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Professor Hale is perpetually unimpressed, has a permanent and persistent Resting Fuck-Off face, and doesn't take anyone's shit so it isn't a surprise he's such a stonewall for personal information.
For all anyone in his classes knows, he turns into the Beast from the Disney movie every full moon of the month. He's got the physique for it, and, on the occasion he doesn't wear a tie, the chest hair, too. Which again, isn't surprising given the lush quality of his eyebrows and the perfectly maintained three-day stubble he always sports.
And if you were to ask anyone with an inclination for dick, they would all gladly volunteer to be his Belle, if only he'd ask.
Unfortunately, that offer has never been extended, and after a series of horribly embarrassing attempts to proactively offer by students of every gender, likely never will.
The spurned ones think he probably doesn't have a dick which...is just not true. Hannah from Professor Hale's Intro to Spanish Lit class saw him at the corner coffee shop one late afternoon in honest to god jeans, and the way the denim hugged that man's everything is probably illegal in all fifty states.
Stiles splutters when he hears about it which is hilarious because if there was ever anyone on the faculty to be the antithesis of Professor Hale, it's him.
Stiles doesn't even want students to call him by his title, on account of "me being the youngest professor in this shtick, and all. Pretty sure I'm only a couple of years older than the lot of you which I promise, is only because I'm a genius and got my doctorate at twenty-two, not because I snuck in and no one's called me out for it yet".
Where Professor Hale refuses to let anyone know anything about him, his first name included, Stiles is an open book on all days ending in 'y'.
His students know that his dad is the Sheriff of Beacon County, his best friend is a "badass vet with a whole farm of dogs", his other best friend is The Lydia Martin, Fields-nominated scientist, because "geniuses roll together, baby", and finally that Stiles Stiliniski is Very Very Married.
While Stiles can't wear his ring "on account of all the science experiments, my honey bunches made me promise to adhere to lab safety even at the cost of my bling which I am not okay with by the way" before launching into the story of how his husband-to-be had crafted and engraved the ring himself and the least Stiles could do was Never Take It Off Ever. Somehow no matter how many times Stiles tells it, the story is both the same and different. Nonetheless, he wears the ring on a chain around his neck, and when he isn't enthusiastically lecturing, he's fiddling with it. Usually sticking it between his lips because he's got an oral fixation before flashing a wink and saying, "How do you think I got him to sleep with me".
Which is a pity.
Stiles being married, not the oral fixation because while Professor Hale is an Adonis, Stiles is an Actual Disney Prince. A chatty Disney Prince maybe, and more the adorkable Milo from Atlantis, but still.
There's no one as friendly, as well-liked, or as charming as him in both the faculty or the student body, which he finds hilarious because "Oh man, I was a loser in high school, no one liked me. This is wild. Hey, wait does that mean I'm the popular guy now? Oh man, I gotta let Der know who he's with now, of all the things he expected when we got together, I don't think it was this!" The fact that Stiles is incredibly passionate about the subjects he teaches and is actually good at it, is only the cherry on the cake.
That, and the fact that because everyone likes him, if anyone would know anything about Professor Hale, it would be Stiles.
"C'mon, you can't tell us you know nothing about him too."
"Can too," Stiles retorts with a sniff. "The guy likes his privacy, gotta respect it."
"His first name isn't even on the school website or the student directory, what's up with that?"
"Yeah," another student chimes, "it's just D.A Hale."
A third student absently mumbles, "Mm daddy."
Stiles splutters again which no one pays attention to as a small group of them are guessing what "D. A" stands for, and no, Eric, I really don't think it's because the administrator made a Freudian slip, stop it.
Half-heartedly, Stiles tries to dissuade them, likely much too used to students' fascination with the other professor, and saying with a shrug, "He's hot, can't blame you there."
"You're married," is a student's shrewd reminder, likely one of those who took Professor Hale's Intro to Spanish Lit for the credits and stayed for the view. Any competition would not be tolerated, even by another professor. Pointedly adding, "Your husband cooks your favorite food, you guys adopted out an old cat from the shelter together, you still wear the scarf he made for you when you guys started dating, he leaves you poetry post-it notes on your lunch box, and he checks up on your dad." And in conclusion, "You're married-married."
