And I suppose you need to take History 101?

by LapisLazuli13

Summary:

“I mistake your class for mine and teach it for almost an hour before you walk in.”

Notes:

The college professor AU that nobody asks for but the author has brain rot and hands of a little gremlin.

Chapter 1: An awkward first meeting.

And I suppose you need to take History 101?

“I mistake your class for mine and teach it for almost an hour before you walk in.”

.

1, An awkward first meeting.

Hob scrutinises the little memory note in his palm, cursing inwardly when he takes out his phone and sees the time. For a few seconds, he considers calling Constantine and chews her out for this unclear direction but then decides against it. The most important thing now is finding the way to his morning class without failing miserably – which he has been doing for the last twenty minutes, thank you very much. 

Oh just great. First chance in this new university and I’m about to fuck up royally.

Luckily for him, when he takes a turn to the left, he finally sees the sign for room F1-03. He sprints toward the open door and only slows down when he realises that inside the class is almost full.

Swallowing down a little bit of nervousness, Hob channels his most charming smile as he walks into the classroom and greets everyone. The students are neatly seated, and they stop chatting when he walks in.

“Sorry, I’d have been there sooner but I haven’t got used to the ways around here,” he explains in front of many curious pairs of eyes. “I’m new to town, and it turns out Professor Constantine isn’t that trustworthy when it comes to directions.”

Some students laugh at that, and it helps to ease Hob’s nerves. His next smile is brighter as he takes off his vest and places it on the chair, “Anyway, I’m Professor Robert Gadling of the History department. Welcome to your first day of university, class.”

A few students whisper with others. Three or four get up and leave, probably realising they’re in the wrong class. The majority is still there, staring at Hob quite blankly. Hob can’t read their eyes, and he hopes perhaps they’re just as nervous as he is. He pulls out a copy of his syllabus.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t had time to send out a digital copy for each of you to print today,” this is his fault and Hob will apologise for it, even though he doubts that they would look at the syllabus if he sent the emails before. “My class is History 101, which is a basic course at the freshman level. I think there might be some of you who are sophomores or even older but I guess it’s safe to assume most of you haven’t got familiar with this new environment. I’m glad to share that you’re not alone – this is also my first year teaching at Cheval Blanc. Hopefully, we can all learn something from each other.”

Some students snicker, but Hob has had a few years of experience under his sleeve, so he pays no mind to their less than enthusiastic reaction. He continues, voice a tad louder this time, “Even though this is a basic course, that doesn’t mean it’s easy. There are a lot of topics to cover, and I promise that I’m not gonna let you guys slack off. I can guarantee that you all will learn at least a few new things by the end of the term, as long as you pay attention, even for just half of the time,” he nods his head in affirmation, flipping through his syllabus. “If you fail, it also means that I’ve failed, and I’ll try my best to not let that happen. Any questions?”

A few tentatively raise their hands. Hob braces himself for any trolls in the classroom, but so far they only ask predictable and easy ones: some information about himself, his previous workplace, the grading system of this class, et cetera. By the time Hob answers most of those, about forty minutes just flew by.

“I understand that it’s not easy to keep tabs on everyone in such a large class—” he pauses, quickly counting the rows and seats in the classroom. “—there are about more than one hundred people here, but I promise you that I’ll try to read through all the papers I get to grade them the most effectively and as objectively as I can. Now we’ll move on to our lesson plans—”

BANG!

The door rudely swings open as someone rushes in. Hob raises one eyebrow at the newcomer: a pale young man with disheveled black hair, dressed in black from head to toe, with a – of course – black suitcase in his hand. He neither apologises for being late nor quietly takes a seat, instead he just abruptly stops in the middle of his way to stare at Hob, an unreadable expression on his face as he frowns.

Some students turn to look at him, and the murmuring starts again. Hob begins to lose his patience when ten seconds pass and the black-haired man is still there, unmoving.

“Would you like to take a seat so you won’t distract my students further?” He asks, hoping the other could realise the commanding tone of his voice. “Mister…?”

