Chapter Text
Alfred has never been more thankful for Matthew’s lack of talent.
Every Thursday, Matthew invites him to one of his band gigs. Most of the time, Alfred can’t go because he’s busy—a very legitimate excuse, because after all, Alfred’s in grad school getting two masters and aiming for a PhD in at least one of them. But it’s spring break, and while Alfred’s workload hasn’t let up any, Matthew really begs for him to come. So Alfred gives in.
And, just like the last time, it sucks. Matthew’s way too high. The songs are decently written, but the music feels off-key. Matthew’s girlfriend is easy enough to talk to, but she’s just as weirdly hippie as Matthew, which puts Alfred on edge. He sits through a couple of songs while nursing a beer, but eventually he ducks out, claiming he needs some air.
And that excuse is what leads him down the street to a bar he’s never set foot in, just to order a sloe gin fizz and sit at one of the tables by himself. He sends a text to his brother, knowing full well that Matthew probably hasn’t even noticed he’s gone, and starts looking around the bar.
This is how Alfred finds him again. His former physics professor from undergrad—Dr. Ivan Braginsky. And he looks good. He’s sitting on a barstool, wearing a black sweater and dark trousers, with one large hand wrapped around a small glass. A beige coat is draped across the seat of the barstool next to him, and Alfred knows it’s Ivan’s because he recognizes the style from winter classes all those years ago. It’s incredible that it seems to be in the same near pristine condition. Alfred can’t seem to keep his clothes intact for longer than a month.
Alfred glances at Ivan’s profile, finding the shape of his large nose is so familiar: it feels like yesterday that Alfred was admiring it in class. Ivan hasn’t really aged much—although his hair is grayer at the temples. But it blends in nicely with the rest of his pale waves, and overall, it reminds Alfred of stardust, or something special and ethereal in the atmosphere.
He really longs to touch it. Alfred suspects it’s softer than spun wool, but he wants so much to know for himself.
It’s been four years since Alfred’s seen Ivan—the last day was graduation. They had an email correspondence for a little bit, but no contact within the past three years. Even so, Alfred’s kept up with Ivan’s life here and there through Matthew, who’s now in his senior year of undergrad at the same university.
So, Alfred knows that Ivan’s divorced. And as far as any of the students know, he’s still single too. He’s also gay.
Alfred takes a long gulp from his sloe gin fizz and thinks about this some more. But he gets impatient considering the variables, and stands up before getting to any rational conclusion.
Carrying his drink and leather bomber jacket with him, he approaches the bar.
“Mr. Braginsky!” Alfred calls, flashing a wide grin. When Ivan turns his way and stares with those deep violet eyes, it unsettles him. Alfred has to clear his throat to resume. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Ivan’s expression barely changes as he drags his gaze up and down Alfred’s figure. His lips turn up in a small smile. “Do I know you?” His accent is as crisp and cold as ever, but maybe a little less detectable than the last time.
“What? Do you know me?” Alfred repeats, aghast. He plops down on the free barstool at Ivan’s other side and drops his drink on the counter. His jacket falls across his lap. That way he can gesture his frustration with his hands. “Dude, you wrote me a recommendation letter. For my master program. I’m Alfred F. Jones. Y’know. Not even that many years ago. From your physics program at—!”
“I was only teasing,” Ivan interrupts, laughing. He looks at his glass and takes a sip of whatever he’s drinking. “I remember you, Alfred.”
Alfred’s frustration evaporates, and his stomach fills with butterflies. “You do? Oh.” His posture relaxes and he takes a sip of his cocktail. “Well, cool. I’m going to join you then.”
“How do you know that seat’s not taken?”
“Well, I’ve been watching you for a bit. It didn’t seem like anyone was joining you. Right?”
“Correct,” Ivan answers, his gaze sliding back toward Alfred.
The gray hair isn’t the only thing that’s new. Ivan’s eyes look a little more tired than they did before. Like he’s either not sleeping enough or reading too much, or perhaps both. But Alfred can’t help but feel that it looks kinda… hot on him.
“Cool,” Alfred swallows. Seeing Ivan’s smile widen makes him double-back to cover himself. He tries playing clueless. “Or not cool. I dunno. Are you still…married? Erm—were you married? To that other professor, I mean.”
“I was. And no, I am not any longer,” says Ivan. “I am divorced.”
It’s funny. When Alfred heard this news from Matthew he was overjoyed. But hearing Ivan say it himself fills Alfred with a disturbing amount of guilt that ties his stomach in a bow. He doesn’t like it.
“Shit. I shouldn’t have asked that,” Alfred laughs, trying to mask his unease.
Ivan arches a brow. “You were hoping I was still married? How funny.”
“I,” Alfred clears his throat and flashes a bright smile. “Well, I’m doing well just so y’know. I’m doing my PhD program in physics and math. So I promise I’m not letting you down. I’m hoping to work at NASA. Or maybe JPL. I dunno yet.”
“That’s quite a busy workload. How are you managing it?” Ivan asks.
“Oh, it’s nothing. You know me. I like to stay busy. Yeah I also do some TA-ing, but I kinda like that part too,” Alfred adds, hoping to score a few good marks in Ivan’s eyes. As he leans in, he catches the scent of the cologne Ivan’s wearing: something deeper than a few years ago, like grapes rather than blossoms. It makes Alfred’s chest warm. “And it’s not just for the money, although that definitely helps. It’s fun to help out. I can see why you ended up becoming a professor.”
“Sadly, I am too tall to go inside an actual spaceship. And a little claustrophobic too. Otherwise…I can see the appeal of it,” Ivan comments pleasantly. He pushes his empty glass forward for the bartender to take and rises to his full height.
Oh. Alfred nearly forgot what a presence he had when he stood up. It’s easy to forget when he’s looking into Ivan’s eyes and measuring the length of his long, pale lashes.
