Bennett wasn't quite sure what was going on in Jamie's head, but he had a few guesses. He'd seen this before—in himself.

He was going to murder Greg Archer. The department head was infamous for being volatile, and making a student cry over a printer jam was only the latest in a long string of incidents. Tenure be damned—Bennett would certainly be bringing this up with the university administration.

But first he had Jamie to attend to.

He'd been on his way to check his mailbox in the department office when he'd heard Greg's voice from the hall. When he'd caught sight of Jamie, standing immobile by the malfunctioning copier, it had felt like a punch to Bennett's gut.

Something was very, very wrong with Jamie. He had been staring past Greg's shoulder, like he wasn't really in the room, shivering as if it were the dead of winter. Greg emphasized a word and Jamie had flinched like he'd been hit.

Now, Bennett guided Jamie to his office and lowered him into the chair, shutting the door behind him. He crouched down beside Jamie, who was staring at the floor, still a million miles away.

His face was streaked with tears.

Bennett took Jamie's hand, his skin clammy, and Jamie flinched again but did not pull away.

"Jamie," Bennett said in a firm tone. "Jamie, can you hear me?"

Jamie blinked and looked slowly at Bennett, like the small movement took significant effort.

"Wha—oh—"

Bennett watched Jamie come back to himself, watched those beautiful hazel eyes go from glassy to Jamie again.

His breath was shaky, his face pale.

"You're okay," Bennett said softly. "You're safe."

Jamie moaned, pulling his hand out of Bennett's and hiding his face in his hands. Bennett stayed where he was, barely noticing the ache building in his bad leg.

"Oh god," Jamie said after a moment.

"Hey," Bennett said, putting a hand on Jamie's knee. "It's okay. You're fine. Just take a breath."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Bennett said quickly. "Take your time."

He stood up slowly, his leg protesting, and crossed his small office to turn the kettle on. He didn't want to just sit down in his own chair—that felt too distant—so he settled for leaning against his desk, watching Jamie closely.

After a while, Jamie drew a deep, shuddering breath and scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

He looked up at Bennett, his expression as raw and open as a wound. Bennett waited, not saying anything.

"Well, I feel stupid," Jamie said. He smiled weakly but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Don't say that," Bennett said, frowning. "Greg—Dr. Archer was completely out of line."

"Yeah, but crying because the copier broke is pretty embarrassing," Jamie said, wiping the back of his hand across his face. His voice was a little steadier now, but he still didn't sound like himself.

Bennett hesitated for a moment, then barreled on.

"There was something else going on, wasn't there?" Bennett said. "Something more than just the copier or Dr. Archer."

He was well aware of the delicious irony of him pressing for more information when he could barely talk about his issues to his closest friends.

Jamie's mouth opened and shut, and he looked away from Bennett, staring off into the distance. Bennett hated that hollow look in Jamie's eyes, and an ugly, irrational desire flashed in his gut to hurt whoever had done this to Jamie.

Bennett had all but given up on Jamie answering the question, but then—

"Yeah," Jamie said in a small voice, and he sighed. He hunched forward for a moment, elbows braced against his knees, like a runner catching his breath, and then stood up and moved to the window.

It was well and truly fall now, and the afternoon light slanted in, casting a burning halo around Jamie, illuminating his angular profile.

"I just… I… don't like it when people raise their voices," Jamie said softly, looking out at the campus. Though the seasons were shifting, it was still oddly warm, and the students on the quad hadn't yet disappeared underneath sweaters and coats for the winter.

Bennett waited for Jamie to continue. He felt, on instinct, that Jamie was pulling these words up from a well deep inside him, that Jamie couldn't rush it.

"My… my parents fought a bunch, back when I was a kid," he said, still looking out the window. He crossed his arms, hugging himself tightly. "Whenever people yell it just… reminds me of that and I… I… just freak out."

Bennett took a step closer. Jamie looked small and scared and so alone, and Bennett's heart ached.

"Sometimes I feel like… I'm just totally losing it," Jamie said, and he was so quiet now Bennett could barely hear him. "Like maybe I’m just like my mom after all—but it's like—it's like suddenly I'm not even in the room anymore, or I'm not in my body, I'm just watching myself, and I can't get back—"

He stopped himself, shaking his head and swallowing. He looked at Bennett now, and Bennett saw fresh tears welling in his eyes.

"Jamie," Bennett said softly, and he took another step forward, closing the distance between them. "You're not losing it—it's just the only way you learned to cope."

Such a clinical response—but Bennett couldn't quite manage to tell Jamie the truth, that Bennett had felt that awful untethering, that Bennett had been through dark places and emerged on the other side relatively intact—

That confession would be too close, too intimate, despite the fact that they were just inches apart, and Bennett could see the tears on Jamie's lashes, sparkling in the late autumn light.

