I barely slept.

  Firstly, because, for some reason, I decided to obey Andrew immediately after coming home from the bar and played the movie at one in the morning. I couldn’t keep my eyes away from the screen. The dynamic, the dialogues, the songs, the emotions, the purity of the lights. I was mesmerized. It was not poorly written.

  Secondly, because my mind couldn’t think of anything other than him.

  Him, at the bar.

  Him, at Tufts.

  Him, doing his lectures with his thick black glasses over his nose, thick hands splayed over thicker thighs.

  Him in the intimacy of my home, on my couch, and— what is even happening?

  I can’t fathom how all of this started, but once the movie ended, and my lids closed themselves under the weight of multiple tons, the images that succeeded each other were really not under my control.

  There was music vaguely echoing in the back of my mind, while fabrics of red, white, yellow, vivid colors flashed before my eyes. And his voice, his scent, all the rest was infuriatingly suffocating, and I woke up in a jerk, skin drenched with sweat.

  Dreams are just a recollection of moments we lived, sometimes bending and twisting reality into the contrary just enough for our mind to be sure that, once we wake up, we had invented all of it. The emotions, though, resist.

  I’m barely alive when I push the doors of the university. My hair is not combed, my dark circles could probably welcome a family of ten, and I’m not sure I’ve dressed appropriately. Did I even put on boxers? Can’t tell. “You look like shit this morning.”

  Caroline’s voice chimes while I walk, and her words from the other day clash drastically with the ones she used today. Deservedly so. Still. “Hello, Caroline.”

  “Smelling rather nice for someone who didn’t shower.”

  “I did.” I think. Was it yesterday? What day is it? Last night was Thursday. At the bar. So today would be Friday. Why is it so hard to make my brain work this morning?

  “Did the devil bite you back?”

  “That’s one way to put it.” We haven’t had the chance to entertain each other since the last time. Probably because I felt a bit too ashamed to talk to her after what I did, and avoided entering the building through her side of the aisle. But I should really apologize. “Look, I’m—”

  “Sorry, yes of course. I understand what you did. But it wasn’t the best way to explain.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m an idiot. She’s acting so maturely to my very immature attitude, and I have this deep feeling of being unworthy. Just like a lot of other aspects in my life. “I could hug you now.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I know. It’s my fault. Now you’re going to be attentive and distrustful. I’m sorry.”

  “It might take a while… Or just a service.”

  One of my eyebrows shoots up. “Tell me.”

  “Do you know Taylor Freinel?”

  It takes me longer than I should to find his face. It’s here, right before my eyes. Dark hair, spread with a little grey here and there, large shoulders, barely concealed beer belly. “Doctor Freinel… Biology teacher?”

  She nods with the cutest smile. Her fingers fidget against the counter. “Could you… have a word with him? He never comes to this part of the building. But we exchanged some glances. I just want to be sure I have a chance here.”

  “I was right about the perfume.” My smile is wide, and it feels like a small victory. She immediately lifts her eyes to the ceiling.

  “Yes. You were. But you were wrong about me liking you.”

  “You don’t?” I straighten my spine and rest my hand over my heart, hurt.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  She giggles. “Not that way. You’re cute, don’t get me wrong.”

  “I am…” My voice goes up, charmed. She keeps on sighing, exasperated.

  Her hand bats in front of me. “You’re a little too young for me, dear.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Whenever the occasion presents itself, I’ll talk to Doctor Frienel about you. But you know, I might not be the best for this.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He probably never talked to the other professors.”

  Andrew’s voice. I check the clock. Not even eight a.m. He’s on time today.

  He’s wearing a long black coat, a grey sweater over a white shirt, and corduroy olive pants with polished Richelieu shoes. While my gaze goes up to his eyes, he loses a little bit of his smile and composure. He coughs and turns back to Caroline. “Do you need me to have a word with Taylor?”

  His relationship with the other professors should have given me a hint about his implication at Tufts.

  “Do you know him well, Andrew?” Caroline asks the question for me.