“Aeturnus,” the young man deadpans. Hob immediately decides that he doesn’t like that tone, even though the man has a really nice, deep voice.

Whispers once again fill the room. Some students take out their own syllabus, flipping through it like crazy.

“And I suppose you need to take History 101?” Hob muses as he ignores those students’ actions, trying to sound more amused than annoyed. He crosses his arms, leaning against his desk as his eyes focus on the young man. “What are you waiting for, then, Mr. Aeturnus?”

The foreign name rolls off his tongue quite easily. That is a pretty-sounding name, even though Hob doesn’t know what it means.

“I don’t,” the man snorts. Hob really adores that voice but dislikes the tone he’s using. If only the young man could act a bit nicer and more polite. “Considering you’ve been teaching my Introduction to Mythology 101 for the past forty minutes.”

Wait.

What?

The whispers get louder this time – or the students don’t bother to keep their voices low anymore.

Hob, in a desperate attempt to save his face after his brain refuses to accept the information at face value, raises his voice questioningly. “Have you even got your Ph.D.?”

It sounds harsher than he intended, and Hob curses inwardly while struggling to keep a straight face. A corner of the young man’s mouth curves up into an almost condescending sneer – but he still looks good, what the heck? – but before he can answer Hob, a girl springs up from her seat. “Uhm, Professor Gadling?”

“Yes?” He replies instinctively.

“Erm… My syllabus for this class says it’s Introduction to Mythology 101, and it’s supposed to be taught by Professor Aeturnus.”

“Which is me,” the young man raises one hand in a mocking salute.

Hob wants the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

Still standing in the middle of the class, Professor Aeturnus smirks at him. The curve of his lips makes Hob both want to slap him so it can disappear and grab his collar to place a kiss on that attractive smirk. Can he do both? But gosh, he’d better do neither. The thought makes Hob turn even redder – assumes that his cheeks are already dusted pink from the embarrassment of being in the wrong class. 

“Sorry that I’m late,” Professor Aeturnus turns toward the students and explains his situation. “My personal chauffeur is busy this morning so I had to take the subway. To make up for my tardiness, anyone who presents here will get two bonus points for the next assignment,” the young man walks toward Hob and places his briefcase on the desk. “Anyone have an attendance list, or some papers to take names?”

As students rush to write their names down on a paper, Hob flushes a darker shade of red as he feels like something is stuck in his throat when he tries to lower his voice for only the young man to hear, “I’m terribly sorry. I thought this is my classroom, F1-03. Probably I misread the sign.”

Aeturnus chuckles at him, “This is E1-03. The sign is broken and hasn’t been fixed yet. F1-03 is in the opposite building.”

Holy shit. The ground truly needs to open a hole for Hob to jump in, now.

The young man let out a small, breathy laugh, “You’re the new professor of the History department, right?” He amicably extends one hand. “We’re in the same department, which makes us colleagues. Nice to meet you.”

Hob reaches out and shakes his hand, still bewildered. And, oh shit, that attractive smirk is dancing on the other’s lips again. Hob really should look away before he makes even a bigger fool out of himself.

“Don’t you have a class to teach, Professor Gadling?”

“Fuc—”

Hob takes a look at his phone screen for the time and curses. He quickly grabs his briefcase and sprints out of the room before anyone can laugh.

.

When Hob comes to the real F1-03, it is empty. He sighs as he digs out his phone to write a formal apology for his morning class, explains the situation, and makes sure that he attaches the syllabus file for them this time.

He, of course, leaves out the part where he had taught the wrong class for almost an hour and kind of made an ass out of himself in front of a new colleague. And if Hob spends the rest of that morning musing about Professor Aeturnus and his smoky voice, nobody can blame him.

Well, at least there’s some good news. They’re colleagues, which means they will see each other around the university, right? Hope that the next time they meet, the circumstances won’t be as awkward.

…

Notes:

Aeturnus (Italian origin) means lasting, permanent, endless or immortal.

Edit: Sep 12th, 2022: As user lilized pointed out to me, Aeternus is actually Latin, in Italian it would be Eterno, I edit this to clarify that I found the name as Italian origin, not exactly an Italian word. Thank you, lilized!

