Chapter Text
Victor sat in his office, gazing out the window, observing the first few rays of autumn sun filter through the leaves of the oak tree outside. He relished these moments of peace. It was rare to have his office to himself. When his colleagues weren’t around complaining about the department chair’s temper, his students would pop in and out, one after the other, vying for a chance to get close to their tall and handsome Russian professor. Today, he was alone.
Victor had spent the previous year on sabbatical, living in St. Petersburg to do research with other experts on 19th Century Russian literature. In his short career in academia, he had gained enough respect to receive invitations from both national and international universities to appear as a speaker or guest lecturer. A few years ago, the hiring committee for Grand Prix University’s Modern Languages Department heard about Victor’s growing prestige. Yakov Feltsman, the chair of the department, offered him a tenured position, which he happily accepted.
Now entering his fifth year at GPU, Victor expected to return to the familiar campus relieved; instead, he felt an ineffable emptiness. He had only been a professor for eight years, yet he felt that he had accomplished everything he ever could. He felt that he had reached his limit. He couldn’t surprise anyone anymore. Despite being one of the most popular professors among the students, and despite the friendships he had fostered in the university, something was missing.
After a few minutes lost in thought, Victor spun his chair around, positioned his hands over his keyboard, and continued working on his literary critique. His focused clacking was interrupted by a soft knock. He looked up to see an unfamiliar face peeking out from behind his half-opened door.
“Excuse me, Professor Nikiforov?” The stranger, out of breath, took a few timid steps into Victor’s office. “I’m here for the faculty meeting. Where is everybody?”
Victor stared at the stranger. He wore khakis and a black sweater vest with a wrinkled white collared shirt underneath. He looked like a typical academic, adjusting his blue-framed glasses and sporting a standard brown leather briefcase with clear signs of wear-and-tear from years of use. Maybe he wasn’t the sharpest dresser, but he was cute, Victor thought. Based on his disheveled hair and the droplets of sweat on his forehead, he suspected that the stranger had overslept and sprinted to campus.
“I’m afraid you’re a day early. Faculty meeting isn’t until tomorrow.” Victor could see the stranger tense up nervously at the realization. “I know we’re supposed to be punctual, but you’re showing some real dedication!” He teased, trying to resist the smile creeping up the corners of his mouth.
The stranger clutched his briefcase tighter, feeling his face redden from embarrassment. He knew he should have double, no, triple checked his calendar before rushing over.
“Ah, well, then I guess I should head home then. Sorry for the intrusion.” The stranger gave a quick bow and turned for the door.
“Wait!” Victor exclaimed, standing up out of his seat. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He extended his hand in a friendly gesture. “I’m Victor Nikiforov. I teach Russian literature.”
The stranger turned around, and Victor flashed a heart-shaped smile awaiting his response. He hesitated a moment before finally shaking Victor’s hand.
“I’m Yuri Katsuki, the new Japanese adjunct professor.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Professor Katsuki. Since you’re here already, maybe I could show around?”
“Umm, sure, that would be great.”
Yuri smiled shyly, relieved that his timing error hadn’t made a bad impression on his new colleague. Unfortunately, this relief was short-lived. While Yuri could tell that Victor was good-looking from behind his desk, that fact was even more obvious now that he was standing and eagerly making his way toward him. Victor looked statuesque: sharp Eastern European features, light blue eyes, and platinum hair. He wore tailored slacks that hugged the curves of his ass and a form-fitting light-blue collared shirt that probably pushed the limits of appropriate office wear. Yuri’s nerves returned tenfold, and he was suddenly acutely aware of his appearance. Victor was gorgeous, and Yuri was a hot, sweaty mess.
“Come with me.”
Victor lightly placed a respectful hand on Yuri’s back, inviting him to walk alongside him. The gentle touch sent chills down Yuri’s spine, but he pushed aside any intrusive thoughts as he followed Victor for a grand tour.
The Modern Languages Department was located on the fifth floor of University Hall. Each department had its own corner of the building. Faculty offices lined the edges of the quadrant, and couches, chairs, and tables were scattered in the middle of the open space as a common area for students and professors to work and interact. Victor showed Yuri the ins and outs of the department, from “the only functioning copy machine on the floor” to “best place to find some goddamn peace and quiet.” Yuri followed along and listened happily as Victor went on telling stories about department shenanigans. Apparently, there was a vicious manhunt to find the fiend who kept changing the channel on the faculty lounge TV to competitive figure skating. Recently, they’ve also been perplexed by the influx of students who have chosen the department as their new preferred place to study. The answer to both questions was, of course, Victor.