  “Relatively, yes. Wouldn’t mind checking on him once more. That way, Alexej will be able to keep his record of days spent without talking to one of his peers.”

  The way my name rolls effortlessly off his tongue should be forbidden. The way he deliberately evokes it, also.

  As always, it’s as if he’s in my head, and he grins. Suddenly, the dream comes back to me, and I picture him again on the sofa, splayed, ruffled, and it snaps inside me. I have to leave. “I’ll see him at next week’s party anyway. Are you guys invited?”

  Caroline nods, and they both share a knowing smile. They seem to be planning the whole evening in their heads. Until Andrew turns to me and waits for my response.

  But he already knows it. That I’m unaware of the party. That I wouldn’t be invited because I know mostly nobody in this establishment. “You should come.” He eventually adds. And instead of waiting for my answer, he just continues. “Tuesday night. In the 15-04 office.”

  I walk toward my classroom without a glance back.

  ?

  “Did you break your mirror this morning?”

  Isabella strangely welcomes me in her office the same way Caroline greeted me a few hours ago. I did look in the mirror while brushing my teeth, in fact, but I didn’t have much time to ponder over needing a full-on mask or two slaps on the cheeks.

  My eyes roam over my own body with my arms wide open. “This is my everyday outfit.”

  “Hmm.” She grabs a few papers, sits down on her chair, and crosses her legs graciously. “Have a seat.”

  “I don’t have much time. Still need to eat before my class.”

  “Perfect, then, I’ll cut to the chase. What is wrong with Andrew Miller?”

  A few weeks ago, I was completely unaware of his damn existence, but now it seems my whole life revolves around him. She crosses her fingers and lifts her hands to her mouth, deeply interested. “I can think of a few things.”

  She pouts. “Are you making his semester difficult because he’s in a lab and you are not?”

  “Did he come to mommy to whine?” I say with a large grin on my face. Of all the things I imagined him doing, going straight to the Research Director’s office to complain about my attitude was not one of them. After coming to me multiple times, I figure this is only the result of his own actions. Should I expect a notice from HR soon?

  Isabella’s face remains closed. “He did not.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  She bends her head to the side. “So, you do terrorize him?”

  I spoke too fast. “Your choice of words is a tad exaggerated.”

  “Be honest, Alex.”

  “If anything, he harasses me.”

  She laughs. “Now your choice of words seems dramatic.”

  What can I say? He made it a personal quest to change my mind about his classes. He got all-mighty upset when I criticized romantic comedies, and he invited me to the party of another professor. Even more so, he’s now summoned in my dreams. “I’m just… suspicious of him.”

  “For legitimate reasons, I’m sure. Well, you’ll have to suck it up, big boy, because if you end up working in our labs, you might be seeing each other more often.”

  “If?” My eyes have ceased to blink. I hope she’ll decipher this bomb quickly because this might be the worst choice of words she ever used.

  She sighs. And I wait. The hurt cripples my limbs each second that passes. “Alexej, there are aspects of our situation that you don’t know about and—”

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.” Her eyebrows twist like a sad dog.

  “Why?”

  “It’s out of my reach. I’m sorry. I’m doing the—”

  “Best you can, yeah, I've heard that before.” The sensations are the same. Numb anger, disappointment, resentment, exasperation.

  I might feel resilience soon.

  She stands up and comes closer to me. Her hand falls onto my shoulder. “I’m working against all odds here, and I ask that you trust me. That’s what is best for you.” Despite her words, uncertainty reveals itself in her expression. Before I can add anything, she continues. “Believe me, I’m trying. But the dean chairs the resource allocation committee. If I push too hard, we both lose.”

  The doubt has made its way to my mind now. Andrew is too present, everywhere. He’s close to the dean, and obviously close to Isabella, and they are the two people deciding who's hired to be in this lab’s institution. How can I believe this is just a coincidence? How can I ignore the signs when my future is on the line?

  “I have to go.” I eventually whisper. And I aim straight for the cafeteria.