PROFESSOR COMPLEX

“And as a result, less invasive techniques are the new standard.” A gently curving jawline and a teasing peek of neck are the only things Phoenix retained from his teacher’s explanation, he realizes once he hears the last of the sentence.

Phoenix notices himself gently rubbing the front of his own neck, and stops. “Okay, uh… So,” he begins, legitimately trying to pick up what he missed in class where he had been too focused on the clement quality of the professor’s voice to retain anything it was conveying. However, that had been when he was at least a few rows away and surrounded by other students; now that the proximity has narrowed to just a few feet, alone, in the professor’s very own office, he has more or less lost faith in his ability to focus. Regardless, he figures it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. “This inventor—uh, the inventor of this technique…” The professor’s eyes, serene as ever, make Phoenix feel as if they’re going to turn his own into holes by the sheer weight of their gaze. “I mean, it’s ‘cause he figured out you can use imaging instead of excavation, right?”

“Indeed. Clark is an old friend of mine; we met while I was studying archaeology myself. It was very exciting when we first started to see the results of applying this new method!” Phoenix is sure he’s hearing this explanation for the second time, possibly more, but that the professor seems just as enthralled by the topic as ever is a particular kind of charming. “You see, excavation is a permanent process in which you irreversibly alter a site and disturb not just the contents, but the earth around it. That can easily translate to further consequences if one is not mindful. It might prove beneficial to supplement with a geology course should that suit your interests, Mr Wright.”

His… interests. Phoenix swallows. Professor Layton’s hands look soft. One rests elegantly on his lap, while the other is goodnaturedly gesturing in Phoenix’s direction. “Ah, yeah, sure.” Phoenix sifts through some of the papers he’s holding. Why did he bring them, again? Was he trying to remember a question he wanted to ask? He wouldn’t be able to take notes without a pencil, so it must just be that he wanted to feel more prepared, or perhaps less alone. But the fact remains, he is very, very much sitting alone with the professor on the couch in his office. When Phoenix looks back up at his face, he is somehow still wearing that gentle smile.

“Mr Wright, if I may…”

A knock on the door nearly has Phoenix jumping in his seat. With the professor’s invitation, another student from the class steps in. “Hi, Professor. I was going to ask you about the paper, but if you’re busy, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Not to worry Mr Accidenti, this can be a valuable opportunity for group study! Is that something you’d mind, Mr Wright?”

“Uh—no, or—I mean, we were basically done anyway, right? Thank you for your help today, Professor,” Phoenix says, standing up. “Your tea was delicious, and your explanations were, y’know, explanatory. Appreciate it!”

“Hey, wait, Wright! Ah, Professor, we can talk later.” Phoenix’s classmate chases after him, and the echoing of hurried footsteps in the hallway turns some curious heads. “Just where do you think you’re going?"

“Well, it’s like you said, we have that paper to do,” Phoenix offers. 

“Uh huh. Is that what you do on Friday nights?” Accidenti teases.

“Listen, I gotta get used to doing all this researching and writing and researching and writing somehow,” Phoenix replies, looking him dead in the eye. “Usually my classes’ assignments have me working on some kind of art project instead.“

“What kind of class has you doing art projects? Did you skip 12 grades to come here?”

“Hey, man, art majors can and will kick your ass any day of the week.”

Accidenti laughs. “Wait, you’re an art major? What are you doing here, then?”

Phoenix was starting to get used to this reaction. Despite already being a junior in university, he was having trouble committing to a particular field, introducing himself as an art student but taking anthropology classes every Tuesday and Thursday, studying law and logic every other evening. He had long wanted to study abroad but was intimidated by the thought of staying in a country where he didn’t speak the language, so it was easy enough to narrow down his choices. Gressenheller was renowned for its archaeology program in particular, and when Phoenix was receiving acceptances for the programs he applied to, it was unexpectedly the one that interested him the most.

While he was picking classes, his Gressenheller to-be advisor had told him over the phone, “Well, our most popular class is Adventures in Archaeology, one of those taught by our very own archaeological hero Professor Layton; though, you’re probably already familiar with him.”

“Uh… I don’t think I am?” Phoenix had admitted. He didn’t pay much attention to British news. Or archaeological news. Or news. But if nothing else, the idea of having a teacher who had been in the papers was its own sort of exciting.

“The way he packs his classroom full of college students at nine in the morning is nothing short of a miracle,” she had remarked during his initial meeting after arrival, in response to his displeasure at seeing the time on his schedule. “I can’t tell you how many night owls I’ve witnessed transform into early birds before my very eyes just to fit one of his classes. You’ll get used to it—I promise.”

Famous or not, Phoenix initially resented the one and only Professor Layton for being so inconsiderate as to schedule a class for a Monday morning. Still, he showed up to class on time, on principle if nothing else. The teacher was already present in class when he arrived. It was when he was performing his introductory spiel and taking attendance that Phoenix first had the thought that there was a pleasant musicality to the way he said everything, a glint of cufflinks playing cello, and it was when he heard his own name in that magnetic voice that his attention cut deep into his morning grogginess. As the professor continued to explain the course, the plans for the semester, the expectations for coursework and engagement, and his hopes for sharing his love of archaeology, Phoenix had the legitimate sense that he would be motivated to show up to class every morning, and maybe, possibly even look forward to it. He made a point to walk up to the front after class to properly introduce himself and say, “Looking forward to working with you.”

When Professor Layton extended his hand for a shake, though, he sure didn’t expect him to bring up his other hand to support his arm when he replied, “It will be my pleasure!”

Phoenix’s reactionary laugh sounded miles away in his ears, and then he wasn’t quite sure when he got back to walking in the hallway, but his right hand was still gently clenched as if the experience of the handshake was a small frog that could spring out and away from him.

As Phoenix was decompressing in his dorm room and sorting out the introductory documents he received from each class, he realized he not only hadn’t retained much information from the day, but he didn’t know almost anything about archaeology. He was way out of his depth, effectively an astronaut without a space suit, but something about being around the calming presence of Professor Layton in particular was a thought that eased his mind. Above all else, Phoenix had the sense that as long as he whipped out his usual brand of stubbornness, he could make it through anything.

And that he should look at his teachers’ office hours.

So after figuring out how the schedule worked, that’s exactly what Phoenix did; and following his partially fruitful meeting with Professor Layton, he parts ways with Accidenti and sits in the garden to reflect on the conversation. Still holding the useless documents in his bare hands, he soon realizes he hadn’t even thought to bring any kind of folder. Despite his blatant unpreparedness, distractible tendencies, and a general sense that he is what the professor might see as no more than a loose collection of behaviors that are unbecoming of a serious student, Professor Layton gave Phoenix the best he could have been given all the same. Phoenix’s sense of shame is powerful, but what he feels most of all is a deep sense of gratitude. Professor Layton took time out of his busy schedule to meet with him, alone, specifically. For every time Phoenix needed an explanation, the professor was ready, willing, and able—even enthusiastic—to give one, or even multiple if necessary. As confusing as Layton’s patience is to Phoenix, the kindness of it instills feelings of admiration that wash over him and leave him feeling waterlogged with them for the rest of the day.

☞

“Aw damn it, we’re out of Hula Hoops, huh,” Phoenix had noted sadly as he dug around the bottom of the bag for crumbs.

“That was the last bag,” his roommate confirmed. “Tesco’s still open.”

“But I’m laaaaazy.” Phoenix sunk further into his covers for effect.

His roommate walked over and yanked the covers off Phoenix, who dramatically yelped in response. “In case you forgot, I went last time, so it’s not my fault if you can’t be arsed to get more.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh!” He closed his 3DS and placed it on the desk at the end of the bed while his roommate laughed.

“And get me some crisps while you’re there.”

“Want me to get you a freaking massage and a silk robe while I’m at it?” Phoenix replied, smirking back. He hopped out of bed just in time to dodge a stress ball popped in his direction.

The store is a few minutes away by bike, and these sorts of snack runs are getting Phoenix used to the route—and biking on the other side of the road. He parks and locks his bike, and tries to commit to not getting distracted by anything in the store that isn’t on the list. As he walks in the door and pulls himself a cart out of habit, he remembers the paper he hasn’t even started. He doesn’t want to ask for help again, especially considering how the last visit went, but he might just have no choice.

If only Professor Layton’s voice wasn’t so pleasant, or his hands so graceful, or if his jacket didn’t frame his neck in such a teasing way, then maybe he wouldn’t want to pull his collar down and put his mouth all over the exposed skin, or grip his slight waist with both hands, or feel between his legs to see how much he can take before he—

Something stops Phoenix’s cart and he startles, refocusing his line of sight to find that very graceful set of fingers gripping the edge of his cart, and finally looking up into the very face of his wandering thoughts.

“Professor! Oh my god, I, I’m so sorry!”

“You might want to be more mindful with how you operate that trolley, Mr Wright,” Professor Layton playfully responds, letting go of the thing in question, which had almost just slammed into his side. “Say, how is your paper coming along?”

“O-oh, uh, the paper, well, that’s…” His paper… his… oh, yeah, a paper is a thing that exists. “I mean, haha, to tell you the truth, I haven’t really started it,” Phoenix admits, blindsided into honesty.

“That’s quite alright my boy, the first step is often the most difficult. That being said, it behooves you to seek assistance with a counselor if it would be beneficial.”

Phoenix can’t look at him anymore, and settles for staring at the bag of Hula Hoops. “For sure, for sure. I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Very well. Good day.” And there he goes, carrying his own basket. As soon as he’s out of sight, Phoenix lets himself breathe, tries to accept the reality that he somehow actually ran into the professor, especially when… Well, there’s no way the professor could have read his mind, Phoenix assures himself.

In any event, it’s probably a sign that he really does need to get to work on that paper.

Phoenix checks out at the register, and as he’s walking back to his bike he hears he has a message. When he opens his phone, he sees it’s an invitation from Accidenti to go to the party at the neighboring dorm complex. Phoenix feels bad thinking about how he needs to at least start on the paper, but he figures he can write a sentence or two before he heads to the party, if at least to have something written down. He rides back to his dorm, drops off the snacks, and opens his laptop for a half hour to assuage his guilt by creating a new document. It’s when Accidenti shows up at his dorm to collect him that Phoenix finally gives up and heads over to the party.

It’s bigger than Phoenix expected, as if the entire student population had been packed inside the comparative sardine can that was this dorm. The chaos of it almost gives him pause—but then he remembers Accidenti mentioning there'd be booze and that he’s actually two years past the legal drinking barrier here. Phoenix looks around until he finds the concentration of students swarming the beer and makes a beeline for it. He recognizes some classmates at the party, but he spends most of his time talking to new people and refilling his cup. Less judgement to take from people he’s less likely to run into later, he figures, but by his fifth beer he's lost track of the whos and whats anyway. He soon finds himself leaning against a door frame, but tries to play it off like he’s just a really cool guy. Nobody buys it, but perhaps more than anything, he’s trying to convince himself. He remembers laughing with a couple students, then Accidenti’s concerned face, and then…

Blurry images, an overwhelming sense of nausea, and finally, darkness.

Phoenix wakes up with a blistering headache and the distinct sensation that a giant animal is laying on him. And that he might barf. He tries to sit up, only to lay back down. He looks over and sees that his roommate is out for his usual morning jog, so Phoenix guesses that he only got about four hours of sleep. He grabs his phone from under his pillow and sees he has a text from Accidenti checking in and asking if he can come over. He figures it wouldn’t hurt, though he does need to start getting ready for class. He texts back and soon enough hears a knock on his door.

“Wright? Can I come in?” Phoenix grunts in response, not that he expects Accidenti to hear it, but he winds up cautiously entering anyway. “For Pete’s sake, you look like shit.”

Phoenix squints and groans at the sound of Accidenti's voice. “Feel like it too!”

“For some reason, you were determined to drown yourself yesterday,” Accidenti says, sitting on the end of Phoenix’s bed. He looks at the ceiling for a moment with a strange expression on his face. “By any chance, do you remember anything?”

Phoenix tries to recall anything about the party beyond seeing his classmates, but comes up empty. “Not much. I’m not totally sure how I got back.”