"You're not broken, Jamie," Bennett said, and a tear spilled down Jamie's cheek. Bennett brought his hand to Jamie's face, brushing the wetness away with his thumb, and Jamie's hand flew up to meet Bennett's, holding it there.

"Thank you for saying that," Jamie said, his voice still shaky. "I—I barely even realized you were there and then—I just… didn't want you to think I was—a total freak—"

"Jamie—" Bennett said, and he could feel himself trembling, overwhelmed by the intense need to take away Jamie's pain. "I'd never think that—you're perfect—"

And those eyes—wide and innocent and hopeful, looking up at Bennett like he was the only person in the world—

Bennett leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jamie's, and he tasted of salt and strawberry lip balm. Jamie inhaled sharply and responded immediately, tilting his face up to meet Bennett, one hand curling in the fabric of Bennett's shirt and pulling him close.

The kiss was close-mouthed, almost chaste, and still it burned through Bennett, brightly as magnesium flare.

The kettle clicked off, and Bennett jerked back. Jamie was looking up at him, dazed, his lips parted.

"Oh—" Bennett said. Jamie's hand was still on his shirt, and they were still close enough that Bennett saw freckles dusted across Jamie's cheeks he'd never noticed before.

"Bennett—" Jamie gasped.

Bennett stepped back, putting a few feet of space between them. His blood was singing, his whole being electrified.

"I’m so sorry," Bennett said. Jamie slowly brought his hands to his lips, as if he were dreaming.

"Don't be sorry—" Jamie said.

"Jamie—we—I shouldn't have done that—"

Jamie frowned.

"Fuck, Bennett," he said. "Are you really doing this? Can't you just—can't we just—"

"You should go—"

Jamie's face fell, shattering into confusion and anger.

"What?"

"I think—we—you—" Bennett stammered.

"Fine," Jamie said, his face hardening. "I'll go."

"Jamie—"

"Oh, shut up," Jamie snapped, and he stomped out of the office, slamming the door so hard behind him the window rattled.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Bennett thought, running a hand through his hair. He'd fucked up, then fucked up some more. A braver man would have run after Jamie—but Bennett stayed where he was, staring at the closed door, as if he could reverse time by sheer force of will.

He sank down into his chair and buried his face in his hands. He truly, deeply hated himself in that moment. Jamie deserved better than someone who could barely hold themselves together, who was hot and cold and couldn't tell Jamie every minute of every day how wonderful he was.

Bennett was too scared to be with Jamie, but too scared to let him go.

He'd completely overstepped—no matter how mature Jamie was, Bennett was in a position of authority, and he'd abused that. He felt slimy and low, so ashamed of himself he couldn't even fathom telling Peter, who would never really judge him.

When he finally stopped wallowing in self-loathing long enough to get ready to go, he realized that dark clouds had rolled over the city, flinging fat raindrops down. Linfield's weather was predictably unpredictable. He limped home in the rain, and he was soon soaking wet and shivering. It felt like some sort of penance.

He thought of Jamie biking home and hoped he was someplace warm and dry.

* * *

>>BENNETT: We need to talk.

The reply came almost instantly.

>>JAMIE: a little dramatic dont you think

Bennett sighed and was about to respond when another text arrived.

>>JAMIE: but yes

>>JAMIE: your office? Im free now

>>BENNETT: I'll see you soon.

Bennett drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for Jamie. There was no point in trying to get any work done. Last night, he'd broken down and taken a sleeping pill as soon as he'd gotten home, unable to bear the thought of staring up at his ceiling thinking about what he'd done. Instead, he'd slept for twelve hours and woke up feeling like he hadn't slept at all.

It had been raining nonstop since yesterday, a chill, brutal drizzle that turned the city gray. It matched Bennett's mood.

The door opened, and Bennett straightened up. Jamie was standing there, his hair slightly damp, and he pushed it out of his eyes as he shut the door behind him and dropped into the seat.

"So," Jamie said, looking at Bennett and raising one eyebrow.

Bennett drew a deep breath and launched into the speech he'd been mentally composing the whole morning.

"Jamie, I need to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was completely out of line and an abuse of power. I’m so sorry for taking advantage of—"

"Bennett—" Jamie interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him.

Bennett flinched at his name on Jamie's lips, at how good it felt, how right.

"Look, I've had a really shitty couple of days, and I don't have the energy for your self-flagellation, or whatever this is," Jamie said, leaning back in his chair.

Bennett frowned.

"Jamie, this is serious," he said.

Jamie groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh my god," he said. "It was a kiss, not a bank robbery. Just—Jesus, why do you have to make everything into such a thing?"

Bennett hadn't seen Jamie like this before, his eyes almost amber and flashing with anger.

