Chapter Text
Jessikaღ @yessjess · Sept 7
bro my physics TA looks like he might keel over and die if you poked him... should he even be teaching?
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Tamara's anxiety had her checking her phone four times on the walk over to her class. She checked and re-checked the room number and time, always making sure she had remembered correctly. Of course, she didn't trust herself until she walked into her supposed lecture hall and spotted the large projector screen. On it, large black letters stated "PHYSICS 181: Introductory Physics."
She let out a small breath of relief, then took one of the seats in the higher rows. She didn't like people sitting behind her; it made her feel insecure. Not quite rational, but she does what she has to do.
After unloading her laptop on the fold-down desktop—and, holy hell, was that thing tiny—she studied the room. Students filed in, arriving in ones and twos, the occasional trio whispering as they selected optimal seats. Everyone selected seats further up, none wanting to take the front row. Said seats would provide prime viewing of the two wide whiteboards spanning the front of the lecture hall, but would require an obscene amount of neck-craning to see the projector screen above them.
She jumped as the door in the front of the lecture hall made a rather loud noise. It cranked open slowly, nobody manning it. Weird. Wait, not weird. Just the automatic door button, evidently.
The guy who came through leant heavily on a crutch. A very fancy crutch, actually. She expected him to take one of the spurned front row seats, but instead he made his way to and sat down at the desk in front. The professor's desk. Where the professor would teach from.
No way that guy was the professor. He couldn't be more than like, six years older than her, at most. Why would a twenty-six-year-old be a professor? And he seemed even less professorly when he pulled out an inhaler and puffed it into his mouth. He just seemed like somebody's weedy cousin, not an astute scholar.
Somebody sat down two seats away from Tamara, pulling her from her thoughts. It was some prep-looking boy. He pulled out some expensive laptop from his expensive bag. Tamara wondered, vaguely, if his parents paid to get him into the school. He looked utterly bored already, the haughty sort that read I don't need this class; it's worthless to me.
The front door opened again, and she started once more. Could she be any more nervous?
This time, in walked a short, stout man. He looked no taller than five foot, carried a girth of many happy years, and had an impressive white moustache that covered half of his face (and accompanying bushy eyebrows). It made him look genial and approachable. And when he smiled at the man at the professors desk, he did look quite jolly.
This, she thought, must be the professor.
She watched the two men speak, the older man now questioning the younger about something she couldn't hear. The younger man said something along the lines of "I'm fine," judging by his expression and the way he waved the other man off.
The minutes ticked down as she watched the supposed-professor set up around the other man, not bothering to move him from his seat in the chair. The scrawny guy moved himself around accordingly, though, allowing the probable-professor to do what needed doing. The professor seemed pleased, making an exited remark, as he found that the projector had already been set up. Who set that up, though? Had the skinny guy come in earlier to do that?
What the hell was even going on anymore.
"Alright," called the stocky man as he glanced up at a clock in the corner of the lecture hall. "It seems our time together has begun!"
He beamed up at all of them, seemingly expecting them to be just as jovial about the matter. When he received no such returning smiles, he nevertheless continued cheerfully on.
"Welcome to your introductory physics course!" the man said. "I am Professor Heimerdinger."
Right, good. Thank god. No offense to the other guy, but Tamara rather have this guy—someone that actually looked old enough to be a proper professor.
"I have been teaching at this university for thirty years now, starting this fall," Professor Heimerdinger said, beginning to pace around the front, hands clasped behind his back. "I teach many physics courses, ranging from all levels, but I do prefer to teach these introductory courses. There is a simple joy that comes in shaping and smoothing rough young minds like yours!"
He grinned again, still undeterred when the class looked blankly on.
"Alright, let's see... about me," he said. "I'm not married; I have no children. I do have a cat! Her name is Poro, and I believe the breed is called a Turkish Angora? My life is my work, so I am afraid I cannot say much more than this."
Then he gestures to the man beside him, still sitting in the chair. "I would like to introduce you, though, to my teaching assistant for the semester."
Ah. The professor's TA. That made sense.
"Viktor, would you like to say a few words?" Professor Heimerdinger asked the man.