“I practically had to lug you back here, you seemed ready to fall asleep on the floor. It’s a good thing I didn’t leave you alone, you had to vomit a couple times on your way here. We had a nice talk in between, too,” Accidenti adds.

“And just what could that mean?” Phoenix asks, knowing he’ll regret it.

“Well, first you were telling me that my hat makes me look like a half-wit, and while I appreciate your input on the matter, I think I’ll be wearing it for the foreseeable future,” Accidenti states, increasingly struggling to keep a smile back. “And then you started talking about how much Professor Layton’s hat suits him, and how stunning he is, and how nice his voice sounds…”

“Oh my fucking god,” Phoenix breathes.

“...And then you told me all about how you literally ran into him yesterday,” Accidenti continues. “I believe your words were, ‘He called me “my boy”, who actually says that shit? He’s probably the only dude who could get away with that, but then again I’m biased, so—’”

“Stoooop!! Stop it!! Aaauugghhh!!” Phoenix covers his face with the blanket and kicks Accidenti with what little energy he has before he can go on with his impression any longer.

Accidenti laughs. “No kicking the messenger!” He gets off the bed when Phoenix only keeps kicking. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll have you know that I was the only one fortunate enough to be audience to your word vomit, as well as your actual vomit.”

Phoenix takes a moment to reflect on his life and his choices. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah, at least now you’ll only have to live with me reminding you of it for the rest of your life.”

“You better not, or I’ll kill you for real,” Phoenix groans. He checks the time, and sees it’s already past eight-thirty. “Anyway, whatever, I… I better go to class.”

“Do not go to class if you’re that knackered.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, legit.” Phoenix sits up, then falls back down again. “Augh…”

“Hey, Wright, it’s really alright to miss a day. Haven’t you ever heard of getting caught up from friends?”

“Yeah, but… Agh, look, I’m going. It’s fine.” Phoenix slowly gets out of bed, swinging his legs out, then rolling until his feet touch the floor. He then finally stands up straight, albeit holding his head.

“Wow, you’re quite motivated to see your instructor again today, aren’t you?” Accidenti comments with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” Phoenix growls, gingerly assembling his belongings into his backpack. “I’m gonna barf on you if you’re not careful.”

“Alright, alright. Just take it easy today. Drink water, eat something light, and all that.”

They make their way to class where Phoenix pops a couple pain meds and proceeds to spend most of it trying not to vom again. At least the professor’s voice is as gentle as always and, even in this state, he’s glad to be able to experience it. Before he knows it, class is already over. Phoenix packs up his things, lagging behind every other student enough that by the time he’s done, he’s the last one in the class.

It’s when he stands up to leave that Professor Layton comes to meet him at the intersection of the row and the way out. “Mr Wright, may I have a moment?”

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Phoenix mumbles. His stomach tenses as he prepares to be chided for barely keeping his head up today. He should have been more attentive, regardless of his condition. The guilt of all the times he’s been letting himself focus on the professor rather than the material surfaces at once like yesterday’s Hula Hoops coming back to greet him.

“I’d simply like you to know that, in the event that you are having difficulties with the material, you are always welcome to come to my office with any questions you might have,” Professor Layton assures him, as gently and encouragingly as always. Phoenix delicately rubs his neck.

“Thanks… I probably should sometime, huh.”

“Well,” the professor chuckles, “more to the point, do you by any chance have some spare time this afternoon?”

“I… yeah, actually.”

“How about two o’clock? If you’re busy with other matters, we can schedule another time.”

“No, no, that’s perfect,” Phoenix says without thinking at all, but he’s pretty sure it’s fine anyway, and besides, he can’t remember anything that could be important enough to be an issue.

“Capital! I’ll see you then,” Professor Layton says with his signature smile, and heads out the door.

Once it’s just Phoenix in the classroom, he breathes a sigh of relief. It seems that one way or another he hasn’t managed to disrespect the professor’s kindness or thoughtfulness beyond repair just yet, despite his irresponsible actions. Phoenix feels another wave of shame that Professor Layton is showing him such individualized and considerate care, and that he keeps being unable to reciprocate his mature conduct. Nonetheless, Phoenix concludes that it really is just like the professor to look out for his students. He grabs his bag and glances at the chalkboard again. Before he leaves, he picks up the chalk and draws two dots in the lower left corner.

☞

Who puts a giant top hat design on their door?

The same person who wears a giant top hat, Phoenix supposes. He raises a reversed fist, swallows dryly, then gives the resonant wood a couple firm knocks.

“Come in!” Phoenix carefully enters at the sound of Layton’s voice. “Ah, Mr Wright! It’s you after all. It’s very good to see you.”

“Yeah, hey, Professor,” Phoenix responds.

“You’re quite punctual today, aren’t you?” Phoenix has absolutely no idea how to respond to that; is he usually late by the professor’s standards? Or, could the professor be referring to something else in his own tongue in cheek way? There’s not really any way to know. After a beat, Professor Layton gestures to the other end of the couch he keeps in his office. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Like last time, Phoenix drops his bag by his own feet. He watches the professor pour himself a cup of tea.

“You seem to be feeling better; at least compared with this morning, when you seemed a tad under the weather,” Professor Layton notes.

“I am,” Phoenix agrees. The pain meds, water, and small snack really did help. He wonders if the professor knows about the party last night, but between the unusually empty class and something about the professor’s tone, he suspects that Layton is very much aware and maybe even sympathetic to his state.

“Now, is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss?” The professor takes a sip of his tea, hot enough that Phoenix can watch the steam from the cup snake in a steady stream up and over the brim of Layton’s hat. Phoenix takes a deep breath and looks at his feet.

“Professor, I just,” he starts. He takes a moment to figure out how to put it. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Whatever for?”

“I haven’t been a great student,” Phoenix says, looking up at Layton again. “It’s been easy for me to be unfocused. I mean, because this is all new to me; uh, not to excuse myself, or anything.” Layton almost seems like he wants to say something, but Phoenix is determined to finish what he’s saying. “That being said, I’ve been wanting to apologize to you because you’re a really cool teacher. You obviously love what you teach about, and you really get everyone into it—including me! I basically didn’t know anything at all about archaeology before I came here. Nothing… real, really. I guess what I really wanted to say was thank you for being patient with me, and helping me get into something I might have ignored for my whole life otherwise.”

Professor Layton’s smile is always on the encouraging side of inscrutable, but to Phoenix, it really does seem that he’s touched. “Why, that’s just wonderful to hear, Mr Wright. Though I hope you know that there’s no need at all to apologize. Personally, I have neither complaints nor concerns about your academic performance and integrity.”

Phoenix blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” the professor says, in that idiosyncratically supportive way Phoenix is quickly becoming attached to. “In fact, the reason I brought you here today was because I trust you to have the capacity, resourcefulness, and determination necessary to properly engage with the material. I believe you merely need to ask the right questions.” Professor Layton pauses to take another sip. “Although we haven’t known each other for very long, relatively speaking, I'm led to believe that you operate best when someone else is around, off whom you can bounce ideas and perhaps even be antagonized into finding your own truth.”

Phoenix pauses to think on himself and his personal history. “I really think you’re right, Professor. That’s… that’s true, actually.” He’s excited in a way, but also kind of weirded out that someone he’s only known for a couple weeks was able to puzzle out such a crucial facet of himself, one he himself didn’t even realize before it was brought to his attention.

The professor’s tea is still hot enough that soft wisps of steam continue to rise off the cup. Watching it makes Phoenix exhale through his lips unconsciously. Professor Layton meets his eyes then, mouth positioned close to the cup. “Oh, how rude of me. Would you like to try some?”

For all intents and purposes, time stops for Phoenix.

He doesn’t dare look at Professor Layton again, and keeps his eyes trained on the cup of tea that caused him to exhale in the first place—the one that’s had the professor’s mouth on it, however many times this afternoon, and the very same one he’s now being offered. Is this a British thing? Is this a teacher thing? Is this a Professor Layton thing…? He’s definitely overthinking it. It would be impolite to say no, right? Though wait, what if this is some kind of test? You know, like a judge of character, because there’s no way he’s the only person in the world who has ever wanted to put his mouth near the professor’s mouth. This is how Professor Layton tests whether or not you’re going to be a problem. No, wait, no, he’s overthinking it. He should just take it.

So Phoenix takes the cup into his hands, faintly blows on the tea out of habit, and takes a sip.

He swallows, and he can feel every centimeter the warmth travels down coating his insides in a way that makes even his skin tingle. “It’s delicious,” he says, though he can’t taste anything. A few seconds pass and he realizes he’s holding onto the cup longer than he probably should, and offers it back.

“I’m so very glad it’s to your liking, Mr Wright. You are welcome to come by even if you’d simply like to enjoy some quality tea,” Professor Layton says, taking the cup from Phoenix.

“Thanks, Professor,” Phoenix says, those being the only two words that exist in his brain at the moment.

Professor Layton chuckles. “Well, in the meantime, why don’t we discuss the matter at hand?”

Theeee… The… Oh, yeah, Phoenix was supposed to come here for a reason. Supposed to, anyway. He licks the ghost of the tea he just drank off his lips while his available lexicon reboots. “So… Mhm. Yeah. Okay. Right. Uh-huh. Yep.” Then he nods, as if he just said something astute. “I’m… Oh, so like, Wednesday’s class, right? You were talking about how colonization and rebranding of culturally significant places as just ‘archaeological sites’ as a whole phenomenon is actually one of the biggest problems in archaeology right now.”

Professor Layton nods, and as he begins his response, Phoenix realizes he better actually take out a pen and paper if he’s going to retain anything academically useful from this meeting. And it’s later that evening when he’s curled up in his bed with his laptop, a cup of coffee, and his notes from the afternoon that he’s finally writing his paper for Professor Layton.

“I only go baaackwards,” Phoenix wails while folding a shirt from last night’s clean laundry pile. He had decided to take the opportunity to belt whatever he wants while his roommate is out on his morning jog again. It turned out his advisor was right; he really is getting used to the sleep schedule an early class necessitates. At the climax of the song he dramatically whips some underwear around in the air while singing along and laughs at himself. It’s a good thing he’s having fun with this, because otherwise he would be miserable, he thinks. Maybe it’s the very fact that he knows his daydreams will absolutely never happen in reality, so he doesn’t need to be tortured by being in limbo.

By the time Accidenti stops by to collect Phoenix to walk to class, he has already finished folding his laundry and is now just sitting at his desk tapping and crooning to the music from his laptop. Phoenix closes it and lets Accidenti in, who snorts at him. “You’re always playing some breakup song when I come around, lately,” he comments.

“It’s not a breakup if I have no chance in the first place,” Phoenix says flatly. He picks up his bag and walks out the door with Accidenti.

“And just how do you know that?”

“Well, I dunno, isn’t he married or something? There’s no way he isn’t,” Phoenix says, not caring or honestly even thinking to be quiet about any of it at this point.

“I mean, just look at him,” Accidenti remarks in mock agreement. “He’s got the,” and makes rectangle shapes with his hands, “going on.”

Phoenix fumbles to smack his hands away and poke him in the ribs, managing a “Shut up! Shut up!!” through giggling.

Accidenti laughs, and says, “Okay, but you know, that still doesn’t mean he’s married! How can you be sure?”

Phoenix tries to put on some kind of a serious face. “Dude. Why are you trying to set me up with my teacher?”

It’s when Phoenix and Accidenti are settled into their seats and class begins that Accidenti’s words start to have a certain echo in Phoenix’s mind. One thought leads to another and he begins to wonder if Professor Layton might actually be onto him. Somehow the thought of anyone but the man himself knowing is fine, but if Layton ever knew… Phoenix supposes he should be more serious from now on, but like, for real this time. He commits harder than ever to focusing on the material and nothing but the material today. However, Phoenix also figures it doesn’t hurt to keep drawing a divided rectangle or two in the sidelines of his notebook. Before he knows it, another class has more or less concluded.

“I understand that midterm examinations can be quite frightening,” Professor Layton says in a gesture of sympathy as an uncomfortable murmur passes over the room. “As such, I have extended my office hours. Please refer to the times on the board, or alternatively, you may sign up through the College website. May your studies go smoothly, and have a wonderful weekend!”