"It is a thing," Bennett snapped, his temper flaring. Jamie was a bright kid—Bennett shouldn't have to spell out why Bennett's behavior had been so shameful. "It was completely inappropriate and—"

"Do you like me?" Jamie said, and Bennett was so surprised he immediately shut up. Jamie leaned forward. "Like, are you attracted to me?"

Bennett stammered for a moment, but Jamie held his gaze, as if daring him to look away, daring him to lie.

"Yes," Bennett said after a moment. Jamie's expression remained neutral.

"If I weren't your TA, would you still have gone on that date with me?"

Bennett couldn't stop his short, sharp laugh.

"Yes," Bennett said. Christ, Bennett thought, did Jamie not realize the effect he had on Bennett?

Jamie nodded, as if he were mulling this over, and after a moment he slumped down his chair. He ran his hands through his hair.

Bennett watched Jamie carefully.

"Jamie," he said cautiously. "Can you… tell me what you're thinking?"

"I'm thinking," Jamie said, looking back up at Bennett, "that I'm like, totally fucked up over you, okay? I've wanted to kiss you since the night I met you and then I finally do and you act like I have the plague."

He leaned forward, and again he buried his hand in his hair, pulling at it—it was clearly a compulsive, nervous habit, and Bennett wanted to grab his wrist and gently guide his hand away.

"It's like—I get it, okay? We've fucking talked about this before, I know it's—I know nothing can happen—" Jamie's words were spilling out now, tumbling out of his mouth. "And then you just seemed so distant, and I thought, okay, maybe he's over it, and then even after I have this super embarrassing meltdown, you were so nice and telling me all this shit I needed to hear and then you kissed me, and it totally broke my brain—"

"Jamie," Bennett said softly, cutting him off. Jamie sighed and sat up straight, releasing his grip on his hair.

"What?"

"I'm sorry if I was giving you… mixed signals," Bennett said. He drew a breath, shoring up the confidence to continue, to give Jamie the honesty he deserved. "The truth is, I've been… terrified this whole semester. You're… you're amazing, Jamie, and I clearly can't control myself around you—"

Bennett faltered. Jamie's face had gone through a whole spectrum of emotions in their short conversation, and he sat completely still now, barely breathing, like he couldn't believe what Bennett was saying. His face was almost reverent, and it was all Bennett could do to keep himself from vaulting over the desk and kissing him again.

"You mean that?" he said.

Bennett snorted.

"Jesus Christ, Jamie," Bennett said, shaking his head. "You don't know what you do to me, do you?" It was a rhetorical question, but Jamie's whole face lit up like sunshine.

They were quiet for a moment, just regarding each other.

"So… where do we go from here?" Jamie said.

"We don't go anywhere," Bennett said, and Jamie looked down, nodding.

"That's what I thought," he said.

"It's not—Jamie, please don't think this is… any reflection on you," Bennett said. "If… if the circumstances were different. I could lose my job if—"

"I get it," Jamie said. "Like, really, you don't have to explain it to me."

Bennett sighed again. His chest felt heavy, like his lungs had been turned to iron.

"Okay," he said.

"So…" Jamie said, again looking up at Bennett through the fringe of his lashes, a sly smile growing on his face that went straight to Bennett's cock. "What about… what about after the semester ends?"

Bennett closed his eyes for a moment, trying to fight back the rush that went through his whole body.

"I don't think it's a good idea to… think like that," he said slowly, trying to choose his words carefully.

"Why not?" Jamie said, like he knew exactly what Bennett was thinking.

"Because… I don't think I'd be able to…. interact with you appropriately if I were counting down until the semester ended."

Jamie's smile grew large and victorious.

"Well," he said, sitting up. "We'll just wait and see then, won't we." He raised an eyebrow.

"Jamie, please," Bennett pleaded. He'd only managed to fuel the fire, and there was no way he'd be able to resist if Jamie kept up like this all semester. "I need you to not… be like that."

"Be like what?" Jamie said.

"Like… this," Bennett said, gesturing helplessly at Jamie. "Flirting with me."

Jamie paused a moment as if he were taking Bennett's plea into consideration.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, deflating slightly.

"Thank you, Jamie."

Jamie was looking down at the floor again. Outside, the rain, which had been battering the window all day, had stopped.

"It's… probably best for you to go," Bennett said.

"Kicking me out again?" Jamie said dryly.

"If you stay, I'm likely to try and kiss you again," Bennett said.

"Maybe I should stay then," Jamie said, glancing up. Bennett gave him a stern look. "Oh, fine."

Jamie stood up and went to the door, but paused with his hand on the handle.

"Thank you," Jamie said. "For… being honest with me. It… means a lot to me."

"Goodbye, Jamie," Bennett said, his voice catching in his throat, and then Jamie was gone.