The TA, Viktor, looked very much like he would rather not. But Professor Heimerdinger made a small beckoning motion with his hands, so Viktor sighed and, with the help of his crutch, got to his feet.
"I am Viktor," said Viktor, and Tamara was slapped immediately by the unexpected accent. "I am completing a PhD in nanotechnology. I have bachelors' in engineering, physics, and chemistry. That is all you need to know." And then he sits back down.
Triple major? What the fuck. Tamara would die. Especially with those STEM degrees.
"Isn't he the guy that blew up part of the engineering building?" the boy sitting near Tamara muttered. She looked over to him as he turned to her. "Like, the Hextech guy?"
Tamara had no idea what that meant. She just shrugged, though she was unsure she even wanted to acknowledge the guy at all.
(Also, what even was a hexteck?)
"Viktor is more than qualified to head all of the teaching in this course, let me assure you," Professor Heimerdinger said. "But it will not come to that. He and I will take a joint-effort approach to this. You will have, as they say, the best of both worlds!" He smiled again, clapping his hands together. "Now, my dear students, shall we begin?"
Silence answered him once more.
"Wonderful!" he exclaimed, unperturbed. "First things first: the syllabus!"
That, finally, received a response; a few mumbles and sighs emanated from the student body.
Viktor the TA, predictably, did not hand out the syllabus; Professor Heimerdinger took that task himself. It took some time, what with the large class and all, but the professor managed in the end.
"As you will note," Viktor said as Tamara received her syllabus, "this is not an easy class. Do not expect to pass on sheer willpower alone."
Then he glared at a girl sitting near the front. Tamara thought that was unnecessarily rude. What, was it just because the girl had short pink hair? Was he homophobic or conservative or something?
"But!" Professor Heimerdinger added, cheery as all hell, "If you put in the work, you will do splendidly, I'm sure!"
Tamara looked down at the syllabus, saw the seven scheduled exams. All previous notions of the professor and his TA went out the window.
She hated both of them now.
shrek's balls @legenddairy · Sept 7
you know the hextech guys that blew up a wholeass lab in Stanwick like six years ago?
one of them is my TA and he looks like the lab blew HIM up
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Jayce wouldn't call today's work in the lab successful, but he also wouldn't call it unsuccessful, either, so that was really what mattered. Also, it hadn't been a full day—he had only spent two hours there, checking in on yesterday's work to see if any pesky undergrad freshman had screwed up their stuff. Not that he expected them to; it was just that Mel had made a comment about one thing or another, and then that set off Jayce's anxiety, and then the thoughts wouldn't leave him alone until he had checked. And then once he was there, he didn't want to go home, because he would've been alone, because Mel was in class and Viktor was teaching class... and... well. All that sort of stuff.
But he had a presentation in like two hours, and he wanted to go home and grab a shower (because he had also stepped into the blacksmith studio for just a bit, and now he smelled like a forge).
Predictably, nobody had returned by the time he came home. He felt a little saddened by that—he wanted to tell someone about the new design he just thought up. He supposed it was for the best, though. If he got talking, he wouldn't stop, and then he wouldn't have time for his shower.
He showered quickly. He did steal some of Mel's nice-smelling soap, even though she yelled at him when he did that. But he liked it. It smelled like violets. (Or so the bottle said. He just thought it smelled like Mel.)
By the time he finished his shower, he was not alone in the house. Jayce discovered that Viktor on the sofa when he entered the living room. Viktor had slumped over, his elbows to his knees, head in hands.
"Hey," Jayce said.
Viktor made a noise in the back of his throat. It made Jayce's heart sink a little.
"Bad day?" he asked.
Viktor made another noise, one somewhat tetchier than the previous.
"I can grab the lidocaine," Jayce offered. "Or some acetaminophen."
"It's fine," Viktor said. "I have had worse."
"That doesn't mean that—"
"It's fine," Viktor repeated. "I will be fine."
Jayce released a breath. "Okay. Okay." He shook his head. "Sorry, I just—"
"I know," Viktor says.