Phoenix jots the site down, noting that it’s different from the one he used when looking for the professor’s hours earlier in the semester. By the time he’s plugging in the website at the nearest library, he realizes the one he found earlier was an old site, while this is an updated aggregate directory of professors, complete with short bios and office hours. Phoenix scrolls to Layton’s entry, and although his initial temptation was to read what’s written in his bio, he is immediately struck by witnessing his full name for the first time.

“Hershel?” Phoenix yelps in disbelief. At risk of making a scene, he leans back, holding his head. “H...Hershel…”

Ultimately, Phoenix manages to keep it together enough to book office hours again. He’s pretty sure he’ll need some hand holding to pass that exam next week. That, or at least another encouraging look.

A few days pass, and as Phoenix enters Professor Layton’s study once more, all the usual smells come to greet him: dusty, woody, the faintest hint of either fresh fruit or cleaning supplies, and, of course, the couch that has accumulated his essence from too many nights spent sleeping there. It’s not the kind of thing you notice unless you’re looking for it, and Phoenix, whether he would admit it or not, always is. The man himself is sat at his desk; where he calmly remains even as Phoenix steps inside.

“Uh, how’s it going, Professor,” Phoenix greets him.

“Mr Wright, would you like to come over and have a look?” Layton suggests, not budging his attention from what he has on his desk. So Phoenix walks closer, hovers around the professor’s shoulders. As far as he can tell, it seems he’s holding what for all intents and purposes just looks like a lump of rock under a large magnifying glass.

“It’s a rock?”

“If you take a closer look, I believe you’ll find there’s more to it than your average rock,” Layton suggests. Phoenix peers over at him, and can see that he’s tilted the magnifying glass in his direction. Phoenix leans closer to gaze into the magnifying glass, but the angle means he has to get close enough to practically breathe down the professor’s neck.

“Pretty interesting,” Phoenix offers, still unsure of what he’s supposed to be looking for, but not willing to get any closer.

Professor Layton clicks his tongue. “Now, that’s not a proper way to go about it; please, come closer.” Phoenix does. He can feel his teacher’s body heat on his face. The brim of his hat is brushing up against his hair. But now that he’s this close, he can in fact see that there’s some kind of distinct shape in the rock.

“Oh, it looks like a horn or shell or something. Um, this is a fossil, right?”

“Yes! This is a beautiful example of a perfectly preserved ammonite. However, it’s not yet fully excavated from the surrounding rock.” Phoenix feels lightheaded from the smell of Earl Grey on Professor Layton’s breath, and leans up and away now that he’s had his fill of the spiral within the stone.

“Cool, uh, thank you for showing me,” is all Phoenix can manage.

Professor Layton leaves the artifact on his desk and stands up, finally giving Phoenix his full attention. “I suppose you didn’t come all the way here to see a rock, now, did you?”

“No, or uh, I mean, it really is cool of you to show me it,” Phoenix adds. “Not every day I see stuff like that.”

“Well, by all means, you are entitled to pay me a visit if you’d ever like to see more,” Layton offers, and guides Phoenix to the same couch they sat on just a couple weeks ago. By now, Phoenix has been getting used to the rhythm of taking out his pen and paper, talking, writing down key concepts and phrases, talking some more, and winding up with a wealth of information, ideas, and wisdom.

☞

Phoenix and Accidenti swap notes and quiz each other while eating in the cafeteria. It’s not too long before they feel confident enough to goof off more than study. “You’re getting good at this,” Accidenti remarks. “If I didn’t know you, I might not guess you aren’t an archaeology major.”

“Heh, thanks,” Phoenix mutters through some fried fish.

“You seem to actually care about the material. And here I thought you’d either be avoiding or stalking our professor by now…”

“I’ll have you know I saw him exactly once, yesterday,” Phoenix says, pointing a fry at Accidenti.

“Did you run into him at PoundLand again?”

Phoenix nearly actually chokes on his food. “What? The fuck?”

“Or, you know, Tesco, or what have you,” Accidenti clarifies. “Don’t you have a habit of crashing into him every chance you get?”

Phoenix takes a moment to process what he’s saying, then it finally clicks. He swallows what’s in his mouth before retorting. “First of all, that was just one time, and I will do everything in my power to prevent it from happening another time, up to and including never going to any grocery store ever again. And second of all, we had a regular, honest to goodness student-teacher meeting, thank you very much.”

Accidenti smirks. “Whatever you say, Wright. You should try eating your fish like a regular, honest to goodness person.”

“What does that even mean?"

While Accidenti shakes his head patronizingly, Phoenix sees a student with a ponytail heading in his direction from the other side of the cafeteria. She’s walking next to a strawberry blonde girl eagerly looking all around. He doesn’t recognize either of them, so he’s kind of in denial that they’re coming to talk to him right up until they sit across from him. “Hey, aren’t you that guy from that party? You know the one.”

For the second time this afternoon, Phoenix nearly spits out his fish. “Pardon?”

“My prospie wants to talk to you,” the student continues.

Phoenix shoots Accidenti a look. “There wouldn’t happen to be anything else I did that was really stupid, was there?”

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” Accidenti quips.

“Only what I heard in my own hall,” she answers Phoenix. “You were literally making so much noise. I just opened the door to see who was going on about wanting to shag his instructor. I couldn’t even fall back asleep until you were finally gone.” Phoenix must have turned some deep shade of red, because the student is pretty quick to console him. “Anyway, don’t worry about it too much. You’re incredibly unremarkable. I only recognize you because of your weird hair.”

“Appreciate it,” Phoenix grinds out through a mouthful of food.

“So, what’s he like?” the prospective student abruptly interjects.

Phoenix doesn’t like where this is going. “Who?” he asks, almost rhetorically.

“Professor Layton, obviously,” she says, sure enough. Her eyes roll in a dreamy motion as she puts her chin in her hand. “You’re so lucky you get to be taught by him. You should be grateful.”

“Okay,” is all Phoenix can really say to that. “Well, what’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Rosetta,” says the prospective student, tossing her hair. “And this is Janice. She used to be in Professor Layton’s class.”

“Then why doesn’t she tell you all about him?” Phoenix asks, staring dead at Janice.

“I, for one, don’t have some kind of obsession with him. We’re on good terms, but I’m sure you have much more to say,” Janice lilts.

Rosetta stares at Phoenix expectantly. He glances at Accidenti, then back at Rosetta, and shrugs. “I dunno, he… has a big hat, and a big head, and he’s good at explaining stuff, I guess.”

“And he always wears exactly the same clothes every day,” Accidenti adds.

Rosetta looks about to crawl across the table. “Does he give. You know.” Her eyes narrow. “Private lessons.”

Accidenti bursts out in laugher. “This one’s great!” he tells Janice, who rolls her eyes. Phoenix is grateful for the opportunity to eat his fries in lieu of mentioning anything.

“Well, I suppose we better get going,” Janice says at that. “But thank you for humoring us.”

“Tell Professor Layton I’ll be waiting for him!” Rosetta bids them and flits away.

Phoenix shakes his head. What is with this school? What is with… himself? “Is that normal?” he asks Accidenti.

“What, prospies? If you thought that was odd, do I have the story for you…”

Before they know it, Phoenix and Accidenti get kicked out by cafeteria staff for staying too close to cleanup, then go their separate ways. Having accomplished a surprising amount for his usual fare, Phoenix spends Sunday trying to take it easy, but his stomach is in knots about tomorrow. Despite all his studying, he can’t know for sure whether or not it’ll actually make a difference in the end. What if the questions have tricky wording, or he’s been somehow studying the totally wrong thing all this time? Phoenix pulls out his notebook and looks at the notes he wrote in Professor Layton’s office. He has to trust that they legitimately connected on the points they talked about, and that the chance of miscommunicating so badly that everything he wrote down is wrong is pretty much zero.

The atmosphere is thick with nervousness the next day, and a comical number of students are missing. But like clockwork the tests are passed around, and as soon as Phoenix gets his, he fills in his name and the date and gets to the questions. He easily marks off his answers for the first question, then the second, and before he knows it, he’s cleared pretty much all of them aside from the extra credit. When he looks over them, it seems to Phoenix that they’re formatted a lot more like puzzles than he’s used to from test questions. As soon as he’s finished the test to his satisfaction, he lets out a sigh of relief and breezily places the packet on the desk. His confidence falters slightly when Professor Layton’s eyes politely meet his as he leaves, but quickly recovers when he remembers that, for his sake, he better believe that the professor’s trust in him won’t go to waste.

☞

As the sun sets on the lazy Thursday evening, Phoenix notices that he has an email from the professor—and upon closer look, it’s apparently one addressed to him personally, not a general email for the class. He’s being asked to come to his office “at a time most convenient” for him tomorrow, to “discuss the results of the examination”. The vagueness of the message feels ominous, but Phoenix would probably learn to juggle flaming bowling pins before ever passing up an invitation from Professor Layton, and besides, he is pretty curious about how he did considering his confidence while taking the test. They exchange emails until they decide on a time, and before he knows it, Phoenix is heading to Professor Layton’s office again.

“You must be wondering about your performance. I’d like to sincerely apologize for any alarm I may have caused you,” Layton says once they’re already set up on the couch, tea in hand. He had offered some to Phoenix earlier, but after drinking only half of it, the student wound up putting it down and basically forgot about it, out of nervousness. He thought it was interesting how there were now inexplicably two cups again, but didn’t really question it further.

“Yeah, to be honest I was kind of worried,” Phoenix admits. “I thought I did pretty good, but a part of me is wondering if I sucked anyway.”

“On the contrary, Mr Wright, you have demonstrated commendable familiarity with the material. I’ll be officially handing out the graded tests tomorrow, but I wished to congratulate you personally on your job well done. You’ve made excellent progress!”

Phoenix is utterly captivated by the sound of that. “Well damn, Prof, you really helped a lot with it, you know.”

Something about Professor Layton’s energy shifts. He places his teacup on the table in front of the couch and uncrosses his legs. “To be frank with you, Wright, I’m pleased I could make certain that extracurricular factors would not impact your academic performance.”

“Uh… yeah?” Phoenix doesn’t really have any idea what the professor is talking about specifically, but soaks up what he chooses to perceive as praise.

Layton adjusts his posture, almost as if he’s been waiting for something. “That is to say, as long as you can be sure it won’t interfere with your studies, I encourage you to take advantage of the current circumstances,” he says in a low, slow way Phoenix has never heard from him before.

Phoenix blinks. Swallows. Inquisitively hunches towards Layton slightly. “Professor?”

Professor Layton deliberately leans forward, nearly eliminating the distance between them on the couch. “You may lock the door, if that’s something you’d like to do.” A shiver runs through Phoenix at the direct comment. He glances at the door. Glances at Layton, whose gaze is steady. There’s no more excuses Phoenix can make now, no more ambiguity to read into the professor’s words and actions; he either locks the door, or he doesn’t.

And what he does is stand up, walk over to the door, and lock it.

Phoenix swears his heart is going to beat its way out of his ears, but he turns around and makes his way back to Layton, determined not to back down now that he’s been given—and taken—the opportunity. However, he hardly has any idea what exactly to do in this situation; he barely knows what girls like half the time, how is he supposed to predict his professor? And not just any professor, the Professor. At a loss for anything else, Phoenix decides to switch gears and instead just do what he wants, what he has been wanting for a while now, and trust that Layton will steer him if he’s off course. So Phoenix climbs onto him, hesitating only a moment to get a good look at him up close now that he has the knowledge that he can kiss him, and kisses him.

