Wrapped Around Your Wrist |Virgato|

Chapter 6

Chris sits on a bench on the west side of campus grading. There are only so many days of nice weather left. He's taking advantage while he can between his classes and office hours. He has a black coffee and a caramel frappaccino in a coffee holder to his left, Joel's melting a bit in the last vestiges of heat.

"Hey Professor," one student tips their head at him as they walk past. He looks up with a brief smile before turning to the papers. Do they teach kids how to write numbers? Why is it so hard for his students to have clearly defined ones and sevens?

"Oh my God," he hears a harsh yell that he thinks was intended to be a whisper from across the path, "That's that professor whose One is a student."

"Hmm? Joel's One?" It's two girls, sitting on a picnic blanket not 20 feet away. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention, "Jeez, he's hot. Joel is lucky."

"I mean, for sure, but would you really want to have to date a teacher? That just sounds awkward."

"I can't imagine Joel being awkward," the second girl, who Chris doesn't recognize from any of Joel's Facebook friends, so she must not be that close to him, attempts to keep her voice low, but now Chris is locked in on the conversation, "I mean, he's so confident. Remember that story I told you from that orientation week sundae party?"

"That's him? I figured he must be a nerd or something. Hot for teacher and all that."

"Oh no. If anything, I bet it's the opposite, probably won't hurt his grade-"

Chris takes his sunglasses off to look at them, "You realize I can hear you, right?"

The girls bite their tongues. The one who knows Joel squeaks, "Sorry Professor."

Chris sighs with a roll of his eyes, "Apology accepted. Next time you want to gossip, make sure to do it out of earshot." He turns back to his work and ignores the girls moving their blanket another 20 feet away from his bench.

Chris runs a hand through his hair and tries to focus on the answers. It takes hardly any mental focus to grade math worksheets after so long, but he can't even scrounge up that much effort. His mind keeps drifting to Joel.

Chris has seen him twice since he left his house the morning after the frat party incident. Both times had been inconsequential- sitting in Christopher's office and talking. Chris talks about his past, the people he's met, his favorite bars around town and the accompanying stories about late nights and unfortunate drink combinations. He tries not to paint too desperate of a picture, cherry-picking events that will show Joel that he knows what it's like to be young and spontaneous, even if he hasn't been in years.

Joel talks about his future. The music he wants to write and the places he wants to play it. He tells Chris about all the back up plans he had - maybe a sound tech on tours or a sound designer in a big city. Chris has gotten good at faking smiles when his gut drops at all the plans Joel has made that don't involve him.

That's the sticking point. Chris is the one who always longed for a One. Chris stayed up, staring at his Timer, hoping it would go off. Chris wanted someone to come home to, someone to try different recipes on instead of buying freezer dinners for one. Chris wanted a husband when he was as young as Joel. How many times did he sit in the grass at music festivals, people screaming all around him in joy, and wishing he had a set of arms around his waist and a shared bed waiting at home.

Joel isn't needy like Chris. Chris has known Joel for a month and the more he learns, the more he thinks maybe there's been a mistake. Joel is someone who should have years left - he'd wear it so well. He could walk around with a big number like it was nothing because he has a passion and, like the girl said, a shining aura of confidence. Joel himself admitted to Chris that he treated the day they had met like any other day. Chris had stayed up all night, tossing and turning to make sure he was out of his house at the crack of dawn - giving himself as much time as possible in the world to meet his One.