college professor AU

fuck it *posts the 11k words college professor AU i wrote a year ago*

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From:  [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subject: Research supervision request

Dear Dr. Sallow,

I hope this e-mail finds you well. My name is Andrea Figueroa and I am a postgraduate looking to complete a Master of Research in Sport and Exercise Science. For my thesis, I am planning to investigate the effect of weekly football training sessions on the well-being of adolescents with PTSD. My principal supervisor, Dr. O'Connell, advised me to reach out to you because of your expertise in the realm of developmental psychology. I have read your dissertation re: the effect of foster care on individuals' ability to form romantic connections in their adolescence and thought it was fascinating. Thus my question: would you be willing to co-supervise my thesis research this semester? I have attached an exposé.

Kind regards,

Andrea Figueroa

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subejct: Re: Research supervision request

Dear Andrea,

Thank you for reaching out. I have read your exposé and I'm intrigued by your research idea. I propose we meet in person with Dr. O'Connell next week to talk through the next steps. Does Wednesday at 10 work for you? We can meet in the cafeteria on main campus.

Best,

Oliver Sallow

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Research supervision request

Dear Dr. Sallow,

Thank you for your speedy response! Wednesday works great. See you then!

Kind regards,

Andrea

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

CC: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Research supervision request

👍

- Sent from my iPhone

#

Reading Dr. O'Connell's last e-mail, Oliver's eyes roll so far back in his head, he thinks he can see the back of his skull for a moment. It's just his luck to get roped into supervising a thesis from a postgrad in Sport and Exercise Science. He doesn't have anything against the department, per se, but he would be lying if he said he didn't find it hard to take it seriously; lecturers who arrive to class in tracksuit trousers don't exactly scream serious academic research. The fact that Dr. O'Connell apparently communicates solely through emojis doesn't help his bias.

From what Oliver has heard, O'Connell joined the department last month. According to the university's newsletter, his research is focused on the effect of endurance sports on the severity of panic disorder symptoms in adults—a surprisingly interesting topic, Oliver can admit, if only because it's so far at the end of the Sport Psychology spectrum that it's edging into pure Clinical Psych.

All right, so maybe Oliver is biased. He can't help it. The subject matter and the name of his newly appointed co-supervisor make him feel like he is seventeen and being laughed at by his school's football players on the way to English class. There was a Finn O'Connell in Blissby who was captain of the team. Oliver exchanged less than ten words with him during his time there, but he remembers how he moved through the hallways: grinning and exuberant and popular, Blissby's undisputed golden boy. All of the things that Oliver has never been wrapped up in a lanky ginger with a hundred-watt smile.

At thirty years old, Oliver knows that he shouldn't project his teenage experiences onto some poor man with the same last name and an unfortunate affinity for running very fast, but he can't help it: the vestiges of his youth cling to him as stubbornly as black hair dye to his white towels.

He doesn't like athletes. What he likes even less, though, is letting his own biases stand in the way of scientific progress. Andrea Figueroa has an interesting research question that could benefit from his expertise; agreeing to supervise her is the only logical consequence.

Who knows. Maybe this can be like exposure therapy. Perhaps he'll find it all less revolting if he just gives the man a chance.

#

Wednesday morning, Finn walks into the cafeteria feeling like he's about to re-take a final exam. It's been a month since he's gotten a position at this uni, and so far, he and Oliver have avoided crossing paths—which is impressive, considering their offices are on different floors of the same building. Finn was hesitant to refer Andrea to Oliver for co-supervision, but her research topic left him with few other options. In the Venn diagram between his and Oliver's work, her thesis sits neatly at the overlap. After spiraling about it for a few days, Finn had to grudgingly accept that the things that are best for his students aren't always the things that are best for him. He wrote the e-mail, and then promptly shut his laptop.

Part of him expected Oliver to dismiss the idea out of hand. Oliver wouldn't be the first clinical psychologist to turn his nose up at Sport and Exercise Science. More than that, though, Finn was worried Oliver would remember him from their school days and decide he didn't want to work with him. Rationally, Finn knows this is probably ridiculous. It's been over a decade since they've graduated and, either way, Finn doubts Oliver even knows who Finn is. It's not like they ever interacted beyond Finn staring at him from afar with a mixture of intimidation and what he can now confidently classify as his first crush on another boy.

He tries not to think too hard about this last point. It's been ages since they've last seen each other. Finn has been with several men in the meantime—college brought with it the opportunity for a healthy amount of experimentation—and doesn't get flustered as easily as he did back in school, when he would spend entire afternoons wondering if Oliver's earring placement meant something.

None of this changes the fact that his heart is racing as he looks around the cafeteria. At ten in the morning, it's almost deserted, so it doesn't take him long to spot Andrea. Opposite her, with his back to Finn, sits Oliver Sallow.

Finn smiles at Andrea, runs a hand through his hair, and walks up to them. Oliver turns in his seat when he hears his approaching steps.

"Hi," Finn says. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late."

Oliver says nothing. He's wearing a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look: his lips are parted, and his brown eyes have widened.

When the silence drags on for too long, Andrea clears her throat. "Hi!" she says and opens her laptop. "It's no problem at all. Mr. Sallow was just about to give me feedback on my exposé."

"Brilliant." Finn tries for a smile that doesn't look like he's internally panicking and rounds the table to sit next to her. In his periphery, he catches Andrea looking between him and Oliver. He can't blame her: the tension at the table is impossible to miss. "Thank you again, Ol—Mr. Sallow, for agreeing to co-supervise. I think, together, we can pull off something really cool here."

"I'm sure," Oliver says. He finally stops staring at Finn and fixes his attention on Andrea instead. "To return to what I was saying. I think the theoretical foundation of your work is solid, but there are some methodological aspects that don't quite convince me yet."

"Okay," says Andrea, far more bravely than Finn would have when he was a postgrad.

While Oliver launches into his feedback—he's not sure about the sample size and the wait-list control group the design entails—Finn studies him. Over the years, he has convinced himself that Oliver couldn't possibly have been as brutally beautiful as Finn's pubescent brain made him out to be. He was wrong. Oliver Sallow remains one of the most striking men Finn has ever seen. He doesn't wear as much make-up has he did back then, but his hair is still dyed black and pinned up with a claw-clip, and the number of piercings in his ears has doubled. He's wearing a black blouse with lace detail around the collar and about a dozen rings on both hands. His face still looks like a Roman statue's, with his straight nose and strong eyebrows, and the beginning of crow's feet around his eyes don't retract a bit from their piercing stare.

When Oliver looks back at him and asks, "What do you think?", Finn realizes he might be in trouble. Firstly, because he hasn't processed a thing Oliver has said in the last five minutes. And, secondly, because for some godforsaken reason, being near Oliver Sallow still makes his heart race like he's fifteen.

#

Andrea: LILY

Andrea: i just got out of my meeting with sallow and o'connell

Andrea: and i'm????