The reality of the situation washes over Phoenix like stepping into a hot bath, then. Beating against the wall of his trepidation is a building sense of franticness that had previously been kept at bay by the idea that this was all but impossible, and barely soothed by the immense satisfaction of finally being able to kiss his professor. Even just from a sensory standpoint, Layton isn’t like anyone he’s ever kissed before. His face is as smooth as it looks, in a pretty literal sense. His mouth is soft, but he doesn’t really have lips like Phoenix is used to. Kissing him is magnifying all his senses, and on the inhale he can pick up on notes of wood, vanilla, and spices in the cologne he’s so familiar with by now. It occurs to Phoenix that some key aspects of the scent of Layton’s study must come from this fragrance, too. The professor leisurely rests his arms over the legs straddling his hips, not touching Phoenix with his hands more than lightly holding his thighs. Phoenix withdraws a centimeter to gauge the situation for a moment, and to try to maintain his grip on reality, then goes in for another kiss. Phoenix makes a small sound as he gets lost in it, to which he feels Professor Layton’s body stiffen slightly, so he resolves to be as silent as possible from here on out. At any rate, Phoenix is bent on getting inside Layton’s mouth, and when his teacher opens up just enough, he sticks his tongue inside. Immediately, he notices that Layton’s teeth really are basically just a solid bar, almost like a mouthguard. When the professor opens more to accommodate him, he licks across his big flat tongue, which strangely has the same texture as the rest of him.

One of Phoenix’s hands starts to slide down from Layton’s face, but then he has the thought, is this too fast? Wait, Professor Layton would just say so, or stop him, right? Well, it doesn’t hurt to save it for next time. Hm, is there going to be a next time? He should just go for it now. Phoenix musters up the courage to try opening the professor’s pants, and barely grazes the fabric when, sure enough, Layton grabs his wrist.

“Clothes stay on,” Layton instructs, “in their current state.”

Phoenix removes his hand. “Got it.” He has to admit, it feels a little odd that this has been basically the only time the professor has really put his hands on Phoenix. Still, he ventures removing Layton’s jacket just enough to expose his wide shoulders under his orange shirt. “Professor, is this—”

“‘Layton’."

“Uh, Professor La—”

“Just ‘Layton’,” Layton chides, though softened by breath.

“O-Okay, so, Layton,” Phoenix corrects himself, “is this alright?”

“Yes,” he says, more gently.

Fussy, thinks Phoenix. Ultimately, he feels a little itchy that he can’t get at more of Layton’s skin, but decides on a compromise; his hand moves to Layton’s narrow waist, grabbing at the intersection between hip and leg. Phoenix thumbs at the line created there, dips into the crease. It seems like there’s something about this general area—waist, hip, upper thigh—that’s getting to Layton. Phoenix mentally notes this, and starts feeling around Layton’s front, sides, thighs. After his sudden reaction to Phoenix trying to get between his legs, Phoenix is hesitant to try that again this time, even if there is the possibility of no next time. He then slides his hands up to Layton’s ribs, and up and over until he’s holding his biceps, forcing Layton’s arms upwards and back. Something about this seems to knock Layton off balance, and it makes Phoenix obsessed with finding out exactly what. After forcing his arms back far enough that Layton almost begins wincing in pain, and crowding him further with his body, Phoenix starts to suspect that it could be the physically helpless aspect of the situation that is messing with the professor. He brings his mouth to Layton’s again, maintaining the position while he gets to enjoy the sound and feeling of Layton’s shortening breath into his own. Phoenix keeps kissing him like this and soaks up the immense satisfaction of learning, slowly but surely, what his teacher really enjoys.

Whenever he happens to put enough distance between them that he can see his whole face, Phoenix notices Layton glancing somewhere periodically. Eventually, he can’t help himself and glances in that direction, too, and notices a large clock packed between a bookshelf and a file cabinet. “Oh, um… Layton,” he ventures, “is the, uh, meeting, running out of time?”

“Unfortunately,” Layton confirms. “I have quite a full schedule today.”

It makes Phoenix’s head spin with a hundred emotions at once that there’s another meeting right after him in this very office. He’s not sure what’s weirder: if the next one is purely academic in nature, or if Layton is running some kind of multiple-person kiss operation of unknown complexity and number out of his office. Who knows if he had been having these kinds of meetings with someone else right before him all this time? What if Phoenix’s regular student meetings were sandwiched with sexual trysts? Either way, it’s probably best to climb off Layton, at least for now, Phoenix decides. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says, a bit tongue in cheek, but really trying to gauge the possibility of this happening again.

“Yes, well, I believe one should pursue mutually beneficial situations,” Layton remarks, readjusting his clothes.

Phoenix walks over to his bag and slings it over a shoulder. What he wants to say is something like, I never thought this would happen in a million years, or, how and why did you know I would go for it and not just report you, or any number of other things, but instead settles for, “It definitely is… that.”

“Do mind that this only operates successfully on the principle that we are both responsible, consenting adults. I trust that this won’t interfere with your academics, and that you’ll make the correct decision should that turn out to be the case,” Professor Layton says while looking Phoenix dead in the eye.

“Totally, for sure,” Phoenix says.

“Good. Take care, Mr Wright.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Just as Phoenix goes to unlock the door to the office, he hears a couple raps on the wood. He rides out a few seconds of heart palpitations while he waits for the person on the other side of the door to start unsuccessfully jiggling the handle, then realizes he has about another couple seconds before they’ll probably start trying. At all costs he doesn’t want them to hear him unlocking the door, so he pretends to sneeze as loud as he can while unlocking the door, then turns the handle himself. The person now standing before him is, and apparently always was, Accidenti.

“Wright? This is weird, huh?” Accidenti notes.

This IS so weird, Phoenix thinks, and scampers away without explanation, just a “Hi bye!” and a wave. He doesn’t care if Accidenti somehow reads him like a book later, or at least reams his ass for acting like an extreme weirdo, or whatever. Phoenix thinks back on the experience throughout the day, while walking between classes, while in class, while having dinner, overcome and giddy with the fact that those memories are his and his alone. Later when he jacks it in the shower, head pressed against the wall, hand covering his own mouth, his thoughts have the added edge of knowing that they really happened, and that he can likely hold them in his hands again soon.

☞

“Turn to page 78, where you’ll find diagrams of the Azran syllabary.” Phoenix hadn’t thought about it before, but now that Professor Layton is going into more detail of the Azran language, he begins to wonder how many languages his teacher knows. Layton seems pretty knowledgeable about it, but then again, he seems to be well researched on everything he talks about. Phoenix lets his mind wander on the topic some more for about a minute before sighing at himself in amusement—he knows it’s exactly the kind of thing Rosetta would wonder if she was here, too. If Rosetta knew what happened a few days ago, her head would probably explode. Phoenix smirks into his textbook. One way or another, Professor Layton is banging him. He can only assume it’s some combination of legitimate attraction and sound reasoning, both equally flattering to Phoenix, especially coming from the one and only Professor Hershel Layton. However, he did promise his teacher that he’d stay focused on the class and not the man, and he intends to stick to that. Phoenix does his best to realign his focus, but can’t help smiling every now and then regardless.

At the end of the class—because it would have been too much of a distraction at the beginning, Professor Layton had explained—the most recent round of fully graded research essays are handed back. A few students, Phoenix included, eagerly flip to the back to see what they got before even leaving the classroom. Considering how much he researched and pulled together at the last minute of the last day, there’s no way this paper didn’t blow the professor’s hat right off his head. Creative use of metaphor, Professor Layton wrote in that slant script of his. Phoenix smugly reflects on how his English teachers always liked him. The ethics of law surrounding archaeological activity is a nuanced topic indeed. If you apply yourself further, you’re certain to see favorable developments! Below rests a big red 70/100, to Phoenix’s disbelief. He looks up and sees the professor packing up his things, nearly ready to leave. Phoenix shoves his own belongings into his bag and hurries down the aisle to the desk up front.

“Layton, I—”

“I am your professor,” Layton reminds him sternly. Phoenix sees a student look over at them curiously.

“R-Right, uh, Professor,” Phoenix corrects himself, “anyway, I guess I just expected a better grade on my paper, considering how much work and stuff I put into it. Or I mean, I don’t really understand specifically what’s—"

“We can discuss this matter further if you’d like to schedule a meeting, but for now, I must take my leave,” he says both to Phoenix and to the other students who had started to crowd around the professor, and were now visibly irritated that Phoenix was the only one who got a word in before he left. Phoenix takes the opportunity to skedaddle and head over to the library to book another appointment.

By the time Phoenix is back in the professor’s office, he has already prepared a familiar sight: two cups (empty; asking if Phoenix wants tea is a formality, but he respects it) and an empty couch, aside for the teacher himself. A book’s wings are spread over crossed legs, but Layton claps it shut when Phoenix approaches. “You’d like to discuss the paper I handed back, I presume?”

“That’s right,” Phoenix says, nearly slamming his ass on the couch, not even taking off his backpack. “I was so sure I would do at least better than 70.”

“There’s nothing wrong with marks like that. In fact, that’s the average in this class, and I hope you’ll have enough faith in your classmates’ quality of work to consider that an accomplishment.”

Phoenix is kind of confused by the professor’s statement—does he just make his class really hard?—but continues. “Okay, well, besides that, I don’t really get where I messed up. Would you be able to walk me through it?”

“Certainly.” Phoenix finally puts his backpack in front of him, removes his graded paper from it, and hands the red-streaked packet to his teacher. “For example,” Professor Layton begins, opening to the second page, “your citation format has inconsistencies. You may use any reasonable citation format you wish, but it must remain consistent throughout your paper.”

Phoenix can’t really imagine what makes for a “reasonable” citation format, but figures he can just look at someone else’s paper to see how they did it from now on, just to be sure. “Alright, so, ‘pick one’, basically."

Layton nods. “Very good.” He flips to another page. “Here, you make a claim that paragraph 3, item 7 of the Article interferes with the ability of citizens to ‘gain access to valuable information’, but you failed to substantiate that claim with evidence. You merely made a statement, then cited the quote; the argument itself is absent.” Layton double taps on a particular line highlighted in red. “And this is factually incorrect."

“There were two conflicting sources,” Phoenix explains. “I just chose the one that seemed more, um, factually correct.”

“I was present for this dig, incidentally. The source you cited in your paper is outdated and based on anecdotal data and estimates.”

“...Oh.”

Professor Layton flips the paper back to its original state and offers it to Phoenix, who puts it back in his bag. “I do hope this isn’t discouraging for you, Mr Wright. These sorts of troubles are common as one becomes better acquainted with writing research papers.”

“Mn.” The professor’s words about extracurricular stuff not getting in the way of his academics ring in his ears. He definitely doesn’t want to seem like he’s slipping or anything, especially not now that he’s got some kind of casual thing with his teacher, but he also wonders when his next opportunity will be, and it would suck so bad if these meetings got in the way of those.

“Should you have trouble with any future assignments, I will be happy to assist you, so do not hesitate to notify me in any similar situation henceforth.“ Phoenix looks up at him with annoyance, but if he were to say something like, I thought it was great, so how am I supposed to know to check with you? he expects that Professor Layton would just tell him to check with him anyway. Still, the professor is taking a lot of time out of his day specifically to help Phoenix, or do him, or both. Phoenix’s usual feelings of gratitude begin to creep back, then rubberband into guilt considering his sense of entitlement a few seconds ago.

“I will, thank you,” Phoenix replies, doing everything in his power to exercise some degree of humility. He wipes his nose with his finger in a gesture of self consciousness. “And thank you for the help again this time, too.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Layton says, in a way that does sound genuine.

When Phoenix leaves Professor Layton’s office, he’s relieved it’s with no hard feelings. Besides, he really did get a better understanding of how to write a better paper, so maybe now he can actually commit to applying that knowledge the next time he writes one. After walking for a little while, though, his concerns about his teacher not wanting to mess around with him anymore begin to haunt him all over again. He heads back to his dorm room to relax, but he still can’t stop thinking about it. Phoenix exasperatedly accepts that he’ll need to figure out some way to either arrange another meeting specifically for making out or at least some kind of way to bring it up with his professor. He figures it doesn’t hurt to check Professor Layton’s schedule.

After accessing the portal, Phoenix scrolls down the list of meeting summaries, as usual: Examination, Research, Classroom... The option "Other" suddenly sticks out to him. He feels a lightbulb practically burst above his head and selects that, then puts in the comments "Extracurricular". He picks the latest time possible in the hopes that that’ll prevent more interruptions, dares himself to hit the “Confirm” button, and when he finally does, he sits back and snickers at himself. The professor must be picking up what he's putting down—or it may even be that this was what he expected all along—because it's not long after that Phoenix gets an email back telling him "Thursday would be more suitable for that".