Jayce sighs again, flopping down onto the sofa beside Viktor, who winces at the cushion's jolt. He glares at Jayce. Jayce makes an apologetic face and moves a hand to Viktor's back, rubbing just below where his back brace ended.
The spinal fusion Viktor had this summer was supposed to help his back issues—keep him upright longer, keep him stable on his own, keep him from pain. And it did... a little. Just a little. Not enough to really make a difference. A large chunk of savings, wasted on next to nothing. That was why Jayce had to go to this presentation today. They needed more funds for their research (again). The right amount of schmoozing to the right amount of people, and Hextech could continue with only minor funding hiccups.
Eventually, Jayce spaced out and forgot what he was doing; somehow things led to other things, and he wound up scrolling through his phone. This happened regularly. He thought nothing of it, even though Viktor teased him endlessly for it. Mel just said he should perhaps visit a neurologist for a diagnosis or two.
Twitter often proved for endless amounts of stimulation, so he ended up there, scrolling through random shit. One or two news articles would pop up, their sad titles pulling at Jayce's gut as they reminded him of the cruelties of the world. They were replaced by ridiculous posts of some sort immediately.
Jayce had just absentmindedly read and scrolled beyond some tweet about a zombie-like TA before he snapped out of his fugue state.
He thumbed back up quickly, returning to the post Vi had retweeted.
"Viktor?" he said aloud, absolutely baffled.
"Hm?"
Jayce jolted back to reality. He had forgotten Viktor was beside him. He glanced over to the other man, catching the inquisitive frown. He looked down at his phone again.
"Uh," Jayce said, and then couldn't bring himself to tell his boyfriend that someone thought he was a zombie. "It's nothing."
Viktor sighed. "What is it, Jayce?"
"Nothing!"
"You are not awkward over 'nothing,'" Viktor pointed out.
Jayce quickly rummaged through his thoughts. "I guess I just remembered that I have the proposal to go to, and I was wondering if you want to come?"
Viktor stared at him a moment. Jayce just hoped his lie sounded convincing enough. Mel never believed his lies.
"You are inviting me to this, why?" Viktor asked finally, and Jayce swallowed a sigh of relief
"Because we're partners!" Jayce said. He clapped Viktor on the back (lightly, of course—though Viktor still jostled). "You have every right to present with me."
"Eh, the sponsors do not believe as much," Viktor said, giving a shrug. "Besides. I'm not so good at doing the talking."
"Yes, you are! I watch you talk about Hextech all the time! You're just as good as me."
"Not when it comes to... what's the phrase... licking boots?"
Jayce couldn't bite back his snort. "Not quite it, but close enough."
"I think the sponsors would appreciate if you simply left me out of it," Viktor said.
"Well, for the record, I disagree," Jayce said, "but I won't drag you along."
"Thank you," Viktor said.
Jayce leant in and smecked a kiss to Viktor's temple. Viktor hummed a note of acknowledgement.
Then Jayce turned a little—ensuring that Viktor couldn't see his phone screen—and snapped a screenshot of Vi's retweet. He opened their messages and sent her the evidence.
What the hell is this? he asked her.
lmao, came her snide response. its fuckin funny
Jayce jabbed his thumbs furiously at his keypad. You can't call Viktor a zombie.
lmao why not, Vi (predictably) replied. he looked particularly zombielike today. also he's a fuckin dick
Stop being rude about Viktor, Jayce ordered.
Vi's response was simply an emoji of a rather crude gesture.
Jayce looked over to Viktor. Viktor did not notice, absorbed in studying a notebook he'd pulled from seemingly nowhere. Jayce scanned him up and down desperately. No, Viktor didn't look zombie-ish. He looked way healthier than he had before his surgery. His eye-bags had gone away, for the most part, and he didn't look super pale anymore. His cheekbones still poked out a little too much, but not as profoundly as three months ago. Nothing zombie-like about him!
But, just in case, Jayce was going to sneak him more of the leftover soup tonight. Viktor wont notice more soup—it's hard to tell portion sizes of soups in bowls. And he'll make Viktor go to bed earlier tonight.
And he'll never, ever show Viktor that tweet.