Andrea: there was SO much weird tension

Lily: like, they don't like each other?

Andrea: no

Andrea: more like they were eye-fucking the entire time 👀

Lily: LMAO WHAT

Andrea: you took classes with sallow last sem right?

Andrea: no one can tell me that man is straight

Lily: oh, definitely not. no straight man dresses that well

Lily: WAIT HOLD UP

Lily: i just found mr. o'connell on Instagram

Lily: apparently they follow each other???

Andrea: NO SHIT

Andrea: do you think they're dating???

Lily: 😳 😳

Lily: i mean......

#

The entire bloody universe has conspired against Oliver. Not only is Dr. O'Connell the Finn O'Connell—Finn of Blissby football fame, Finn who made Oliver sick with jealousy and longing for three whole years—but he also had the audacity to remain one of the prettiest men Oliver has ever laid eyes on. Fuck him, honestly, for showing up in baggy jeans and a t-shirt and still make Oliver's heart race. And fuck him, too, for being good at his job.

They spent an hour in the cafeteria, drawing up a time schedule for Andrea's thesis and tweaking her study design. Finn's notes were helpful and actionable, and the way he interacted with Andrea was effortlessly easy. Oliver has never been very good at making connections; he's not one of those professors who's on first name basis with his students and stays behind after lectures to chat with them. Watching Finn joke with Andrea almost makes him wish he were.

There it is again, that old jealousy. One hour with Finn O'Connell, and Oliver feels like he's fifteen and staring at him across the library, unsure whether he wants to be with him or just be him.

"Jesus fuck, Sallow." His head snaps up at the sound of his name. "What happened to you?"

Oliver straightens marginally where he's slouching in a booth. The look he sends Nova is entirely unimpressed. "Hello to you, too, Nova. It's good to see you. You look positively radiant today. Is that a new lipstick?"

Nova makes a face at him and drops heavily onto the seat opposite him. Her girlfriend, Dana, rounds the table to give Oliver a one-armed hug, the way civil people do when they haven't seen each other in a week. "Ignore her," she says. "She hasn't eaten anything since noon. How are you?"

"Fine," Oliver says. "You?"

"Eh," says Dana. He takes it to mean It's been a day.

Oliver met Nova and Dana during their first year of uni. He made no effort whatsoever to befriend them, but somehow, they sneaked their way into his life all the same. Nights spent at the library together turned into all three of them teaching at the same uni turned into weekly nights at the pub. Every Friday, they meet here to debrief about the last week and eat their body weight in chips—the best ones around town, as far as Oliver is concerned.

"Let's get back to you," Nova says. Her grubby little hands have already closed around one of the pints Oliver has gotten them prior to their arrival. "What has you looking so miserable?"

"I always look like this."

"Could it, perchance, have anything to do with a certain Mr. O'Connell?" Dana asks sweetly. She lets out a laugh at whatever plays out on Oliver's face. "I overheard a few of my students talking about you two. Apparently, some of them are under the impression that you're dating?"

"We absolutely are not," Oliver sputters. "We're co-supervising a student's master thesis together. That's all."

"It always starts with co-supervising," Nova says knowingly. Her elbow nudges Dana's.

Oliver frowns. "You two were already dating for two years before you co-supervised for the first time."

"I don't see how that's relevant."

Oliver reaches across the table to bonk her head with the sticky drinks menu.

"Is this the Finn you told us about?" Dana questions. "From your hometown?"

"Yes," Oliver grudgingly admits.

The expression on Nova's face is one of utter delight. "No way. The football captain you fancied? The plot thickens."

Oliver wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He is thirty years old, an academic with a bloody PhD, and here he is, being forced to say embarrassing sentences like, "I didn't fancy him."

"Sure you didn't. You only watched him longingly from afar and wrote angsty poetry about him for three years."

"I didn't write poetry about him."

"But you did watch him longingly?" Nova's Cheshire-cat grin is broad enough to expose her smiley piercing.

"I'm going to get food," Oliver announces, and pushes to his feet before the conversation can get any more ridiculous.

He never should have told Nova about Finn. He should never open his mouth at all, actually, if this is what self-disclosure gets him. The mortifying ordeal of being known is, in fact, mortifying.

He's leaning against the counter, waiting for their chips, when Dana sidles up to him and says, "Thought you might need a hand carrying them back."

Oliver only hums.

"She was only teasing."

"I know."

"We know you're not actually dating Finn."

"Okay."

"Even though, in my objective lesbian opinion, he is a fine piece of ass."

Oliver closes his eyes as the beginning of a pounding headache sets in. "Your opinion is noted."

"Do we know if he's into men?"

"We do not." Honestly, Oliver doesn't have high hopes on that front. Finn didn't have a girlfriend or a boyfriend in school—his schedule was probably too packed with school and football practice and recreational running—so Oliver doesn't have any data on his dating history. From the outside, there is nothing at all to make Oliver think Finn is anything other than straight. Since he's not the type to indulge in delusions, he has accepted this fact as truth.

"Mh," says Dana, thoughtfully.

"Look, Dana." Oliver sighs. "I know that you two want me to date and not be lonely or whatever. But I like being alone. I'm good at it. I don't miss anything. And even if I were looking to be with someone, it would not be Finn O'Connell."

For the first time this evening, Dana's expression turns earnest. "We just worry, Ollie. It seems like all you ever do is work."

"Not true," Oliver tells her. "I read. I spend time with the Walkers. I have an annual ticket for the theatre. My life is so enriched, you wouldn't believe it."

"Wouldn't it be nice to share those things with someone, though?"

"Sure. I'll ask Finn if he wants to go see the new Hamlet production this Friday. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic."

"You could try!" Dana argues. "It's been a decade since you've last seen the man. Maybe he has hidden depths."

Oliver doesn't tell her that the idea of uncovering someone's "hidden depths" makes his skin itch. He's tired of dating. He doesn't have the energy to get to know someone, only for them to vanish from his life a few months later. If he had to be his own therapist, he'd conclude there's probably some parallel to his upbringing in the foster care system here, but he tries his best not to look too hard at that thought.

Instead of telling Dana all this, Oliver reverts to his tried-and-true method of being an insufferable prick. "I myself am best when least in company."

"Don't quote Shakespeare at me while I'm trying to have a talk about your feelings."

Oliver sets a hand on her shoulder and solemnly says, "Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better."

"So you'll just sit around and hope loves drops into your lap? I hate to inform you, but that might take ages."

"Time is very slow for those who wait. Very fast for those who are scared," Oliver recites.

It's probably the most honest thing he's said tonight.

#

Finn is starting to believe he might have a secret twin. Over the next week, he is asked on three separate occasions about his boyfriend. It starts with Maeve, the department's secretary, asking him if he's excited to work at the same uni as his partner and ends with one of his students informing him that she's late to class because his boyfriend's class ran too long. Each time, Finn can do nothing but blink, too taken aback to ask who this mysterious boyfriend is.