“So, tell me about yourself, Yuri.” Victor turned to his companion as they made their way outside through a set of glass doors.
“Umm, well, uh…” Yuri was flustered for a moment, not expecting Victor to call him by his first name. “What would you like to know?”
“For starters, where are you from and what brought you to GPU?” The two turned the corner to a small garden concealed by a wall of tall hedges.
“Well, I’m originally from Japan. I came to the U.S. for college to study English literature, actually. I got sucked into the Japanese curriculum and ended up getting a Ph.D. in that instead.” Yuri looked over at Victor, who was listening intently.
“Is this your first year teaching?”
“I taught classes during my Ph.D. program, but nothing beyond that.”
“I see. So, why GPU?”
“I’m close to one of the professors in the Theater Department, and he told me about the open position, so I applied.”
“Ah, boyfriend?” Victor said with an arched brow and a teasing smile.
“It’s not what you think!” Yuri stopped abruptly, shaking his head and waving his hands in denial. Yuri was fairly inexperienced in that arena of his life; although he would be lying if he said he hadn’t checked Victor’s hand for a ring. He looked at his hand again just in case. All clear.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Victor laughed. He almost felt sorry, but he enjoyed Yuri’s nervous and flustered reaction too much to feel any real remorse. “So, what were you doing before you got this job?”
Victor lead them to a wooden bench and took a seat. Composing himself, Yuri sat down next to him, taking care to keep some professional distance between them.
“I used to write. Books, mostly.” Yuri said shyly. “They weren’t great.”
Victor could tell that Yuri wasn’t trying to be modest. In fact, it almost seemed like he was ashamed. Sensing Yuri’s mood shift, Victor smiled in an attempt to cheer him up.
“I’m sure they’re incredible! I’d love to read them some time.”
“They’re really not any good,” Yuri looked down at his feet, hoping that Victor would drop the subject.
“Good enough to be published, and good enough to get you here.”
The dejected Yuri looked up at Victor, who was still smiling, not as brightly, but sincerely. Yuri gave a half smile back and uttered a weak thank you.
“What about you? How long have you been teaching here?”
“I started five years ago, but it feels like a lifetime.”
“Do you enjoy it? Being a professor, I mean.”
“I do.” Victor looked up at the sky, powder blue. “It was hard at first. During my first year here, I used to come out and sit on this bench after my classes. I wanted my students to fall in love with literature the way I did, so I would sit here thinking of crazy ideas to make them love Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky,” Victor chuckled, “but then I realized that literature doesn’t work like that. I can’t force anyone to love literature. Literature speaks for itself. It swallows you whole, and when it spits you back out, you’re a different person with a different view of the world.”
Yuri understood well what Victor meant. You can’t make someone love something. Yuri had spent his entire career trying to make people love his work. He was no Dostoyevsky, but he had talent and a niche community of readers he wanted to reach. Unfortunately, Yuri’s anxiety had gotten the better of him, and after a few rejections from big publishers, he decided to take an indefinite break from writing despite his editor Celestino’s pleas.
“I worry about being a good professor too.” Yuri’s gaze remained on Victor. Watching the silver strands of hair flutter in the breeze was comforting.
Victor put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. “The first year’s always rough. If you’re ever feeling unsure about something, I’m here to help.”
Victor smiled, and Yuri felt a sense of reassurance that he hadn’t felt in a while.
“I guess we should go find your new office.”
Victor stood up and offered his hand. Yuri took it, this time with less hesitation. It was a welcome warmth against the cool air. After Victor pulled him up, the two professors made their way back to the farthest corner of the department where they started.
“I guess we’re neighbors!” Victor said cheerfully, pointing at a black label on the door with bold white letters spelling out Yuri’s name.
That smile made Yuri’s heart beat so hard that he was almost certain even Victor could hear it pounding against his chest. He couldn’t tell if he was intimidated or attracted, but it was probably a mix of both.
“I’ll be right next door if you need anything,” Victor turned to walk toward his office. He stopped at his door and glanced back over his shoulder. “I look forward to working with you.”
Victor smiled again, but this time, with just one corner of his mouth upturned and his playful gaze resting on Yuri for a brief moment.
Yuri nodded and watched Victor disappear into his office.
Was that a wink?
Did Victor just wink at me?
It was probably his imagination, he thought. The lack of sleep and anxiety of starting a new position had made him delusional. There was no way that a man like Victor would wink at him or do anything even remotely flirtatious. Yuri shook his head to ward off any presumptuous thoughts of his new colleague. Once he brought himself back to reality, he started the walk back to his apartment.
Meanwhile, in his office, Victor stared out the window with an amused smirk on his face. Perhaps this new semester would be interesting after all.