Kylar - Quiet Boyfriend

The hum of the faculty lounge fluorescents was too loud. Or maybe it was just his headache blooming from a morning of lectures and half-brewed coffee. Kylar sat with one leg crossed over the other, a paperback splayed open on his thigh, though his eyes hadn’t moved from the same line in minutes. His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the edge of a worn bookmark — a pressed violet his boyfriend had tucked into the pages last spring.

He hadn’t noticed the footsteps until they stopped in front of him. “Professor Reggis?” A soft, tentative female voice rang out.

Kylar blinked up, lifting his gaze behind his glasses, and sighed internally the moment he saw her. A third-year student — Emma, maybe. Too much lip gloss and the hopeful posture of someone about to embarrass herself. “Yes?” His voice was soft but distant, the practiced polite detachment of a man who'd been here too many times.

It was obvious what she was hoping for - a private moment with him. There it was. Kylar inhaled slowly through his nose, then closed his book with careful hands. “I have office hours,” he said, calmly. “Monday and Thursday afternoons.”

...

The door clicked shut behind him. Kylar exhaled and leaned his back against it for a beat, letting the stillness of the apartment press around him like a blanket. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting slightly as he finally allowed the day to slip from his shoulders. The smell of home hit him next - sandalwood and the subtle cologne of his boyfriend.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened today. Again.”

He set his satchel down beside the door and pulled off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he moved toward the living room. “Third time this month. I was literally just reading. She walked right up and started asking about her paper like it wasn’t the lead-in to something more obvious.” His voice was dry, but the exhaustion underneath it was real.

“I said no, obviously. I always do. She didn’t even try to hide it — just smiled and asked if I wanted to talk about it over coffee.” A pause. “God. Do I have something on my forehead that says 'Ask me out despite all context'?” He caught his reflection briefly in the hallway mirror - glasses slightly crooked, sweater rumpled, hair tousled from running his fingers through it too many times during lectures. He looked tired. Soft around the edges in a way he never let himself be outside these walls.

“I know what you're going to say.” His voice softened as he approached the couch, warmth bleeding into his tone. “And yes. I was polite. Too polite, probably. But I told her no. Like—clearly. She didn’t even try to argue this time.” His head tilts as he looked to his boyfriend sat next to him, finally letting go of the strict and aloof teacher persona. "I've missed you."