William

I can't seem to make myself leave. I tap my desk with my pen for what feels like hours before I finally gather my things. Walking home is floating.

That evening I drift through my routine. I feed my cat, pet him, watch movies streaming on Netflix, and think. In a prison of my own sin, I think. He doesn't think I'm hurting him, but I am.

This isn't going to go anywhere. Eventually he'll have to leave for grad school, and then what?

Am I worrying about heartbreak for him or for me?

I don't even know why I'm hesitating anymore. What I want is within my grasp. The question is whether I want to want it.

The next morning, Ethan is there. From the way he looks and carries himself, you'd think we hadn't…indulged ourselves too much already. He's even cleaned up his style of dress a little, putting on unripped jeans and a button-down shirt. He's still slim and slender and perfectly formed, his jeans so tight they seem to want to suck themselves up his ass.

I manage to keep my eyes from him, from his luscious form, sinuous and strong and muscled like a dancer but light and begging for strong hands. I give lectures, I collect assignments. Ethan sits in my office with the door open and grades the simple ones for me while I deal with students who are already trickling in during my office hours to complain or offer excuses.

When he's there I'm less rough with them, my tongue less sharp, my tone more understanding. Except with the one girl who tells me she has to miss class because her aunt's parakeet died.

I have limits.

All is well through the next day and Thursday.

Then Ethan shows up for my night class.

Technically, he's not supposed to be here, and he's walking…oddly. Just enough that I notice, and he must be doing something on purpose because he notices that I noticed. Some kind of tease, I wonder.

Is he testing the waters already?

He sits in the corner of the classroom—this is an introductory class, and a long one, nothing for him really to do. He's working on something of his own, I think scribbling with a book propped on his leg while I lecture. He could do that on his own in his dormitory. I don't need him to pass out syllabi, though he does it anyway.

When I send the class off for a lunch break he smirks at me.

“So, where?” he says, carefully choosing his words.

“Not sure what you mean,” I say, giving him a sharp scowl.

“You know what I mean,” he says casually, as if talking to his homework.

“Ethan,” I say, in a warning tone. “Don't push. I need dinner. Heading to the cafeteria.”

He looks up. “I brought mine.”

He fishes a paper bag and a can of diet soda from his messenger bag and moves to one of the tables along the side of the room to eat.

I drift down to the dining hall, which stays open late on Thursdays. My card gives me free food privileges, not that I partake much. It's free, but whether any of this qualifies as food is debatable.

After I toss one of the packaged sandwiches on a tray and swipe my card, Rebecca finds me. She must have been eating.

“I told you to email,” I say, coolly.

“I know, but I just spotted you here. Night class?”

“Night class,” I agree.

“I have all the stuff. Can I come by during office hours tomorrow?”

“Yes, you know when—”

“Two to five, right?”

“Yes,” I say. “It's Friday, though. Shouldn't you be out socializing if you're free?”

She blows a lock of hair out of her face and snorts. “Oh, come on.”

“Fine, fine,” I sigh. “I'll be there, eager to see it.”

She blinks a few times. “Eager?”

“I said eager,” I growl and stalk off.

I take my tray back up to the classroom…forgetting that Ethan is there.

“We're having a visitor tomorrow,” I tell him as I sit down.

He looks at me but says nothing, continuing to eat.

“Rebecca, about the honor society.”

“Am I going on the trip?”

“If I decide to sponsor and set this up,” I sigh. “Yes. But—”

“The rules, rules,” he mutters.

“Tomorrow we'll talk privately,” I say, wondering if he'll realize it's a sort of code.

He glances my way with a slight smirk.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees, as if it were the least interesting thing in the world.

The students are back, quickly. The pace of an evening lecture like this is faster. The students tend to be older; many are working adults and are here to fulfill a requirement for a more focused degree. They're still here. My standards are the same.

At nine forty-five sharp, despite the looks I've already gotten from some of the students, I dismiss. They file out while I pack away my things; none linger to eyeball me or ask questions or try to be ingratiating. I give the older students curt nods; I was once a 21-year-old in a class of freshmen myself. I will be a little more lenient for genuine excuses—kids issues, that sort of thing.

Ethan is still here. He falls in beside me.

“Good night,” I tell him.

“That's all I get?” he mutters, eyeing me.

“Don't push,” I warn him.

I duck into the stairwell and outside. Ethan's dorm is across the street, not far. We’re alone; Thursday night is party night on this campus and everyone is tucked in somewhere, getting themselves or the nearest handy freshman properly soused. Ethan's eyes remain locked on me, his expression searching.

“I said tomorrow,” I say.

“I heard,” he said. “I heard.”

He steps past me towards his sleeping quarters and stops. He bends at the hips, keeping his legs straight as he reaches down to re-tie his shoe. I rush past, not wanting to be seen eyeing him. When he bends, the outline of something round becomes visible in the seat of his pants, and I gasp.

He…he has something up his ass.

Ethan stands to his full height, stretches, and gives me a look that would set stone ablaze like kindling before he strides rapidly across the street.

Heart pounding, I walk through the college center building, taking a shortcut through the air conditioning to the far side. Then past the facing freshman dorms, down the street, and around the corner. The neon sign for Lou's Sandwich Shop, the campus fixture of greasy cheesesteaks and overstuffed subs and all things of the Freshman Fifteen, illuminates the entrance to my building in deep shadows and sallow light, like the setting of a bad noir.

