.”
(He refused to feel guilty-everyone knew Yong Soo made mountains out of molehills, anyway. It was Yong Soo’s own fault for his reputation. His own fault!)
But most students were silent, affixing their gaze on him as he passed them in the hall or on the stairs, watchful and disbelieving, a hungry glean and desire to know not strong enough to break some social taboo of asking another person their business. In a way, that was even worse. Matthew didn’t know how to stop them, how to blurt out his secrets and his deceptions without appearing insane or desperate. He had to let them go. He let them go believing he was banging Mr. Jones.
Every inch of Matthew, down to the molecular level, wanted to hide away in his room. Even with Kiku’s disappointed gaze, it was better than being out there with the others, who recoiled from touching or brushing shoulders with him, who gave him knowing grins, who clapped Matthew on the shoulder and whispered hey, heard you got some one-on-one lessons, baby, who looked disgusted with the “teacher’s pet” but kept their poison in their tongues, who gave him sad, uncertain smiles, who all acted like they knew everything when they knew nothing about Matthew and the painstaking way he had to reassemble Alfred all weekend.
One woman asked if this meant Mr. Jones was off the market and gay.
Matthew told her to go fuck herself.
Matthew barely had time to text Alfred before collapsing into bed: So far, no bloodbath. Just minor skirmishes. Talk to Dean?
It took several minutes for Alfred to respond. left a message. stay safe.
Matthew fit the cell phone against his eye socket, cool plastic against his skin. He let it rest there, inhaling deeply, eyes closed. He felt the distance between them keenly-it was both too far and too close for comfort.
CSLXXXIV. The Group-Density of the Stars Should Diminish
Waking up Monday morning was surreal.
He went to his lessons.
It only took until the third for someone to say, “Watch out, Matthew likes ‘em old, sir.” He met Mr. Väinämöinen’s startled expression with a grim smile, as if to say, Well, there you have it. The class tittered nervously. It wasn’t funny because it might be true, and Mr. Väinämöinen’s bafflement, worn pleasantly with his art smock, only added to the heavy and pervading atmosphere of awkwardness.
For someone that didn’t like to be in the limelight, this was hell.
(But even so, Matthew was starting to think it might blow over after all. Whatever their opinions, the student body was keeping their claws sheathed and a few even found the time to tell Matthew to hang in there, hang on.)
General Relativity (175-176/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 17:50:02 UTC
CSLXXXV. An Infinite Region of Emptiness
When the assistant to the Dean called the dorm and asked Matthew to come directly to the Office of Campus Life, it was strange. Matthew felt completely calm for the first time since Yong Soo opened a door on Friday night. He smiled in resignation at Kiku-his friend seemed more alarmed than Matthew-and shrugged on a jacket.
His walls had been battered and fortified all day. The lies, at this point, would roll off his tongue like butter.
That was Matthew’s first mistake: overconfidence.
The assistant to the Dean was a nice kind of lady, her dark hair pulled back into pigtails and her skin a pretty mocha. She didn’t smile at Matthew as he entered the main office; she chewed nervously on a dolphin keychain. It left her lips momentarily so that she could utter, voice thin, “Take a seat, Matthew. The Dean is eager to talk to you as soon as he’s finished with his first appointment.”
Matthew took a seat. He watched the doors to Dean Kirkland’s office. There was sound there, low and furtive and angry. Familiar, in a painful way. His fists clenched in his lap, shoulders buckling. He thought maybe he knew what the first appointment was.
Steady, he told himself.
“-not listening to me!”
Steady, thought Matthew. Don’t do anything stupid. You’re not that brave. You’ll mess it up. He can handle this, have faith in him. You’re in love with the man, so have some faith.
“What are you doing?” the assistant asked, surprised as Matthew stood up. “Do you need to use the-”
“Excuse me,” said Matthew in apology. He went swiftly to the doors of the Dean’s office, hauled them open, and went inside.
CSLXXXVI. A Finite Island in the Infinite Ocean of Space
“What the bloody hell are you doing,” said Dean Kirkland, shoulder bunching up like a great cat that had been disturbed from its saucer of milk. He looked a little feral, teeth bared, knuckles sore-red from tapping the desk, and he was standing, which was never a good sign from what Matthew heard. But he only noticed those things indirectly; he only had eyes for Alfred.