.

Chapter 2 will be updated soon. Kudos and comments are appreciated!!

Chapter 2: The formal apology.

2, The formal apology.

…

Hob’s mini-series of misfortune don’t stop at coming to his supposed class to find the room empty. On the way through the campus, he’s trying to memorise as many buildings and signs as possible, hence his lack of attention to where he actually puts his foot, and Hob steps on something really slippery that results in him falling into the campus’ fountain. His only saving grace is there’s nobody else around to witness his clumsy ass.

Johanna Constantine bursts out laughing when she sees Hob with his hair still damp and his clothes wrinkled in weird places. He doesn’t even have enough energy left to growl at her angrily. Instead, he sounds like a wet dog that is whining when he grumbles, “You still have the audacity to laugh at me after giving me such a circuitous direction?”

“Sorry, sorry, that’s my fault,” she replies, sounding more nonchalant than apologetic. “But I can’t be blamed for your current state. I didn’t push you in the fountain, did I?”

“How could you know…?” Hob eyes her with wariness, and she doubles over to laugh again.

“Oh gosh, there are at least three fountains on this campus, and I know you haven’t figured out the sports area with the swimming pool yet.”

“I could also get wet after stepping into a WC.” He reasons.

“Are you really dumb enough to get your clothes ruined that way?” She shrugs.

“… Fair point,” Hob lets out a dejected sigh. “Look, I missed my class this morning, kind of made an ass out of myself in front of a whole other class, fell into a fountain, and now I’m so starving that I can eat a horse. Can we find something for lunch first before we actually talk?”

“Sure,” Johanna gives him a sympathetic smile. Her kindness doesn’t last for more than two seconds before she flashes him another mischievous grin, “But you have to tell me how you mistook someone else’s class as yours and taught it for almost a whole hour!”

“… You sound like you already knew how it went,” he points a finger at her accusingly as they walk toward the canteen.

“Words travel fast,” she rolls her eyes, then chuckles at him. “Good news, those students are rather fond of you.”

“And now how do you know about that?” If Hob’s voice goes a pitch higher for dramatic purposes, neither of them mentions it.

“Again, words travel fast,” Johanna winks at him with a secretive smile. “Even though it seems like it’s not your biggest concern though, since they aren’t your students anyway. What do you think about Morpheus?”

“Who’s Morpheus?” Hob eloquently replies.

“The guy whose class you taught this morning,” Johanna laughs as she shoves him lightly. “C’mon, I know you have a thing for the Dark-and-Mysterious type.”

“Oh. You mean Professor Aeturnus?” Hob fumbles with the hem of his shirt, and suddenly feels self-conscious about how warm his cheeks are as memories of the morning class surface. “He was… not very pleased that I took his class and even questioned his credentials,” he grimaces, holding up both hands in a defensive gesture. “Not on purpose, I swear! The guy just seems too young to have already finished his Ph.D.! I didn’t mean to challenge him, you have to believe me.”

“Easy there,” Johanna makes a motion that clearly means ‘stop’ with her right hand. “If anything, the one who remarks that you’re ‘a likable professor’ is actually Morpheus himself.”

Wait.

What.

Hob feels a sense of déjà vu. “He what?” He chokes out, dumbfounded.

“He compliments you,” the woman shrugs. “Which is understandable, you’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met,” she pauses for a second, watching his reaction carefully. “Why do you sound like you find it hard to believe?”

“He said I’m likable after I made an ass out of myself in front of his class?” Hob shakes his head in disbelief, voice exasperated.

“To be fair, you don’t make an ass out of yourself very often,” Johanna remarks. “Wish I was there to witness that moment of history.”

“Please don’t make it sound like a great source of entertainment for you,” Hob almost begs her. His stomach gurgles once they set foot in the canteen. For such a big campus as Cheval Blanc, this huge canteen seems fitting.

“It actually is,” the woman chuckles, her eyes quickly scanning the menu for today. “I’m quite hungry, too. Which food would you like?”

“Spaghetti sounds good,” Hob glances at the picture of a noodle dish and immediately makes his decision.