“Are you leaving?” Alfred asks, swerving around to follow Ivan’s face.
“I need a cigarette,” Ivan explains. He pulls on his coat one arm at a time and pats down the pockets. His body language is so at ease, Alfred is certain that if given the chance, Ivan would leave and disappear for another three years.
“Cool, man. I smoke too. I’ll join you,” Alfred smiles. He swallows down the rest of his drink, stifling a cough from the rush of carbonation and alcohol, and scrambles to his feet. He swings his bomber jacket back on.
“Do you? I don’t remember that about you,” remarks Ivan, idly curious.
Alfred continues their conversation as they walk through the bar.
“Oh, yeah. Kinda picked up the habit in grad school,” he explains, laughing. “It’s tough as shit sometimes. I need a pick-me-up. And hey, it’s great for socializing!”
“Did you not just say that it was nothing? That’s pretty quick for your lie to unravel, even by your standards,” Ivan notes with a chuckle. He pushes open the door and leads them outside. They stand beside the windows of the bar.
“What do you mean? These are just expressions, dude. Why are you so serious?” Alfred huffs. He watches Ivan pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the pocket of his coat and light it. For some reason, it tugs at a nostalgic yearning in Alfred’s heart.
How many times did he watch Ivan smoke behind the science building, pacing in circles and talking to himself? And so many times Alfred wanted to approach him, befriend him, but as soon as he got close, Ivan gave him one of those warning smiles and stomped out his cigarette as quick as lightning. Alfred was always left staring at him from the other side of the grass.
“What’s made you so silent?”
Alfred raises his chin, and as he meets Ivan’s gaze it sends a rush through him. “Can I call you Ivan?”
“Hm?” Ivan tilts his head questioningly.
“That’s your name, isn’t it? It feels weird to still address you as my professor when we’re on equal terms,” Alfred laughs, hoping to make this less awkward than it feels like it’s already going.
Ivan smiles again, but his eyes darken. “We are not equals until you are my age.”
Alfred frowns. “Well, you’re just as contrary as ever,” he mutters, reaching into his jeans pocket for his vape.
He takes an angry huff and blows out in the opposite direction. Ivan’s tobacco smoke becomes tainted with fruity flavors.
“You lied again,” Ivan laughs.
“Huh? About what?”
Ivan switches his cigarette from his lips to his hand. “You do not smoke. I thought not.”
“This is a vape, man,” Alfred explains, waving the device in front of him. “It’s like—the modern version of smoking. And it’s better for you too. There are lots of flavors. Wanna try mine?”
“I like the taste of cigarettes, actually.”
“No, you don’t. Come on,” Alfred counters, chuckling. When Ivan’s expression doesn’t change, his brows furrow. “You’re serious? No one likes it.”
“You’re so young,” Ivan laughs, shaking his head.
It’s a small jibe, but it feels dismissive somehow. As if to dash Alfred’s chances before he’s had the opportunity to try them.
“I’m not that young,” Alfred argues, squaring back his shoulders. He didn’t shave this morning, and he hopes that there’s a shadow coloring his jaw that proves his point. “And you’re not that old either,” he adds, admiring the new wrinkles that frame Ivan’s eyes and mouth.
Ivan looks like’s considering this until a glint returns to his eyes. “I could be your father, you know.”
Alfred’s stomach does a somersault.
Wait a minute. That’s supposed to scare him off, isn’t it? Is it a bad sign that it doesn’t work?
“Uh, aren’t you, like, gay?” Alfred croaks, reaching over his shoulder to ruffle the back of his hair.
“Yes, and you already know that. What are you implying?”
Alfred looks up. “Nothing! Nothing! I guess I was just thinking about my dad—who isn’t gay—and was wondering how that’d work but yeah—right. Gay adoption or whatever. That’s a thing. Totally.” Alfred’s lungs get tight under Ivan’s gaze. But it doesn’t stop him from running his mouth. “You…you think about having kids often?”
“Maybe once,” Ivan shrugs, exhaling more smoke.
“You can still have kids if you wanna—what?” Alfred’s cheeks redden when he notices how intently Ivan’s looking at him—for the first time since they started talking. He scrambles with continuing this bizarre topic that’s totally out of his wheelhouse. Because fuck—Alfred’s not exactly prepared to talk about babies and families. “No. I just meant like if it’s your age you’re worried about. You shouldn’t. Because there are tons of older dads.”
Ivan takes a step closer. Alfred forces himself not to back away. He’s not blinking, he’s not sure if he’s even breathing, until Ivan leans in and purses his lips.
“Your glasses are crooked,” Ivan points out.
“Huh?” Alfred stirs awake.
“Your glasses. They seem crooked,” Ivan repeats, and he reaches forward as if to take them and inspect.
This time, Alfred does back away, cloaking his discomfort with a hearty laugh. “Oh. Yeah, I guess they are,” he agrees, fiddling with the frame. “My roommate’s cat knocked them on the floor and I stepped on them. Not hard—fortunately. So the glass part is fine. But I can’t seem to get them straight again.”
“Why not have them fixed?” Ivan asks, looking genuinely confused.
“Ah, man. Seems so boring,” Alfred groans. “I don’t have time to run that errand. And besides, seeing through them is all that matters, right?”
“No, I find it extremely distracting actually,” Ivan tells him, turning away to stomp out his cigarette. “You should get that done tomorrow.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll, uh, look into it,” Alfred agrees automatically. But it takes only two seconds to feel angry with himself afterward.
Ivan’s not his professor anymore. Alfred shouldn’t heel like a trained dog so easily. He doesn’t have to do what Ivan tells him to do. They’re not bound by the walls of college.
“Are you going back in for another drink?” Alfred asks, watching Ivan grasp the handle of the door to the bar.