“Out,” the Dean stated briskly. “I’ll speak to you after I’m finished with Mr. Jones.”
“No,” said Matthew.
“Beg your pardon?”
“It’s okay, Matthew,” said Alfred, but his voice wasn’t steady. His hands shook imperceptibly against his knees, and he looked at Matthew like he was drowning, couldn’t find a foothold, couldn’t even build sentences. He swallowed twice, futilely. “The Dean and I… we’re having a conversation.”
You beautiful moron, you can’t lie to save your life. Matthew shut the doors behind him and gave them a precise, cutting smile. “It involves me. I won’t be set aside like a child when it’s my reputation on the line from this ridiculous rumor. I know that has to be what you’re discussing. There’s nothing else.”
“This ridiculous rumor, is it?” Dean Kirkland snorted. “I almost believe that, but I’m not a nitwit, Williams. Sit down.”
Matthew went cold. He took the chair next to Alfred.
“I gave Alfred the benefit of doubt when he spoke to me this morning,” the Dean continued, scowling down at the paperwork strewn across his desk. For the first time, Matthew noticed the strain in his jaw, the stress-bunched forehead. “But I’m no one’s fool. I’ve spoken with the resident advisor on your floor. He said you spend half of your nights elsewhere. All it took was a simple phone call to Alfred’s landlord to confirm that someone of your appearance has been staying over for the past few weeks, maybe months.” He gave Matthew a scathing regard. “You’ve both been so sloppy, I have to wonder if you’re hell-bent on causing calamity.”
Matthew matched Alfred’s blanche. They looked at each other.
“Sorry,” whispered Alfred.
The word was caught in Matthew’s throat. He waited for the panic to come, but it didn’t; he felt numb and at the same time focused, as if all of reality could be condensed into this office, this moment. He reevaluated their approach.
He reached out and gently, firmly, grasped Alfred’s hand.
General Relativity (177/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 18:06:56 UTC
CSLXXXVII. The Force of Attraction Between Two Masses Diminishes More Rapidly Than Would Result From the Inverse Square Law
“Spare me,” the Dean groaned.
“You’re acting like we’re in trouble,” Matthew said, aware that his insides were twisting into a knotted mess but his voice, thank god and every religion on the planet, was steadfast. “But we’re two consenting adults in a committed relationship. There’s no abuse of power here. We didn’t seduce each other, there’s been no sex. I stay over because our time together is pretty short with the last of the term approaching.”
Alfred didn’t sound like he was breathing. He gripped Matthew’s fingers after a long hesitation, and it almost hurt.
“I don’t give a damn about whether or not you’ve had sex!” The Dean slammed his palm down on the table with a jarring, hollow thud. “It is professional misconduct for any educator to have even consensual relations with his students-”
“Only if they have academic responsibility for them! I’ve looked up the ban here; I know it front to back. But in case you didn’t realize,” Matthew said hotly, “I’m an English Literature major. I could fail the one course I’m taking with him and it would mean jack, sir. I have no interest in his expertise.”
“Alfred, you should have known better. This is career suicide, even if I don’t punish you.”
“I know,” Alfred said, soft.
“Bugger,” said Dean Kirkland. He slumped into his seat, at once exhausted. There was a betrayal, crumbling and bitter, in his eyes that made Matthew’s chest feel tight and wrong. But he didn’t let go of Alfred’s hand; he couldn’t.
“Damn it, Alfred,” the Dean said at last with a gruff, helpless sort of sigh. He rubbed his temples, elbows sliding forward on the desk. “Alfred, this is bad. It’s one thing to bat away the ridiculous amount of sexual harassment accusations from giggly freshmen girls taking that silly fop Bonnefoy’s class, but this is your first year. You’re young. Your education hasn’t been completed. Your professionalism being called into question will be the least of our worries-what if a parent hears of this? What do you think this’ll do to the application for admission rate?”
Alfred’s fingers pressed into Matthew’s wrist. “I know,” he said again, very quiet, trapped.
“Combined with your overzealous reputation for buddying up with students, this looks grossly inappropriate. The papers will have a field day-and you’d best believe it gets to the papers, because no one can keep their bloody mouth shut on this campus.”
Matthew wanted to hate him. He really did. But the Dean just looked sad now, like he knew what was coming and wanted nothing more to stop it, but couldn’t. “W-wait,” Matthew stuttered, reedy and weak.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean Kirkland. “I really, honestly am.”
