Chapter Text
That's So True - Gracie Abrams
No, I know, I know I'll fuck off
But I think I like her, she's so fun
Wait, I think I hate her, I'm not that evolved
“I still don’t understand why you need me to go with you,” Pez repeated, Henry in step with him as they approached the front door.
“Because,” Henry explained, again, “We were allowed a plus one for this event and I don’t know anyone in my class yet and it’s awkward and this is my professor’s massive, elaborate mansion and… I need you.” Henry was rueful to admit the last part, but when it came to schmoozing older rich folk, Pez was his ace in the hole.
He wasn’t even in the course with Henry, but had been won over with the promise of free drinks and canapes. While Pez dressed in a wildly patterned pair of tailored chinos and a practically neon velvet sport coat, Henry opted for a simple sweater and grey trousers. To be fair, Pez did compliment how “scrumptious” his arse looked in the slacks. Not that it mattered; this particular class was a small one and Henry didn’t plan to sleep with anyone he had to look in the eyes on a biweekly basis for an entire semester.
“I hardly think so darling,” Pez said. “You could charm the pants off of any old rich person you wanted, and you know it.”
Henry sighed and rolled his eyes, “And that reminds me. Everyone’s pants will be staying on tonight. You got that?”
“Don’t know what you’re looking at me for,” Pez clutched his pearls, feigning innocence. “I’m always perfectly well behaved.” Henry rung the doorbell and took a step back. They didn’t have to wait long before someone was answering the door.
“Ah, Mr. Fox, correct? Do come in!” the beautiful blonde woman said with a smile as she stepped aside to let them enter. The hint of a natural French accent did wonders for her credibility as the head of the French Language and Literature department.
“Just Henry is fine, it’s lovely to meet you Professor Martin,” he shook the woman’s hand.
“Well then, Henry. You can call me Madeline, would either of you care for a drink?” Henry and Pez followed her through the foyer of the home and into the kitchen where other students were standing around, chatting and sipping and eating finger foods.
Henry and Pez looked at one another, exchanging looks of “are we allowed to accept a drink?” before Madeline approached them with two flutes of champagne.
“Nothing crazy,” She explained. “I’m not here to card anyone, just don’t tell the dean on me,” she winked. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said as she left to open the front door for someone else.
“Mate,” Pez mumbled over the rim of his champagne glass, “how could you fail to mention that your professor is the French Margot Robbie?” his eyes followed the woman.
“Oh, I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind when I was signing up for her course due to her accolades and accomplishments throughout her career,” Henry deadpanned. “Besides, I didn’t think you were into blondes,” he sipped his drink idly.
Pez lightly stroked Henry’s hair, making sure not to get any perfectly quaffed locks out of place, “Jealousy is not a good color on you, poppet. No blonde could ever replace you.”
Henry batted his hand away, “She’s also 40 years old and married. And not to mention way out of your league.”
“You wound me,” Pez responded with no mirth. The two of them stood in the kitchen, sipping their champagne and perusing the appetizers as more students from Professor Martin’s courses arrived. There were probably around 30 of them here now, and Henry assumed that was probably close to everyone, considering the small sizes of these classes and how specialized this unit was. At the start of every semester, Madeline Martin would invite all of her students to her home for a poetry reading by one of her good friends. She always had an extremely impressive roster of poets cycling through from all over the world.
He’d worked hard his first year of college. Probably harder than he’d had to his entire school career so far, but he was determined to get into one of Madeline’s classes. He wanted to learn from one of the best, and she knew her historical French literature.
One last student crossed through the foyer at the last second, trying to slide into the back unseen as the reading was about to begin. Henry barely turned back to see who it was before reaching over and grabbing Pez’s hand for dear life.
Through gritted teeth, he whispered, “Thomas.”
Pez gave him a confused look before following Henry’s gaze. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes got wide, then he snapped around to face forward once again. “What the bloody hell is he doing here?” Pez whispered.
“I mean, we’re in the same major,” Henry whispered back, “It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Still hate his guts,” Pez said slightly above a whisper now.
Henry shushed him and re-focused on the writer getting settled in for the reading.
The reading itself was beautiful; a poem Henry had admired for a long time but never heard in the context that the writer intended. Hearing his story and his process really added to the meaning of the work, and Henry found himself glad that he came tonight after all.