“You’re a simple man, aren’t you?” Johanna casually comments, then she suddenly grabs his arm and drags him along to a counter. “Come, they have delicious chicken parmesan over there!”

“Wait! I want to get my spaghetti first!”

After ten minutes, they both settle on chicken parmesan. Johanna also gets a medium bowl of salad, filling it with mostly tomato slices and cucumbers. “I’m not a fan of spinach,” she explains as she picks those green leaves out of her bowl and puts them on his plate. Hob shrugs at that and agrees to eat those for her. He’s not a picky eater, after all.

“Mmm, this is good,” he digs in the hot chicken first and makes a compliment between bites. “If everything else also has this level of quality, then my decision to transfer here can solely be reasoned by the canteen’s food.”

“I’ll give you five more minutes to enjoy your food before I make you spill the full story,” Johanna says with a mild level of threat in her tone, even though her voice still sounds playful and amiable. Hob knows that she isn’t joking.

“Fine, if you insist.”

…

After lunch and a long conversation with Johanna, Hob finally has some free time before the afternoon class to check out his own office, which means he needs to find his way to the History department’s building. He makes Johanna walk him there this time to make sure she doesn’t give him wacky directions one more time.

“How come you had not one but three interviews with the department and still do not know its location inside the campus?” She waves one finger at him when they’re in front of the designated building, her tone is rather amused.

“Because all the interviews happened outside of the campus?” Hob shrugs at her. “And they offered to move my things into the office for me if I sent them via express delivery, so I haven’t had the chance to come in before having my first class either.”

“Alright then,” Johanna mumbles a bit begrudgingly when she can’t find a hole in his logic this time to poke fun at him. She checks her wristwatch and lets out a curse, “Shit. I’ve got to go. Have a class in ten minutes. See you around, Hob.”

“Thanks,” He smiles at her earnestly.

.

Hob’s office is located on the second floor of the History department’s building – which they also share with the Geography department. He didn’t send many things for the school beforehand, so his office distinctively lacks decorations. Actually, the room is clean and spotless to the point that it’s almost lifeless because two boxes of Hob’s stuff are placed neatly on the table, still unopened. There is also some stationery the school staff prepared for him on a corner of the table, and Hob smiles as he takes the paper knife to cut open the boxes’ seals. He still has about one hour before his class, which should be enough for him to decorate this room.

Most of the boxes’ contents are books and notes that Hob has been keeping since he started his professional teaching career. He places them on the vacant bookshelf, briefly considering whether just this one is enough for all of his collection before he realises there’s another bookcase on the other side of the room. A few pictures of his family and some close friends whom Hob treasures more than anything else in this world are packed along, too, and Hob puts two of those on his desk, and all of the others on the bookshelf.

He is sorting through some old notes when a knock on his door interrupts his train of thoughts. He goes to open it and stammers when he sees Morpheus’ face. “Oh— good afternoon?”

“You’re not sure it’s afternoon now?” The pale guy chuckles at him, and Hob internally smacks himself for making the simple greeting sound like a question. “Still worry about this morning’s incident, Professor Gadling?”

Hob wants to smack himself physically now, not just mentally anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“You already said that,” Professor Aeturnus – or Morpheus, Hob muses inside his head – shrugs nonchalantly. “Apology accepted. By the way, you forgot your vest in E1-03 this morning.”

It’s until now that Hob notices the familiar piece of clothing in the other’s arm. He gingerly takes it, praying that his face doesn’t betray him and turns into a tomato out of embarrassment. He would rather die than admit to anyone that he was too busy admiring the other’s chiseled facial structure that he totally didn’t pay attention to anything else from his neck down.

“Yes, it’s mine,” Hob lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you so much for returning it to me.”

“You left in quite a hurry,” the other notes. His voice doesn’t have the deadpan quality this morning anymore, and the mellifluous flow makes Hob want to melt into a puddle listening to that sound. “The students were concerned about you.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Hob repeats, scratching his reddened left ear. “I didn’t mean to worry them.”