General Relativity (178/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 18:16:36 UTC
CSLXXXVIII. Infinitely Large Gravitational Fields Being Produced
Kiku looked up at the near-inaudible click of the door. “What happened?” he asked, scanning Matthew’s face in trepidation.
Matthew took off his jacket. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he set it on the floor and then took off his shoes. He crawled into his bed, curling up under the blankets where it was safe.
“Matthew?”
His lips felt anesthetized, deadened. It was difficult to speak. “I’ll finish my independent study with Mr. Braginski. Apparently he knows a little something about astronomy, sort of a hobby. I can graduate with the other students.”
“Oh,” said Kiku. “Mr. Jones?”
The density of existing was too heavy. “Gone for a while,” said Matthew, rolling over to face the wall. “You’ll hear about it in class tomorrow.”
skljadls, this update was so crap, I’m sorry. And so late! I’ve been really bogged down with graduate school applications, but those are all out come Monday, and so I tried to buckle down and finish this update. Hope not to take so long with the others! Thank you so much if you’ve stuck with it, despite.
I asked a lot of people for their opinions on student-professor relationships and did some online research. The results are pretty varied; I went with the most common. You’ll find out more next time, sorry. D: And we get to see poor Yong Soo.
I… yeah. I fail at drama. Happy New Year’s, guys! Thank you for all the kind comments and helpful critiques-I so appreciate every single one. ♥
Re: General Relativity (178/?)
anonymous
January 1 2011, 18:34:20 UTC
I'M CRYING. SRSLY.
god. I love this. and...this made my day. It's so amazing and I love your writing and god. You can have my first child and my heart in a glass jar. ;3; I love you.
Based on this request: Alfred as Mr. Jones, the bizarre new teacher at World Academy who's maybe a little too enthusiastic with his space and physics lessons, but somehow still manages to make people learn. Student A's blossoming crush and ensuing pursuit of a relationship with the oblivious teacher (preferably successful, and with some kinky student-topping-teacher sexytiems in the classroom).
Parts I-X: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27943950#t27943950
Parts XI-XVI: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/11813.html?thread=36015653#t36015653
Parts XVII-CXII: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/15769.html?thread=39254937#t39254937
Parts CXIII-CXLXXVI: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17465.html?thread=51849273#t51849273
Why are you so long, ridiculous fic. T_T I feel stupid just looking at you.
Er, also, the update won't happen until later tonight or tomorrow morning, likely. I just noticed that Past-Part Fills Part 4 was over 9,000 comments and there's the potential (uhh, maybe?) of maxing before I can put a "continued here" link on that old thread. Also, I want to start formatting this stuff. So... if you're lookin' at this, shoo. Go drink some cocoa or bubbly, you goose. /gently nudges off
Reply
Reply
not closing this tab (*u*)
o___o
(ó㉨ò )...i've been on this beautiful story for months now and i just realized now that Kumakichi isn't in this story. hehe.
(^3^)♥ i love General Relativity. i love everything about this story. i melt every time i read a part of this story.
Reply
Just throwing that out there.
Reply
Reply
o___o
Ϭ(ᴑuᴑ) (ó㉨ò ) oh yeah now i remember.
Reply
In middle school, Matthew started having slightly weird dreams about Kiku’s older brother, who was both prettier than most girls and prone to laughing at how cute Matthew was in curls. Matthew wanted to wrap his fingers in his hair. He wanted to kiss him like the way his parents did when they thought no one was looking.
When Matthew realized his sexuality had opted to be the only unique thing about him, he spent two whole days being smothered by his comforter and two of his father’s quilts. It wasn’t that he was ashamed or even especially surprised about being gay. Years of ignoring girls’ skirts and kissing games gone sour were sort of telling. He simply felt, when faced with a world that wasn’t likely to be as easy going about it as he was, outnumbered. He wanted to stay in his cocoon of clean linen and veggie snack packs forever. He wanted, as he always had, to hide. To be invisible.
His parents indulged him for a little while. But by the third morning, they’d had enough of taking orange juice in to him and petting his messy hair. “You know,” his father said, touching the slope of Matthew’s back like it might crack in two, “whatever it is that’s scaring you so, I bet I can give it what-for.”
“You can’t give the whole world what-for, Dad,” sighed Matthew. “It’s too busy giving me what-for right now.”