Back in the apartment, I set my things aside and stare at the remaining, unbuilt bookshelves. They can wait; I only have three left. The place is almost livable. I have a couch coming next week. Moving past the bean bag, I step into the kitchen, feed Erebus, mix and drink a protein shake, and then go off to collapse into bed. My cat follows lazily after, so as not to think he cares too much, and crawls on top of my legs, where he'll sleep until something prompts him to wake up and sing the song of his people at three AM.

If he does, I sleep through it.

Ethan is waiting for me outside of my office the next morning. I have the same course load as Monday and Wednesday, and so does he; he collects and sorts the assignments from my first class, deposits them in my office, and goes off to his own class, all with nary a word but many a glance, his eyes smoldering beneath the fringe of his dark hair.

I wonder if he knows how much I want to grab hold of that hair and pull. I think he does. Whenever I look he scrubs a finger through it. I don't know how he does it, perfect hair like that. Like a shampoo commercial, and his skin, so smooth and flawless and pale no matter how much sun he gets.

It's an effort to banish thought of him from my mind while I teach the next section, but I manage. The ebb and flow of the lecture keeps me focused, and the students are on the ball today, asking and answering questions.

Ethan falls in beside me as I head to my office and doesn't protest when I leave the door open for my allotted hours. He sits in his chair and takes the papers he's collected, sifting them into alphabetical order.

“Have you graded before?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

“For everything there is a first time. Do it, and I'll double check after. Put your grades on with a sticky note,” I slide him a pad, “and if I agree I'll confirm it.”

“I thought I was here to save you work,” he says, wryly.

I favor him with a small smirk.

He works for a while in silence while I prepare lecture notes for my next session with the juniors. About an hour into my allotted open time, Rebecca and a pair of her friends arrive with poster boards and folders. One of them even carries an easel, and they set it up without asking first.

Rebecca looks to Ethan.

“Oh, hi,” she says.

“Hi,” Ethan says, offering her a small smile.

I start to slouch back in my chair…but the purloined metal seat doesn't have enough give, so I end up sitting straighter.

Rebecca is about to give her presentation when one of the freshmen walks into the office. It's getting crowded. It's the long-haired skirt wearer. I don't remember her name, but Ethan remarked she has a crush on me. She looks around the room.

“Oh,” she mumbles, “I'll come back.”

I lift my hand. “No, no. Is it serious?”

“Not really,” she said, “I just wanted to chat.”

Ethan, Rebecca, and the other two all look at her like she just announced she wanted to carve out her liver and offer it up to an ancient Babylonian god as a burnt sacrifice. The looks they all give each other amuse even me.

“Well, I am afraid I have more pressing matters than just chat,” I say, wincing inwardly at how acid I sound.

The girl flinches.

“Another time,” I say. “Try Monday? Same time?”

She seems mollified and beams a smile at me before slinking off, looking over her shoulder angrily at my other students until she's out of sight.

The others all look at each other.

“Just chat,” Rebecca says in a sing-song voice.

“Rebecca,” I say, my voice a whip crack. “Don't mock.”

She turns a little red, remembering where she is and before whom she stands, begging favors. She gives me a curt nod and is suddenly all professionalism and starts her presentation.

Ethan looks up and watches intently along with me as the three make their case. Rebecca planned this well; I'd give her a solid B for the effort. They clearly put a lot of heart into this. When they finish, I look at Ethan and he glances at me, offering a small, curt nod. I look at the others. Their hearts are in their throats. They look like three nuns standing outside Saint Peters waiting to see white smoke or black.

I smile to ease the tension. Rebecca seems surprised and somewhat confused that I've shown teeth, so my smile turns tight-lipped. They all three look at one another as if to say, “did he just smile?”

“I'm going to be blunt with you,” I say. “I'll take this upstairs and speak to the department head and the dean.” I slide the folder they gave me across the desk and hold it in my lap. “Any kind of funding for this is going to be an issue. The department head has already made it clear to me that outside of use of school facilities, everything needs to be organized by us, including raising money for the trip.”

Rebecca tenses, worrying her copy of their presentation in her fingers until the edges fray. She swallows.

“I want to see a poster for the trip on my desk by Monday morning. Slide it under the door if I'm not here,” I say coolly. “I'll get it approved by the dean's office. You'll need that before you can post it around campus.”

I drum my fingers on the desk.

“One thing. Only juniors and up can be nominated for the honor society, yes?”

Rebecca nods.

“Sophomores and above only on the trip,” I say firmly. “Taking the freshmen's money isn't worth my having to herd a bunch of eighteen-year-olds from East Bumblescum through Manhattan without any of them getting alcohol poisoning or running off.” I rock in my seat, or try to. “Let's open it to other majors subject to my approval, shall we?”

Rebecca nods. “Good idea, sir,” she says.

“Of course it was,” I say, “It was mine.”

She smiles warmly and nods. “We'll get out of your way now.”

I glance at my wall clock. My office hours are nearly up. The girls pile out of the room, leaving me and Ethan alone. I look at him and stand.

“It's Friday, and I'm not a robot. I'm leaving early.”

He starts to open his mouth and I say, very softly, “Be outside Tooley's on the sidewalk at seven.”

He blinks as I usher him out, lock my door, and head home.

He's still staring at me as I step into the stairwell. I give him one hard look over my shoulder, wondering if he realizes how hard he's getting it tonight.