The Heart of Him

THGIE

Being a student during the last week of term always felt like the sky was falling for Zayn. He always thought that being on the other end of things - creating lectures, assigning readings, answering emails - would be a different, less stressful, experience. He was wrong.

Where's my pen? I'm a bloody teacher and I don't have a pen? How's that even possible? I'm sitting in my office - a university staff office - and I can't find a single pen? If I wasn't so old school and preferred editing on actual sheets of paper instead of online documents, then maybe this wouldn't be a problem; you can redline with a mouse nowadays.

Leaning back in his leather chair, Zayn takes a deep breath and tries not to let the piles of lesson plans he has stacked up around the edges of his desk get to him. They've been waiting for him since he got in on Monday morning. Then, a fresh faced Zayn, energized from his lazy Sunday film marathon that went strong for six hours before he called it a night and left Liam with a chin-hooked hug, was ready to tackle the final week of Oxford's Michaelmas Term 2019. The three students that came in for his extended office hours after his Monday lecture, back to back to back, should've been his red flag warning on what to expect from the week. Two days later and he's no longer anywhere near fresh faced.

I should go out for a smoke before any other students start to trickle in.

When he pushes back in his chair to make space for pulling out the desk's center drawer where his spare lighter lives, a shiny red piece of plastic catches his eye.

Thank god.

The pen's a lot farther than Zayn originally anticipated, so he bends at the waist to reach it since his arm can't on its own.

Three soft knocks on the door startle the man, his head slamming up against the underside of the oak desk.

"Son of a..."

"Are you ok?"

Zayn blinks back the automatic tears that come to his eyes from the stinging, and raises himself back up into a sitting position. Liam waits patiently for the answer to his question with wide eyes.

"I'm fine," Zayn growls, rubbing the back of his head as if that's the answer to subduing the pain any. One swipe up and his fingers catch the back tip of his glasses, causing them to topple off his face. Instead of trying to catch them, Zayn just lets them fall and stares at where they've landed on his desk haphazardly; Liam stares too.

"Long day?"

"Long week."

"It's Wednesday," Liam points out.

"Don't remind me."

Sighing, Zayn picks up his frames, holding them up to the ceiling lights in order to make out if they've scratched or smudged any.

"Here," Liam pulls out his microfiber cloth from his grey trousers and hands it over.

"Thanks." The time hits Zayn when he's in the middle of wiping his left lens. "Please don't tell me that I forgot we had a meeting right now."

"No, no," Liam rushes. "I just got off the science bus. Thought I'd stop by on my walk home to see if you were here. I brought cookies." From behind his back comes a petite brown paper bag. "Best ones in town."

The aroma of chocolate chip mixed with woodsy cologne brings relief to Zayn's throbbing skull.

"Have a seat," he offers, handing the cloth back over now that he's finished using it. "You're free to stay unless a student comes."

While Liam gets settled in the visitor seat that's not occupied by Zayn's briefcase, the teacher does his best to scrounge up two napkins from his miscellaneous drawer.