“You already know the answer, Alfred,” Ivan smiles.
Alfred makes a noise of frustration and quickly follows Ivan inside. “Dude, come on. Quit answering like that. We’re not teacher and student anymore. You can drop the mysterious act.”
“I don’t have an act. That is something you invented,” Ivan dismisses easily.
“Yes, you do. Come on, you must know how you come off. All the other students were totally afraid of you.” He thinks of Matthew’s friends and huffs. “Hell, I bet they still are.”
Ivan’s eerie violet gaze lands on Alfred again. “You never were,” he points out.
“Well, no. I wasn’t,” Alfred admits, his lips tugging into another smile. “But I’m not afraid of anything, so… and you’re just a guy in the end. Just a tall guy, maybe, who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else.”
“I can say the same for you,” Ivan replies. He removes his coat in the same practiced way that seems so elegant to Alfred, and folds it over the free barstool. Ivan sits down in the same barstool as before.
Alfred hops onto his seat and keeps his bomber jacket on. He watches Ivan order another drink and decides to join in. “Uh, I’ll have another sloe gin fizz,” he tells the bartender.
“Alfred,” Ivan chides lightly. Two of his fingers press against his temple that indicates his exasperation.
“What? I like them. They’re sweet,” Alfred protests. He frowns at the shot glass being slid in front of Ivan. “Excuse me for not drinking straight vodka or whatever the hell you’re getting. I like a little flavor if I’m going to be poisoning my body.”
Ivan finishes his shot in one swallow and folds his hands on the bar like he just drank a cup of water. He sighs before returning to the pleasant professor expression Alfred is so accustomed to seeing. “So… you have not told me yet what you are doing at this bar alone.”
“Oh. Yeah, uh, kinda long story,” Alfred starts. The bartender returns with his cocktail and he stirs the red concoction with the tiny black straw. “My brother had a band gig at this place nearby and I was there for a bit, but after he finished playing I got bored waiting for him to come out so I jumped in here. Yeah, I didn’t expect to find you here of all places.”
“That was not long at all. Impressive,” Ivan compliments. “Shouldn’t you be returning to him then?”
It sounds like he really wants Alfred to leave. But Alfred pretends he doesn’t notice his tone and looks the other way.
“Nah, it’s fine. His girlfriend’s there,” Alfred explains, sipping his drink quickly. “I see Matt play pretty often, he doesn’t care if I ditch early. I get too antsy in places like that anyway.”
Ivan lets out a hum before going silent.
Alfred doesn’t like quiet. He’s not exactly used to it. Growing up, there was always some sort of commotion in the home—arguments between his mom and dad, more often than not. The last time he was back, and it had been a while now, his parents were at each others’ throats the same as ever.
If anything, Alfred’s used to deescalating, or just concocting lies on the spot if Matthew’s nearby because he has to play pretend older brother even if he feels so totally lost in the role. Alfred really wasn’t meant to grow up so fast.
Anyway, the seconds drag on, and Alfred turns Ivan’s way and tries to find something to say. He quickly ends up distracted by the gray hair glimmering at Ivan’s temples.
“Hm,” Ivan prompts, after he catches Alfred’s stare.
Alfred grins automatically. “I like it, by the way. The gray hair. It looks cool. I’m kinda jealous.”
Ivan opens his mouth, then closes. His lips pull into one of his usual smiles that can mean anything and also nothing.
“Are you still heterosexual?” he asks coolly.
Alfred’s blush spreads to the roots of his hair. “Dude! Hey, come on,” he hisses, looking right and left in case anyone else heard. Doesn’t seem like it. There aren’t many patrons at such an early hour. Alfred glares at Ivan. “Can’t you ask that like a normal person? Just say ‘straight’. Jesus, I can’t believe I have to be the one to tell you this.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred dodges with a wave of his hand. He drains half of his drink to pass the time.
“I see,” Ivan hums.
Alfred drops his glass with a slam to the table. “You see what?”
Ivan smiles as he nurses his drink.
“Hey, dude. Come on, I didn’t say anything. So don’t make any weird assumptions about me.”
“Very well,” Ivan replies, looking bored. He pulls forward one of the laminated menus the bartender left for him and flips a few pages. “Have you already eaten dinner?”
At the mention of food, Alfred’s ears perk up. He ends up looking over Ivan’s shoulder even though he hasn’t been hungry in hours. “Nope. Well, I had some fries at the bar earlier while Matt was playing, but I ended up giving half of it to his girlfriend before I left.”
“You did not eat anything else today?” Ivan asks, surprised.
“No, well,” Alfred laughs, embarrassed. “I was a bit hungover from yesterday. I had to go out with some classmates, y’know how it is.”
Ivan ignores Alfred and goes back to browsing the menu. “Fine. I will order something to eat.”
“Dude, the kitchen closes in like five minutes,” Alfred whispers.
Ivan stares at him, uncomprehendingly. “Then what is the problem?”
Is there a problem? Now, Alfred wonders. He doesn’t want to make trouble for the staff, but if that’s what Ivan wants, he’s not exactly going to stand in his way. Is this the difference between being young and old? Alfred is so used to this balancing act—between being good and bad—and he’s so afraid of verging onto bad that he sometimes overcorrects himself.
“Yeah, whatever,” Alfred concedes, tired of stressing about the prospect of food. “Do your thing I guess. I’ll eat anything.”
“Yes, I know.” Ivan pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, revealing his thick, pale forearms. The bartender returns and Ivan gives him the order.
Alfred admires this side of Ivan a lot. He seems to be able to do things without emotional investment. It’s a feat that seems so impossible to Alfred.
In ten minutes, a plate of fries and chicken wings appears. Alfred’s stomach growls at the sight of it. He’s the first to dig in, and the one to eat the most. Ivan doesn’t seem particularly hungry, and merely picks at the fries here and there as he watches Alfred eat.