Suddenly, Thomas started crossing the room toward Henry and Pez as other students spread back out around the main floor of the house. “I’m gonna… um, I’m gonna get some fresh air,” Henry scrambled to bolt toward the back door of the house. He knew Pez would diffuse the situation.
Once outside in the cool early autumn night, Henry leaned his head back against the glass window panes. He took a deep breath, steadying himself from the shock that his ex… something just had to be at all these intimate events.
“It can get overwhelming in there, can’t it?” A voice surprised Henry and snapped him out of his anxiety bubble.
“Er, yeah, I guess you could say that,” Henry said and pinched between his eyebrows. He opened his eyes to get a look at the man who spoke to him and once again felt his heart rate increase.
The man sat on the steps leading down to the back garden, cigarette lit between his fingers while smoke billowed out from between his lips. His hair was dark and curly, perfect length to be just slightly pushed back. The streaks of silver between dark strands as well as the same flecks of gray in his stubble indicated to Henry that he was not one of Madeline’s students.
“Smoke?” The man asked him, holding out the pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Uhhh,” Henry muttered. He’d never smoked a cigarette in his life. Never had been interested to. But here was the most gorgeous specimen of a man Henry had ever seen and he would never forgive himself if he didn’t see where this went. “Sure, yeah,” he said as casually as he could. He cupped his hands around the cigarette, trying to block the wind as he flicked the lighter. He flicked it multiple times, struggling to get the flame but not wanting to look like a total phony. He finally got it lit, handed the lighter back to the man, and took a slow drag.
As soon as he went to release the smoke, a cough rose in his throat. He choked it down as much as he could, stifling it with his fist to no avail. The dark-haired man had a smirk on his face, trying not to make the other feel embarrassed. Luckily, he didn’t call him out on it.
Henry took another puff of the cigarette, much smaller this time, and didn’t hold it in. The smoke billowed out more easily, and he kind of felt like he was getting the hang of it.
“First time at one of these, then?” The older man asked.
“Yeah, it’s only my second year so couldn’t even apply for Professor Martin’s classes until this semester, actually,” Henry replied conversationally.
A look crossed the man’s face so quickly that Henry couldn’t make out what it was. “Professor Martin,” he said with a small smirk as he took a practiced drag from the cigarette.
“Well, or Madeline, I suppose,” Henry supplied. “She told me to call her that, still feels weird, though.”
The man didn’t respond, just let the heavy silence linger between them. A smoker and a non-smoker, having a smoke.
“I’m sorry,” Henry broke the silence. “I didn’t even bother introducing myself. Henry Fox,” he said with his hand extended.
The man gave that same unreadable smirk before taking Henry’s hand in his. “Alex Claremont-Diaz,” he said with one firm shake of their joined hands.
“If you don’t mind me asking, you don’t look like one of Madeline’s students. Not that there aren’t more… mature people in university. It’s just, I noticed you weren’t inside for the reading so I just assume you’re somehow… otherwise involved? With Madeline, I mean.”
“I guess you could say that,” the man chuckled breathily, “She’s my wife.”
Henry could feel himself openly gaping at the man, but still found it impossible to close his mouth or break their eye contact.
“Careful there, you’ll catch flies,” Alex teased and turned to face the open expanse of their back yard. Henry clocked back in and stubbed out the cigarette.
“I should really – uh, I should get back inside actually,” Henry stuttered and got to his feet.
“Nice to meet you, Henry. And hey, if you don’t mind not mentioning to –”
Henry cut the man off. “I can assure you I won’t tell Madeline that I accidentally almost hit on her husband,” he said, rushed and embarrassed.
The man remained seated, looking up at Henry with an open curiosity, “That’s fine, sweetheart. I was just gonna say don’t tell her I was smoking,” he winked one big brown doe eye.
“Oh, erm, yeah. Sure, won’t mention it,” Henry awkwardly shuffled away, suddenly desperate to get back in the house.
When Henry finally found Pez and expressed that he was ready to leave, Pez asked what had him in such a rush.
“Not only is she the French Margot Robbie, but she’s apparently married to a grown-up version of a member of The Outsiders. Now please,” Henry didn’t finish, just hurried Pez out the door to make his escape from both Thomas, and his newest problem, Alex.
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“Alex? As in Claremont-Diaz?” Pez asked when they got back to their dorm.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Henry shrugged as he paced the room.
Pez tapped away on his laptop, no doubt googling the man. “Ah-ha, I thought his name sounded familiar. Yeah, he’s the head of the Government and Political Science Department.”