He doesn't make a secret of being bisexual, but it's not the kind of thing he usually shares with students. He certainly doesn't have a boyfriend, though the student body doesn't seem to agree.

Monday night, he's staying longer at his office to catch up on e-mails when there's a knock on the door. He looks up to find Kavi leaning in the threshold. He greets him with a venomous, "Birdie, you shameless, lying bastard."

"Hello to you, too." Finn pushes his blue light glasses into his hair. "What are you still doing here?"

Kavi ignores the question and points an accusatory finger at him. "When were you going to tell me you're shagging Oliver Sallow?"

Finn jolts so hard in surprise, he almost knocks over his reusable water bottle. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be! When did this start? Why did the entire department know about this before me?"

"Wait, wait, wait—Kavi, we're not dating. I've only met him once since I moved here!"

Kavi's incensed expression turns into one of confusion. He crosses the small office in a few long strides and plops into the chair opposite Finn's. "Then why have I heard from four different people that you two have something going on?"

"I don't know! I—people keep coming up to me to ask about my boyfriend." Finn blanches. "They think it's him?"

Kavi laughs out loud before slapping a hand over his mouth. "Oh, this is incredible."

Finn doesn't feel a bit like laughing. His heart is beating faster than it should as he clings to the edge of his desk. "Do you think he knows?"

"I don't know." Noticing Finn's very real anxiety, Kavi sobers. "Birdie, hey. It's all right. It's probably just a conspiracy theory some students made up because they found out you two know each other. If Oliver knows about it, I'm sure he doesn't take it seriously."

His words do nothing to calm Finn. A terrible thought occurs to him: what if Oliver knows about Finn's embarrassing teenage crush on him? What if he thinks Finn is the one who started this rumor?

"It is kind of hilarious," Kavi says. "You know. Considering your history."

Finn buries his face in his hands. He's been friends with Kavi and his twin brother, Aarun, ever since they started playing on the same football team at eight years old. The twins were right there when he figured out his sexuality and told them, sloshed after too many rum and cokes at James Bailey's eighteenth birthday party, that it was possible he fancied Oliver Sallow. He cried; it was a whole thing. Kavi tried to convince him to ask Oliver on a date, but it was three weeks before they were all leaving for uni, and Finn preferred the option of running away from his feelings to another town over almost-certain rejection.

"Do you think I should go talk to him about it?"

"I don't know." Kavi leans back in his chair. "If it's making you uncomfortable, one of you should probably set the record straight."

Finn considers this. He's not sure why the idea of telling everyone that he and Oliver are not dating makes his stomach twist with a strange feeling of loss. "You're probably right," he says.

"I'm always right." Kavi gets to his feet. "Anyway, I'm heading to the gym. See you at home."

Finn gives a limp wave before dropping his forehead to the desk. This whole thing feels like a cruel cosmic joke. Finn knows that he and Oliver are never going to happen. Oliver probably has an actual partner whom he has sophisticated date nights with where they drink wine and go to see plays and discuss highbrow literature. Meanwhile, Finn is a thirty-year-old bachelor who lives in a flat share with his school friends, has only ever been in one serious relationship, and spends his nights playing Animal Crossing because it calms him and his therapist told him he needs to prioritize self-care.

So, yes: the reality of him and Oliver is improbable, at best. That doesn't change the fact that the idea of it makes his stupid heart race.

With a sigh, he straightens in his chair, opens his e-mail program, and writes the most embarrassing e-mail of his entire career.

#

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Strange question

Dear Oliver,

I hope you had a good start into the week. I'm reaching out because I have become aware that several students seem to believe we are in a romantic relationship. While I don't believe this is going to impact our work, I wanted to ask if this changes anything re: your willingness to co-supervise Andrea's thesis. I would understand if you were worried about feeding into these rumors and wanted to distance yourself.

Kind regards,

Finn

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Strange question

Dear Finn,

Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I don't make a habit of caring about students' gossip, so I don't see why this would impact our work together. Unless, of course, you are uncomfortable with the notion of being in a relationship with me or have a partner who might take offense.

Best,

Oliver Sallow

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Strange question

I'm not. And I don't have a partner. Do you?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Strange question

Dear Finn,

I don't.

Best,

Oliver Sallow

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Strange question

👍

- Sent from my iPhone

#

The next two weeks are uneventful. There are several more instances where students tell Oliver to "say hi to Mr. O'Connell", and he doesn't bother correcting them. It's not the first time there've been rumors around him—at least this one is relatively harmless, so long as he ignores the strange feeling that twists in his stomach whenever he imagines what it would be like to actually go back to Finn's flat after work, to cook dinner together and talk about their days over a shared glass of wine. It's a silly fantasy. Firstly, because Finn probably only drinks beer and lives off chicken and rice and gross protein shakes. And secondly, because Oliver would loathe the routine. He's fine on his own; he likes spending his evenings grading papers and preparing lectures at his kitchen table with Mercutio—his moody black housecat—curled up in his lap. He likes going to the theatre on his own once a week, and meeting Dana and Nova at the pub on Fridays. He is perfectly comfortable in the life he has built for himself.

And if he lies awake at night, unable to find the right position in a bed that feels too big for him, no one but him needs to know.

Tonight is another night spent at home. He has just finished cleaning up his dishes—an easy job when you're living alone—and changed into sweatpants and an old band tee when his phone buzzes with an e-mail.

Half-blind with his contacts already taken out, he pads around the kitchen until he finds his glasses. His heart skips an inexplicable beat when he sees that the e-mail is from Finn. It reads:

Dear Oliver,

SOS. What's your favorite band? Connor from my Exercise Medicine course asked me about it (he said you sometimes wear "a sick t-shirt" with their name on it?) and it made me look like a horrible boyfriend when I couldn't answer. Please advise.

Kind regards,

Finn O'Connell

Oliver has to read the message twice to understand it. When he does, he looks disbelievingly at Mercutio, who has planted himself squarely in the middle of the kitchen counter. "Can you believe this man? He could've just told him we're not dating."

Mercutio meows judgmentally in agreement.

Oliver turns back to his phone and types his response.

Dear Dr. O'Connell,

I have worn the aforementioned t-shirt no less than three times this semester, so your assessment of your being a horrible boyfriend is probably fair. My favourite band is Sisters of Mercy. Please educate yourself before you shed an even worse light on our very serious monogamous relationship.

Best,

Oliver Sallow

He hesitates for a moment before he takes a selfie of himself with the Sisters of Mercy t-shirt he's wearing visible in the frame and attaches it to the e-mail. Part of him wants to throw his phone to the other end of the room the second he sends it, but he forces himself to hold onto it and stares at the screen until it lights up with another notification.

Dear Dr. Sallow,

I appreciate your speedy response. Going forward, I shall endeavour to educate myself on matters of what Wikipedia informs me is considered Gothic rock. Where do you propose I start?

Kind regards,

Finn O'Connell

P.S.: I didn't know you wear glasses??