* * *

That night, Bennett sat at his kitchen table, staring at the empty screen in front of him. There was some combination of words, he knew, that would begin to heal things, but his mind was unhelpfully blank, and he felt like he was fumbling in the dark. Writing had always come easily for him, and to be so profoundly blocked felt like he was missing a sense or a limb.

He rubbed his leg absentmindedly, tracing the scar pattern. He felt oddly at peace about things with Jamie—perhaps his self-loathing had simply burned itself out, but telling the truth, admitting his feelings, seemed to have helped a little.

And god—Jamie. How strange, after the confrontation with Dr. Archer, to see the fear and panic Bennett had so often felt reflected on someone else's face, to feel so close and yet so far as he watched Jamie go through hell and back.

Jamie hadn't given specifics, but it was clear he'd gone through something—or some things—seriously traumatic as a child.

And yet, he wasn't broken and twisted and useless like Bennett. Jamie was all love and light and energy, despite whatever had happened. Jamie deserved someone better, someone capable of loving him the way he ought to be loved, but for some reason, he wanted Bennett.

And Bennett wanted him.

Bennett looked at his computer, tracing the keys absently with his finger. It had been hard for him to want to heal, but now things had shifted. He wanted to be a better person for Jamie, who was so strong and resilient, and while Bennett knew he shouldn't want to fix himself for someone else, perhaps it was at least a way to start the process.

He put his head in his hands and finally allowed himself to think about what happened.

It felt like approaching a caged animal in the corner of his mind—the memories had been there, growling in the darkness, and he could see their eyes glinting malevolently whenever he glanced in their direction, all fangs and claws. In the past, he'd always looked away quickly, even when they rattled the bars of the cage, demanding to be let out, to be seen.

Now, though, he didn't run away.

The first thing he thought about was daylight, of feeling the sun warm on his pale skin after two months in darkness. A firm grip on his upper arm, steadying him, as he squinted up at the sky—had it been so blue before?

He thought about the cold, hard muzzle of a gun nestled against his back, knocking against his spine—how the first time, fear had sung through the marrow of his bones, how by the end it felt familiar, expected.

He thought about a hand reaching out for his in the darkness, the connection keeping him anchored, clinging to each other. How strange, for the electric white-blue buzz of fear to blend in with boredom, his world reduced to darkness and hunger and the soft sounds of someone else crying.

Bennett was jolted back to the present, and he realized now his own face was streaked with tears. He had no idea how much time had passed, and he stood up so quickly his chair almost toppled over. He bolted to the kitchen sink, gripping the counter to keep himself upright as he leaned over and threw up.

When his stomach had been cleaned out and so had the sink, Bennett went to the bathroom. His hands were shaking so hard it took him several tries to open the pill bottle. He felt like he was racing a storm cloud, trying to find shelter before the first drops of rain fell, and he crawled into bed, curling up on his side and waiting for drug-induced sleep or a panic attack, whichever came first.

* * *

Time passed strangely, the weeks punctuated by the bright light of Jamie's presence, of the moments they spent in Bennett's office. They'd both stopped using grading as an excuse, and now Jamie stopped by between classes, having memorized Bennett's schedule apparently. Bennett quickly got used to the sight of Jamie with his feet tucked under him on the chair, sipping from a steaming mug of coffee and frowning down at whatever homework he was doing.

Jamie, mercifully, was making an effort not to flirt with Bennett, though it seemed that often times he just couldn't help himself. The unspoken current of attraction between them was still there, simmering beneath the surface. In a way, these quiet, innocent moments with Jamie were enough—almost enough, Bennett told himself over and over.

If this was the only way he could have Jamie, he'd take it.

He'd thrown himself into his work, trying to repair the damage he'd done with his run-in with Greg Archer. He'd only have a shot at tenure if the rest of his performance was impeccable.

Peter had been grumbling that Bennett had all but disappeared, and he wasn't wrong. On a Friday, Bennett had just made it home and was preparing for a night of absolutely mind-numbing reality television when his phone lit up.

>>PETER: Get dressed, darling, we're coming to kidnap you.

>>BENNETT: …Do I have to?

>>PETER: Participation is mandatory.

>>PETER: Mo has been bereft without you.

Bennett snorted. Only Peter would use a word like bereft in a text message and somehow make it work, and he doubted it was Mo who'd been bereft without him.

>>BENNETT: Right. Well tell Mo I'll be ready in twenty then.

He absolutely did not want to go out that night, but he could read between the lines of Peter's text messages. Bennett had a tendency to withdraw when things got bad mentally, and Peter was concerned.

And, sure enough, when he got into the car, Peter, who was in the passenger seat, twisted around and narrowed his eyes, like he was searching for something in Bennett's face.

"How have you been? You look good," Peter said, almost suspiciously.

"Sorry to disappear," Bennett said, buckling his seatbelt. "I've just been busy."

"Writing?"

