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*
“If I may, sir, it’s not a scientific work?”
“You’d be surprised, mister Son, how much novels’ ludic and pedagogic strength sometimes lends itself better to the acquisition of new knowledge than scientific papers themselves.”
Aware that his answer could easily sound patronizing, Changmin punctuated his retort with a wink to his young student’s intent, who replied with an understanding “oooh”. He scanned the lecture hall looking for another raised arm, but there wasn’t any, and after a few seconds, he started speaking again, grabbing the thriller that he was showing in his first criminology lecture of the year.
“It’s only a specialized subject in your psychology course, and I think it’s important to show you that your future jobs aren’t limited to a classic path. It’s important to know how to reuse these notions in many fields, and fictional creativity is a part of it. Above the fact, of course, that it’s a novel based on expert interventions, so it makes it a case study which I will base myself off to explain a few notions in this class. To start it off…”
Changmin kept on talking for a few minutes that quickly stretched into two hours, never losing his train of thoughts, nor his passion for this novel he had much-vaunted, duly written by a certain Kim Sunwoo. After three passionate reading of his book, Changmin had talked his university colleagues’ ears off without a stop until Chanhee, anthropology professor and incidentally married to one of the police officers who had allowed Kim Sunwoo to follow them to write his novel, took the wheel and suggested to put his friend in contact with the author. Thus Changmin, literally jumping from excitation, was able to organize a meeting between his students and the much talked about writer, that he had never met himself yet.
“You’re aware that you have to do a criminology lecture, not Kim Sunwoo’s anatomy 101, right?” Chanhee quipped, skittering up the lecture hall’s stairs once the students were gone.
“I don’t know if his anatomy deserves a lecture about it, but at least his brain deserves to be dissected,” Changmin retorted with an ecstatic smile.
Chanhee scrunched his nose, turning the overhead projector off for him, visibly impatient to rush to the campus’ lunchroom.
“The way you have to make everything sound romantic will always surprise me.”
*
“You know what? Actually, make a lecture about Kim Sunwoo’s anatomy. We’ve gone to war for less than that,” was the plain, but clear, text message he received right before their first meeting with the writer in the optional criminology class. Changmin quirked an eyebrow as he unlocked his cellphone, blowing bubbles in his cup of coffee. Chanhee’s husband, Younghoon, had made him promise to drive the author to the university so he wouldn’t feel disoriented, since he had never met the professor who asked so much for him, and, visibly, he should have been worrying about Chanhee’s faithfulness.
But Changmin’s condescension disappeared the moment his eyes fell upon Kim Sunwoo’s figure, as Chanhee were introducing them to each other with a reedy voice.
“Pleased to meet you, Professor Ji,” the writer said with a timid and dazzling smile that almost made Changmin stutter like a late student.
“Pleased to meet you too,” he managed to reply with an even voice, as their handshake was sending shivers through his spine, under Chanhee’s smug stare who silently screamed “See, I told you.”
Sunwoo was a tall man, or at least, a head taller than Changmin, with broad shoulders yet not outrageously muscular, with copper skin, a jawline so defined it could cut some paper, heart-shaped pulpy lips and petrol-like eyes. While Changmin was internally mulling over it, he could hear his friend and colleague mumble that he definitely had an odd way to coax poetry; but when the writer’s profound black pupils reflected rainbow hues to the point that the professor couldn’t help his eyes to flutter, he decided that he didn’t matter much: “You can call me Changmin.”
It could’ve been relaxing to let an independent contractor lead two whole hours of lecture in his place, but Changmin, far from typing on his phone entirely unfocused, found himself asking even more questions that his own students. Sunwoo replied with a smile each time wider, passion clear in his voice and making the action of intensively watching him even more exciting. It even seemed to Changmin that his golden cheekbones became pinker, probably intimidated by the professor’s stare, burning with fascination; or perhaps, was it that he had to lead a conference, which he wasn’t used to do. Once the lecture ended, Changmin had barely started to thank him that the writer interrupted with a hoarse voice from speaking so much:
“Please, I’m the one who should thank you. A criminology professor who uses my thriller novel to give lectures… I think I couldn’t have wished for more validation.”
Changmin, stopped in his track but still all wound up, answered with a ravishing grin, that almost made his cheeks hurt. He was aware that at the moment he looked more like an amazed child than a college professor, but he couldn’t help himself. He saw Sunwoo’s gaze shake, as if he were hesitating, torn between two impulses, before he opened his plump mouth to say with a nonchalant air, “Perhaps we could have lunch together?”