Oliver can't quite suppress his smile. Abandoning the papers he has left on the kitchen table to go over, he scoops up Mercutio and carries him through to his bedroom. There, he sinks onto the edge of the bed and types:

Dear Dr. O'Connell,

If our relationship is to proceed, I require you to listen to Lucretia My Reflection and, if you seek to further educate yourself, the entirety of the 1978 album Floodlands. Apropos, I would appreciate it if you could provide me with further information re: your interests in the event that the question should come up.

For further correspondence, please feel free to contact me under my personal mobile number: ***** ***** ****

Best,

Oliver Sallow

With Mercutio making biscuits in his lap, Oliver waits. Several moments pass, until Oliver is sure he has gone too far and Finn is ghosting him. Finally, his phone lights up with a text message.

Finn: Re: more information about me: I am half-Irish. My favourite football team is Arsenal.

Finn: I don't drink coffee because caffeine makes me anxious, but I love all kinds of tea

Finn: I live in a flat share with two of my mates (Aarun and Kavi—maybe you remember them from school. Aarun also teaches in our department)

Finn: I listen to all kinds of music, but I really like Elliot Smith, Declan McKenna, and Sam Fender

Finn: This is Finn, by the way 😊

Oliver is so endeared, he actually has to put his head in his hands for a moment.

Oliver: noted.

Oliver: what are you up to right now?

Finn: Don't laugh

Finn: I'm playing Animal Crossing

Finn: You're probably still working, aren't you?

Oliver: i was going to grade some papers, but i was interrupted

Finn: Oops 😊

Oliver: my students will hate you when i tell them you're the reason they have to wait even longer for their results

Finn: Your students already hate me

Oliver: no they don't

Finn: Yes, they do

Finn: I'm dating the man they all have a crush on

Oliver can't help it: he blushes, cheeks turning crimson in the dim light of his bedside lamp. Is it possible that Finn O'Connell is flirting with him? He's so flustered, he only manages a weak: stop it.

He can almost hear Finn's laugh through the screen.

Finn: It's true

Finn: According to them, you're "sexy in a malnourished vampire kind of way"

Oliver: i always knew my iron deficiency would come in handy someday

Oliver: anyway, i don't know where you're getting your information from but last time i checked, my whole department was in a frenzy over you

Oliver: they say you're the hottest man in sport science

Finn: I'm going to print this message and hang it in my office

Oliver: you should add it to your uni email sign-off

Finn: "Kind regards,

Dr. Finn O'Connell,

PhD,

the hottest man in Sport Science"

Finn: Perfect

Finn: Anyway, I think I'm going to sleep now—I have to be up early for Advanced Strength & Conditioning tomorrow. Don't work for too much longer 😊

After all of this, Oliver doesn't think he could focus on work if he tried. He waits for the little dot that tells him Finn is online to vanish before he taps his profile picture to enlarge it. It's a photo of Finn at some kind of costume party, looking flushed and tousled with the three top buttons of his shirt undone and a hand holding onto his cowboy hat. His smile is wide and infectious as he loops his other arm around a friend's neck. If Oliver were to zoom in, he could count the freckles on his collarbones.

When he looks up from his phone, he finds Mercutio watching him with a distinctly knowing air.

"Shut up," Oliver tells him and drops his phone onto the mattress.

It takes him hours to fall asleep that night.

#

They don't see each other over the next few days, but they keep texting. On Wednesday, Finn sends Oliver a selfie from his morning run captioned Lucretia My Reflection goes hard as a cardio song to which Oliver responds this is absolutely cursed knowledge thank you. During his lunch break, Finn receives a text that says listened to some of the artists you told me about. why are they all so sad???

The idea that Oliver listened to his music makes Finn smile so wide he almost walks into traffic. He replies: Maybe academia has broken me. Btw I can't recommend today's cafeteria lunch, the "casserole" they were serving looked really suspicious. Do you want anything from M&S? I can swing by your office 😊

Oliver responds within seconds: i only feed on blood and the souls of fraudulent researchers, remember? (i'm doing home office but thanks x)

Finn blinks at the little x with a specific brand of giddiness he hasn't felt in years and sends back: Okay, Dracula. Say hi to Mercutio for me

And so it goes. Finn is certain that their easy back and forth will cut off at some point, but every time he thinks Oliver has had enough of him, his phone pings with another message. Even when they're not texting, Finn is hovering over their chat history and looking at the selfie Oliver sent him days ago to show off his Sisters of Mercy shirt. He looks rumpled and soft in the photo, his hair hitting his shoulders and his eyes crinkling in a faint smile behind his glasses. In the background, Finn can make out some of his kitchen; a sprawling potted plant wedged between mason jars and cookbooks, a sliver of a fridge with theatre tickets and photos tacked to the door, a sink filled with dishes from the dinner he must have made himself. A tiny glimpse of Oliver's private routine, handed to Finn like a gift.

Finn looks at it again as he leaves the campus gym on Thursday. It's a warm August evening, so he didn't bother changing out of his gym clothes; his gym shorts and faded Arsenal shirt will have to do for his twenty-minute bike ride home.

Except, when he reaches his bike, the air is gone from both tires, leaving them limp and useless. "Damn it," he mutters and crouches next to it.

He usually keeps a bike pump in his office, but he brought it home a few days ago because Aarun's bike had a flat tire. He looks around to see if there's anyone around who might be of help, but the campus is all but deserted—unsurprising, since it's eight in the evening and the weather perfect for being anywhere but campus.

Just as he tries to come to terms with the fact that he will have to push his bike home, the fall of a heavy pair of boots makes him look up. Oliver comes to a halt a few feet away, wearing a leather jacket despite the heat with his motorcycle helmet dangling from his fingers. After days of texting him, Finn's heart trips over itself to face him in person.

"Oh," he says, straightening. "Hey."

Oliver's eyes widen briefly as they take in Finn's attire. Ears turning the faintest red, he clears his throat and says, "What happened to your baby?"

"There was broken glass on the street this morning." Finn sighs. "I thought I was fine, but apparently not."

Oliver winces in sympathy. "Got a bike pump?"

"At home, yeah." Finn rubs a hand over his face. "It's all right. I don't live too far away—I'll just walk it home."

"Or you could ride with me."

Finn's head snaps up, certain he hasn't understood Oliver correctly. "What?"

With a shrug, Oliver gestures at the other end of the parking lot where his motorcycle is parked. "I can take you home. I've got a second helmet up in my office. I promise I'm a careful driver."

Finn hesitates. He's never ridden on a motorcycle before. From afar, they seem more like death traps to him than a convenient mode of transportation. "What if someone sees us?"

"Oh, no." Oliver widens his eyes in fake alarm. "What if they think we're dating?"

Finn can't help the laugh that bubbles from his laugh. He casts another look at the motorcycle, gleaming silver and black in the evening sun. "All right," he says finally. "Sure. Thank you."

Oliver nods, and turns on his heel to retrieve the second helmet from his office. The other one, he leaves with Finn.

