Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 58

The blonde turned his head over his shoulder and watched as the professor began to live out his fantasy by jogging past him and pulling the classroom door shut, the fantasy changing when he turned to face the aggravated blonde—regret wavering in his blue eyes—and argued calmly, "That's not true, what you said. I didn't forget."

He kept quiet, cocking his head to the side and folding his arms over his chest.

"Roger, trust me," Brian pleaded, stepping forward and daring to grab hold of his upper arms, giving him a slight shake. "I meant every word I said that day, and I couldn't forget even if I tried." The professor sighed and ran his hands down his arms, taking the blonde's hands in his and noticing the scar peeking out from underneath the blonde's jacket. He raised an eyebrow and rolled the sleeve up, exposing the burn that ran up Roger's forearm and immediately losing his train of thought. "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," he muttered, masking the injury and explaining, "I just burned myself making breakfast this morning. It's not a big deal."

"Roger, it looks pretty bad—"

"I'll be fine, Brian," he assured him, a sly grin breaking out onto the former music instructor's face as he removed the space between them and dropped his hands onto the professor's shoulders. "But what if I told you I'd feel better if you proved to me you didn't forget?"

Brian chuckled. "Well then, I guess I'd have no choice."

"So, prove it," Roger insisted.

The professor hesitantly placed his hands on the blonde's hips and took in a deep breath, checking the door for any onlookers. When he deemed the coast clear, he returned his attention to Roger and revealed, "Well, I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't think about you every day," he smirked and tacked on softly, "or that you weren't always in my dreams."

The corner of Roger's lip pricked upward. "Always?"

A slight blush crept up in the professor's cheeks. "Always."

"And what are we doing in those dreams?" He bit his lip and twisted a loose curl around his finger, gazing into the hazel eyes that traveled down to Brian's feet.

"That...That's not important," he muttered, the pink in his cheeks turning red.

"Oh, come on," the blonde groaned, leaning into the professor who tried his hardest to resist the urges building inside of him. "You can't tell me that you always dream about me and not tell me what—" His voice was stolen by the opening of the classroom door, the two men turning their heads to see Ben standing in the doorway. The student's eyes widened, pushing Roger and Brian apart—the former turning away from the familiar face while the latter awkwardly adjusted his jacket and cleared his throat.

"Yes, Ben?" Brian asked, putting forth the best professional persona he could.

"I-I just wanted to ask if the midterms had been graded," the young blonde stuttered, his eyes flickering over to the other man in the room for a brief moment. "Perhaps I should come back at another time," he suggested, "'Seems like I've interrupted something."

"No, no, not at all," the professor assured him, returning to his desk and rifling through the papers in search of the exam with the boy's name on it. "Just let me..." Roger watched out of the corner of his eye as Brian threw the pair of readers back on and filed through the stack of papers like his life depended on it. "I know it's in here somewhere..."

The blonde couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at Ben, wondering if he remembered their brief exchange a year ago, and if he did, was he going to bring it up? He couldn't; he wouldn't. He shouldn't.

Thankfully, before Roger had the chance to find out, Brian gasped and extracted the boy's exam from the disorganized pile. "Ben Hardy," he read, ripping the glasses off his face and walking over to the student, test in hand. "Here you go—first one I graded. I told you that you had nothing to worry about."

The young blonde smiled at the big red A+ Brian had scribbled on there earlier that day. "Thanks, Professor," he murmured, taking one last look at Roger before holding the midterm close to his chest and walking out of the room. The professor trailed after him, closing the door and falling against as soon as it clicked into place.

Brian heaved a sigh and caught the blonde pacing back and forth with his head hung low and his hands tucked into his pockets. The professor pushed himself away from the door and crossed the room, interfering with the blonde's path and lifting his gaze from his feet. It was in that moment that Brian sensed the uneasiness that had washed over his old colleague—an uneasiness he hadn't seen since their night at the bar, when the man with the heavy Scottish accent, only identified by Freddie as "Reid," called Roger Liz.

"Hey," the professor murmured, his hands finding their way back to the blonde's arms, "What's going on?"

"You know, maybe I should be the one coming back another time," he rattled off, slipping out of Brian's hold. "You...You look like you have a lot on your plate right now, and I don't want to get in the way of that."

The curly-haired teacher's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I...I just feel like I came at a bad time," he stammered, starting for the door while keeping his back to it. "This was a bad idea. I-I should've—"

"No, no!" Brian cried, leaping forward and reaching out for him in a frantic attempt to keep him from leaving. "I don't want you to go. You...You just got here, and...and there's so much for us to catch up on. I mean," he dropped his hand to his side and muttered, "you never called."

Roger frowned. "I wanted to, Brian. Trust me, I did. I just..."

"You just what?"

The blonde rubbed the back of his neck and reluctantly confessed, "I just didn't want to mess things up for you."