Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 41

"Remember to study for the midterm!" Brian called out as the hands on the clock reached the 12 and 5, stabbing the piece of chalk into the board and finishing his notes that no one cared for while his last class for the day flooded out of the lecture hall. The professor set the worn-down piece of chalk down on the tray and brushed his dusty hands against his pants. "It's this—" he spun around to the deserted classroom and heaved a disappointed sigh, muttering to himself, "—Friday."

Brian walked over to this desk and began to gather his belongings, his gaze flickering over to the opened door in hopes that Chrissie would be standing in the threshold, wanting to talk to him about last night; maybe even say that it was a mistake and she wanted to come back home. The doorway was clear, though, and it would be for the rest of the night.

With a heavy heart, the professor threw on his jacket, tossed his bag over his shoulder, and left the room, heading in the opposite direction of the university's entrance. He took the flight of stairs leading to the second floor two steps at a time, briskly walking down the hall to the office he once was very familiar with. However, just like his classroom's doorway, the office was empty—lights off, shades drawn, door locked.

"What the hell, Brian?"

His head snapped in the direction of the angered voice, his eyes doubling in size when he saw that it belonged to Freddie, the dark-haired man standing in the middle of the corridor with his arms crossed and his hip popped out to the side.

"Where were you last night?" Freddie continued his interrogation, "I invited you over for drinks, and you never showed up!" Brian parted his lips, ready to explain himself, but before he could find the words, the dark-haired man asked, "You know who did show up, though? Your fucking wife, that's who. I had to listen to her and Mary all night talking about you and Roger. It was absolute torture!"

Brian, overwhelmed by the information that had been thrown his way, could only muster a stammered, "H-How did you even get here, Fred?"

"I have my ways," Roger's friend replied slyly, shortening the distance between him and the professor. Brian stepped back into the wall, fearful of what the dark-haired man was going to say or do next. Much to his relief, Freddie's only remark was, "But that's not what I'm here to discuss, Brian. I'm here because you stood me up, and I don't get stood up."

"I'm sorry, Fred," Brian apologized, clutching his bag for protection.

"I don't want your apologies. I want you to make it up to me," Freddie informed him, a mischievous smile crawling onto his face, "And you know how you're going to do it?"

A blush washed the professor's cheeks pink. "No?"

"You're going to buy me a drink." He patted the professor on the cheek and started walking down the hallway in the direction Brian had come from, glancing over his shoulder when he noticed that the curly-haired man hadn't followed him. "Well, what are you waiting for? You're driving!"

*****

As Brian trudged down the sidewalk with Freddie—having allowed the dark-haired man to tell him where to go and winding up at the underground bar they met one another in—he couldn't help but fall back into the insecure mindset that consumed him the first time he found himself in this position. However, he was accompanied by Roger then and felt extremely out of place. Now, a year later, the professor didn't feel like such an outsider. He had yet to determine—let alone announce—where his sexuality truly lied, perhaps out of denial or confusion, but he believed that his brief affair with Roger had awarded him a certain amount of credibility, easing his nerves about entering the establishment whose demographic was completely lost to him the first time he walked through the doors.

After greeting a few friends whom Brian was unacquainted with, Freddie grabbed his hand and led him to the bar, ordering the two of them a martini and a vodka and tonic. While the former engaged the bartender in some light flirting, the latter scanned the room, remembering the boisterous crowd that filled it the night Roger had dragged him there to celebrate the acquisition of his first and only student who now was Brian's. Tonight, the bar was relatively quiet, with only a few patrons scattered about—all seated, no one on the dance floor.

"Come on, Bri," Freddie blurted out, nudging the professor out of the stupor he'd slipped into. They made their way across the bar and took a seat at one of the available booths, ironically the one that they'd sat at last year. "So," the dark-haired man started, sliding the vodka and tonic he'd brought over across the table, "What happened?"

"Something came up," Brian muttered, hesitantly accepting the drink. He knew the conversation that went down between him and Sting earlier that day was all in his head, but the fictitious replacement made a good point: the only way he was going to change things was if he made an honest effort, and he couldn't do that by drinking himself under. One drink would lead to others, Brian knew that, but with the anticipatory way Freddie stared at him, he sensed an expectation to join him in drinking the night away—neglecting the fact that he had school the next day, and if he were late again, he wouldn't get off so easily. So, with a defeated sigh, the professor brought the glass to his lips and tilted his head back, the clear liquid gliding his throat and warming his cold body.

The dark-haired man chuckled in amusement as Brian slammed the glass down on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his jacket sleeve. "Someone's thirsty," he quipped, his failed attempt at humor earning him a glare. Freddie pursed his lips before taking a sip of his martini, responding to the professor's answer, "Anyways, that's not what I was talking about, darling. I'm over that. I was talking about with Chrissie."