*
Sunwoo was fascinating in Changmin’s opinion, as much if not more as his book, even though he had devoured it as many times as it had been necessary to be able to recite entire excerpts. He thought researchers tended to criticize poetry and literature and ignore artistic subjects; while to him, science, and thus, humanity science was only a better way to appreciate art, and the art of better understanding humanities.
“It’s the first time I hear someone hold such a speech,” Sunwoo softly remarked, after a long soliloquy from the professor, who had forgotten all about his spaghetti though firmly wrapped around his fork.
If Changmin hadn’t stopped looking at him since Chanhee had dropped him in front of his lecture hall, he realized at this exact moment that the writer was hanging on each one of his words as well with a look full of wonder, almost child-like.
“It’s not easy to obtain consultations with experts,” Sunwoo admitted, “when you say you only write fiction. It’s not as if I wanted to gather information about a famous case, or something like that…”
“I think it’s even more incredible that you could create a whole case from scratch like you did,” Changmin immediately replied, his mouth full, stocking his pasta inside his cheeks, not caring at all if it made him look like a hamster.
Sunwoo blushed, this time very obviously.
“Will you have any dessert?” Changmin smiled.
Sunwoo insisted on paying the note, despite the professor’s squeaks of protest and attempts to sneak in his own credit card, arguing that the writer was the one who had honored him of his presence; but the latter pushed him away without remorse, starting a childish fight based of tiny punches, struggling not to laugh too loud. Changmin didn’t miss Sunwoo’s glance towards his shirt’s collar, when he automatically loosened his emerald-green tie around his pearl-gray shirt.
“Should I walk you back to the campus?”
“I’d be pleased.”
*
“A student asked me if you’ll write another book soon.”
“Really?” Sunwoo was sincerely stunned, his big petrol-like eyes wide under the streetlight, reflecting more colorful gemstones than a firework.
Changmin had come to get him at the exit of a TV set for a nocturnal coffee together in one of the last bars open in the city. The street’s noise had been reduced to a few rare cabs passing by the pedestrian street where they were situated, but the near-complete silence that surrounded them didn’t simmer down their enthusiasm at the prospect of meeting again.
“You’re the one who should write. Your natural imagination goes even further than mine.”
Changmin scrunched his nose and nervously waved a hand.
“I’m only a modest art-lover, don’t get it twisted.”
“Modest? You have two doctorates. I am the one not anywhere near of deserving your admiration!”
Both men started bantering again without much thinking about it, throwing jabs halfway between mild attacks of praises and self-deprecation of their own achievements, and inflicting each other gentle friendly hits. Unconsciously, Changmin had brought his chair closer to the table standing between them until it was flushed against his stomach.
“Okay,” Sunwoo eventually relented, raising his arm up in the air, looking cheerful.
“Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll write another book faster than planned. But you’ll be my consultant and beta-reader.”
Changmin could physically feel the stars in his eyes, as it seemed that they lit Sunwoo’s angular face on their way.
“Deal. You’ll come by to introduce it to my students?”
Sunwoo smiled, his elbows resting on the bar’s table, his chin propped in his hands, framing his cheeks like a golden flower’s petals. Changmin thought back on what Sunwoo had told him, that he held a speech on art that he had never heard before and held back from confessing that he viewed him as an artistic treasure, as a person as well as a creator.
“I have a better idea,” the writer whispered in a secretive tone, leaning forward way more than good manners instructed.
*
“Ji Changmin! I was joking when I said to do a lecture about your writer’s anatomy!” Chanhee screeched, showing up in the middle of the lecture hall.
Sitting at Changmin’s desk while the latter was fixing the overhead projector before the class he was getting ready to give, Sunwoo raised his head with his eyebrows arched.
“Oh, sorry,” the anthropologist immediately mumbled, looking very much not sorry.
“My anatomy?” Sunwoo repeated, amid confusion and amusement.
“He’s unhappy in his marriage, don’t pay attention,” Changmin retorted, unwavering, but glaring at Chanhee as soon as Sunwoo turned his back to them.
“It’s not because we ordered a dish that we can’t look at the menu anymore,” Chanhee defended himself with a wide and dramatic gesture.
“But I think I saw Younghoon leave his shift with his baton and handcuffs more than once, though. I guessed he knew how break the marital routine,” Sunwoo said with a smirk.