Phoenix paces around his dorm to shake off some of the energy caused by the reply, but then he starts being pretty sure he’s weirding out his roommate. So he decides to take a walk around campus, get some fresh air, appreciate the sight of the little shops of Rider Square illuminated against the setting sun and all that good stuff. He notices that his favorite bakery is still open, and invites Accidenti to get something with him. Accidenti picks out a caramel croissant, while Phoenix gets his usual grilled chicken sandwich. They grab seats outside and enjoy the light London breeze while they eat.

Suddenly, Accidenti looks up at Phoenix mid-chew. “Hey, is that new cologne?

“Hm?” Phoenix tries smelling himself, but as expected, he can only smell his own all natural fragrance. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” Accidenti gives him another good sniff. “No way, cut it out. You’re not fooling anyone.”

“But I’m really not!” Phoenix is so confused. Is Accidenti pulling his leg, or…?

“Well, it smells good, so maybe you can just try taking the compliment, eh?”

Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Okay, just what does it smell like, then?”

“Hmm… It’s something woody or musky, and maybe… yeah, something a little sweet in there, like vanilla. I wouldn’t have expected you to ever wear cologne, let alone something so… refined.”

“Huh?” The gears in Phoenix’s head start turning. Woody, vanilla… That definitely rings a bell somehow.

“It’s a bit familiar, too,” Accidenti says, trying to think, himself. “Maybe it’s just popular on campus right now. Is there anyone you’re trying to impress?” Accidenti asks with a smirk.

With that, the realization that it’s the professor’s cologne that’s literally rubbed off on Phoenix and is now wafting on the breeze into Accidenti’s nose explodes into his awareness. Alarmed, his hands fly to the hoodie he’s been wearing for a week straight now, as if that’ll do anything.

“NO!” Phoenix yells unsuspiciously.

In a way, Phoenix feels like he’s going to trial as he walks the journey to Professor Layton’s office. That there’s a precedent between them now somehow makes the journey more intimidating, not less. On top of that, the fact that what will happen is still basically a mystery haunts Phoenix all the way there. But fundamentally, he just really, really wants to smash the fuck out of Professor Layton. He almost knocks into a group of students while caught up in thinking about how much he wants to obliterate his teacher; just, really go to town. Well, anyway. He shakes it off. Standing before the door with the top hat design, he knows he needs to keep his cool, at least for now.

“Mr Wright, right on schedule,” Professor Layton quips as Phoenix enters. “Please, have a seat.” The ease and casualness of the atmosphere is what’s so offputting for Phoenix in the current situation. He’s pretty sure that if Layton was acting weird or sexfully or whatever, he would at least be able to navigate that like any other situation where he’s literally about to make out with someone. But here he is, offering Phoenix tea again and making polite banter, asking him how he’s doing and such.

“So yeah, I’m fine,” Phoenix replies. “But I thought we were gonna, like…”

Maybe it’s the way Phoenix is looking at him like a cat carefully watching the dot of a laser pointer, but he earns a chuckle from Professor Layton. “Well, get on with it, then,” Layton says, tongue in cheek, nodding his head back and flashing that D-shaped smile Phoenix never gets tired of. That’s all the encouragement he needs to get on top of Layton, barely giving him enough time to carefully place his teacup on the table in front of them. Phoenix’s mouth is nearly on the professor’s when he firmly pushes on Phoenix’s chest.

“What?”

“Do mind to lock the door,” Professor Layton says to Phoenix’s sad puppy face, which quickly snaps to shock that he almost forgot.

“Oh yeah!” Phoenix leaps off the couch to lock the door. The second he locks it, he turns right back around and reclaims his place on top of Professor Layton. Phoenix all but smashes his mouth onto his professor’s, relieved and grateful that he gets to do this again. It feels so good to have Layton in all his senses, pressing his body to his teacher’s, burying his face in skin, and above all else, knowing Layton wants it, too.

He needs more and as soon as possible, and as Phoenix keeps kissing Layton and cradling his head between his palms, he becomes less and less able to ignore the oasis of neck peeking out from between Layton’s jacket and shirt collar. Phoenix detaches himself from the professor’s face to glare hungrily at the patch of skin that has been driving him crazy since the beginning of the semester. After a beat, he slides a hand down to the orange collar and tucks a few fingers inside to feel the warm neck-shoulder junction underneath. Frustrated yet again by Layton’s jacket, Phoenix grabs fistfulls of it and forces the signature lapels behind the professor’s shoulders. This time he can move enough of Layton’s shirt around that he’s able to easily expose a neatly face-sized expanse of neck. Phoenix brings his other hand under his teacher’s chin, lightly gripping his neck and encouraging his head slightly upward to expose even more of the vulnerable territory. Phoenix licks his lips imagining Professor Layton covered in hickeys. He knows Layton definitely wouldn’t appreciate it if he left them where they’d be visible, but what if he left them a little lower? Phoenix almost begins to wonder if that’s one of the main reasons Layton wears so many collars in the first place.

At Layton’s silence speaking louder than any word, Phoenix alights a kiss on the base of Layton’s neck, followed by a gentle bite, then a full open-mouthed chomp. Phoenix is immediately rewarded with Layton’s corresponding grunt, and it’s even more satisfying when his hands come up to grab at the hoodie on Phoenix’s back. As Phoenix bites deeper, it’s met with a wheeze and sharp intake of air. It’s a good thing Layton apparently likes this, because Phoenix is loving this. When Phoenix pulls particularly deep, he’s rewarded with a big purple splotch on the professor’s neck. He rubs a finger over the fresh mark, and as the spit quickly dries, he feels the slightly rough disturbance in the middle of the smooth skin he’s used to. It looks even better on Layton than Phoenix could have expected. He’s now more determined than ever to leave as many marks as he can before he leaves. Phoenix dives in to leave a few more on the right, specifically covering maximal ground in doing so and minimizing redundancy, then switches sides, leaving the middle alone so his teacher doesn’t have to close the top of his shirt. Phoenix leans back and uses his hands to move the collar around this way and that to properly view his beautiful work. He has an emotion like he wants to show Layton his own hickeys, but guesses that if he wants to see them he’ll just look at them himself later. Phoenix slides his hands over the shirt covering Layton’s shoulders and grips there, digging his thumbs into the fleshy nook below the collarbones. Phoenix wants to fuck him SO badly. He really feels about to lose his whole mind in a second.

“Do you mind laying down?” he asks without thinking. There’s something unexpectedly obscene about it, but he’s more desperate than self conscious in the moment, so he doesn’t actually care.

“Shoes off; the rest stays on,” Professor Layton instructs, consistent as ever, while slipping off his shoes. When he’s done he neatly tucks them under the table near the couch. Phoenix obliges, untying his shoes and kicking them under the table to join the professor’s. As Layton reclines, Phoenix leans over him, sandwiching a leg between his. It’s now more apparent than ever to Phoenix that their torsos are actually the same size despite the considerable height difference, especially when he snakes an arm around Layton’s weasel-like waist. Phoenix’s other arm supports his own body when he starts to grind on Layton, trying to work him up at least a fraction as badly as Layton’s done to him. The professor responds by moving his hips in turn and sighing away from Phoenix. It then occurs to the student that just because Professor Layton didn’t want his fly undone doesn’t mean Phoenix can’t touch him, so without letting go of his waist, he moves to support himself with that shoulder instead, and his other hand comes around to smooth over Layton’s crotch. The way the professor’s breath catches then is something Phoenix knows he’ll be thinking about a lot later, and probably the whole rest of the week. He repeats the motion until his hand and wrist are too physically exhausted to continue, and then he’s tempted to just switch hands, but then he gets another idea.

“Can you flip over?” Phoenix gets off Layton to accommodate the movement while he wordlessly does as he’s told. Layton rests his arms on the end of the couch to support his upper body. Phoenix comes back up behind him and puts one of his own hands on the arm of the couch to support himself, then wraps his other arm around Layton’s body, his palm spread over the hint of softness above his pants’ waist.

If Phoenix had any mental faculties to dedicate to anything but this one thought at the moment, he might laugh at himself about it, but Phoenix’s entire being is now dedicated to smashing into Professor Layton as much as possible. The professor does his best to hold onto his hat with one hand while getting frantically pounded, the other still supporting him. The couch absolutely was not made for this, but at least it doesn’t squeak; its bones just quietly creak with the motion in a somewhat threatening way. Layton breathes into his own folded arms, and Phoenix breathes into Layton’s back, right between his shoulderblades. Layton has had this coat for so long that it just has so much of his smell deeply buried in it now, and the combined smells of who knows how many towns and journeys, and it’s a dizzyingly heady effect for Phoenix. He grips tighter with the arm around Layton’s waist, trying to somehow get closer, as if he were trying to attempt to merge into one being. Phoenix doesn’t notice himself nearly overheating until Layton actually physically stops him with a firm hand on his shoulder to shrug off his own coat. Phoenix soaks up the rare image of Professor Layton without his trademark coat; he was able to map him out with his hands, moving over his limbs and twisting around his waist, but he wants a good visual to remember, too. Panting, they take this moment to break and cool off.

“Heh,” Phoenix coughs out. “How’s THAT for applying myself?”

“Wright,” Layton says in a tortured way that for a moment makes Phoenix regret being born.

“Ah, just… just kidding…” There’s no smooth way to recover from that one, really. But in a gesture of kindness, the professor lets him off the hook easy.

“You’re quite full of energy, aren’t you?” Phoenix just laughs. “Students always are,” Layton reflects.

Phoenix lets his mind wander away from the previous moment. “Hmm. So, how come we always bang in your office? You don’t have a house or something?”

Layton swallows, clearly upset and confused at Phoenix’s volume, but moves on quickly enough. "You and I may agree it's only logical that those who can keep academic and private affairs separate have every right to engage in them, but the general consensus—particularly among those with power over us—is that those who engage in such activities cannot be trusted with the responsibility, even when all parties are consenting adults. As such, it is imperative that we minimize any potential for interference. I’m afraid to say it, but this arrangement is what’s most convenient." Phoenix looks at Layton in a funny way, so he adds, “For example, if you were to be seen coming and going from my house, it may attract undue attention. And should misfortune befall us and another student or instructor—or worse, administration—discovers our activities, don’t you see how it would be helpful if we have minimal records of it for them to discover?"

“I got it now,” Phoenix says, nodding with his eyes closed, his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “So because everyone else would be really stupid about it, we have to keep them from finding out by only fucking here and being sneaky about emails and stuff.”

Professor Layton again nervously glances in the direction of the door. “Erm, in a manner of speaking, yes.”

☞

By the time Professor Layton walks into class as usual, Phoenix is already present—he was already awake and had nothing better to do, he had figured. It’s mostly just them in the classroom, with a smattering of other students, so Phoenix feels completely entitled to stare as much as he wants in a way he feels is totally stealthy. However, he somehow doesn’t notice when the class becomes as packed as usual until Professor Layton takes attendance, systematically calling out and marking off every name in class from Accidenti to Wright.

He quickly launches into an explanation of today’s topic, which happens to be a cursory introduction to cryptography. “You may be initially reluctant to give this subject your attention, and you may even question its relevance. However, today I will demonstrate that this is a skill that will carry you beyond this course, and I assure you, one that will certainly prove beneficial in your own archaeological journey and aid your critical thinking skills in the grand scheme,” Professor Layton tells the class. When the professor takes a piece of chalk, draws several diagrams on the board, and taps on the one closest to him, his shirt slightly stretches in a way that brings Phoenix’s attention to his collar, which is being subtly nudged open. The knowledge that the marks he left there just a couple days ago are just barely tucked safely behind that orange collar burns in him as a raging blaze. The thrill of it completely takes hold of him. He becomes obsessed with guessing just how close each one comes to peeking out from its hiding place at the base of the professor’s neck, though every time it seems like one might make an appearance, his jacket lapels conveniently cover what his shirt collar doesn’t. Phoenix fidgets his hands, pressing the thumb of one into the flesh of his other palm. He notices himself starting to feel dizzy, so he pulls out his water bottle and takes several cool gulps. He needs to stay inconspicuous, after all.