In the meantime, Finn tries not to freak out. The thing is: growing up in Blissby, that motorcycle has featured in enough of Finn's fantasies to elicit a near-Pavlovian response. There were a few weeks when he was seventeen where he fell asleep every night imagining this exact scenario. He's not at all sure how to act now that it's becoming a reality.

By the time Oliver returns, Finn has at least managed to stop his heart from racing like he has sprinted a marathon. Oliver hands Finn the second helmet and explains, "It's my friend Nova's. She rides with me sometimes."

Finn nods mutely and follows Oliver across the parking lot.

"Finn," Oliver says, gesturing at his motorcycle, "meet Lucretia. Lucretia, meet Finn."

"Hi Lucretia," Finn says dutifully.

With a small smile playing around his lips, Oliver steps up to him and takes the helmet from his hands. "Safety first."

Finn can do nothing but try to control his breathing as Oliver sets the helmet onto his hair, adjusts it, and does up the chin strap. His fingers brush the edge of Finn's jaw in the process, and he doesn't look away from Finn's face once, dark eyes focused. "How does that feel?"

"Yeah," Finn manages, glad that the helmet is hopefully concealing the fact he's furiously blushing. "Good."

"Shake your head for me?"

Finn shakes his head to demonstrate the helmet isn't budging.

Oliver smiles. "Looks good."

The hum Finn makes in response sounds a little strangled.

Satisfied that Finn won't be splitting open his skull, Oliver steps away and fastens his own helmet in quick, business-like movements. Next, he procures a pair of protective motorcycle gloves from the pocket of his leather jacket and pulls them on. The sight should absolutely not be as attractive as it is, but Finn has long made peace with the fact that Oliver could be playing the harmonica and it would be hot. It's something about the quiet competence with which he moves, Finn thinks.

With this step completed, Oliver rakes Finn with a considering look before he shrugs out of his leather jacket and hands it to Finn. At Finn's bewildered expression, he explains, "I'm at least wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Better safe than sorry."

Finn can feel the gazes of a small group of students on him as he slips into Oliver's leather jacket. It's big enough to fall past his knuckles and smells like Oliver's cologne; something warm and spicy that makes Finn's heart pound. He's sure he looks ridiculous in it, but Oliver doesn't laugh. There's an unfamiliar heat in his gaze as he gives Finn one last once-over before he flips down his visor.

Finn zips up the jacket while Oliver swings himself onto his motorcycle, raises the kickstand, and starts the engine. Nodding at Finn, he says, "Get on."

With legs that feel like pudding, Finn walks up to the motorcycle and get onto the seat behind Oliver. His feet find the passenger footpegs on both sides of the motorcycle. His arms snake hesitantly around Oliver's middle in an act that somehow feels incredibly illicit.

"If you want me to slow down, tap twice," Oliver tells him over the hum of the engine. "You feeling okay?"

Finn feels like he might expire on the spot. He can feel Oliver's chest through the fabric of his soft black t-shirt, and his front is pressed along the ridges of Oliver's spine. The warm, solid closeness of him is almost too much for Finn to handle. His voice comes out mortifyingly breathy when he says, "I'm fine."

"Where do you live?"

Finn tells him his address.

"All right. Hold on tight."

Finn doesn't need to be told twice. As Oliver slowly peels out of the parking lot, Finn tucks his forehead against his back and finds that it fits perfectly in the space between Oliver's shoulder blades.

By the time they're hitting the main road, he is laughing, giddy and breathless.

It's exactly as good as his seventeen-year-old self predicted.

#

Lily: ANDREA

Lily: you'll never believe what i just saw

Lily: mr. o'connell was riding ON MR. SALLOW'S MOTORCYCLE

Andrea: AHSJDJK I TOLD YOU

Andrea: there is NO WAY they're not dating. i would bet anything on it

Lily: girl i was skeptical at first but there's no other explanation for this

Lily: he was wearing mr. sallow's JACKET

Lily: and they were so?? giggly and wholesome???

Lily: i felt like i was intruding just watching them from afar

Andrea: i love my co-supervising dads

#

A week after the Motorcycle Incident, Oliver receives an invitation to Kavi and Aarun's thirty-first birthday party. Oliver isn't usually one for parties, but he's worked hard to shake off his loner tendencies since college and... well. Then there's the fact that Finn will be there.

The party takes place at the trio's flat share, a short walk away from Oliver's own flat. By the time he gets there, music is pounding loud enough to seep into the street three floors below. The front door is left ajar, so Oliver lets himself in and climbs the three flights of stairs. There's a pile of sneakers outside the door to the flat that he carefully sets his own Docs down next to.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. Then, he steps across the threshold and into the chaos of Finn's flat. The narrow hallway behind it is filled with people, leaning against the walls with bottles of Pilsner and Desperados while Mr. Brightside is blasting from another room. Oliver recognizes a few people from Sports Science or various other departments, but before he has to go through the grueling effort of small-talk, Finn bursts from a door down the hallway.

"Ollie!" Finn's entire face lights up when he spots him hovering awkwardly by the door. "You made it!"

Before Oliver can process the nickname or the sheer joy on Finn's face, Finn is already pushing toward him and wrapping his arms around him in a hug. His face presses, briefly, against Oliver's shoulder, tousled hair tickling Oliver's cheek. He smells like aftershave and sunscreen and beer—a combination that shouldn't make Oliver's stomach do somersaults but, tragically, does.

"Hey," he says, pulling back. He gestures around the hallway. "Your place is nice."

Finn grins at him. It's clear that he has already had enough drinks to render him loose-limbed and carefree. He's wearing jeans and a patterned shirt with more buttons undone than fastened. Oliver is struck by the sudden urge to lean down and get his mouth on his collarbones. "Thanks," he says. "Come on, let's get you something to drink! Aarun is setting up karaoke and you simply won't survive it sober."

Oliver nods his assent and lets Finn wrap his fingers around his wrist to tug him along to the kitchen. He can feel the curious glances of colleagues and strangers on him as they pass, but decides he could not care less.

Finn only lets go of him once they've made it to the fridge. Propping it open with his hip, he asks, "What are you into? Beer, cider? I can mix you a drink if you want?"

"Cider is good," Oliver says.

Finn leans down to get a can of Somersby's and opens it for him. Their fingers brush when Oliver takes it; he feels the small point of contact like a thrill all the way down to his toes. His face feels hot as he lifts the can to his lips and takes a sip.

"Oliver!" He jumps when a voice sounds behind him. One of the twins—Oliver has never learned to keep them apart—sidles up next to him and slings one arm over Oliver's shoulders, the other around Finn's. "I never thought we'd see you in our humble abode! Are you skipping your weekly midnight mass for this?"

"Aarun," Finn chides.

"Midnight mass is on Thursdays," Oliver says. "Happy birthday, by the way."

Aarun lets out a cackle and lets go of him. "Cheers. In any case, I'm glad you could make it. I'm sure Birdie here will take great care of you. Isn't that right, Birdie?"