“Of course he is,” Henry sighed. “He’s bloody gorgeous and intelligent and charming and charismatic? What cruel world am I living in?”
“The one where he’s married to a young Denise Richards with a PhD,” Pez quipped.
Henry threw a pillow at him and whined, “Not helping!”
“Mate, just take a deep breath. The chances you run into him again are slim to none since you have literally no reason to be fraternizing with the Political Science department… that is, unless you want to fraternize with –”
“Of course I don’t,” Henry interjected. “I need to drop Madeline’s class.”
Pez was caught off guard, shaking his head and blinking, “I’m sorry, how did we come to that conclusion?”
Henry sighed exasperatedly, “I can’t very well look at her several times a week and be forced to picture her husband and his perfect fingers and perfect hair and perfect stubble and perfect smile and probably perfect everything else.” Henry ran his hands through his hair, then rested them on the back of his neck and turned his head toward the ceiling.
“Wonder if he’s got a PhD as well,” Pez muttered.
“Can’t you just look at his page on the University website to find that out?”
Pez chuckled, “Not the PhD I was referring to, darling."
Henry groaned and flung his body onto the dorm bed, flopping against the hard mattress and burying his face in his pillow.
🚬🚬🚬
The next day, his mind made up, Henry was at the registrar’s office the moment they opened. He had every intention to drop Madeline’s class, figuring he didn’t need the credit anyway to maintain a full schedule this semester. Plus, the class was an elective for his major; a transcript or resume fluffer but not exactly required. He’d come up with every reason in the book why this was a good idea.
“Yes, hello, I’d like to drop one of my courses,” he explained to the woman at the desk who’d greeted him.
“Before classes have even started?” The woman asked, puzzled. “Are you sure you don’t want to give the first few weeks a go before you make that decision?”
Henry tugged the strap of his bookbag tighter over his shoulder and leaned on the counter, “Nope, I’ve thought about it plenty. I need to drop Professor Martin’s class, please. If you don’t mind.”
The woman’s eyebrows raised over the rim of her glasses, “I don’t mind at all, it’s my job. But… that’s a pretty impressive class to get into. Especially since you’re only…” She took a minute to scan his records on her computer, “A sophomore. Wow, Mr. Fox. You must be some student!”
Henry barely held back the groan and eye roll he was tempted to give. Instead, he smiled tightly and simply said, “I just need to get some things off my plate this semester. Starting with this class. Please.”
“Understood,” The woman didn’t seem convinced, but looked back to her computer screen and began clacking away on her keyboard.
As she was typing and clicking, the door to the office opened. Henry turned his attention to the noise, assuming it would be another student or a professor coming to collect items from their mailbox.
It was the latter, but probably the second to last person Henry wanted to see right now.
“Henry!” The sweet voice called as Madeline’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor. “What brings you to this side of campus so early in the morning?” She asked conversationally.
“Hello, Madeline. I, uh, well I was just –” Henry was rather unceremoniously interrupted by the woman at the desk shoving a clipboard and pen across to him.
“Alright Mr. Fox, I’ll just need your signature here confirming that you’ll be dropping Romantic French Literature and then it’s a done deal,” She looked up and realized who was standing right next to Henry, and now turned her attention to the woman. “Oh, hello Professor Martin,” she smiled as if she hadn’t just thrown Henry under a proverbial 18-wheeler.
“Dropping my class?” Madeline looked surprised and glanced over at the form. “Something wrong, Henry? I know you worked really hard for that spot; I would hate to see you give it up.”
Henry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “Um, yeah, sorry, it’s just, I have a lot of responsibilities this semester and…” he knew his mouth kept moving, but he could no longer be held responsible for the bullshit excuses pouring out of it.
He suddenly felt a dainty hand on his upper arm, “Henry, hey. Don’t worry about it, okay? You’re not going to hurt my feelings, promise,” she smiled genuinely. She absentmindedly tossed her blonde locks over her shoulder and continued, “But I would really love it if you just came to the first week of classes and see if it’s something you can handle. The work load is fairly minimal, mostly in class discussion and occasional writing assignments. And from the work you turned in for the summer reading, I know you have what it takes. Don’t sell yourself short.” Madeline continued softly stroking his arm, her bright blue kind eyes locked on his. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he knew he had what it takes to succeed in her class.
What he wasn’t certain of was whether he had what it takes to stay away from her husband.