Bennett paused.

"Well… no. Not yet. Getting there—soon, I think."

Peter reached back, his arm twisted at an awkward angle, and squeezed Bennett's knee once.

"You know you can talk to me," he said, and Bennett nodded, avoiding his friend's gaze and looking out the window at the lights of Linfield whipping past. Peter was one of the only people Bennett had talked to about the whole thing—he probably knew more than Michelle had ever known.

No wonder she'd divorced him—he couldn't blame her.

"Peter," Mo said softly.

"Ugh," Peter said dramatically, his usual impish smile firmly back in place. "Mo made me promise not to harass you. I just love you and want to make sure you know that."

"I do," Bennett said, raising an eyebrow. "And I'm sure you'll tell me many more times tonight as you get drunk."

Peter placed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt.

Mo and Bennett spent the rest of the car ride trading stories of things Peter had done while drunk while Peter squawked in indignation.

"How do you find these places, Peter?" Bennett said when they'd arrived. "It's so… cool." He didn't even know what neighborhood they were in. The bar was almost intimidatingly trendy—Bennett half thought some young bouncer with a septum piercing might kick him out for being too old and lame.

"Magic," Peter said. "Also Yelp. It's only been open for a few months but it's the place to go."

Bennett rolled his eyes. His own tastes tended towards dive bars, or, preferably, his own couch, but Peter certainly did have a sixth sense for seeking out the trendiest places to be.

They got their drinks and sat down—craft beer for Mo, an elaborate cocktail with ingredients Bennett had never even heard of for Peter, and water for Bennett. He'd briefly considered drinking—it would probably be fine, but he still didn't quite trust himself.

Bennett found himself relaxing. Mo was telling some outlandish story about a surgeon who'd nearly removed the wrong internal organ, in his neutral, deadpan way, which only made the whole thing more ridiculous.

"So, Bennett," Mo said as Peter wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. "How is the semester going?"

"Good, I think," Bennett said, and Peter snorted. "Busy."

"Any news on the tenure front?" Peter said, sitting forward and taking a sip of his drink—he was on his third now, each different from the last.

"Er—about that," Bennett said. "I may have… fucked that up a bit."

"Oh god, what did you do?" Peter said.

"Well, you know the department head? The one who calls me Ben?"

Bennett relayed a sanitized story of his argument with Greg, leaving out that the student involved had been Jamie—and leaving out what had happened afterwards. He still hadn't told Peter about the kiss. He knew Peter would either be ashamed of him or encouraging—and in a way, he was more concerned about the latter. It was already taking all of his resolve to maintain the boundaries between him and his TA, and the last thing he needed was someone telling him that perhaps sleeping with his TA wouldn't be the worst thing.

"So…" Bennett said, finishing up his story. "That's why I probably won't get tenure. But honestly if that means I'm not stuck working with Greg Archer for the rest of my life, it might not be the worst thing."

"And how are things going with your TA?" Peter said in an odd voice, cocking his head. He wasn't quite meeting Bennett's gaze.

"Fine," Bennett said flatly.

"Would you say… he's the best TA you've ever had?" Peter said and Bennett narrowed his eyes.

"Er… well, he's also the only TA I've had, so, sure," Bennett said. Peter was grinning broadly, a very suspicious smile that Bennett had long ago learned not to trust.

"Why are you acting like that?" Bennett said, frowning. Mo was smiling, too, which was deeply concerning. "You two are making me very uncomfortable."

"He just sounds like a great kid from what you've told us about him," Peter said innocently, and Bennett realized Peter wasn't avoiding Bennett's gaze—he was looking at something behind Bennett. Bennett twisted around.

"Jamie?" Bennett said, brow furrowing in surprise.

Jamie was standing there, his grin wide and loose from alcohol.

"Don't stop on my account," he said cheerfully. Bennett looked back at Peter and Mo, who were cracking up.

"You two are terrible," he said.

And, to his horror and delight, Jamie clambered unsteadily onto the extra stool at their table.

"So," he said, resting his hand on his chin and batting his eyes at Bennett. "You were saying something about having the best TA?"

"What are you doing here?" Bennett stammered.

"It's my birthday," Jamie said brightly. "I’m twenty-one. I can drink now!"

"Oh my god," Bennett said, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Jamie—happy birthday, but I think it's best if you went back to your table—"

"I'm Jamie," Jamie said, bulldozing over Bennett and extending his hand across the table. "I'm Professor Marlowe's TA."

"Peter," said Peter as he shook Jamie's hand. It felt like they were making a pact to torture Bennett. "I'm the best friend."

"Ex-best friend," Bennett grumbled. "Jamie… you should go."

"What?" Jamie said, turning sharply to Bennett. "Come on. Please?"

His eyes were wide and bright and beautiful. Bennett sighed.