Finn responds by wrestling his friend into a headlock. Oliver leans against the fridge and watches them tussle. He has always envied Finn for his friendships, but right now, all he feels is a sharp sting of fondness.

After a few seconds, Aarun tears himself free and disappears back into the crowd. Finn, looking even more tousled now with his shirt hanging half off his shoulders, turns back to Oliver. "Sorry about him. He's a dick."

"I forgot they used to call you Birdie," Oliver says.

"Oh, yeah." Finn busies himself by opening another bottle of beer. "My friends still do. I don't mind it."

"Want me to call you that as well?"

Finn sends him a sidelong glance and tosses the bottle opener back onto the kitchen counter. "No," he says after a moment. "I like the way you say my name."

Oliver almost chokes on a sip of cider. By the time he has regained his breath, Kavi has popped up next to them. With all the earnestness of a team captain before a big game, he sets a hand on both of their shoulders and says, "Boys. Beer pong in the living room in two minutes. Thoughts?"

Finn looks at Oliver. "Do you want to play?"

Oliver would do absolutely anything if it kept him in Finn's proximity tonight. "Sure."

This is how they end up in the living room a few moments later, facing down the twins in a game of beer pong. Oliver has never played before, but Finn makes up for it; he clearly has practice, and only seems to get better the more he drinks.

Oliver feels tipsy halfway through the game. He laughs easier, and forgets all about the crowd around them. Back in school, he was never the kind of bloke who was invited to play drinking games; he was the loner in the back of the room watching his classmates like they were a different species he didn't know how to interact with. It feels good to be here, next to Finn, who makes a show out of "teaching" Oliver how to score. At one point, he stands pressed up against his back, hands on Oliver's hips as Oliver lines up the shot and his voice low in Oliver's ear as he murmurs, "Second cup to the left. Come on, you can do it."

"Get a room!" Kavi shouts.

Finn flips him off without taking his other hand from Oliver's waist. His thumb has slipped under the fabric of Oliver's black shirt, tracing absent-minded circles on his overheating skin.

The ping pong ball sails neatly into the cup, which is a miracle seeing as Oliver is so horny he can hardly see straight. His reward is a hand ruffling his hair and the sight of Finn's brilliant smile, turned on only for him.

After the first round, they mix up the teams so that it's Oliver and Kavi playing against Finn and Aarun. Somehow, this is even worse: instead of lingering unnecessary touches, Oliver is now confronted with Finn making unwavering eye contact with him across the beer pong table and mouthing taunts at him over the music. The sight of him is so distracting, Oliver only scores twice.

By the end of the game, he is fantastically sloshed and sticky with beer he accidentally spilled over himself. Finn strolls over to him, looking a little unsteady himself, and plucks at the collar of Oliver's ruined shirt. "Come on. I'll give you one of mine."

Oliver nods and trails after him, down the corridor and into the room next to the bathroom. The window faces West, so the room is even warmer than the living room as the last golden rays of sun pour onto the floorboards. When Finn shuts the door behind them, the music grows muffled, leaving them in their own private universe far away from the chaos of the party.

Oliver turns slowly, taking in the room. It's somehow exactly how he expected it to be. Potted plants are taking up the windowsill and half of his shelves. The walls are covered in Polaroids showing Finn with friends, and an Arsenal jersey with O'CONNELL on the back hangs above the bed. There's a small bookshelf filled with sports-related nonfiction and biographies and a desk with half-finished lesson plans.

While Oliver surveys all of this, Finn walks over to his closet and pulls out a dark green t-shirt Oliver has seen him in before. "This okay?"

Nodding, Oliver takes hold of the bottom of his own shirt and pulls it over his head. When he emerges from it, he notices that Finn hasn't taken his eyes off him once, tracing Oliver's torso and the tattoos scattered across it.

"Are you going to give me that shirt?" Oliver asks. His voice has dropped to its lowest register, rough with unspoken want.

"Yeah." Finn's gaze abruptly snaps away as his cheeks turn an impressive red. He holds the shirt out for Oliver without looking at him. "Sorry. Here."

Oliver takes it and quickly shrugs it on. It fits looser on him than it does on Finn's broad shoulders. It smells like laundry detergent and a smell that is distinctly Finn. When he's done, Oliver bunches his dirty shirt up in his hands and sits down on the edge of Finn's bed. "I like your room."

"It's nothing special." Finn sinks down next to him. Their thighs touch, but neither of them thinks to move away. Oliver can feel Finn's eyes roving over him. "Fuck." Finn laughs, raking a hand through his hair. "I forgot what happens whenever I drink too much."

"What happens?" Oliver asks.

"There are several phases. At first, I feel really good," Finn says, ticking the phases off on his fingers. "Then, I get really talkative. The last phase is what Kavi calls my needy stage."

Oliver laughs. "You get touchy. I noticed."

"Sorry." Finn smiles sheepishly.

"I don't mind."

"You don't?" Resting his chin in his hand, Finn peers up at him.

Oliver swallows. "No. I don't mind it at all."

There's a moment of hesitation that feels like the point of no return. Then, Finn straightens and turns his entire upper body so he's facing Oliver.

Without his doing, Oliver's eyes drop down to Finn's lips.

Finn's voice is like sandpaper as he asks, "Would it be a really bad idea to kiss you?"

"Probably," Oliver whispers.

"Can I do it anyway?"

"Please."

He has barely gotten the word out before Finn is leaning forward. His hands find their way into Oliver's hair, angling his head just so before their lips meet.

Oliver can't help the small, punched-out sound he makes into Finn's mouth. It has been over a year since he was last kissed. It has been over a decade of imagining what it would be like to have Finn's mouth on his. The reality of it is so much better than anything his pubescent self could have imagined.

It's slow at first, a tentative slide of lips. Then Oliver bites down on Finn's lip and the kiss changes, becomes desperate. Oliver crawls into Finn's lap before he can think better of it and is rewarded with a hoarse "Fuck."

With his heart pounding in his chest, Oliver leans back to get a look at Finn's face. He finds him looking up at him with his cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, looking more beautiful than Oliver has ever seen him. He feels drunk on body heat and touch, Finn's hand tenderly cradling the nape of Oliver's neck while the other is curled into his borrowed shirt.

"I've wanted to do this since we were fifteen," Finn tells him.

"No, you haven't," Oliver says.

"Yes, I have." Finn laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Ask Kavi and Aarun."

The idea that he might be telling the truth is so overwhelming, Oliver can do nothing but reel him into another kiss. Finn smiles against his mouth the entire time.

"I didn't... I wasn't sure you even liked men," Oliver manages.

Finn gestures down at himself. "Does this clarify things?"

"Mm-mh," Oliver says weakly, even though he still isn't entirely convinced he isn't hallucinating all of this.

Before he can embarrass himself even more, a thump at the door makes both of them jump. "Finn!" a voice calls. "You're needed for karaoke! The twins want to sing Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! with you."