“Oh, man this is good. I didn’t even know how hungry I was,” Alfred tells him.
“You should eat more if you’re going to drink. You don’t hold your liquor well,” Ivan advises.
Alfred’s brows knit together. “Dude, we’ve been drinking together for less than an hour. You don’t know that.”
“Call it a theory then,” Ivan smiles. “You are welcome to prove me wrong.”
“Yeah, no thanks,” Alfred laughs uncertainly. His gaze flicks back and forth from the emptying plate of fries and Ivan’s expression. He ends up wiping his hands on a napkin and sitting back. “I don’t really—I don’t want you to think I drink that much. Because I don’t actually. I’m just in so many situations that require drinking.”
“It is very easy to say no.”
“For you, maybe,” Alfred scoffs, unsurprised at Ivan’s ability to say no to anything no matter the situation. Ivan doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps even care, about the context of any situation. “I don’t wanna be a buzzkill though. Besides, it’s not like I hate drinking. I just get a little…”
“Drunk?” Ivan supplies, amused. “Yes, that is the purpose of it.”
“Okay, cool guy. Do you never get drunk? How many drinks have you had tonight?” Alfred demands.
Ivan looks up with his large violet eyes. “I have honestly lost count.”
“Really?” Alfred regards Ivan quickly. “Because you don’t seem drunk at all.”
“Yes, well. I’m not a lightweight like you are,” Ivan teases. He reaches for the nearly empty plates in front of Alfred. “Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” Alfred says. But as he watches Ivan push them toward the bartender, he hurriedly adds, “I’ll split this, by the way. Don’t pay for that.”
Ivan smiles at him, and Alfred flutters a little because he likes being heard.
But then the bartender returns with a check and Ivan speaks first. “Hello, yes I will pay for my tab and his.”
“Hey—!” Alfred starts, both embarrassed and frustrated. But only the bartender looks at him, while Ivan does not, and it makes the situation more awkward. Alfred ends up grumbling and folding his arms across his chest, impatient for the interruption to end. Only when the bartender eventually leaves does Alfred finally turn back. “Ivan, come on. You don’t need to pay for me. I can afford a few drinks and a meal.”
“I’m your professor,” Ivan states coolly.
Alfred’s fingers clench into fists. “Not anymore! We’re equals. Equals, got it?”
The bartender returns with a receipt. Ivan signs it. His signature is surprisingly ornate and time-consuming. Alfred spends enough time observing him to notice.
Ivan drops a few bills as a tip on top of the receipt and folds his wallet away. As he stands, he resumes the usual action of looping his expensive looking coat over each shoulder.
“Use the money to fix your glasses,” he tells Alfred. “And buy a new shirt. And an apron. Oil stains are very hard to get out, so keep that in mind.”
Alfred’s not sure if his blush can get any darker. But he knows his patience has run out. He jumps to his feet, clinging to the tails of Ivan’s coat. “Dude, quit it! I don’t need advice. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“We did talk,” Ivan smiles. “It was actually a nice surprise to run into you. I wondered if we would cross paths again, but I did not expect it to be tonight.”
Ivan briskly crosses the floor of the bar and leads them outside. The rain has started up again.
“Hey, hold on! Let me just—“ Alfred quickly circles around his professor as Ivan’s distracted by the change in the sky. “Hold on!”
Ivan doesn’t even look down at him. “Alfred, I am too old for bar hopping.”
“You’re not that old. Stop that. I know how old you are,” Alfred says, determined. Ivan ignores him and heads down the sidewalk. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” Ivan answers shortly.
Alfred trails after him, each footstep splashing in puddles as he walks, making the hem of his jeans wet. “What are you…what are you doing later? Maybe we can at least exchange numbers or something. It would be cool to meet up again, you know?” Alfred adds awkwardly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His fingers are so cold.
God, he really couldn’t sound more desperate if he tried. The alcohol is not helping Alfred’s tactics either.
Suddenly, and without warning, Ivan stops. He drags a hand down his face, laughing.
“Ah, how foolish of me,” he murmurs.
“What?” Alfred asks, still at his side.
“I forgot to tell my neighbor to feed the cat,” Ivan says to the air.
“What cat?”
“Mine.”
“Why would he have to feed it if you’re going home?” Alfred asks, pulling his lips into a grin.
“An excellent observation,” Ivan notes, looking up again. The clouds part just enough that there’s a sliver of moon glistening through the fog of rain.
But something’s wrong. Alfred’s not exactly sure what it is, but Ivan’s not acting like he did four years ago. He’s talking like he’s dying, or perhaps even dead.
Maybe it’s the divorce. Or it could be the alcohol. Or maybe, it’s some combination of the two. Alfred’s not sober enough to figure it out.
“Never mind. You don’t want to tell me,” Alfred interrupts with a strained laugh. “But I lied before, you know.”
Ivan finally looks down at him again. “Yes, I know.”
Alfred shifts his weight. “Sure, but you don’t know about what.”
“You don’t think so?” Ivan postures, one brow raised.
Alfred considers this for too long. He could play coy. He could play hard to get. He could very easily play the straight guy, because god knows he’s had enough practice. But the one he actually wants is before his very eyes and he’s actually single. Any of the ploys he comes up with feel too risky when it comes to Dr. Braginsky,
And because all else fails him, Alfred ends up blurting, “I wanna go home with you.”
Ivan smiles. “And do what? Feed my cat?”
“No! Dude, come on. Stop it,” Alfred replies, annoyed. He shuffles his feet as he waits for a bystander to walk by. “I’m not—I’m not that straight,” he hisses under his breath. “Not for you, anyway. I kinda, always, had a thing for you. I just didn’t think you’d ever be single again.”
“I know,” Ivan says fondly.
