Chapter Text
And I suppose you need to take History 101?
“I mistake your class for mine and teach it for almost an hour before you walk in.”
.
1, An awkward first meeting.
Hob scrutinises the little memory note in his palm, cursing inwardly when he takes out his phone and sees the time. For a few seconds, he considers calling Constantine and chews her out for this unclear direction but then decides against it. The most important thing now is finding the way to his morning class without failing miserably – which he has been doing for the last twenty minutes, thank you very much.
Oh just great. First chance in this new university and I’m about to fuck up royally.
Luckily for him, when he takes a turn to the left, he finally sees the sign for room F1-03. He sprints toward the open door and only slows down when he realises that inside the class is almost full.
Swallowing down a little bit of nervousness, Hob channels his most charming smile as he walks into the classroom and greets everyone. The students are neatly seated, and they stop chatting when he walks in.
“Sorry, I’d have been there sooner but I haven’t got used to the ways around here,” he explains in front of many curious pairs of eyes. “I’m new to town, and it turns out Professor Constantine isn’t that trustworthy when it comes to directions.”
Some students laugh at that, and it helps to ease Hob’s nerves. His next smile is brighter as he takes off his vest and places it on the chair, “Anyway, I’m Professor Robert Gadling of the History department. Welcome to your first day of university, class.”
A few students whisper with others. Three or four get up and leave, probably realising they’re in the wrong class. The majority is still there, staring at Hob quite blankly. Hob can’t read their eyes, and he hopes perhaps they’re just as nervous as he is. He pulls out a copy of his syllabus.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t had time to send out a digital copy for each of you to print today,” this is his fault and Hob will apologise for it, even though he doubts that they would look at the syllabus if he sent the emails before. “My class is History 101, which is a basic course at the freshman level. I think there might be some of you who are sophomores or even older but I guess it’s safe to assume most of you haven’t got familiar with this new environment. I’m glad to share that you’re not alone – this is also my first year teaching at Cheval Blanc. Hopefully, we can all learn something from each other.”
Some students snicker, but Hob has had a few years of experience under his sleeve, so he pays no mind to their less than enthusiastic reaction. He continues, voice a tad louder this time, “Even though this is a basic course, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. There are a lot of topics to cover, and I promise that I’m not gonna let you guys slack off. I can guarantee that you all will learn at least a few new things by the end of the term, as long as you pay attention, even for just half of the time,” he nods his head in affirmation, flipping through his syllabus. “If you fail, it also means that I’ve failed, and I’ll try my best to not let that happen. Any questions?”
A few tentatively raise their hands. Hob braces himself for any trolls in the classroom, but so far they only ask predictable and easy ones: some information about himself, his previous workplace, the grading system of this class, et cetera. By the time Hob answers most of those, about forty minutes just flew by.
“I understand that it’s not easy to keep tabs on everyone in such a large class—” he pauses, quickly counting the rows and seats in the classroom. “—there are about more than one hundred people here, but I promise you that I’ll try to read through all the papers I get to grade them the most effectively and as objectively as I can. Now we’ll move on to our lesson plans—”
BANG!
The door rudely swings open as someone rushes in. Hob raises one eyebrow at the newcomer: a pale young man with disheveled black hair, dressed in black from head to toe, with a – of course – black suitcase in his hand. He neither apologises for being late nor quietly takes a seat, instead he just abruptly stops in the middle of his way to stare at Hob, an unreadable expression on his face as he frowns.
Some students turn to look at him, and the murmuring starts again. Hob begins to lose his patience when ten seconds pass and the black-haired man is still there, unmoving.
“Would you like to take a seat so you won’t distract my students further?” He asks, hoping the other could realise the commanding tone of his voice. “Mister…?”
“Aeturnus,” the young man deadpans. Hob immediately decides that he doesn’t like that tone, even though the man has a really nice, deep voice.
Whispers once again fill the room. Some students take out their own syllabus, flipping through it like crazy.
“And I suppose you need to take History 101?” Hob muses as he ignores those students’ actions, trying to sound more amused than annoyed. He crosses his arms, leaning against his desk as his eyes focus on the young man. “What are you waiting for, then, Mr. Aeturnus?”
The foreign name rolls off his tongue quite easily. That is a pretty-sounding name, even though Hob doesn’t know what it means.
“I don’t,” the man snorts. Hob really adores that voice but dislikes the tone he’s using. If only the young man could act a bit nicer and more polite. “Considering you’ve been teaching my Introduction to Mythology 101 for the past forty minutes.”
Wait.
What?
The whispers get louder this time – or the students don’t bother to keep their voices low anymore.
Hob, in a desperate attempt to save his face after his brain refuses to accept the information at face value, raises his voice questioningly. “Have you even got your Ph.D.?”
It sounds harsher than he intended, and Hob curses inwardly while struggling to keep a straight face. A corner of the young man’s mouth curves up into an almost condescending sneer – but he still looks good, what the heck? – but before he can answer Hob, a girl springs up from her seat. “Uhm, Professor Gadling?”
“Yes?” He replies instinctively.
“Erm… My syllabus for this class says it’s Introduction to Mythology 101, and it’s supposed to be taught by Professor Aeturnus.”
“Which is me,” the young man raises one hand in a mocking salute.
Hob wants the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.
Still standing in the middle of the class, Professor Aeturnus smirks at him. The curve of his lips makes Hob both want to slap him so it can disappear and grab his collar to place a kiss on that attractive smirk. Can he do both? But gosh, he’d better do neither. The thought makes Hob turn even redder – assumes that his cheeks are already dusted pink from the embarrassment of being in the wrong class.
“Sorry that I’m late,” Professor Aeturnus turns toward the students and explains his situation. “My personal chauffeur is busy this morning so I had to take the subway. To make up for my tardiness, anyone who presents here will get two bonus points for the next assignment,” the young man walks toward Hob and places his briefcase on the desk. “Anyone have an attendance list, or some papers to take names?”
As students rush to write their names down on a paper, Hob flushes a darker shade of red as he feels like something is stuck in his throat when he tries to lower his voice for only the young man to hear, “I’m terribly sorry. I thought this is my classroom, F1-03. Probably I misread the sign.”
Aeturnus chuckles at him, “This is E1-03. The sign is broken and hasn’t been fixed yet. F1-03 is in the opposite building.”
Holy shit. The ground truly needs to open a hole for Hob to jump in, now.
The young man let out a small, breathy laugh, “You’re the new professor of the History department, right?” He amicably extends one hand. “We’re in the same department, which makes us colleagues. Nice to meet you.”
Hob reaches out and shakes his hand, still bewildered. And, oh shit, that attractive smirk is dancing on the other’s lips again. Hob really should look away before he makes even a bigger fool out of himself.
“Don’t you have a class to teach, Professor Gadling?”
“Fuc—”
Hob takes a look at his phone screen for the time and curses. He quickly grabs his briefcase and sprints out of the room before anyone can laugh.
.
When Hob comes to the real F1-03, it is empty. He sighs as he digs out his phone to write a formal apology for his morning class, explains the situation, and makes sure that he attaches the syllabus file for them this time.
He, of course, leaves out the part where he had taught the wrong class for almost an hour and kind of made an ass out of himself in front of a new colleague. And if Hob spends the rest of that morning musing about Professor Aeturnus and his smoky voice, nobody can blame him.
Well, at least there’s some good news. They’re colleagues, which means they will see each other around the university, right? Hope that the next time they meet, the circumstances won’t be as awkward.
…