"Oh, fine," he said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

"I'm Mohammed," Mo said, shaking Jamie's hand too, as if Bennett weren't currently withering to dust next to him. "I'm the husband to the best friend."

"Nice to meet you," Jamie said. "I think… I think I've seen you two before—"

Bennett's stomach clenched. The last thing he needed right now was a reminder of the night they'd met—the lines were already too blurred—

"Bennett has a picture of you two in his office," Jamie said, and Bennett relaxed.

Peter grinned triumphantly.

"Ha," he said. "I knew you loved us."

"Yes, emphasis on the past tense," Bennett said.

"What picture is it?" Peter asked.

"It's the one from your trip to Bermuda."

"Oh, that's such a cute one," Peter beamed.

"It is very cute," Jamie said.

"So Jamie," Peter said. "Tell us about yourself."

Jamie looked at Bennett, who held up his hands in defeat. Jamie grinned broadly.

"Well," he said. "I’m a junior at Bellamy—"

"No, no," Peter said. "Start at the beginning. Life story, go—"

"Hmm," Jamie said. "The very beginning?"

"Well, you can fast forward through gestation and delivery," Peter said wryly.

"Thank god," Jamie said. "I don't remember much of that."

"I like him," Peter said to Bennett, laughing, and Bennett felt an odd glow of pride.

"Well, I'm from Welch, Georgia, which is this tiny nothing town in the middle of nowhere. We have two and a half stoplights—"

"How do you have half a stoplight?" Peter asked.

"Well, it's a stoplight, but it just blinks yellow all the time, so I don't count it as a full stoplight. When I was a really little kid I had a pet tadpole that I found in the creek, but it died because it turned into a frog and I didn't know it needed to be able to crawl up on something to breathe. I was really fucked up about it for a long time. My elementary school had a hundred people but three different sets of identical twins, and my grandma's won Best in Show for her canning at the county fair every year since 1972."

Peter blinked, then burst out laughing.

"I changed my mind—I don't like him, I adore him," Peter said. Jamie smiled broadly. "That's fascinating."

It took Bennett a moment to identify the pang he felt as jealousy—he hadn't known any of that, but he wished he had. He wished he'd been the one to ask. They'd spent so much time together, and Bennett realized now he'd been so afraid of his feelings for Jamie that he'd rejected the times Jamie tried to share himself, his life.

"What about you?" Jamie asked.

Jamie and Peter were a dangerous combination, that much was clear—they got along far too well. They chatted, seeming to forget that Bennett was even there, and Bennett didn't mind. He allowed himself to just look at Jamie, to drink in the delicate arch of his cheekbones, the fluttering of his hands as he gestured, the shadow of his throat where Bennett could see his pulse beating.

Bennett longed to run his tongue along the thin skin there, to feel Jamie's heartbeat against his lips.

Jamie was leaning forward, listening to Mo talk about how he and Peter had met. It was a story Bennett had heard a hundred times before, but it was adorable. Peter had fallen ill while on an assignment in Cairo, where Mo was working. According to Mo, Peter, out of his mind with fever, had grabbed Mo's hand and insisted they were soulmates and had proposed on the spot.

Peter, of course, insisted that being right about being soulmates meant he was right about everything.

"That's so lovely," Jamie said dreamily. "What a whirlwind romance."

"It was," Peter said, and he looked over at Mo, grabbing his hand. "It is."

Jamie looked at Bennett then, and Bennett's heart caught in his throat. Mo and Peter were busy gazing at one another, still lovestruck after almost ten years, and for a moment it felt like Bennett and Jamie were alone.

"I'm sure you get this all the time—" Mo said, and the spell was broken. Jamie snapped his focus back to Mo, leaving Bennett feeling empty. "But do you know what you want to do after school?"

"That's… a good question," Jamie said, running his hand through his hair. "I just… want to get out. Travel. See the world. Experience things."

"That's a good goal," Peter said, nodding approvingly.

"I've never even seen the ocean," Jamie said. "I was totally obsessed with it as a kid—I had all these books about sea creatures and stuff. My mom always said she'd take me one day, because she'd never been either, but—"

Jamie bit his lip, looking down at the table.

"Anyway, I've been kind of thinking lately about… photography," he said. "Like… maybe for… a magazine or something like that… I dunno, I know it's kind of a long shot and it's stupid but—"

"No," Bennett said, and the three of them looked at him, startled—it was the first thing he'd said in almost half an hour. "You could do it."

Jamie gave Bennett that look again, that mix of wonder and hope that made Bennett want to pull him in for a crushing kiss.

"You think?" he asked, suddenly shy.

"Absolutely," Bennett said. "The photos you showed me—you could absolutely do that for a living." He flushed slightly at his own acknowledgement of that night on the smoking patio, the intimacy of having Jamie tethered to him by the strap of the camera, face softly illuminated by its bright display.