“Hey, this isn’t funny anymore. You don’t know everything. You didn’t know about my crush.”
Ivan’s smile pulls to one side. For a brief moment, the dark cloud covering his eyes lifts and the color looks lighter than before. “Yes, Alfred. I did.”
“When I was your student? You could tell?” Alfred asks, dangerously curious. Ivan doesn’t give an audible reply, but he does nod. Alfred laughs anxiously. “Jesus Christ. Okay. Uh, didn’t expect that,” he admits. “But whatever. It doesn’t change this, I guess.”
“What do you mean by this?”
“Us,” Alfred clarifies, positioning himself right next to Ivan in a sudden burst of boldness. “I’m coming home with you.”
Ivan breaks into easy laughter. “Now, it sounds like a threat.”
“Maybe it is,” Alfred admits, flashing his teeth. “I can be kinda relentless if I wanna be.”
Ivan observes him for a few moments longer before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Fine.”
“Oh,” Alfred breathes, watching Ivan’s every move. He mimics each step Ivan takes.
“Another day won’t matter anyway,” Ivan adds.
Alfred quickens his pace and brushes his shoulder with Ivan’s bicep. “Every day matters. Come on, man. Does alcohol make you sad or something? Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much then.”
“So when did you have your gay awakening? I’m curious.”
“Okay, I’m, um,” Alfred flounders, still self-conscious of any ears listening in. Which is beyond stupid. Not many people are even walking outside tonight. And it’s not like anyone at his university would care if they heard. And it’s not like his university would inform his parents—if they were even still part of his life, which they’re definitely not. “I’m more like bi, I guess. But I’ve only ever dated girls,” he mutters, avoiding Ivan’s eye contact, while still checking his expression from the side.
“Ah, so it was me,” Ivan supplies, smiling again.
“I didn’t say that!”
Ivan lets out a thoughtful hum, and as they wait for a streetlight, he tilts his head down, saying, “An example would have worked better than denial in this case. Just so you know.”
“Smartass. I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Alfred grumbles. He follows Ivan across the street, but stops as Ivan reaches for a car door. “Oh, you called a car? When?”
“Does it matter?” Ivan asks, sliding inside the car.
Alfred runs his hand through his hair. “You’re driving me up the wall, man.”
He ends up getting into the same car, all the same.
The ride to Ivan’s home was longer than Alfred expected. In his imagination, Ivan stayed at some sort of swanky townhome downtown with lots of flowers and guests. In reality, he resides a good twenty minutes from where they were, in a suburban home that was both enviously large but also extremely isolated Alfred in such a way that he got the shivers because he’s reminded of his own childhood home.
But this isn’t that. The yard is well maintained, although there isn’t a fence. The house is old, but clearly recently repainted. It’s nice, overall. It reminds Alfred of the old homes he used to fantasize about in movies. There’s a nostalgic charm about it really.
“Oh, is this yours? It’s nice. I like it,” Alfred prompts, forcing enthusiasm, as he steps out of the car. He sidles up to Ivan to keep talking. “You need to add a fence though.”
“I don’t have a dog,” Ivan tells him.
Alfred looks around at other houses that look just as old but have fences bordering their property lines. “Yeah, but… don’t you want a fence for privacy and stuff?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” Ivan admits, sounding thoughtful. He stops at the threshold of his house and wipes his feet on the doormat. He unlocks the front door and waves Alfred inside. “Well, are you coming?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alfred echoes, a little more than disoriented. He trails after Ivan and stands at the threshold, and looks around the house. “Oh, wow.”
Ivan interrupts his gawking and extends his hand. “Give me your jacket.”
“Oh, sure,” Alfred replies, trying to keep up with what’s proper. He shrugs off his jacket and hands it over. When he sees Ivan in his socks and house slippers, he decides to shed his shoes too. Alfred wanders past the doorway, looking all around. “Wow, it’s like being in a real house.”
“As opposed to what?”
“I dunno,” Alfred excuses, embarrassed by his lack of decorum. He points to the frames on one of the walls and grins. “You decorated this yourself? All of this?”
“No, Tolys did quite a lot,” Ivan answers, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Tolys—oh… right,” Alfred flounders, suddenly remembering the first name of the professor Ivan was married to. He was in the history department, so nowhere near Alfred’s field. He didn’t see much of him beyond a passing glimpse here and there. But he was handsome. And Alfred kind of hated that. Now, he hated that more for Ivan’s sake and fiddled with his hands of what to say next. “Sorry.”
“His name is not forbidden,” Ivan laughs easily, as he uncorks a wine bottle. “In fact, I rather miss talking about him.” The bottle glugs as the liquid descends in a glass.
“Hey, come on. I’m right here. No nostalgia while I’m around,” Alfred orders, trying to sound humorous despite meaning every word.
Ivan glances up from what he’s doing and levels Alfred with a cool gaze. “Is it not too early for you to be jealous?”
Alfred flushes. “I’m not jealous, I’m just saying—” he searches for distraction, and quickly lands on the gray tabby that rushes by the kitchen. “Oh, is that the cat?”
Ivan follows the direction Alfred is looking and answers affirmatively.
“It’s cute,” Alfred coos, following the cat to where it hid itself underneath the ottoman. He looks back at Ivan. “What’s its name?”
“It’s…” Ivan blinks, momentarily stunned. “Hm, I don’t think I know it actually.”
Alfred pushes himself off his knees and rises again. “Dude, how can you forget a pet’s name? What’s your problem?”
“Well, to be fair, I was not the one who named it. When he left me, he also left the cat. It was rather dramatic.”
Great. Another memory of this Tolys guy. Alfred almost wishes he had a class with him just so he had the ammunition to trash him. As it is, all he has to work with are his own virtues. And he isn’t sure if it’s enough.