 At the end of class, Professor Layton passes out the latest round of graded essays and bids all the students a good day. Phoenix is dying to know how he did, but considering how immediately checking his paper went last time, he promises himself to at least wait until he gets back to his dorm room to see how he did. Later, sat at his desk while his computer updates, Phoenix finally lets himself flip through the packet he got back today. Lo and behold, the marks in red let him know he’s “demonstrated astounding improvement”, and Professor Layton’s comments are accompanied by a very satisfying 80. Phoenix is elated that he was able to show the professor what he’s made of academically, though he can’t help but feel his extracurricular efforts may have also played a part as well. Even though he has nothing in particular to discuss with Professor Layton, he kind of wants to celebrate this somehow, so he books another appointment to see him.

Before Phoenix makes it to his teacher’s office, he sees another professor standing in the open door, hand on the doorframe, other hand on his waist, recounting some escapade with a voice that surprises Phoenix with its volume as he approaches; his laugh can be heard from all the way down the hall. Phoenix comes up behind him and stands there until he catches Professor Layton’s attention, who seems grateful to have an excuse to cut off the conversation.

“Ah, Mr Wright! Please, come in. O’Logie, this is one of my students, Phoenix Wright.”

O’Logie looks at Phoenix as if his sharp eyes are trying to memorize his every detail. “Wright, is it? I’ve seen you around. Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance!” Professor O’Logie barks with a strange smile.

“Uh, same,” offers Phoenix.

“I’m afraid we must attend to a private conference now, but I do hope we can continue this conversation another time,” Layton patiently says to O’Logie.

“Very well. Until then, Layton.” It’s O’Logie who closes the door, ultimately. Professor Layton and Phoenix listen to his footsteps get further away until they disappear.

“That was my colleague. A very boisterous individual, as you saw.”

“Sure is, huh.” Phoenix sits next to Professor Layton on the couch and puts his bag on the floor in front of him. “So, basically, I just wanted to say thank you for all the nice stuff you wrote on my paper. It made me really happy.”

Professor Layton gives him one of his lethal smile-and-wink combos. “You’ve certainly earned it, my boy.”

“Th-Thanks,” Phoenix manages to stutter out. “It really is because of your help, though.”

“There’s no need to be that humble about your quality of work. Just keep at it!”

Phoenix is so happy that he could… he could even… kiss the professor right now. So he moves to do so, but is immediately stopped by a hand on his chest. “The door, Wright,” Layton reminds Phoenix.

“Oh yeah! Of course.” Phoenix heads for the door. He nearly trips on his shoelace, so he ties it up and heads back to enjoy the delights of the professor’s lap. Phoenix climbs on top of his teacher and digs his hands between Layton’s jacket and shirt, soaking up the warmth and texture in that way he can’t get enough of. Professor Layton’s jacket is back down around his shoulders by the time Phoenix’s mouth meets Layton’s. He soon decides to check on the marks he left last time, and add a couple more while he’s at it.

Both Phoenix and Layton are set on edge by the unexpected sound of approaching footsteps, especially when they stop right in front of the door, but after a heavy moment of silence, they just go right back to kissing when no more sounds follow from the hallway.

But then the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning makes Phoenix jump.

“Wright,” Professor Layton says.

“Yes?” Phoenix says.

“Did you, by any chance… make sure to lock the door?”

“Uhhhhh…”

Seeing that Phoenix is still perched on top of Layton, he can do nothing but stare into his oncoming fate like a deer in headlights. As the door creaks open further and further, it eventually reveals the long figure of none other than Professor O’Logie.

“You’re coming with me. Both of you.”

As they’re marched to the Dean’s office, Professor O’Logie calls his phone and gives him an overview ahead of time. When the three of them arrive, Dean Delmona is already poised with a pen and a pad of paper in hand. “Layton, I regret seeing you under these circumstances, let alone more than once,” Dean Delmona admonishes the professor.

“I must agree,” Professor Layton replies.

Dean Delmona clicks his pen open. “You have the opportunity to tell me yourself what happened.”

“I was having a meeting with my student.”

“That’s really all?”

Professor Layton crosses his legs and places his folded hands on top of his knees. “I meant what I said.”

“Very well,” says Delmona. He turns to Professor O’Logie. “Now, would you confirm that this was the student you saw on top of Layton?”

“The porcupine hair bloke? Yeah, it was him,” O’Logie says, nodding his head in Phoenix’s direction. Phoenix groans, and makes a mental note to get back to buzzing his head more regularly so he doesn’t have to take these kinds of comments from people who can’t appreciate his hair. “There’s no doubt about it. He’s always wearing that blue hoodie, too.”

“Hey, blue’s my favorite color,” Phoenix explains.

“Mr Wright, it’s not relevant what your favourite colour is,” Dean Delmona says. Phoenix looks at the floor and chews some of his dry lips off.

“Please leave the boy alone, he is not the responsible party in this,” implores Professor Layton. “At any rate, I think we can all agree this won’t happen again, yes?”

“You’re absolutely right he’s not; you’re not getting off so easy this time, Layton,” Delmona threatens, cutting through Professor Layton’s attempted sweet talk. He looks at Phoenix, who tenses. “You’re dismissed. Out.”

Phoenix is grateful for the opportunity to escape, though he soon starts to worry about the professor, and it’s not for some time that he next sees hide or hair of him. Eventually though, when Phoenix notices he’s received an email with Hershel Layton’s name attached, he nearly falls out of his seat in his rush to open it. Its contents explain that administration has decided a few things: Phoenix can stay in class, barring any more incidents, because it would be unfair to him if his education was compromised “due to the foolish actions of an instructor”; and so, their line of communication can also stay open, including not forbidding future meetings together. Additionally, they won’t be monitored in order to respect student-teacher confidentiality. However, warns Layton, “further caution must be employed henceforth”.

It’s pretty much as soon as Phoenix reads those words that he’s already scheduling another appointment.

“Their rotten attitude doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. They’ve been trying to ostracize this young upstart for ages,” Professor Layton mutters with an unusually bitter edge to his voice.

“I… I’m so sorry, Professor.” Phoenix’s eyes begin to water, and pretty soon he starts full on crying. Big fat waterfalls stream down his cheeks. “I-If only, I, I h— hadn’t—”

“Not to worry, my boy. The important thing going forward is not getting caught.”

“...Wait, what?”

“We simply must exercise more caution,” he clarifies, locking the door himself and pressing on Phoenix’s diaphragm until he’s backed against the wall.

“Layton?” Phoenix breathes, basically asking if this is really happening right now. His tears have barely even dried on his face when the professor pulls him in for a kiss. Layton’s other hand travels up Phoenix’s leg, ducks below his hoodie and presses into his hipbone as if to shape clay. Phoenix slouches and softens into his touch as the professor travels around with dextrous hands, and Layton keeps molding him, finding and bringing out the malleability in him.

The way Professor Layton works his student like a sculptor with a Pygmalion attitude is putting Phoenix in a trance. It makes him shiver that this isn’t just a dream, and on some level, he’s extremely frustrated that Layton hasn’t done this to him sooner; but in the immediate, he soaks up the feeling of warm exploratory hands pressing life into him. Layton’s hands wrap around his biceps, his thighs, travel over his ribs in a way that makes him wonder if he’s trying to feel the individual bones, always avoiding going between his legs or under his shirt. It’s completely driving him up the wall.

“Layton,” Phoenix mutters again, now a tentative demand rather than a question. Professor Layton looks him in the eye, lifts an index finger as if to say “Patience”. Phoenix is this close to just grabbing his hand and shoving it down his pants, but Layton’s expression is so focused he might feel like he’s trespassing on a meticulous performance.

After watching the entrancingly fluid motions of Layton’s hands thus far, Phoenix closes his eyes to fully immerse himself in the feeling of them on his body. Layton moves closer until he’s flush with Phoenix and feels into the convex shape of his arching lower back, goes a bit lower and gives the space below the seat of his jeans a strong grab. The way Layton methodically maps out Phoenix’s geometry gives him the sense that teasing him to smithereens is just a welcome side effect. His closed eyes combined with his spinning head makes him fear for his balance, and he lets himself rest even more of his body weight on the wall to support himself. If he was made of anything less dense, he would have completely melted by now. To his relief, when the professor’s hand lifts next it’s to finally move near Phoenix’s zipper. Layton gropes around the area as if to test Phoenix’s reaction, which is to barely suppress a low groan and lean into the professor’s touch. Phoenix opens his eyes in impatience, staring down his teacher in a kind of dare. Layton’s expression shifts subtly—something that seems to Phoenix like a hidden smirk—then he adjusts his posture, backing away slightly. The hand on Phoenix’s crotch opens his jeans without much ceremony. Phoenix swallows. Layton hikes up his sleeve in a quick motion and dives into the front of Phoenix’s jeans. Phoenix gulps air, but manages to stay silent by following it up with biting his lip. He finds it remarkable how fast Layton catches onto what he likes best, and equally frustrating that the professor cools off whenever he gets the sense that Phoenix is getting too worked up.

When Layton notices Phoenix’s long legs quivering on top of his hands trembling, he removes his hand to peel his student off the wall, tugging on the front of his hoodie. They find themselves on the couch again, Phoenix sideways in Layton’s lap, and get back to their task without delay. Layton’s arm cradles Phoenix while his hand slips back below his waistband. It’s not long before Phoenix is pressing his face into Layton’s chest, trying to muffle his own voice with the soft fabric.

“Aah…” His breath soaks into the front of Layton’s shirt. The professor isn’t willing to risk any further noise, so he uses his free hand to properly muffle Phoenix’s whines. The student huffs strained breaths that whip across Layton’s knuckles. He curls more snugly into his teacher’s torso as he relaxes into the rhythm of the moment. Phoenix grips Layton’s sleeve tighter while being wracked with full-body shivers, wanting to encourage him but not so much that he backs off again. Phoenix figures Layton doesn’t want him coming in his office, and acknowledges that it’s to his benefit that he doesn’t, either. All the same, Phoenix hones in on the feeling of Layton working him with those clever fingers, and the way the warmth of it spreads all across his being.

Phoenix looks up at the professor, pulling away from his hand enough that Layton gets the message, and cranes his neck to kiss him again. It’s then that the professor slows down below, but he doesn’t mind; there’s something hypnotic about the specific current state of affairs. Phoenix feels Layton pushing him down, though, and next thing he knows he’s laying on the couch the professor has irresponsibly spent a long night in an unknowable number of times. His arms fall around his head in a tongue in cheek gesture of vulnerability. Layton doesn’t seem to respond to it, instead going about his business of setting himself up where he wants to be on Phoenix.

The unambiguous feeling of Layton’s knee between Phoenix’s legs makes his breathing stop for a moment. His held breath is then released all at once when Layton starts fully grinding on him. The professor’s jacket makes a cave over Phoenix and the minimal space between them, and the raised temperature is what makes Phoenix start feeling truly lightheaded. Phoenix grabs Layton’s biceps and tilts his hips to get a better angle.

“Ah…” The noise coming from Professor Layton’s mouth shocks Phoenix, who hadn’t expected so much as a peep from the man who seemed to live to make the act of restraint into an art. However, it’s immediately clear that he stopped moving right before he made what was actually in all likelihood an expression of pain. As soon as he notices, Phoenix freezes with him.

“Layton? You alright?” Phoenix watches Layton slowly, delicately maneuver himself upright. As soon as he sees his hand move to his hip, he understands.

“I’m afraid we must conclude our meeting here, my boy.”

Phoenix scrambles himself into an upright position on the couch, looking almost like a student mundanely sitting on the professor’s couch if not for his tailor style position and missing shoes. “Hey, it’s cool. I get it.” More than anything, he wishes he could be some kind of help. When Layton stands and moves his hip opposite the couch until Phoenix hears a soft “pop”, though, he figures he’s got it under control.

“One of many facets of getting older, Mr Wright.” Phoenix was worried about making Professor Layton feel self-conscious, but now he could swear he’s hearing a sheen of pride in his voice.