Changmin turned towards his colleague with round eyes, expecting to see him with a snarky come back, but he found him as red as a tomato, his mouth open like a fish out of its tank.
“No?!”
“You’ll understand when you’re married, if anyone ever wants you!” Chanhee roared, pointing a threatening finger to his friend who collapsed from laughter onto the lecture hall’s carpeted floor.
Sunwoo held back his own laughter to try to explain the professor’s idea to Chanhee – or to save Changmin from the murder attempt hovering above his head, though it would have made for an interesting case for a novel.
“He’s going to suggest an optional competition as a midterm exam. The students who wish to will try to use their classes to make up a case from scratch, and the one we’ll like the best will be the starting point of a novel.”
“Oh,” the anthropologist nodded, blinking, “that’s an excellent idea.”
“Of course, it’s Sunwoo’s idea,” Changmin instantly said enthusiastically, as he discreetly wiped his tears of laughter.
“Oh, I see, and since Sunwoo’s so perfect, he must have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, right?” Chanhee groaned, with a dirty look, “since he knows so much about the hardships of the married life.”
Changmin immediately stopped laughing, his eyes wide.
“No,” the writer replied softly, “I don’t have anyone in my life.”
Changmin’s heart skipped a beat when Sunwoo cast him a glance similar to the one at the restaurant after paying the tab.
“Yet.”
*
“You already wanted to teach, when you started your PhD, or you took a liking to it later?”
“To be honest, I had mostly planned to spend the rest of life as a bookworm, inside a dusty dungeon,” Changmin declared with an amused look.
Sunwoo had gotten into the habit of taking a seat at the campus cafeteria or library since a few weeks ago to work on his novel, with the help of the classes Changmin had already made, in preparatory work to better understand his students’ future creations. Thus, both men lunched together almost every day, whenever Changmin was there on the campus.
“You captivate your students, though.”
“They’re the ones who captivate me. I was frightened when I realized I would have to teach… I was never too sociable. Chanhee and Younghoon are the only people who think my quirkiness is interesting and having to try and make an entire sleepy crowd interested… it was really scary.”
Slightly surprised he hadn’t been interrupted, Changmin raised his head, to be met with the black gold inside Sunwoo’s eyes, who was wordlessly staring at him.
“I’m sorry, you didn’t come to hear me talk about my life,” the professor apologized, scratching his head, with a nervous chuckle.
Sunwoo winced.
“Of course, I did.”
“What?”
Changmin’s eyelids fluttered, confused. Sunwoo gnawed on his lip, hesitant, before he slid a hand on the table, slowly, so slowly, to graze his with his fingertips, delicately.
“I work when you aren’t here, you know. Right now, we’re taking a break, and I chose to spend it with you.”
Changmin felt his hands buzz on the spot Sunwoo’s fingers were touching his skin. He made an extraordinary effort to wake up from his daze, and to bring his hands forward on the table as well. His cheeks red, the writer wrapped his broad palms around Changmin’s long and white fingers, curled into shy fists.
“You captivate me, too. And do not even try to return the compliment, this time, okay?”
Unable to reply, his heart on the tip of his tongue, Changmin merely nodded quickly, drawing a fond burst of laughter from the writer.
*
“This one is interesting.”
“Which one?”
“Eric Sohn, he’s a fifth year. I thought he would’ve a hard time imagining something, he’s extremely focused onto what’s tangible, facts analysis, but I guess this exercise did him lots of good.”
Changmin handed his favorite student’s paper to Sunwoo, who scanned it, interested.
“He’s capable. I like what he’s suggesting.”
When Sunwoo gave the paper back to Changmin so he could finish grading it, he didn’t settle with stretching his arm out. He stood up from the couch where he had been sitting, setting his laptop on the coffee table, to step directly towards the professor, who was sitting at a small desk in front of his window. He stayed behind him while he was finishing writing his annotations, his two hands resting on the backrest of his chair, wordless.
“Is the couch not comfortable?” Changmin eventually asked after a long minute.
He heard an adorable chuckle, way too close to his ears to be able to hold back a shiver.
“Sorry, I’m having a hard time focusing, after all, I’m nothing but a modest art-lover,” Sunwoo whispered, leaning forward to end up speaking directly into Changmin’s ear.
The professor closed his eyes setting Eric’s paper aside on the table.
“Oh… I didn’t think that… that you had found this paper… this good…” he stuttered, not even attempting to find his composure back.