“Fine. I’m gonna name it,” Alfred decides, bending lower to observe the cat staring at him with bright green eyes beneath the ottoman. “Just give me a few hours and I’ll give it a better name than before.” He stops watching the feline and rises to his feet in a flourish. “Oh, I know. Why not name it after a scientist or something? That seems like it’s up your alley. Like Galileo.”
Ivan doesn’t spare him a glance as pours a second glass of wine. “You can think of something better.”
Alfred approaches the kitchen and the second glass. “Oh, what’s this?”
“Wine,” Ivan answers, already corking the bottle again. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”
Alfred tries to force some sobriety in his veins. It’s a bit easier now that he has some food in his system. But he’s also had more liquor than he’s used to. “Uh, no. I’m game. I’m game for whatever,” he replies, taking the glass to another room. He spots something interesting there. “Oh hey, you still play chess.”
“Still?” Ivan questions, surprised.
“Yeah, uh, well you had that chess masters certificate framed in your office in college. I remembered that,” Alfred admits shyly, lowering his wine to the side table beside the chess board. He drags one of the chairs closer to the chess board and sits down. He looks up at Ivan with a student’s attention. “Why didn’t you become a grandmaster?”
“I suppose I lost the motivation.” Ivan joins Alfred at the chess table and sits at the chair across.
“Well, let’s play now,” Alfred decides after a sip of wine.
Ivan looks down at the half-done chess-board and at Alfred’s face. “Really?”
“Yeah! Dude, do you actually think I can’t play? I’ve been practicing for years. Let’s have at it,” he counters with a grin.
“Interesting,” Ivan says, reaching forward to put the pieces back into place. His side is white and Alfred’s is black. “I admit, I did not think you played.”
Alfred’s chest inflates with confidence. “I’m full of surprises.”
Ivan doesn’t say anything as he finishes arranging the pieces back into place. But just before they decide to start, he asks, “Did you start to practice before or after you learned that I played?”
“No. Come on, I’m not that pathetic,” Alfred lies, moving his pawn forward.
Ivan laughs, his voice easy and melodic. His fingertips grasp his piece to counter Alfred’s move. “You will never be able to play poker. Your face is far too easy to read.”
Alfred huffs, replying to Ivan’s attack on the board with gusto. “I’m great at poker, actually. It’s just you.” After admitting the truth, he glances up, uncertainly. “You’re weirdly observant.”
“Perhaps. When I want to be,” Ivan smiles.
“Oh, so I’m just lucky,” Alfred grits, keeping up with Ivan’s tactics.
“In a way,” Ivan begins, moving his knight into a new square. His eyes glint. “Perhaps, you are.”
Alfred glares at the board before directing his gaze up at Ivan. “You’re not going easy on me, are you? Because I really do practice a lot.”
“Yes, I can tell,” Ivan tells him.
“Okay, so you don’t have to go easy on me, is what I’m saying,” Alfred checks as he grasps his bishop.
“Your worries would be better spent on the game,” Ivan advises. As he observes the board, he asks personal questions. “So who is your roommate? Your brother?”
“God, no. Well, we were roommates for a while,” Alfred clarifies after a beat. “But once he got a girlfriend I kinda kicked him out. It’s too weird. Then, I got Kiku. He’s really cool, except he had to do this internship thing out of the country, so it’s just me and his cat for now.”
“Do you like living alone?” Ivan asks, as he moves his piece.
“It’s okay, I guess. I keep busy,” Alfred replies, doing the same. “What about you? How is it being single again?”
“Not my preference.”
“Oh. Shit,” Alfred echoes into the awkward silence. He tries to force some enthusiasm into his voice. “Well, good thing I’m here, right?”
Ivan smiles as he moves his next piece forward. And in the most delicate voice, says, “Check.”
“What?” Alfred gawks. “No way. Hold on, a sec. I wasn’t looking. Let me analyze this.” He hunches over the board and analyzes the game.
“Go ahead,” Ivan shrugs, rising to his feet. He takes the packet of cigarettes and lighter from his coat pocket and heads outside. “I’m going out for a cigarette.”
“By yourself?”
“You are allowed to come with me if you like,” Ivan tells him, already positioning a cigarette between his fingers. “Even with your children’s cigarettes.”
Alfred accepts the invitation and joins him in a flash. “You’re just jealous you can’t enjoy flavors other than tobacco.”
Ivan leads them to the back patio door and slides it open.
After Alfred walks through, Ivan adds, “Close the door. For the cat.”
“Right, yeah,” Alfred replies, shutting the glass door quickly. The cat peers at the two of them through the clear glass. And Alfred finds it so odd that Ivan can forget the name of his husband’s cat but remember to keep it inside and fed. He’s not sure what to make of that contradiction. But it seems like Ivan all the same.
Observant. Smart. Kind, when he wants to be. But… there is something else about him that is so impossible to identify.
Alfred steps forward into the glow of the small night lights and finds an expansive pool. “Wow, you even have a pool! Holy shit! Do you ever use it?”
Ivan finishes exhaling from his cigarette. “In the summer. Sometimes.”
“ Sometimes? Dude, I would be out here all the time if I had a pool,” Alfred replies, looking into the pool once more. He takes a swipe from his vape and grins back at his professor. “You could get a tan if you actually spent time outside.”
“I think I am incapable of tanning. It’s a curse.”
“C’mon, you’re not a vampire.”
Ivan looks up at the night sky, the same melancholic expression returning to his face. “Why are you so reluctant to go home, Alfred?”
“Huh?” Alfred startles.
Ivan lowers the cigarette from his lips and smoke continues to blow from his lips and nose. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to go back to your apartment. Why are you still here?”