“Whatever you say, Prof,” Phoenix says, relieved.

Professor Layton crosses the room to open a drawer, then thoroughly wipes his hands and wrists with a handkerchief and chases it with some dispensed hand sanitizer. Phoenix supposes that a reason the professor’s been keeping his hands mostly to himself until now is so he doesn’t have to go through this whole process every time, though there’s probably also some other reasons on top of that. Layton tosses the square of fabric into an open bin Phoenix hadn’t noticed until now, just a drop in the ocean of varied elements spilling out across all six faces of the professor’s office, then faces him fully. “Operating mindfully from here on out is critical. If we don’t behave carefully enough, it could cost you your education, and me my career.”

“Sure, sure. But you started it this time,” Phoenix points out, giggling.

The professor corrects the angle of his hat. “Be that as it may, I am also your instructor, and we each have our own responsibilities we must attend to properly and maturely,” he says as he walks over to stand in front of Phoenix again. “On that note, do remember that the date of your final examination is swiftly approaching. Neglecting your studies will reflect poorly on your grade.”

“Well… as long as I get the credits, I guess it’s fine,” Phoenix mutters, rolling his eyes and shrugging.

“Now what kind of attitude is that, Wright? If you want those credits, you’ll have to earn them,” Layton chides. When Phoenix gets some kind of sparkle in his eye and jumps at Layton like a dog trying to lick its owner’s face, Layton holds him back. “Academically,” he insists.

☞

“Did you, y’know, happen to hear, uh…”

“Yeah, I heard something happened. We all did,” Accidenti confirms, to Phoenix’s dire embarrassment. “But you need to fill me in on the details.”

“No I don’t!” Phoenix protests. He doesn’t like the way Accidenti stares at him like he already knows. Phoenix sighs, and lowers his voice. “Okay, yeah. We boned.”

Accidenti claps his hands. “You’ve DONE it, Wright!”

“Shhhh!! Be quiet, asshole!” Phoenix hisses, waving his hands in front of Accidenti’s delighted face while passersby give them curious looks.

 “Don’t pay attention to them,” Accidenti says, perhaps purposefully missing the point. “It doesn’t matter. What DOES matter is that you fucked him, and you got away with it!”

“That’s a nice way of looking at it,” Phoenix replies dryly. “I’m still technically under investigation, but I’m not really worried about it or anything. I mean, I’m not seen as ‘the aggressor’ because I’m the student and this apparently isn’t even his first time, so—”

Accidenti chokes on his coffee in a sudden laughing fit. “Not his first time! Oh, that’s too much!”

“Yes, hilarious. Listen, my point is, I don’t think I’m really in any trouble. I’m more worried for him,” Phoenix says, forlornly sipping his grape juice.

“Isn’t he tenured and all that, though? And there’s no way in hell the College is going to let go of their shining star just like that. He’s THE Professor bloody Layton!” Accidenti claps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “He’s fine. Worry about yourself, alright?”

“Nothing to worry about, then,” Phoenix mumbles rather like his words aren’t his own.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll have you know I once blew a girl in a teacher’s office,” Accidenti offers facetiously. “And just look at me now!”

“Wow, that’s encouraging,” Phoenix says, smiling a little for the first time in a while.

They soon make their way to class, where the Monday air hangs a little more heavily than Phoenix is used to. But sure enough, Professor Layton is back in his spot right on time, carrying on exactly as usual. From what Phoenix can hear from a couple whispered conversations, he can now be absolutely sure that he, Professor Layton, relevant staff, and now Accidenti are the only ones who actually know anything; everyone else just knows “something” happened, and the rumors that are flying around include anything from the professor retiring by the end of this semester to helping a married man cheat on his spouse to being the covert head of an archaeological black market.

“Seeing that there are only two weeks between today’s class and the final examination of this semester, it is more important than ever to manage your time with discretion. In addition to preparing for the test, you must also turn in any and all unsubmitted assignments; incomplete assignments will impact your record unfavorably.” Phoenix catches some mild groans echoing around the room. Professor Layton repeats his song and dance from midterms about office hours, the writing center, yadda yadda. Phoenix has to give it to the professor for being so nonchalant in the current class atmosphere, though by now he knows not to expect anything less.

When class is over and Phoenix is settled back in his room, he opens his laptop and starts booking another appointment with the professor. He stares at the meeting description dropdown list. He does want to legitimately study for finals and all, but this could very well be the last time he’s able to meet privately with Professor Layton before the semester ends—and Phoenix flies back across the pond. He figures “Research” is open-ended enough, so he picks that and sends the form off. He navigates to the email window and idly stares at it for a couple minutes before his phone dings, making him slightly jump in his seat. Phoenix sees that he’s been last-minute invited to another party, this time by a classmate he hadn’t ever considered himself very close to. He considers the possibility he’s desperate for enough people to come to his party, but only in a tongue in cheek way—Phoenix is grateful for the invitation nonetheless. He thinks about his schedule, upcoming tests and homework and meetings and such, and figures this won’t conflict with anything. Besides, this time he can commit to not getting absolutely wasted.

As expected, the party is mostly his classmates and some friends-of-friends, but the atmosphere is laid back enough that Phoenix feels at ease here. The music isn’t so loud that he’s having trouble hearing the people he’s talking to, including the girl his classmate is now introducing him to. “I think you’ll get along,” he had said, though Phoenix wasn’t totally sure what he meant by that, and had even wondered if it was a joke at first. But as they keep talking, he does feel like they’re actually hitting it off.

She has dark shoulder-length hair that she sometimes plays with when she’s laughing or talking. It frames her tired-looking eyes. Phoenix feels like they go with her slightly monotone way of talking. “But you know, it would be easier to hear you if we went back to my place,” she says as flatly as everything else, which catches Phoenix off guard once he actually manages to parse it.

“O-Oh, uh, yeah?” He laughs self consciously. “Then how about we head over?”

Her room is just a few halls down, and smells faintly of lavender and leather—she has a couple jackets hanging in her closet. The mineral and rock collection on her desk faintly reflects the ambient light from the lamp. Phoenix, not wanting to be presumptuous, hovers around the door until she sits on the bed and pats the spot next to her. He sits next to her and she doesn’t waste any time leaning in for a kiss, gently pulling Phoenix with her hand on his shoulder. As they leisurely make out, her hand moves from his shoulder to start roving over him, and it’s not long before his hoodie comes off, then her sweater, then her bra. Phoenix is still face-deep in titty when she pushes him away to grab a condom and lube.

He’s lost track of time, but he can be pretty sure it hasn’t been that long when he finishes—not that she seems to mind. If anything, the way she smiles and cradles his face to kiss it all over gives him the impression it’s very cute to her, and he tries his best not to let that further deepen his embarrassment. “Thanks for coming to the party,” she says, tongue in cheek. Phoenix snickers self-consciously. He discards the condom and comes back to recline next to her.

“Your friend seemed pretty desperate if he was texting random people hours before it started,” he says dryly.

She props herself up on an arm, hand on her cheek. “You’re in Professor Layton’s class, yeah?”

A lightning bolt directly hits Phoenix’s stomach. He started out sweaty, and now he’s only getting sweatier. “Uhh… Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re classmates, aren’t you?” She tucks some hair behind her ear. “You know, I was in his class last year. How are you liking it?”

“Oh, well, I mean, it’s really good, but I bet everyone says that,” Phoenix says, moving to mirror her position. He’s finally starting to relax again.

She giggles ambiguously. “Mmhm.” She glances at Phoenix’s ribs and lightly chews her lip. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

Phoenix snorts. “Oh my god… He, yeah, he really is. Like, it’s a problem.” Being caught off guard with that, he might as well just be honest, he figures.

“You’re not the first person I’ve heard say that. That’s one reason his classes are the most popular at Gressenheller.”

Phoenix lies on his back and looks at the ceiling, gesturing with his hands as he talks. “It’s just so weird for me. I couldn’t believe it at first. I mean, for one, I’m straight; though sometimes I have a couple exceptions, but that’s no different from anyone, you know?” When he looks back at her, her expression makes him go, “What?!”

“Nothing,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway. He’s taught me lots of cool stuff over the semester. And I’ve definitely had a lot of interesting experiences while I’ve been here.”

There’s a lull in the conversation and it’s only when she laughs that Phoenix notices he’s staring at her boobs again. He opens his mouth to say “Sorry,” but she’s already grabbing his hand and putting it on her own boob, and preventing any further apologies by putting her mouth on his.

☞

The boxes on the other side of Phoenix’s room appear to be multiplying every day. It really seems like his roommate is trying to leave the second classes are over for him. Phoenix knows he’s going to need to start packing up his own stuff pretty soon, but he’s in no rush to get out of here; his classes may not be totally over until Friday, but he’s grateful for the extra time for finals, anyway. He picks his books off the floor and notebooks off the desk, stuffs them in his bag, and heads for the courtyard. When he sees Accidenti and his other classmates, he’s surprised to see Janice joining them.

“Wright! Get over here!” Accidenti calls out, gesturing to a spot nearby. Phoenix sits down.

“Hey, Accidenti. Um, funny seeing you again, though,” Phoenix says to Janice.

She huffs a laugh. “I’d hope a student of Professor Layton’s would be a touch more polite than that.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you want me to say?” Phoenix clears his throat. “‘It’s my deepest pleasure to be graced by a lady of such high esteem once again.‘ Like that?” When Janice looks at him disparagingly, he adds, “I just didn’t expect to see you here; it’s not like you’re in his class anymore.”

“Well, you better be grateful she’s here, Wright,” Accidenti tells him. “She’s going to give us the whip hand for the final exam.”

“He switches up the material every semester, of course. But I didn’t spend mine trying to get in his pants or regularly scrubbing my head with alcohol, so I was able to get a good feel for the way he does things. For example, you can expect to study the general facets of the Azran language such as its history and development, but the syllabary might only be useful for extra credit. And you can undoubtedly expect more puzzles in the extra credit section.”

“Ah, again with the puzzles?”

“He really, really likes puzzles. It’s kind of his thing,” Janice states.

“So I’ve noticed.” Phoenix takes out his notebook and a pen. “Alright. Azran language, development, and… puzzles.”

After the students fill their notebooks with scribbles and drown their textbooks in highlighter, the group dissolves and everyone goes their separate ways. Phoenix has some time before his meeting with Professor Layton today, but he figures it doesn’t hurt being early. He walks to the professor’s office, intimidatingly closed as always, and gives it a good shave-and-a-haircut.

“Mr Wright? Do come in.“

Phoenix opens the door and walks inside. “How could you know that was me?” he asks, half-jokingly.

“You are the only person on campus who knocks in that manner,” Professor Layton informs him. “And what’s more, we have an appointment.”

Phoenix slams his ass down on the couch maybe a bit more violently than Layton would have preferred. “So, you don’t mind me being super early?”

“Not at all. I’m glad to have you here,” he says as he softly smiles and adjusts his hat, which was slightly knocked askew with the force of Phoenix sitting down. “Now, what exactly was it you wished to accomplish with today’s meeting?” Layton asks, forcing Phoenix to elaborate on putting down “Research” in a way he neither expected nor was prepared for at all.

“Well… I dunno. It’s finals, but it’s also finals, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Mr Wright,” the professor says flatly.

“I mean, I wanted to ask you some stuff about finals, but I also wanted to get some more macking in before I left,” Phoenix admits while vaguely gesturing.

“Is that to say you would like my assistance in preparing for finals?”

“Well, yeah, but y’know, also,” Phoenix says, and tries to plant a kiss on Layton to get the ball rolling.

Professor Layton neatly dodges Phoenix’s mouth in a way that leaves him deeply mystified. “Then it behooves you to concentrate on the material. All else in this matter is secondary.”

“Oh, come on. We can’t make out while I study?” Phoenix says, playful, but stubborn. He knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

“I won’t allow this to interfere with your studies,” Layton responds sternly, though his voice somehow stays disarmingly gentle and even. Phoenix feels frantic, but he has no footing to argue here. On top of that, the way his teacher’s gaze remains as persuasive as ever is annoying him. Phoenix’s hand unconsciously runs through his hair.