“Oh, so it’s that. Sorry to tell you, but the world gives everyone what-for.”
That wasn’t entirely right (or wrong). Matthew thought about it and reread page 64 of Oliver Twist, when Oliver was running away from the workshop of the undertaker in the dead of night and his friend, Dick, caught him before leaving to impart a kiss. He traced the words inked black onto the page: The blessing was from a young child’s lips, but it was the first that Oliver had ever heard invoked upon his head; and through the struggles and sufferings, and troubles and changes, of his after life, he never once forgot it.
Matthew wished he had someone to give him a blessing. He went back to the middle school on Monday with a new layer of protections (hunched shoulders, furtive and uneasy smiles) and wondered if he would ever feel safe again.
Reply
It was Saturday morning.
“How bad is it?” Matthew asked.
Kiku didn’t take his time in answering, which meant it was bad. He was a person that thought a response should be thoroughly contemplated before reaching the gullet. “You must come back here. It’s spread like a wildfire-first the dorm, then the co-eds, and I’m fairly certain it has already reached the girls’ dorm, as well. If you wait until Monday to start combating it, the damage will already be done. Are you with Mr. Jones? No, don’t answer that,” he added just as quickly. “Feign confusion. Do not act in fury. A furious man is one that appears guilty.”
He was going to be sick. Matthew closed his eyes and took a few deep, overly complex breaths. Under his neck, Alfred’s sofa was damp with his sweat. He couldn’t seem to stop it, the sweating. “What are they saying?” he finally rasped into the cell phone.
“Matthew, I don’t think-”
“Kiku. Please.”
“A number of things,” said Kiku uncomfortably. “There has not been much dissolution of truth yet, though I’m not sure if that is to our fortune or not. They say that a student caught you and Mr. Jones together, being intimate. That-not during sex, but after. They are, of course, speculating on how long it’s been going on or if this was the first time. Who is the one being seduced. Whether anyone else has been, ah, approached.”
“Approached?” Realization dawned and Matthew covered his mouth, quite sure, at once, that he was going to retch. He didn’t. He removed his fingers after a moment. “Like Alfred would’ve ever propositioned a student! Fuck.”
“Mostly, I think no one believes any different.”
“Mostly,” Matthew mumbled.
“I have been keeping my ears open. There are mixed reactions. Some students are finding the whole thing hilarious. I think they are going to congratulate you on-ah, bagging Mr. Jones.” Kiku sighed, like it was too much to handle. “Others… are others. There is some talk of blatant favorism. Grade boosting. You’ve never been much with physics and that only encourages them. It is the quiet ones that bother me, honestly. They either don’t care or care too much. But you know, even with all of this, you should make it out unscathed if you push back.”
The soft, white-noise sounds of the shower running in the apartment fell abruptly to silence. Matthew glanced toward the bathroom and ached. He didn’t want to see the pale, blotchy mask that Alfred would be wearing, but he didn’t want to leave him alone, either. “Shouldn’t I wait until this blows over, or…?”
“Matthew. This is not going to blow over.”
CSLXXX. A Displacement of the Spectral Lines of Light Reaching Us from Large Stars
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make himself leave the apartment.
Kiku called four more times before Matthew turned his cell phone off. The idea of heading back to campus made his breathing funny and loud in his ears; his fingers started to tremble, bile eating the back of his throat. He’d be eaten alive like this, so he just didn’t go at all. Maybe after the weekend, he’d feel stronger. The rumors couldn’t last forever. There were other, more scandalous things to talk about-right?
Alfred said nothing one way or another about it. They piled into the bed and curled around each other, miserable and hooked into self-loathing, uneasy with touch but unable to help themselves. “I’m sorry,” Alfred whispered against his cheek. “I’m so stupid, I-”
“Shh,” Matthew said. He blinked hard on the slow burn of tears. He wanted to say, Don’t, because this is my fault. I was the one that started it from the beginning. I didn’t lock the door. It would’ve taken three seconds. Why didn’t I lock the door? What the fuck was wrong with me that I didn’t lock the door, that I’d take it that far on school grounds, and god, oh god, did some part of me want us to get caught-did something in me want someone to open that door?
The answer, no matter its form, was terrifying.
“What do we do now?” asked Alfred without expectation of a reply. He engulfed Matthew in his arms, but he was the one shaking; even his teeth chattered, as though he were cold.