“Dude, that’s kinda… I thought I already made that clear. I…” Alfred replies, clutching the nape of his neck nervously. His gaze flits side to side, searching for the right words. “I was thinking we could, I dunno…”
Ivan’s smile tilts sardonically. “I am almost twenty years older than you. Surely the allure of a teacher-student relationship has faded by now.”
“It was never about that,” Alfred defends, taking a sudden step forward just to be cloaked in Ivan’s long shadow. He hesitates, uncertain of what he’s doing, but wanting to do it all the same. “I just… why are you making me explain something as stupid as this? I mean, come on. I don’t care about your age. I don’t even see it. You’re still the same as before.”
“You think so?” Ivan asks, confused. He glances in the opposite direction. “I don’t feel the same.”
Alfred’s had about enough of this. Theoretically, he can look at Ivan’s profile all day long, but now when he looks like he longs for a meteor to strike him.
“I hate the look on your face,” Alfred snaps.
Ivan blinks out of his reverie and flashes Alfred an icy smile. “Do I have to tell you how rude that is?”
“Uh, I just mean,” Alfred autocorrects, trying to find diplomacy. “Well, yeah, but—I guess I mean what I said. Sometimes you just have this look on your face that’s way, way too sad, dude. And I don’t get it. Because you’re—I mean you’re kind of amazing.”
“You’re still the same besotted student. I remember that look in your eyes before,” Ivan admits, ashing his cigarette on the ground as he takes in the surroundings. “It’s sweet, even if you’re horribly naive.”
Alfred stomps forward, hoping he can make his presence so big it’s all Ivan can see.
“Naive about what?” he demands angrily. “I don’t think I’m missing any facts here. We’re two dudes, but you’re into that. Is it the age difference? Because like I said, I don’t care. If anything that—that’s why I like you. I don’t think I really…get along with people my own age. For some reason.”
“Really? Why is that?” Ivan asks, only picking up on the last revelation.
Alfred squirms. “Well, maybe I’m jumping the gun here. I can get along with them on friendly terms. But, uh, romantically, I just don’t know if the spark is there…”
“Romantic already… Well, I suppose you are quite the romantic, Alfred. To hold onto a crush for so long,” Ivan laughs as he takes a drag of his cigarette.
“Well, what about you, huh?” Alfred counters.. He eyes Ivan up and down and forces himself not to dwindle, or worse, get hot when Ivan’s stare turns his way. “If you knew about my crush back then, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? I was your professor. Of course I would ignore it. And I was a married professor at that.”
“So what happened then? Between you and…uh, Tolys?” Alfred asks, taking a break to take a drag from his vape. He checks Ivan’s expression from the corner of his eye. “It seems like it was pretty bad.”
“It was…” Ivan admits, looking distantly.
Alfred weaves, trying to catch Ivan’s attention again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“I’m not sure,” Ivan murmurs. He smiles enigmatically. “I think I would rather beat you at chess.”
Alfred feels a rush of adrenaline surge from his spine down to his feet like a bolt of lightning. At least a game—a challenge—is something he’s used to. “You know I did come here for a reason other than chess.”
“Yes, Alfred. I know that,” Ivan chuckles. He sits down on one of the lawn chairs positioned by the pool as he continues enjoying his cigarette.
“And you’re just ignoring that… Because I’m willing, you know.”
“Yet, you have not made a move closer,” Ivan notes, a glimmer in his eyes. He takes a languid seat back on the chair. “I think you’re more closeted than you think.”
Closeted? Is that what Alfred is? He’s never considered a man outside of Braginsky. In his mind, that equates to loyalty more than anything else. But he’s not about to admit that either.
“I’m—fine,” Alfred blurts. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, debating with himself before he stuffs his vape in his pocket and flings forward.
He loops one of his legs around Ivan’s lap and straddles him. His palms land on either of Ivan’s wide shoulders as he meets his gaze hesitantly. His weight settles back on the width of Ivan’s hips. When Alfred tenses he feels Ivan’s body flex beneath him. It’s strange. But not in a bad way. It’s so oddly erotic that Alfred has to actively not think about it. Even the warmth radiating from Ivan’s shoulders and sinking into his palms is distracting. Alfred focuses on the many colors shimmering in Ivan’s eyes. “Does this make it clear then?”
Ivan’s heavy eyes lift to Alfred’s face. His large hands slowly move toward Alfred’s hips and clutch both sides tightly. It elicits a gasp from Alfred and he wonders if this night is suddenly going somewhere. Finally. Finally!
Then Ivan says, “I think the game of chess seems more appealing, actually.”
“You fucking—hey! ” Alfred protests, his voice raising when he’s shoved off of Ivan’s lap and left to stumble back on his feet. “No, it doesn’t! You’re a liar! Hey—look at me,” Alfred reaches forward and cups the side of Ivan’s face, forcing him to look his way. Alfred’s face is burning hot. “I really do like you. I don’t care about your age, or your stupid divorce.”
Ivan’s eyes dance with amusement. “Yes, so? Do you always expect to get what you want?”
“Well, I…” Alfred hesitates, self-conscious of his behavior. He doesn’t normally throw himself at romantic conquests, and he doesn’t want to think about why that was his first instinct with Ivan of all people. “I guess I’ve never thought of it like that, but…”
“But yes, correct?” Ivan interrupts. He rises to his full height and brushes extra ash from his pants. “Beat me at a game of chess and I will let you continue.”
“Really?” Alfred brightens.
Ivan’s smile is eerily indulgent. “Yes, really.”
“Fine,” Alfred accepts. “Let’s get back to it then.” He grasps Ivan’s hand and leads him back through the sliding door of the back patio.
“No need to drag me, Alfred,” Ivan tuts softly. “This is my house, I know the way.”
Alfred glances over his shoulder. “Yeah, but you walk like you have nowhere to be. Unlike me.”
“So silly,” Ivan laughs.