"Wow," Jamie said, rather breathlessly. "Thanks."

They were both blushing now, and Jamie stood up quickly.

"Well, um, I better get going," Jamie said brightly. "It was nice to meet you."

And with that, he was gone.

When Bennett turned back to the table, Peter was giving him a wide, knowing smile.

"What?" Bennett said, glaring at his friend.

"Someone's got a crush," Peter said.

"Believe me, I know—I've tried to enforce boundaries but he's—"

"I didn't mean him," Peter said.

"What?"

"I mean you," Peter said. He took a sip of his drink. "You should have seen your face. I'm not sure I've ever seen you look at someone like that, even Michelle."

Bennett winced at his ex-wife's name.

"What are you talking about?" he said, frowning at his friend. Peter set his drink down.

"You were looking at him like…" Peter glanced up as if the ceiling might hold the right metaphor. "Like he's the sun and you're the moon. You looked happy, Bennett."

Bennett's face was on fire and he looked down on the table so Peter wouldn't see.

"Don't be ridiculous," Bennett said. His throat felt tight, each breath a struggle, and his limbs suddenly seemed the wrong size, awkward and unfamiliar.

"Goddamnit, Bennett," Peter said, slapping his hand down on the table, making their glasses rattle. Bennett's head snapped up. Peter's gaze was fierce, and though he was definitely drunk, Bennett could tell he would have said all of this sober. "Why don't you just… let yourself have something good?"

Bennett gaped.

"He's—I can't—he's my student—"

"Not really," Peter said. "Besides, the semester's half over. After that…"

"I can't believe you're encouraging this," Bennett said, and Peter rolled his eyes. "It's a serious abuse of power—"

"Jesus Christ, Bennett," Peter said, bringing a hand to his forehead like he was getting a headache from arguing with him. "It's not ideal, but he's twenty-one—give him some agency."

Bennett looked helplessly at Mo, who pursed his lips, thinking.

"I have to side with Peter on this one," Mo said in a measured tone. "It's been… difficult watching you these past few years. You've been so… lonely. And Peter's right, you did look happy."

Mo reached out and put his hand over Bennett's. It was startling—Mo was much more reserved than Peter, especially when it came to physical touch. He squeezed it once and withdrew.

"Can we—can we please talk about something else?" Bennett said weakly. Peter regarded him through narrowed eyes for a long moment.

"Fine," he relented, though he didn't look pleased.

* * *

Despite that hiccup, the rest of the night went well. Bennett had been so close to telling Peter and Mo about the kiss, but he stopped himself at the last minute. He could claim it would be improper for him to be involved with his TA—and it would be improper—but that wasn't the real reason he was shying away from his feelings for Jamie.

He'd never make Peter understand that Jamie deserved someone better. Peter was operating under the extremely misguided notion that Bennett was a decent human being, but Jamie, Bennett knew, should have someone stronger. Someone whole.

He excused himself to go to the bathroom, and when he left, he bumped into someone in the hall.

"This is giving me déjà vu," the person said, and Bennett looked down to find Jamie all but in his arms.

"Jamie," Bennett said. Jamie grinned up at him.

"I'm like… really drunk," Jamie said, and Bennett certainly wouldn't argue with that—his voice was slurred and slippery, like mossy river rocks, and he seemed unsteady on his feet. "This is the first time I've ever been drunk, did you know that?"

"I didn't," Bennett said, trying to step back and put space between them, but Jamie closed the distance between them again, bringing a hand to Bennett's chest and curling his fingers in the fabric of his shirt—just like they had the day they kissed.

"It's… nice," Jamie said. "I feel all… loose and like… cottony, you know."

"Drink water or you're going to discover the joys of a hangover tomorrow morning," Bennett said. "Though that's kind of a rite of passage for your twenty-first birthday."

"Bennett," Jamie said, and it came out almost as a whine.

"What?"

"I just… I just like you so much, you know?" He was frowning with that single-minded concentration that only the profoundly drunk have.

"Oh, god, Jamie—" Bennett said. "Look, you're drunk, we shouldn't—"

"Hey," Jamie said, much louder than necessary. They weren't even moving but his balance was off, and Bennett tightened his grip on Jamie's upper arms to steady him. "Just because I'm drunk doesn’t mean it's not what I think—"

"Yes, but—"

"You remember the night we met?" Jamie said, changing subjects suddenly.

"Er, yes—"

"I wanted to kiss you so bad then," Jamie said. "You're so fucking smart and interesting and hot and like—holy shit, you know?"

Their bodies were so close, Jamie hot against him, and Bennett's cock was responding accordingly.

"Jamie—"

"Do you still like me?' Jamie demanded, eyes wide, expression almost plaintive.

"What?" Bennett said, startled by the question.