"Happily," Stiles adds with a cheerful grin and a wink, "but that doesn't mean I'm blind."
And they have to give him that because you'd have to be unconscious not to see Professor Hale.
While he's always in work professional attire, fitted formal pants and shirt, tie and blazer weather permitting, sometimes he switches it up with sweaters or cardigans, and if that doesn't just ring the students' bells, nothing does. The day Professor Hale wears his glasses though is just. Not Fair to the rest of the campus who doesn't see him in person that day.
"He looks like the Clark Kent of my dreams," is a student's pained sobbing.
While the appearance of Professor Hale's glasses accompanies with it the kind of scruff that is a certain layer of Hot, as the days go by and the scruff gets a little more out of control, it arouses a wave of sympathy.
"You doing alright, sir?" A student tentatively asks towards the end of the lecture about three days after the initial appearance of both Professor Hale's glasses and his beard.
"Fine," is his curt reply, pausing to squeeze the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses, likely to stave off a headache. "My husband's sick, he's not a great patient so neither of us is really sleeping."
The classroom is still, and for several seconds no one moves.
Professor Hale doesn't notice. Attention on his watch, he sighs. "Speaking of, I should probably go make sure he's still alive. We'll stop here. Your essays are due on Thursday, and Isaac's handling office hours, make your appointments and don't annoy him, he's fragile."
The class watches him leave, so distracted by thoughts of his husband that he doesn't realize that he's successfully silenced a group of fifty people with zero effort.
Though just because he didn't notice doesn't mean the student body doesn't collectively freak out.
Professor Hale is married. He's married to a man. He's married to a man and he's so concerned about him, Professor Hale isn't sleeping properly.
It's too much information to handle, enough to throw some students off further when they show up to Stiles' lecture towards the end of the day.
Rumour had it that he was slowly losing his fight with a cold and that he'd probably call it quits by lunch. He persisted, though not without heavy artillery: slamming a bottle of Nyquil onto his desk, Stiles glared at them with the tired, beady-eyed squint of a man intent on fighting god with nothing but spite. "I drank at least half of that, and I will be teaching you until your heads turn into rainbows."
Boyd, his TA, sighs.
Stiles lasts a very valiant twenty-three minutes through a discussion about the syllabus that is shockingly coherent if not a little stuttered by his growing drowsiness before he passes out on his chair. Without skipping a beat, Boyd makes a call, and thereafter, moves Stiles' chair aside to continue the lesson.
Ten minutes before it's scheduled to end, Professor Hale appears in the doorway.
Ignoring, or just not caring that there are still students around, he enters the classroom and looks down at Stiles, snoring like a train in his chair. "He did it again, didn't he?"
Boyd just nods, and at Professor Hale's resigned expression, the TA says, "Like you're surprised."
"You couldn't get him out into the hallway at least?"
Boyd smiles serenely. "You've got the dubious honor of wheeling him home all on your own."
"Joy," Professor Hale grumbles, though a corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile when Stiles snorts himself awake, sees Professor Hale staring down at him, and goofily smiles back. "Hey handsome, are we going home?"
"Yeah, sweetheart," Professor Hale replies, all soft and gentle, and completely uncaring for the lives he's casually ruining. "Let's go."
Stiles hums, "Kay." Then, like a bratty child, raising his arms, he pouts. "Carry me." When Professor Hale shoots him a look, Stiles' pout intensifies. "What's the point of being able to fuck me against a wall if you won't carry me home?"
The students choke, Boyd snorts and Professor Hale exhales, affectionately resigned. "Yes, dear."
Once in his arms in a goddamn bridal carry, Stiles fiddles with Professor Hale's shirt to pull out a matching ring on a matching chain, its partner in his palm too, before he sighs and falls back asleep onto Professor Hale's shoulder. It's fucking sickening. Professor Hale still has a look on his face like he can't believe this is his life, but Boyd just says, "You married him."
Professor Hale sighs again, looks down at Stiles in his arms with just -- the soppiest, fondest look beneath his grumpy exterior -- and says, "Yeah, I know."
And if that lovesick expression is why Professor Hale never shares anything else in his life with his students, it's probably for the best. As another student said, "I've never felt more single since I left the womb."