Reply
It was Sunday night too soon.
“We deny it.”
“We deny it,” repeated Alfred, bright eyes stark against the ashen gray of his cheeks. He hadn’t regained color yet; he hadn’t smiled, either. It was more than a little frightening to Matthew, who was used to his irrepressible positivity. The fear thinned him through and through until he was little more than rice paper.
Matthew rubbed his hands, trying to be reassuring. “Yong Soo saw us kissing, sort of. But everything else is supposition. We deny it.”
“Okay.”
“You need to call the Dean. You need to tell him what Yong Soo thought he saw and relay your concerns. If you broach him with it first, it sounds better. Tell him that we’re close, but only as friends, and that’s an easy thing to mistake at times. We weren’t doing anything wrong. I was out staying with a friend and when I came back to campus, I heard the rumor, gave you a call, and let you know what was going on.”
Alfred blinked at him: once, languid and slow. “Okay.”
We are absolutely in trouble, Matthew almost told him. No matter what we say, we are absolutely in trouble and if I lose you because of this, if I lose you because we were stupid just once, I’m never going to forgive myself. I have completely and utterly failed you. I’ve failed you. I told you we could keep this secret.
He said nothing else. Except, winding Alfred’s fingers into his own, “I may or may not come to class this week. But I’ll be in touch, all the time.”
Alfred gathered his hands and kissed them, breath damp and sad against his knuckles. He mouthed something against them, but Matthew couldn’t discern it. He thought maybe he didn’t have to.
CSLXXXII. A Second Fundamental Difficulty Attending Classical Celestial Mechanics
I will be brave, Matthew told himself.
It was peculiar to be in the real world again. He stood in front of the dorm hall under the stars, staring up at the patchwork of windows lit here and there, flickers of normalcy arranged in plant-box rows. He thought about how many people he might see before he got to his room. He thought about whether it was like sticking your hand in an icy pool: the first dip was the most painful and each after, less so. He thought, too, that it was always going to hurt.
“I will be brave,” he whispered.
(It was, in the end, not bravery that moved Matthew to take that next step into the building. Rather, it was the memory of the desperate kiss Alfred laid to rest against the corner of his mouth before he’d gone-a hidden kiss, a favor to take into battle, a thoughtless gesture that Matthew plied meaning on for strength.)
Reply
Matthew thought that his voice would quiver when he lied. It didn’t. He thought maybe his cheeks would redden when questioned by even the most well-meaning student. They barely colored. He was worried that, the first time someone hooted at him on the stairwell, he’d snap and ram them up against the cement-block walls. Instead, he looked them in the eyes when he said that’s bogus, he wrinkled his nose as if the idea disgusting him, he rolled his eyes and flipped off anyone who dared to whistle.
“What, Yong Soo said that?” he remarked, disbelieving.
“You know how he exaggerates.”
And when that didn’t work, “He’s such a damn liar. You can’t believe anything he says anymore. I don’t know where my friend’s gone.”
(He refused to feel guilty-everyone knew Yong Soo made mountains out of molehills, anyway. It was Yong Soo’s own fault for his reputation. His own fault!)
But most students were silent, affixing their gaze on him as he passed them in the hall or on the stairs, watchful and disbelieving, a hungry glean and desire to know not strong enough to break some social taboo of asking another person their business. In a way, that was even worse. Matthew didn’t know how to stop them, how to blurt out his secrets and his deceptions without appearing insane or desperate. He had to let them go. He let them go believing he was banging Mr. Jones.
Every inch of Matthew, down to the molecular level, wanted to hide away in his room. Even with Kiku’s disappointed gaze, it was better than being out there with the others, who recoiled from touching or brushing shoulders with him, who gave him knowing grins, who clapped Matthew on the shoulder and whispered hey, heard you got some one-on-one lessons, baby, who looked disgusted with the “teacher’s pet” but kept their poison in their tongues, who gave him sad, uncertain smiles, who all acted like they knew everything when they knew nothing about Matthew and the painstaking way he had to reassemble Alfred all weekend.
One woman asked if this meant Mr. Jones was off the market and gay.
Matthew told her to go fuck herself.
Matthew barely had time to text Alfred before collapsing into bed: So far, no bloodbath. Just minor skirmishes. Talk to Dean?
It took several minutes for Alfred to respond. left a message. stay safe.