“I mean… What if this is the last time we get to, like, do stuff?”

Professor Layton places his warm, dense hand on Phoenix’s shoulder in a placating gesture. “Then I suppose it will be the last time, my boy.”

☞

A light blanket of snow builds on every surface in the garden, once shades of green, brown, some reds and yellows, now mostly hazy greys in the early hours of the overcast winter day. As Phoenix walks to the bench in the middle of it to sweep off a space for himself, his footprints melt the frost underneath and his sneakers pick up a dusting of their own. He looks out at the bald branches and brightening sky. He could be cramming right now, but he wanted to spend a moment here, specifically, before he takes his final in an hour. One of his empty hands rubs the palm of the other. Phoenix knows he, at least in theory, already has everything he needs to successfully finish the semester. He dropped himself into the middle of a field he’d never even touched before and managed to come this far. He’s seen and done a lot of shit, including stuff he probably can’t ever tell anyone else—if at least because nobody would believe him. But now, finally, Phoenix is ready to cap off his semester at Gressenheller.

When everyone files into class, there is an uneasy hum about the atmosphere. The tests are passed around, and after Phoenix fills in his name and the date, he scans the questions. The first one is pretty straightforward, and the second, and the third. The more he fills out, the more he gets into a rhythm with it, systematically marking off answers until suddenly there are no more multiple choice questions left. He writes his longform responses, then looks at the clock—still enough time to take a crack at the extra credit questions. Just as Janice predicted, they’re mostly puzzles. He writes as much as he can before he passes in his test when the professor calls time. He realizes his heart is actually pounding in his ears, and he exhales deeply.

He gives his test, something rather like an extension of himself, an accumulation of his dedication and concentration within this liminal period, now simply a stack of white paper among many like it, one last look before he turns it in and heads back to his seat.

Some students elect to say a simple goodbye to the professor and leave the moment they’ve submitted their test, but the majority actually choose to stick around until everyone is done so they can say a proper farewell to Layton and shake his hand. Phoenix took his time checking and re-checking his final, making sure the short essay section was as polished as it could be, doing all the extra credits stuff and all that, so he was one of the last to submit his test, anyway. It feels off, out of precedence rather than sentimentality, to not give Professor Layton another kiss or something before he parts ways and most likely never sees him ever again in his life. But the professor is nothing close to a girlfriend, and he doesn’t want to make things weird again, so he’s pretty satisfied with a plenty appropriate handshake.

Phoenix doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he could swear he can see how Professor Layton’s smile seeps into those tiny eyes as they meet his. “It’s been an honor to witness all the ways you’ve developed over this semester, Mr Wright, and a pleasure to have you in my class.”

“L-Likewise. Uh, I mean… You know. I learned a lot here. Things I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. I feel lucky that I got to study here, so, thanks for having me in your class, Professor.”

“Of course, my boy. I wish you only the best of luck in your travels back home, and wherever your life takes you—whether that’s archeology, art, or something we cannot yet know.” His wink makes Phoenix look at the floor, despite himself.

“Yeah, hahah, ahhhh, well, you know. With all the stuff I’m studying on the side, I could end up an actor, or even a lawyer. But, uhh… I’ll be keeping the archaeological spirit alive for the foreseeable future.”

Professor Layton gives him one last pat on the side of his shoulder. “Very good. Farewell, Mr Wright.” He then resumes shaking hands with the other students and giving farewells. As Phoenix watches their exchanges while packing up the last of his belongings, he feels something smug curl inside him. He wonders how many others among those shaking hands with the professor, if any, got to make out with him and whatever during the semester. There’s no way to know.

And nobody else will ever know, Phoenix thinks. When he walks out the classroom, leaving the professor, his classmates, and the space he became so familiar with over the past few months behind him, the ephemerality of his time here starts to descend on his consciousness like a heavy blanket on a summer day. He shakes his head. He has plenty of time to reflect when he’s heading home. For now, Phoenix takes his time walking back to his room. He leisurely passes all the students lingering in the hallways, the paintings he’s become so familiar with despite never taking enough time to really look at them, the garden, and the umbrella hanging off the tree near his dorm’s building that doesn’t seem to belong to anybody. He enters his now half empty dorm room; he doesn’t want to assume his roommate got fed up with him enough to leave as soon as his classes were over, but who’s to say? Phoenix lets his bag fall off his shoulder onto the floor. He exhales. The fleecy comfort of his relatively clear mind starts once again developing the hard edges of annoying thoughts, so he locks the door and sits on his bed. Phoenix idly looks around the room for a moment, then clamps his eyes shut and lies down. As he unzips his pants and sticks his hand inside, he thinks of absolutely nothing.

Phoenix grabs a pen from his bag and starts filling out his customs form. He doesn’t mind flying as long as he doesn’t think about how many feet up in the air he is—he can sleep through most of it, after all—but the security is always a unique pain in the ass. It doesn’t help that it seems like he specifically keeps getting stopped for an individualized search each and every time, and particularly on this kind of long term international flight, having to unpack all his belongings and quickly, messily repack them to fit again is a special kind of suck. Phoenix pouts. “The professor would never do me like this…” he mutters to himself, idly trying to keep his spirits up. Then a grin creeps onto his face. “The professor would do me like thiiis,” he says, popping his hip out.

Having collected and prepared all his bags after the flight, Phoenix rubs his jetlagged eyes, squints into the sunlit atmosphere. By the time he’s finally on his way home, he’s just glad to have that whole ordeal over with more than anything. He brings his bags into his room and grabs his Walkman. Phoenix pops a CD in and hums along to the melody of the song flowing into his ears. He lets himself leisurely unpack, more or less haphazardly throwing his clothes and towels and such all over the bed and floor. His fingers graze a familiar texture, one he’d brush contemplatively while trying to focus, that greeted him when trying to make himself presentable in a rush most mornings, one with him through many of the ups and downs of the past few months, and his heart skips a beat when he pulls out a blue hoodie with the unmistakable shape of the Gressenheller logo. Before really realizing what he’s doing, Phoenix automatically raises it to his face, and sure enough, the smells of the professor’s couch, his cologne, and even the subtler scents of whatever his coat picked up through the years and rubbed off onto Phoenix’s hoodie all send him hurtling head over heels back into that time and place and all the complex emotions and experiences that whipped through him while there. Phoenix stays standing there for half a minute, face buried in his hoodie, before he decides it’s too much for right now, too much all at once. He carefully folds the hoodie and walks over to a specific drawer and places it inside. He takes some deep breaths, runs his fingers through his stiff hair, exorcising the sensory ghosts of his hand bunched in hair that wasn’t his own, and resumes his task of unpacking and organizing.

That winter break, there isn’t a day that Phoenix forgets about the hoodie in the drawer. He doesn’t always care to take it out, but he often catches himself staring at the handle he pulls to get to it. Every time he gives into the impulse to take a deep breath from it, his mind and his awareness are plunged right back into that unique slice of spacetime. But as the memories he picked up at Gressenheller begin to develop their inevitable fuzzy edges, so too do the smells on Phoenix’s hoodie begin to fade away over days, weeks, months. Even the unmistakable scent of the professor’s cologne loses its self-assured presence, and it steadily escapes into the atmosphere, eventually becoming indistinguishable from imagination. There’s a point at which Phoenix doesn’t bother to take the hoodie out anymore.

By the time Phoenix is headed back to Ivy University, he spends less time mulling over possibilities and complex feelings than simply musing on the fun and ridiculousness of his experiences. He didn’t expect anything sustainable, nor does he think he ever really wanted anything like that, but sometimes, something tugs at him uncomfortably during certain kinds of quiet moments. He had wondered about reaching out to the professor on one or two occasions—he does have his email, after all—but ultimately, Phoenix couldn’t convince himself it was the right thing to do. When he doesn’t receive any kind of correspondence from Layton following their last interaction, despite still checking his Gressenheller student email every now and then, he feels only more confident that abstaining is what’s best.

Phoenix occasionally revisits the thought that he has never met anyone like Professor Layton before, and never will again. The professor, his machinations, his motivations, his history may be complex and opaque, but his shapes are simple. Phoenix will sometimes see him in the reflection of a window or some rising steam from a plate of food.

“You haven’t touched your dumplings, Dear,” Dahlia notes. The noise of the restaurant fades back into Phoenix’s awareness.

“Oh, really? They look delicious!” Phoenix says, hand moving from fiddling with his necklace to pick up his chopsticks.

☞

“What?” Maya asks Phoenix when he stops dead in his tracks.

“No…” he breathes.

Maya follows his line of sight, but can’t figure out what has him so transfixed. “Nick, what?!”

There’s absolutely no way.

But there he is, looking completely unchanged after five years, absolutely the same aside from being accompanied by an azure-covered boy. They make eye contact—there’s no avoiding it now.

“Mr Wright.”

“Um, Mr. Layton,” Phoenix finally says, blinking.

“I’ll have you know I’m still a professor,” Layton says, winking and adjusting his hat.

“R-Right, Professor Layton, then.” Really, truly the same as always.

“It seems you’ve become a fine young man,” Professor Layton observes, gesturing to Phoenix’s suit and tie. The blue jacketed attorney grins and rubs the back of his neck in a gesture somewhere between polite humility and genuine self consciousness.

“Well, shucks. I’m a lawyer now, so I guess I have to look the part, you know?”

“Really, now?” Layton’s gentlemanly smile reaches deep into Phoenix and drags out something he considered dead back in front of him like a cat with a misguided gift sense. “You must be doing quite well for yourself. What brings you to London on this fine December day, then?”

“I’m on an exchange visit; that’s all thanks to the Legal League of Attorneys. Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect to stand in a foreign court while I was here. I don’t know all the details yet, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be another weird case. How about you?”

“I’m investigating a rather curious incident, myself. It’s difficult at times to believe what I’ve seen with my own eyes, but one way or another, I’m certain I’ll get to the bottom of it.” How Laytonesque to be casually talking business while staring the other half of a nearly career-ending incident in the face, thinks Phoenix.

“That sounds wild. I wish my case was half as interesting,” Phoenix says, trying to avoid intruding on the professor’s business, but wanting on some level to leave an opening for further collaboration.

“Yes, quite. At any rate, I suppose it would be prudent to take my leave. However, you are welcome to stop by my office if you wish to catch up.” He smiles opaquely, and it sends a shiver down Phoenix’s spine.

“Yeah, uh, see you.” Phoenix waves, and watches Professor Layton turn around, tenderly placing his hand on the boy’s back to guide his attention away from Phoenix and Maya.

“Come along now, Luke.” As they walk away, Phoenix hears Luke talking with Layton, asking questions, voicing opinions, all while the professor patiently and kindly offers his own honest responses.

Phoenix takes a deep breath, huffs it out. It’s almost as if hearing the professor himself say the words Phoenix was hoping for made him doubt them. There’s no way Professor Layton, a tightly wound bundle of formalities and the polite offerings that come with them, was actually suggesting that the man who was once no more than alternately a distractible student and a danger to keeping his job really pay his personal office a visit.

“Nick…” Phoenix looks at Maya, who is wearing the exact kind of strange grin on her face he expected. It would be impossible for her to know exactly what happened between him and Professor Layton, but it’s equally impossible that one Maya Fey wouldn’t have picked up on something between them. “You’re going to tell me all about that fancy British guy.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Phoenix knows he’s sealing his own fate, but it’s worth a shot to at least try dissuading Maya. Sure enough, she keeps asking all kinds of things right up until he arrives at the courthouse. Fielding her questions is a good enough warm up for the trial, Phoenix tells himself.

A sudden case out of nowhere, a spacey blonde defendant, and her accompanying teacher insisting on a guilty verdict… Everything about this is so strange, but he’d have quit long ago if that was anything to put him off a case. Phoenix steps into the courtroom, briefcase in hand. And so, another trial begins, he thinks, putting aside all else in his mind. As he and the other members of the court settle in, he mentally digs his claws into the moment. He’s got this.

The judge brings down his gavel like a clap of thunder.

“The court is now in session for the trial of Espella Cantabella.”