Alfred finally drops his hand when they reach the chess board, and Ivan slowly sits down. He pushes the sleeves of his sweater up again, revealing his pale forearms once more.
“I will close this game in less than five minutes and then you will have to go home. Isn’t that a pity for you?”
“You don’t know anything. Fate can be changed,” Alfred declares, determined.
“Fate is the same as a game, Alfred,” Ivan replies, his eyes wrinkling with perhaps the first genuine smile that evening. He peruses the board briefly, adding, “And in this one, you have already lost.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Alfred grunts, already grabbing his piece and making his next move.
The game continues for a little while. Not long in actuality, but it feels like ages. Alfred’s trying so hard to concentrate on strategy, but his attention keeps getting tugged elsewhere, like Ivan’s lips or his hands or his hair.
Clearly, Alfred’s not made out to be a chess player. Not when he’s drunk anyway.
But he did do a lot of studying, and practicing. That wasn’t a lie. So he tries his best. And he actually thinks he has a shot, until Ivan moves his queen forward, and smiles in that same professor-like manner like he’s about to deliver a bad grade.
“Check-mate,” Ivan says, letting go of the queen. He watches Alfred groan and leans back in his chair. “I am sorry. But I told you so.”
Alfred stops clutching his head to analyze the board and what mistakes he must have made. “Shit. Ah, shit. I really thought I had it figured out.”
“Don’t take it so hard,” Ivan shrugs. He reaches for his wine and takes a hearty sip. “I’ve had many hours more practice. This is the predictable outcome.”
Alfred mulls this over before glaring at Ivan. “Yeah, but that’s what you want.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want to predict everything. You’ve always been like that. It’s why you’re so—controlled,” Alfred explains, flustered. “Or controlling, or whatever. But sometimes, unpredictable can be good, y’know. And I’m good at that.” Alfred rights himself and forces eye contact with Ivan. “I’m good at surprising people.”
Ivan observes him for a moment before lowering his wine glass back to the table. “Yes, I believe that,” he says, smiling diplomatically—wanting the entire interaction to mean nothing, no doubt.
But Alfred’s not having any of that.
He surges forward, out of his seat and around the table. His hand wraps around the back of Ivan’s hair—oh, it really is as soft as it looks—and closes his mouth over Ivan’s. It’s long enough for Alfred to feel the texture of Ivan’s soft lips, the slide and force of Ivan’s tongue. The kiss deepens before Alfred expects it. He whines, and leans into Ivan’s body weight. Alfred spontaneously decides to sit on Ivan’s lap again and keep going. This time he has hope that it will mean something. Alfred keeps kissing. Using every trick he’s learned in his years of kissing girls. But it feels different kissing a man, especially a man like Ivan. The one who’s consumed Alfred’s dreams for years and years.
Alfred imagined kissing him countless times. But he wasn’t sure how to create a picture of Ivan kissing back until it happens. Ivan’s mouth is suddenly forceful and hot against his own. A large hand wraps around Alfred’s waist, gripping it with strength. Alfred moans into the kiss, both curious and disoriented with the new physical contact. He tries to keep up, but it’s strange trying to follow a kiss instead of leading it. He honestly didn’t think Ivan had it in him. As it is, Alfred ends up as the one being guided as Ivan plunges his tongue deeper into Alfred’s sensitive mouth. It’s so good, so extraordinary and unexpected, Alfred melts into the touch, eager for more. Desperate for anything that Ivan has to give.
But all of it ends when Ivan pushes him away with the same hold on Alfred’s hips.
Alfred stares at Ivan, still catching his breath.
“You kissed me back,” he blurts.
Ivan’s lips pull into a smile, more mischievous than the ones before. “Perhaps.”
“Nah, no perhaps. You did,” Alfred argues. He tightens his hold on Ivan’s shoulders. “Wanna do it again?” he asks hopefully, grinning again.
Ivan’s fingers are still wrapped around Alfred’s waist, but not holding or pushing in any which way. “Asking for permission makes me feel too young,” he reveals shyly.
“Yeah?” Alfred teases, dipping his chin low. “Or does it make you feel like a girl?”
Ivan laughs, brushing off Alfred’s words like they’re dust in the way of a great thing.
One of his hands moves to the back of Alfred’s head, wrapping around with such ease Alfred loses himself as he’s guided close. He smells Ivan’s cologne. He sees Ivan’s dark, deep eyes. And his long pale neck. And the scars poking through the collar of the sweater that Alfred’s too uncertain to ask about.
“You are such a boy,” Ivan murmurs, and then kisses him.
Alfred stops thinking and kisses back. With all of the little knowledge he has and, more importantly, his endless worship for Ivan, his former professor.
But kissing is all that they do.
They do it for a while. With Alfred straddled on Ivan’s lap and Ivan’s hands in Alfred’s hair. It moves to the couch with Alfred laid beneath Ivan as they keep going. But then the alcohol catches up and Alfred feels his eyes get heavier with every deep kiss. Ivan’s hand skirts up the hem of his shirt and he giggles, feeling suddenly drunker than before.
Ivan laughs too and says something self-deprecating again. But Alfred doesn’t have the bandwidth to remember it. He only knows that he felt good with Ivan on top of him, and so lonely when Ivan’s body is replaced with a large blanket instead. And that’s how Alfred falls asleep.
Alfred wakes up on his stomach, still lying on the couch, but with the blanket kicked onto the floor. No wonder he’s so cold. His head is heavy and his mouth is dry with the telltale signs of any hangover, but he grabs the blanket from the ground and tugs it across his torso again. When he turns into a comfortable position, he notices his glasses perched on the side table. Underneath them is a handwritten note on lined paper.
I’m at work.
Here is money to get home. Get your glasses fixed. And buy new clothes.
If you must call me again, here is my number—(xxx) xxx-xxxx
Ivan.