Matthew fit the cell phone against his eye socket, cool plastic against his skin. He let it rest there, inhaling deeply, eyes closed. He felt the distance between them keenly-it was both too far and too close for comfort.
CSLXXXIV. The Group-Density of the Stars Should Diminish
Waking up Monday morning was surreal.
He went to his lessons.
It only took until the third for someone to say, “Watch out, Matthew likes ‘em old, sir.” He met Mr. Väinämöinen’s startled expression with a grim smile, as if to say, Well, there you have it. The class tittered nervously. It wasn’t funny because it might be true, and Mr. Väinämöinen’s bafflement, worn pleasantly with his art smock, only added to the heavy and pervading atmosphere of awkwardness.
For someone that didn’t like to be in the limelight, this was hell.
(But even so, Matthew was starting to think it might blow over after all. Whatever their opinions, the student body was keeping their claws sheathed and a few even found the time to tell Matthew to hang in there, hang on.)
Reply
When the assistant to the Dean called the dorm and asked Matthew to come directly to the Office of Campus Life, it was strange. Matthew felt completely calm for the first time since Yong Soo opened a door on Friday night. He smiled in resignation at Kiku-his friend seemed more alarmed than Matthew-and shrugged on a jacket.
His walls had been battered and fortified all day. The lies, at this point, would roll off his tongue like butter.
That was Matthew’s first mistake: overconfidence.
The assistant to the Dean was a nice kind of lady, her dark hair pulled back into pigtails and her skin a pretty mocha. She didn’t smile at Matthew as he entered the main office; she chewed nervously on a dolphin keychain. It left her lips momentarily so that she could utter, voice thin, “Take a seat, Matthew. The Dean is eager to talk to you as soon as he’s finished with his first appointment.”
Matthew took a seat. He watched the doors to Dean Kirkland’s office. There was sound there, low and furtive and angry. Familiar, in a painful way. His fists clenched in his lap, shoulders buckling. He thought maybe he knew what the first appointment was.
Steady, he told himself.
“-not listening to me!”
Steady, thought Matthew. Don’t do anything stupid. You’re not that brave. You’ll mess it up. He can handle this, have faith in him. You’re in love with the man, so have some faith.
“What are you doing?” the assistant asked, surprised as Matthew stood up. “Do you need to use the-”
“Excuse me,” said Matthew in apology. He went swiftly to the doors of the Dean’s office, hauled them open, and went inside.
CSLXXXVI. A Finite Island in the Infinite Ocean of Space
“What the bloody hell are you doing,” said Dean Kirkland, shoulder bunching up like a great cat that had been disturbed from its saucer of milk. He looked a little feral, teeth bared, knuckles sore-red from tapping the desk, and he was standing, which was never a good sign from what Matthew heard. But he only noticed those things indirectly; he only had eyes for Alfred.
“Out,” the Dean stated briskly. “I’ll speak to you after I’m finished with Mr. Jones.”
“No,” said Matthew.
“Beg your pardon?”
“It’s okay, Matthew,” said Alfred, but his voice wasn’t steady. His hands shook imperceptibly against his knees, and he looked at Matthew like he was drowning, couldn’t find a foothold, couldn’t even build sentences. He swallowed twice, futilely. “The Dean and I… we’re having a conversation.”
You beautiful moron, you can’t lie to save your life. Matthew shut the doors behind him and gave them a precise, cutting smile. “It involves me. I won’t be set aside like a child when it’s my reputation on the line from this ridiculous rumor. I know that has to be what you’re discussing. There’s nothing else.”
“This ridiculous rumor, is it?” Dean Kirkland snorted. “I almost believe that, but I’m not a nitwit, Williams. Sit down.”
Matthew went cold. He took the chair next to Alfred.
“I gave Alfred the benefit of doubt when he spoke to me this morning,” the Dean continued, scowling down at the paperwork strewn across his desk. For the first time, Matthew noticed the strain in his jaw, the stress-bunched forehead. “But I’m no one’s fool. I’ve spoken with the resident advisor on your floor. He said you spend half of your nights elsewhere. All it took was a simple phone call to Alfred’s landlord to confirm that someone of your appearance has been staying over for the past few weeks, maybe months.” He gave Matthew a scathing regard. “You’ve both been so sloppy, I have to wonder if you’re hell-bent on causing calamity.”
