Chapter Text
The classroom was nearly empty when you approached his desk. James had already started gathering his things—papers stacked unevenly, a half-empty cup of coffee growing colder by the second.
He looked exhausted, as always.
His gray button up, wrinkled from a long day of wear, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. There was something distant in his expression, tiredly skimming over his notes
You hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer.
“Professor?”
James glanced up at you, blinking like he hadn’t even noticed you standing there. For a brief second, he looked caught off guard—like he wasn’t used to anyone staying behind, let alone approaching him so directly.
“Oh,” he said, his words barely pushing past his lips. “You, uh… still need something?”
You nodded. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about tutoring. If you have time.” perking a slight twitch in the corner of my lips
“Tutoring,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, as if the word alone required extra thought.
You watched as his fingers tapped absently against the desk, his jaw tightening slightly. He was thinking about it.
“I’ve been struggling a little with some of the coursework..” you continued, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “And I think I’d do better if I had some extra help, If it’s not too much trouble.”
You could see the doubt in his eyes, the way he seemed almost reluctant to agree.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help—you knew that much. But there was something else there, something unspoken.
“I—I don’t usually do private tutoring.” he admitted after a long pause, “Not outside of office hours, at least.”
You frowned slightly. “Oh. I guess I just assumed—”
“No, it’s not that I mean—” James sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked away, his throat bobbing with a swallow before he forced himself to meet your gaze again. “It’s just um… I don’t know if my schedule would be the best for it.”
You tilted your head, watching the way his eyes scan you. “We could figure something out.” you offered.
His brows pulling together, as if he were already regretting entertaining this idea.
But then, after a moment to stretch between you—he sighed, rubbing at his scratchy stubble.
“Alright,” he murmured. “I guess we should… compare schedules first.”
You couldn’t help but smile at his reluctance.
Which he noticed.
Clearing his throat as he reached for a blank piece of paper, his brow raised at what he had in mind.
It was subtle, but it was there.
“You’re, um… usually free in the evenings?” he asked.
“Yeah. Late afternoons too, sometimes.”
James nodded, writing something down in small, neat print. “I have office hours on Mondays and Thursdays, but those fill up quick. Evenings are…” He exhaled slowly. “I guess I could do them.”
You leaned in slightly, watching as he underlined the days that worked best. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell—he was aware of how close you were, the way his breath seemed to slow before he cleared his throat again.
“What about weekends?” you asked.
James finally glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Weekends?”
You nodded. “If we can’t find time during the week.”
James shifted in his seat, gripping his pen tighter. He didn’t want to say no, but he also didn’t want to say yes.
Not because he was busy—but because he was thinking too much about it.
“We could exchange numbers,” you suggested that snapped him out of his thinking. “That way, if something comes up, I can let you know.”
James visibly tensed. Making you wanna giggle right then and there, but holding composure.
His shoulders stiffening slightly, he shouldn’t. This was already bordering on something he knew you were going for.
But what reason did he have to say no? “…Right,” he mumbled, shifting his weight. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
It was an old thing, the screen cracked near the corner, the protective case worn from age. He fumbled with it for a second before handing it to you.
You took it carefully, fingers brushing against his for just a moment. It was brief.
Running his slender fingers through his blondness, jaw tightening as you quickly typed in your number before passing it back to him.
“There,” you said, smiling slightly. “Now we can plan whenever we need to.” Brushing a strand behind when gazing upon him to hand it back.
James swallowed. “Great,” he murmured again, fingers clenching around the phone before he set it down. He still wasn’t looking at you.
You watched him for a moment longer before stepping back, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Alright, well… I’ll see you later then, Professor.”
James nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as he heard the door click behind you. “Yeah.”
—— َ
Friday evening
His office hours had ended over twenty minutes ago, but he hadn’t started the engine yet. Head rested against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he listened to the faint hum of the radio.
It’s been a year after Mary and he’s been wondering why everyone says it’ll get better, when it just gets worse. She’s still living in his head off of memories.
He can’t really do much after what he did and what happened, other than work to get rent paid and utilities. He really misses her. Her touch, her voice, her warmth.
He exhaled through his nose, rubbing at his jaw, feeling the scratch of unshaven stubble. Just another long, miserable day.
He could go home now. He should go home.
But then—his phone buzzed.
He blinked, glancing at the screen.
.
.
Message from [ ]
You: “Hey Professor, you free?” at 7:55 pm (Seen)
James stiffened.
His fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating.
Chest tightened slightly when he read it.
He should say no.
Instead, he swallowed, his thumb hesitantly typing:
James: “Just finished office hours.” at 7:55 pm (Sent)
Not even a minute passed he replied almost instantly.
You: “You up to tutoring me?” at 7:56 pm
(Seen)
Exhaling slowly, his grip tightened on the phone, his other hand flexing against the wheel.
And yet, his fingers moved on their own.
James: “Send your address.” at 7:57 pm
(Sent)
The location popped up a moment later, not far from where he lived. James ran a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes before finally starting the car.
There’s a feeling that slowly creeped onto him, which felt off but it’s as if he knew what the hell he was doing.