An Emotionally Taxing Week With The Professor

The Ride Home

Paul was fine on his own. He could handle himself. He's a grown man, for crying out loud. At least, this is what he thought before Emma came into his life. He's not sure how he functioned without her. Which is what makes this all the more scary.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Paul?" Asks Emma, who's hands are gripping Paul's biceps. Well, if you can even call them that. She can't exactly reach his shoulders, so. He gives her a smile, cupping her face in his hands.

"Emma– I'll be fine. It's a week! It's not like you're going to Guatemala to get publicly executed for all the crimes you've committed over the years." He jokes, getting a small laugh out of the smaller woman. She was headed back to Guatemala to visit some friends.

"Okay... If you say so, beanstalk." Emma grabbed his tie and pulled him down to her level, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I love you."

"I- I love you too, Emma. ... Have fun." Paul says, the color scarlet glazing his cheeks. The woman lifts her bags up, gives him one last wave, and heads off into the airport. He watches for a moment, almost spacing out. At least, he would have if not for the grumbling, which snapped him out of it. He turns to the source.

"Do you want a ride home, or are you going to spend the week standing here doing nothing? Fucking dumbass..." Speaks Professor Hidgens, who is already walking back to his car. He'd given Paul and Emma a ride to the airport. Paul's also assuming he wanted to see her off, though. He could tell he cared about her. Though, he's not sure if he'd ever admit it. Paul silently follows, climbing into the passenger's seat, and buckling up. Hidgens follows suit, starting the car up. He begins driving, initiating the long, awkward ride home. The silence was killing him. The Professor wasn't exactly too fond of him. Not that he was fond of anyone, but, you know.

"Uh- thanks again. For the ride. I appreciate it." Paul stutters, giving the man a small smile. Hidgens' expression does not change. He does not look at Paul. He keeps his eyes on the road.

"I didn't fucking do this for you." He grumbles. Paul just nods a bit, staring out the window. More awkward silence. It would be a lot more bearable if it weren't for the fact that he knew he was being judged. He hates it. It's reminding him of high school. Which is not a good thing. Eventually, the Professor sighs.

"What music do you like." Hidgens doesn't ask this. The way he speaks simply demands answers. Paul stutters a bit, trying to think up an answer.

"I don't- uh- really listen to music all that much..." He fidgets a bit, not making eye contact. The Professor rolls his eyes.

"That wasn't what I fucking asked. What music do you like." He glances at Paul as he demands a real answer. The man goes silent.

"... Jazz. Or- big band stuff." Paul finally says, his voice almost a whisper. Hidgens pauses at that. Then, with the turn of the dial, the radio is turned on, to a channel that is playing exactly that.

"Didn't expect you to have taste... Because you're so bland..." The man mumbles. Paul looks over at him. He's not sure if that was supposed to be a compliment, or an insult. It was probably both.

"I was a part of the, uh... high school band. So, I guess it just stuck with me." He says, staring out the front window.

"I didn't ask for your fucking life story." Hidgens says, bluntly. Paul completely shuts down at that, staring at his lap. The Professor looks over at him, silent, before looking back out at the road. "... What'd you play."

"Uh- clarinet." He responds. Hidgens' eyebrows raise a bit at that. Almost impressed, or intrigued.

"Were you any good at it?" The Professor's tone is still one of, well, anger, but Paul thinks he's interested. Why else would he be asking. He quickly responds.