Sunwoo loudly sighed, his scorching hot breath hitting Changmin’s neck bluntly.
“It’s not a thriller book that you’re inspiring me to write, focused on your desk, with these glasses and your disheveled shirt, professor.”
Changmin slowly turned around on his wheeled chair, unable to believe he was correctly reading into these signs; however, when he faced the writer who was staring hungrily at him, he couldn’t help but to bite his bottom lip. Sunwoo laid his hands on the chair’s armrests, and locked their gazes together, determined.
“If I didn’t know you, I’d think you’re trying to throw a wrench in my gears, Kim Sunwoo,” he retorted, internally grateful that his voice hadn’t shook when he imitated the writer’s tone.
“If you knew me so well,” Sunwoo replied, “you would’ve understood way sooner how much I want you, Ji Changmin.”
The perfectly smart comeback Changmin tried to think of only came out of his mouth as a pitiful gurgling sound. If he couldn’t believe the reality of what Sunwoo was confessing, it was impossible to take his intents the wrong way. Bent over him, his face closer and closer to his, crushingly attractive under the subdued desk lamp’s light that highlighted his tan complexion, as well as the burning glint in his wide black eyes, Sunwoo looked unreal, more fascinating than ever.
“Don’t bother trying to make me believe you can’t have anyone better than a tiny and dusty professor,” the aforesaid professor miserably murmured to fend him off.
“I don’t want anyone else than my tiny and dusty professor,” Sunwoo retorted in the same tone, still intent on winning their battle of praises to each other.
“Sunwoo…”
“Stop looking at my lips and kiss me, you idiot intellectual.”
Changmin deeply breathed in before he threw himself at Sunwoo’s mouth, more avid that he had thought to be until then. The writer didn’t lose any time to climb on his lap, and to kiss him senseless, pulling onto his undone tie to pull him against himself, not bothered at all by the glasses still on Changmin’s nose.
*
“I’m going to be late.”
“Hm,” Sunwoo grumbled.
He was stubbornly hiding his face against Changmin’s neck, hanging onto him as a koala to his favorite tree, in the middle of the big bed’s disheveled sheets. The professor felt himself melt entirely, feeling his sleepy pout against his skin, in lieu of a kiss; a ghost of those Sunwoo gave him endlessly during the night. He tried without great motivation to emerge from their embrace, failing in the end, because the writer put all of his determination in bringing him back to himself, almost brutally.
“… Lemme go,” Changmin whined with a burst of laughter.
He knew he was red and undone, his eyes probably still swollen from the lack of sleep, and he had morning breath; though nothing seemed enough to push Sunwoo away from him. The writer looked more than ever like a childish, capricious yet cute student.
“I have to earn my salary! Y’all artists can’t understand that…”
“Students are always happy when their professor cancels a class,” Sunwoo grumbled, without moving an inch, “just be nice, for their sake.”
Changmin opened his mouth to keep protesting, but Sunwoo’s fingers running again on his naked hips to tickle him defeated him for good, and he dived into his mattress with high-pitched screams. He tried to escape, this time to save his life more than to work, but he ended up trapped under Sunwoo’s body, pinned against his pillows, the duvet clumsily torn between their shivering legs.
“Maybe I can take a day off… After all, my corrections are not finished yet,” Changmin eventually sighed, completely defeated by Sunwoo’s pulpy lips, sensually nibbling at his skin under his jawline.
“You’ll be the one I’ll correct if you ever move from this bed,” Sunwoo groaned, his voice raspy.
Changmin couldn’t help but burst into laughter, quickly followed by his lover, who was now busy taking off the duvet to free their still separated bodies. The professor’s impatient legs immediately hooked themselves around Sunwoo’s hips to bring him impossibly closer, even though the latter didn’t seem to intend on slipping away from their embrace. Between heated kisses and hungry touches, Changmin quickly forgot his work and his obligations, only to remember Sunwoo’s name dancing in his mind, his taste soft on his tongue, and the way his strong arms turned into jelly around his torso when he reached somewhere more intimate than any of his books could ever do.
*
“I told Eric we chose to keep his work for our project, I thought his jaw was going to fall on the floor!” Changmin happily babbled, a cup of hot coffee between his mittens and his long neck stretching to keep his tiny face off his giant scarf.