"Do you still like me?" Jamie said, sounding frustrated. "I know we can't be together, I get it, I get it—but like, I still am just so into you and I just—I can't even tell if—"

He stopped himself, blinking up at Bennett.

Fuck it, Bennett thought. He probably won't even remember tonight.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Of course I do, Jamie," Bennett said. "Don't you know how hard this semester has been? Don't you know how much I want you?"

Jamie's smile then was like the first flowers after the snow thawed, and Bennett was bathed in its warmth.

"I do now," he said, tilting his face up to kiss Bennett—and using every last bit of his willpower, Bennett pulled away.

"Jamie," he said in a warning tone, and Jamie grumbled unsteadily. "I'm taking you back to your friends."

"Yeah, whatever," Jamie said, but he allowed Bennett to turn him and guide him back down the hallway to the main room. "They're over there." He gestured vaguely towards the other side of the room from where Bennett had been sitting with Mo and Peter.

"There you are," a voice said, and then Jamie was climbing into an empty seat at one of the tables. The table was littered with empty drinks. "I see you made another friend."

"This is Professor Marlowe," Jamie said, leaning back in his seat so far Bennett had to catch him to keep him from tipping over. "This is Kit and Milo."

"Hi," Bennett said, nodding at them. "Jamie's… rather drunk—I wanted to make sure he made it back safely."

"That's very kind of you," Kit said.

The one with the dark hair—Milo—looked vaguely familiar, and Bennett thought he might have seen him somewhere before.

"Have we met?" Bennett said to him.

"Um, not really," Milo said, his eyes wide. "But I've seen you around campus—I'm in the writing department too. Jamie's told us all about you."

"Ah, yes," Bennett said, grimacing. He made a mental note to talk with Jamie about that when he was less incapacitated.

"He's such a good teacher," Jamie gushed, lolling his head back to look at Bennett. "He's a genius."

"That's quite enough of that," Bennett said. He turned to Kit, who looked relatively sober. "You'll make sure he gets home safely?"

Kit smiled warmly.

"Of course. He's getting cut off—" Jamie squawked in protest. "—and he's staying at Milo's house tonight. We'll make sure he drinks plenty of water."

Bennett felt a completely unwarranted stab of jealousy. He had no idea what Milo and Jamie were to each other, but for a brief moment he had a vision of Milo in bed with Jamie, holding him as he slept.

All this, despite Jamie having all but professed his love for Bennett in the hallway just a moment ago.

The thought made Bennett feel petty and small—Jamie wanted him, and though he wouldn’t—or couldn't—give himself to Jamie, Bennett apparently wanted no one else to have him either.

"Great," Bennett said, forcing a smile. "I'll see you on Monday, Jamie. Happy birthday."

"Happy birthday to you too," Jamie said, and Bennett couldn't help laughing as he made his way back to Mo and Peter.

* * *

Instead of falling asleep, he thought of Jamie.

Since he'd run into Jamie in the hallway, since Jamie had pressed his body against Bennett, all warm and pliant, Bennett had been half-hard. But now that he was alone, his bed large and cold and empty, his cock was throbbing insistently, aching for attention.

Oh, fuck it, Bennett thought, sliding his hand down his body to massage his cock through the fabric of his underwear.

He palmed his cock and allowed his mind free rein.

Instantly, he returned in his mind to the hallway of the bar, but this time instead of pulling away from Jamie, Bennett inclined his head and kissed Jamie, hard and fierce and wild, the way he'd been craving for weeks now.

In his fantasy, Jamie clung to him, rocking their hips together, and in reality, Bennett roughly jerked his underwear down and stroked his cock in earnest. He imagined yanking Jamie into the bathroom, pressing him up against the wall—

Bennett's breath was coming in short, jagged gasps now as he stroked himself, thinking of fucking Jamie against the bathroom wall, imagining his lips pressed against Jamie's neck, their fingers tangling together—he could almost hear the high, pleading noises Jamie would make, how Jamie's ass would feel, clenching tight as he came with Bennett's cock buried inside him—

Bennett's orgasm was quick and hard, and he cried out loudly as he spilled into his hand. It was nowhere near as satisfying as sex, and when he collapsed back onto his bed, one hand still on his softening cock, he felt more alone than ever.

Jesus Christ, Bennett thought. He caught his breath and then cleaned himself up quickly. He couldn't quite bring himself to feel ashamed of what he'd done. He was sure that would come with the daylight, was sure he'd hate himself the next time he saw Jamie, but for now—

He wanted Jamie.

He wanted to fuck Jamie, to make Jamie come, to see Jamie with his head tossed back and lips parted, drowning in pleasure. But he also wanted to hold Jamie, and talk to him, and wake up the next morning with Jamie sleep-warmed and soft in his bed beside him.

And that was far bigger problem than simple lust.