“I know,” Professor Aeturnus nods his head understandingly. Hob wants to address him as Morpheus, but he feels like he hasn’t earned the privilege yet. “How was your actual class?”

“Erm, they probably went home after waiting for too long,” Hob looks away, avoiding the other’s gaze. Blue blue blue eyes make his heart do a double jump from his chest to his throat then plummet to his stomach, and he doesn’t want to let the other know that those eyes of his have that effect on him. “I already sent a mass apology email, and I’m working on figuring out a suitable time to reschedule it,” he explains, his voice slurs a bit as he talks too quickly. “Thank you for asking.”

“It’s nothing.”

Hob makes the mistake of looking up and staring into those electric blue eyes, and his heart now dancing the Lambada in his chest. Traitorous little thing. “And, erm, one more thing. I’m sorry that I mistook you for a student. It’s just… you look so young, it’s hard to believe you’re an actual professor.”

“Funnily enough, you’re not the first one who made that mistake, and probably won’t be the last,” Professor Aeturnus dryly says. “Your reaction isn’t the worst one, though, so don’t sweat it.”

For one second, Hob has a strong suspicion that he knows who is the one with the worst reaction toward the fact that Aeturnus is a professor and not a student. Constantine’s laughter distantly echoes in his mind, and he shakes his head to chase that thought away. “You have your own driver?”

“My chauffeur, Matthew,” the young man nods his head. “He has a personal business meeting today with my butler, Lucienne, so they left the house early in the morning. I don’t know how to drive, and the subway is quite confusing.”

“I see. Neither of us would purposely be late for a class, right?” Hob gives him an awkward smile as his brain is still trying to process the information. A driver and a butler, not to mention they have their own business to take care of. Ah shit, this guy is loaded, isn’t he? “Wait. You don’t know how to drive? How are you gonna get back home?”

“Uber,” the other shrugs casually. “I still have a class this afternoon, though, and some office hours afterwards. Won’t want to try figuring out the subway in the evening.”

Hob stops himself before a warning of how dangerous it is for an attractive guy to call an Uber that late can leave his mouth. He says in lieu, “If you don’t mind, perhaps I can give you a ride home?”

The black-haired man eyes him warily. “I stay quite late. I don’t want to bother you.”

“Cool, I have a late class, and I still need to organise my office, too.”

The other professor doesn’t seem convinced, “You don’t know where I live. What if we live on two opposite sides of the city?”

“This city isn’t that big,” Hob says. He’s lying, this city is an asphalt jungle. Hopefully the guy with a personal chauffeur and doesn’t know the subway won’t figure out that he’s lying then. “I don’t mind driving a few extra miles to appreciate the scenes.”

“There’s hardly anything to appreciate,” Professor Aeturnus mumbles. “Thank you for the offer, but—”

“I insist,” Hob interrupts him, a little bit desperate for a yes from this guy. “Consider it as a formal apology for my behaviour this morning, then. Besides, if I’m lucky enough, maybe I can convince you to give me a tour around the city.”

“Are you aware that you’re asking someone who doesn’t know the subway in his own city to be your tour guide?” The young man arches one eyebrow, seeming amused. “Your offer is quite tempting, though.”

Hob winks at him. Am I flirting? Is this too obvious or straightforward? “All you need to do is say yes. Or a nod should suffice, too.”

“You’re making it hard to decline,” the other chuckles lightly. “I’ll see you at 7 in your office, then.”

Flirting or not, Hob doesn’t care anymore. He beams at the guy, “Sure, I’ll wait for you.”

“See you around, Professor Gadling.”

“You can just call me Hob.”

Hob decides to push his luck this time, so he calls out when the other puts one hand on the doorknob as he’s about to leave. The black-haired man stops, looking at Hob with a contemplating gaze. After a few seconds, he softly nods. “Alright, Hob. You can call me Morpheus, too.”

Achievement: Privilege unlocked – calling each other by first names. Hob grins cheerfully, “See you later, Morpheus.”

…

..

.

Fin.

Notes:

If the demands are high I can turn this into a series of one- to three-shots.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Looking Into History Through A Kaleidoscope