Matthew matched Alfred’s blanche. They looked at each other.
“Sorry,” whispered Alfred.
The word was caught in Matthew’s throat. He waited for the panic to come, but it didn’t; he felt numb and at the same time focused, as if all of reality could be condensed into this office, this moment. He reevaluated their approach.
He reached out and gently, firmly, grasped Alfred’s hand.
Reply
“Spare me,” the Dean groaned.
“You’re acting like we’re in trouble,” Matthew said, aware that his insides were twisting into a knotted mess but his voice, thank god and every religion on the planet, was steadfast. “But we’re two consenting adults in a committed relationship. There’s no abuse of power here. We didn’t seduce each other, there’s been no sex. I stay over because our time together is pretty short with the last of the term approaching.”
Alfred didn’t sound like he was breathing. He gripped Matthew’s fingers after a long hesitation, and it almost hurt.
“I don’t give a damn about whether or not you’ve had sex!” The Dean slammed his palm down on the table with a jarring, hollow thud. “It is professional misconduct for any educator to have even consensual relations with his students-”
“Only if they have academic responsibility for them! I’ve looked up the ban here; I know it front to back. But in case you didn’t realize,” Matthew said hotly, “I’m an English Literature major. I could fail the one course I’m taking with him and it would mean jack, sir. I have no interest in his expertise.”
“Alfred, you should have known better. This is career suicide, even if I don’t punish you.”
“I know,” Alfred said, soft.
“Bugger,” said Dean Kirkland. He slumped into his seat, at once exhausted. There was a betrayal, crumbling and bitter, in his eyes that made Matthew’s chest feel tight and wrong. But he didn’t let go of Alfred’s hand; he couldn’t.
“Damn it, Alfred,” the Dean said at last with a gruff, helpless sort of sigh. He rubbed his temples, elbows sliding forward on the desk. “Alfred, this is bad. It’s one thing to bat away the ridiculous amount of sexual harassment accusations from giggly freshmen girls taking that silly fop Bonnefoy’s class, but this is your first year. You’re young. Your education hasn’t been completed. Your professionalism being called into question will be the least of our worries-what if a parent hears of this? What do you think this’ll do to the application for admission rate?”
Alfred’s fingers pressed into Matthew’s wrist. “I know,” he said again, very quiet, trapped.
“Combined with your overzealous reputation for buddying up with students, this looks grossly inappropriate. The papers will have a field day-and you’d best believe it gets to the papers, because no one can keep their bloody mouth shut on this campus.”
Matthew wanted to hate him. He really did. But the Dean just looked sad now, like he knew what was coming and wanted nothing more to stop it, but couldn’t. “W-wait,” Matthew stuttered, reedy and weak.
“I’m sorry,” said Dean Kirkland. “I really, honestly am.”
Reply
Kiku looked up at the near-inaudible click of the door. “What happened?” he asked, scanning Matthew’s face in trepidation.
Matthew took off his jacket. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so he set it on the floor and then took off his shoes. He crawled into his bed, curling up under the blankets where it was safe.
“Matthew?”
His lips felt anesthetized, deadened. It was difficult to speak. “I’ll finish my independent study with Mr. Braginski. Apparently he knows a little something about astronomy, sort of a hobby. I can graduate with the other students.”
“Oh,” said Kiku. “Mr. Jones?”
The density of existing was too heavy. “Gone for a while,” said Matthew, rolling over to face the wall. “You’ll hear about it in class tomorrow.”
skljadls, this update was so crap, I’m sorry. And so late! I’ve been really bogged down with graduate school applications, but those are all out come Monday, and so I tried to buckle down and finish this update. Hope not to take so long with the others! Thank you so much if you’ve stuck with it, despite.
I asked a lot of people for their opinions on student-professor relationships and did some online research. The results are pretty varied; I went with the most common. You’ll find out more next time, sorry. D: And we get to see poor Yong Soo.
I… yeah. I fail at drama. Happy New Year’s, guys! Thank you for all the kind comments and helpful critiques-I so appreciate every single one. ♥
Reply
y-you keep on rockin' this is amazing and you are amazing. tears down my face ♥♥
Reply
god. I love this. and...this made my day. It's so amazing and I love your writing and god. You can have my first child and my heart in a glass jar. ;3; I love you.
Reply
(i have freaking amazing timing, tho. dayum)
I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE.
Reply
Leave a comment