"I'll be there in a second!" Finn shouts. He looks down at himself and adds, faintly, "Just as soon as I stop being hard."

Oliver laughs so hard he has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle it, and drops his head against Finn's shoulder. It's another fifteen minutes before they return to the party. By then, Oliver is so high on endorphins, he doesn't even care that anyone who sees them knows what they've been up to.

#

All throughout the weekend, Finn is so giddy he almost makes himself sick. He replays the kiss so many times he nearly convinces himself he made it up, and talks Kavi and Aarun's ears off until they threaten to kick him out of the flat share if the name "Oliver" is uttered one more time.

On Monday, he texts Oliver: Are you free to go for a pint after classes? I still owe you one for taking me home the other day

Oliver responds within seconds. i'll meet you in the parking lot at six x

Finn grins so wide his cheeks hurt.

At six o'clock sharp, he jogs out of the lecture hall to find Oliver standing in the parking lot with two helmets and a smile that's just a little bit more shy than any other Finn has ever caught on him.

Aware of the throng of students and colleagues around them, Finn comes to a halt a few steps away from him. He does his best impression of a man who is not dying to be kissed against the bike stands as he says, "Hey."

"Hey." Oliver lifts one of the helmets. "I thought we could ride there together?"

"Sure," Finn says, voice extremely casual, and accepts the other helmet.

Getting onto the motorcycle behind Oliver this time is both easier and a million times more intimidating. Now that they've kissed once—now that Finn has had him in his lap, Oliver's thighs straddling his and Oliver's arms looped around his neck—the physical proximity is even more like torture. When he wraps his arms around Oliver from behind, he can feel Oliver's heartbeat kicking beneath his palm.

"Ready?" Oliver asks.

"Ready."

They take off. The ride to Finn's favourite pub passes much too quickly for his taste; he has to painstakingly peel himself off Oliver and act like his legs aren't a little weak when Oliver slips his hand into Finn's and flashes him a smile.

The pub is decently crowded around this time, but no one pays them any mind as they pick their way between the tables until they find a corner seat in the back. Oliver makes Finn wait there while he goes to get them something to drink. Finn is relieved when he sees that it's Coke—he's not eighteen anymore, and the hangover he woke with Saturday morning left a lasting impression.

At last, Oliver sits down next to him. His knee presses into Finn's as he smiles at him, more relaxed and open than Finn has ever imagined he could look. "Hey," he says, nonsensically.

"Hello." Finn grins into his Coke.

"How was your day?"

"Distracted." Finn casts a sidelong glance at Oliver. "Yours?"

"Hell on earth," Oliver responds.

Finn laughs. Feeling brave, he says, "Now that we're here, I kind of wish we skipped the pub and just gone back to your place."

"Finish your drink," Oliver says placidly, "then you can ravish me."

At once, all of Finn's blood decides to relocate to his face. His knuckles are white around his cool glass. It takes all of his self-control not to start chugging it.

Oliver, of course, notices. With a shit-eating grin, he declares, "How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?"

"Shakespeare?" Finn guesses.

Oliver nods, pleased.

"I remember," Finn says. "You were obsessed with him in school. Every time I came to the library, you were reading one of his plays."

"You paid attention to that?"

"I paid attention to everything you did," Finn says, smiling sheepishly. "I wasn't lying when I said I've been fancying you since I was fifteen."

Oliver takes a moment to process this while one of his hands absentmindedly plays with one of the piercing in his left ear. Finally, he admits, "I think I was, too. I just couldn't admit it to myself."

Finn nods sagely. "Because it would have been too mainstream."

"No, idiot," Oliver laughs. "Because I was jealous of you. Everyone liked you. You walked through school like you'd never had a single bad day in your life."

For the first time, Finn sobers. "It wasn't real," he tells Oliver. "Actually, for most of the time you were in Blissby, I was doing terrible. My mom was agoraphobic, and I had panic attacks almost every day. I was diagnosed with a panic disorder my first year of uni."

Oliver blinks at him like something in his brain is realigning. "I never would have guessed."

"I know. I worked hard to make sure of it." Finn's lips curl into a wry smile. "It got more difficult to hide when I moved in with Aarun and Kavi. They staged an intervention and made me go to a therapist the second time they caught me hyperventilating in the laundry room."

"Do you still get them sometimes?"

"I still get anxious, but I haven't had a full-blown panic attack in a while," Finn says. "The last one was a few days before I had to defend my PhD thesis, which was ironic considering its subject."

"The effect of endurance sports on the severity of panic disorder symptoms in adults." Oliver nods. "I read it."

"You did?"

"A few weeks ago. It was... impressive."

Finn tries his hardest not to preen. Oliver's standards regarding research are notoriously high, so the compliment feels a bit like being awarded a medal of honour. "Did it change your mind about the validity of Sports Science?"

Oliver sniffs. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Finn says fondly. "Snob."

"I may have been a little bit prejudiced," Oliver admits.

Finn reaches over to pat his head. "I think that's what we, in science, call a bias."

Oliver grabs his hand and makes to bite it, but Finn quickly pulls his fingers safely out of reach of Oliver's mouth. Because he's much stronger than Oliver, he easily pins their intertwined hands to the table. He waits until Oliver is done glaring at him before he asks, "What about you? Any baggage you'd like to share with the class?"

Oliver thinks about it for a moment before he says, "You probably know that I grew up in the foster system. It's made me... I'm not very good at letting people in. My friend Dana once told me I need to be pried open like an oyster, emotionally speaking."

"Luckily for you, I love oysters," Finn says, dropping a kiss to Oliver's knuckles.

"Good lord." Oliver covers his face with his free hand, but even so, his pink ears are visible a mile away.

Finn laughs before he reaches out and pries Oliver's hand away from his face. More earnestly, he says, "Thank you for telling me. I hope you know that we can take it as fast or as slow as we need to. I know this is probably scary, but..."

"It's not," Oliver cuts him off. "It's... really not scary, so far. That's probably the scariest thing about it."

Finn feels like a shaken-up bottle of Lucozade Energy, except the Lucozade is a sudden and overwhelming fondness and the bottle is his ribcage feeling too small to hold it all. "Oh."

"Anyway." Oliver wrestles one of his hands free so he can grab his glass. He downs its content in one big gulp before he sets it down and says, "I'm ready to go whenever."

Just to be a shit, Finn sips his own Coke at a snail's pace, until Oliver loses his patience and presses a hand to the bottom of the bottle so Finn is forced to chug it. It makes Finn laugh so hard, some of it almost comes back out through his nose, but somehow he manages.

Then they're getting up and racing each other to Oliver's motorcycle. Finn manages to put the helmet on himself this time and slides easily onto the seat behind Oliver, his body thrumming with anticipation as Oliver takes them to his flat. It really is only a few streets away from Finn's; he's walked by hundreds of times without knowing it was where Oliver lived.

They start kissing the moment Oliver has gotten the door to his flat open, all gasping breaths and greedy hands slipping under t-shirts. Oliver blindly walks them over to his couch, where they land in a tangle of limbs.

"Want to watch a movie?" Oliver asks breathlessly.

Finn is too busy kissing along Oliver's neck to produce more than an absentminded "M-mhh."

Oliver blindly gropes along the couch until he finds the remote. Finn can hear a film starting up but doesn't stop to see which one it is, momentarily blinded by his own shirt as Oliver yanks it over his head.

"Fuck," Oliver whispers. His hand comes to rest on Finn's bare chest, rings cool against his skin.

"What?" Finn asks.

"You—you do weights," Oliver states.

Propped up above him, Finn looks down to find Oliver staring at him with something like awe on his face. His lips are red from kissing, and his hair is fanned out around his head, glossy black like an oil spill. He looks like every fantasy Finn has ever had come to life. "Yeah," Finn says intelligently.

Oliver nods mutely before he unceremoniously scrambles to undo Finn's belt.

"Eager," Finn murmurs.

"We've been over this," Oliver says impatiently. "We both waited fifteen years, et cetera."

Finn can't argue with that.

For all the franticness of the build-up, the sex itself is slow, heady and thorough. There's pale, soft skin hot against Finn's and long hair tangled around his fingers. There's Oliver's arms looped around his neck, holding Finn closer than they've ever been as Oliver trembles, quiet reassurances rendered shaky with want. And, throughout it all, there's laughter, low and incredulous, as their bodies learn how to fit together, as years of waiting come to an end.

At the end of it all—once Oliver has slumped, boneless, into the couch and dragged Finn down with him, unwilling to let go of him even now—Finn drops a kiss to his forehead. "Was that okay?"

"Was that okay?" Oliver lets out a laugh. "I thought you were going to say something terrible and sporty like Good job, team."

Without missing a beat, Finn holds up a hand for a high-five. "Good job, team."

Oliver threads his fingers through Finn's. His eyes are bright and warm in the light of the setting sun. He's so beautiful, it hurts a little to look directly at him. "Great performance," he says quietly. "Same time next week?"

Finn has no choice but to lean down and kiss him... and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him.

#

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Dinner

Dear Mr. Sallow,

As I haven't been able to reach you via phone call, I am e-mailing you about the plans re: tonight's dinner with your family. In accordance with our earlier discussion, I am planning to go to the shops later. My question is: do Gabby and Daniel prefer red or white wine? Please advise.

Your timely response would be much appreciated.

Kind regards,

Finn O'Connell

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Dinner

Dear Mr. O'Connell,

Thank you for reaching out about this important matter. I was previously unavailable due to the high demand of students during my office hour. Please accept my sincerest apologies.

As for the matter of the wine, Gabby actually prefers a rosé. Daniel is fine with beer. For the sake of transparency, I should add that there is currently a shortage of ice in the refrigerator, should the need for it arise.

I am looking forward to our meeting later this evening. Please don't hesitate to reach out with any further questions.

Best,

Oliver Sallow

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Dinner

Dear Mr. Sallow,

Thank you for clarifying. I have noted their wishes and shall endeavour to find a solution regarding the aforementioned ice shortage.

I must confess that I am rather nervous about meeting your parents later. How do people do this?

Kind regards,

Finn O'Connell

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dinner

Finn,

They're going to love you. I'll see you at home x

#

Most of their mornings go like this: Finn's first alarm goes off at six. Sometimes, Oliver manages to keep him in bed a few more minutes, until Finn all but wrestles him into the pillows and makes his escape to the bathroom. Nine times out of ten, Oliver falls back asleep and only wakes up when Finn comes back from his run, flushed and bearing gifts in the form of pastries from the bakery down the street. Oliver gets dressed and does his make-up while Finn showers, and then they have breakfast together—or, rather, Finn has breakfast while Oliver picks at a croissant and tries to convince his body that seven o'clock is a reasonable time to ingest food. For reasons incomprehensible to Oliver, Finn is a morning person and usually spends breakfast chattering away about things he saw on his run or plans for the day while Oliver waits for his coffee to bring him back from the dead.

Depending on their schedule, they make their way to uni either together on Oliver's motorcycle or on their own. It doesn't matter, now, if their students gawk when they roll into the parking lot together—everyone knows about them. At the last Christmas party, they were voted the uni's Sexiest Science Couple by their students. It was wildly inappropriate, but Oliver would be lying if he didn't carry the title with pride.

Today, they walk into the cafeteria together. It's a new semester, so there have been new applications for thesis supervision—a fair number of them specifically requesting to be co-supervised by Oliver and Finn.

While they find a free table, Oliver tells Finn, "You know, a few weeks ago, I ran into the head of the department. She told me she's excited about all we're doing to bridge the divide between our two disciplines."

Sinking into a chair, Finn nods solemnly. "Ah, yes. That is the reason I started flirting with you. To ensure cooperation between our two disciplines."

"I thought so," Oliver says. "Our commitment is commendable."

"They should give us a medal."

"It can go next to our Sexiest Science Couple award," Oliver says. At the Christmas party, they were given a cheap little trophy, which they have dutifully displayed in Oliver's living room.

"Oh, God. We'll have to be careful when Dana and Nova come over. They're already green with envy over that award."

"Better luck next year," Oliver says beatifically.

"We'll have to step up our game," Finn says. "Become even sexier. I'm not giving up that award."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Oliver says. "You'll just have to wear those little shorts of yours around campus more often."

"They're gym shorts," Finn says, flushing. "You make it sound like I'm running around in hot pants."

"Now there's an idea."

"Ollie." By now, the flush has reached Finn's ears. "You're awful."

Oliver reaches across the table to take his hand and drops a kiss to his knuckles. Finn pulls his hand back after seconds, but his expression is quietly pleased.

A moment later, one of their students walks up to their table and Finn transforms into Dr. O'Connell as he introduces her to Oliver and asks her to outline her thesis idea for them. While he listens, Oliver keeps looking at Finn as he sits, kind and attentive and so competent it hurts—the opposite of everything Oliver assumed about him all those months ago.

It always starts with co-supervising, Nova said. The idea used to terrify Oliver. But that was before he got to know Finn; before they spent hours texting, before they kissed, before Oliver memorized the freckles on his back and learned what his breathing sounds like when he sleeps. He's not scared, now. He's so happy, he sometimes thinks the last six months were an elaborate dream, starting with him loving Finn and ending with Finn having the audacity to love him back.

He is startled from his thoughts when Finn meets his eyes and asks, lips ticking upward, "What do you think, Mr. Sallow?"

"I think," Oliver says, smiling, "that I'm excited to co-supervise this thesis. Now, about the study design..."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

listen. the world is in shambles. i wrote this last year in an effort to make writing feel like play again and thought i might as well share it with you-- i think we can all use a little low-stakes silliness right now

i hope you enjoyed this fun little alternate universe!! thank you for reading x