The winter was rough this year, and a few snowflakes were lazily dancing around them, but that did not make him think about leaving Sunwoo’s side, on this campus bench, near the doors that were now closed for the night. As soon as they would get up, they would take opposite roads anyway, and each one of them was focused on the best ways to keep their conversation going, so they sticked together like two little penguins, looking fondly at each other.
“I talked to my publisher. He asked me so many questions he couldn’t even breathe, I think we’ve got the idea,” Sunwoo said, his eyes shining bright under the streetlights.
He was keeping his hands in his pockets, inside a long and thick winter coat that a modern Sherlock Holmes could have worn. Changmin thought this impression was enforced by Sunwoo’s big tartan beret, like a crown on his beautiful chocolate locks. While he was explaining in detail his earlier conversation with his said publisher, he saw him shivering increasingly often, and driven by some kind of protective instinct, he put his empty cup away between them to take his hands off the pockets.
“Stop, it’s so cold my fingers are going to fall off my hands,” Sunwoo immediately whined, wincing, before both of his hands found themselves tightly held between Changmin’s mittens.
The latter brought the writer’s hands to his lips to blow some warm air on them, then keep the warmth with his mittens, slowly rubbing Sunwoo’s icy fingers with his own. Sunwoo quietly watched him doing so with round puppy eyes, melting from Changmin’s sweet breathe and his pretty doe eyes, also riveted on him.
“Why did you stop talking?” the professor asked, his lips grazing his fingers.
“I’m way too busy finding you adorable,” Sunwoo whispered, deadly serious, making Changmin cough and dive into his big scarf in a failed attempt to hide it.
“Stop making fun of me…”
“I’m not,” Sunwoo assured him, taking his hands off to cup Changmin’s small face and bring him closer, still sitting on the wood bench.
Changmin was always looking at him like he was some kind of treasure, amazed by his mere presence, since their very first meeting. This evening was no exception, even when he struggled to breath evenly after Sunwoo’s confession.
“Changmin… I’d like to share my life with someone. I’d like you to share my life and make our relationship official. I’m serious.”
The person of interest needed a few more seconds to articulate something like “yespleasemetoo” before he started coughing again. The writer took his sweet time to look at him, pink high cheeks, light-brown straight hair, his nose like a tiny trumpet, thin lips on a bright smile that put the sun to shame. He was about to link their mouths together for the nth time to kiss him deep and forget the cold night around them, when the university’s janitor chose this moment to turn on the light to ask them to leave; and so, they left, laughing like two kids, hand in hand, despite the wind and the snowflakes.
“My home? It’s closer.”
“Your home,” Sunwoo nodded, his smile so big it was almost hurting.
*
The winter ended smoothly in a cotton-like atmosphere, and weeks, then months, kept on going by without Changmin noticing their relationship evolve; becoming so natural he could not help but realize one day that Sunwoo had become a genuine anchor to him. From their scholar collaboration to his personal life, he was now everywhere, sharing his pillow when he woke up, then his dinner when he came home from work. The writer had made a shelter of his couch, either to write or to watch a thriller movie – although Changmin discovered once that he had a weak spot for Hollywood musicals that he never admitted having.
Sunwoo had promised Changmin to do a third, and last, conference before his students’ finals, to give them some strength but mainly to thank them personally, for their attention and their help through their optional exam. Chanhee had rolled his eyes when he spotted Sunwoo sitting once again on Changmin’s chair, arguing that he would end up getting in trouble with his paycheck if their director spotted him sharing this much workload with someone else, before walking away, mumbling about probably having to “sanitize this workplace before sitting my ass anywhere, lovebirds can’t help themselves for at least twelve fucking hours”. Eric was the very first student to walk by Chanhee to come inside the lecture hall, and he visibly frowned when he heard his professor’s nonsense; Changmin tried to ignore the cold sweat on his back.
“Since it’s our last class together before your finals, it seems important to remind you all that there’s still time to ask questions,” Changmin happily welcomed them, sitting on his desk, the microphone in his hand.
He immediately saw Eric’s hand jump in the air.
“Yeah?”
“We made a bet with Haknyeon, sir, and this is my last chance to win, so please, may I ask you if you intend on eventually giving some flowers to Mr. Kim, or if we have to do it for you guys?”
Changmin brutally choked into his mic, while Sunwoo toppled over behind the projector, dying of laughter.
“I meant questions about the class, Eric,” Changmin sighed, trying as much as he could to keep on a straight face.
“I told you, you were dreaming,” Haknyeon said without an inch of respect for his professor, making Eric sit back down though.
“No, I swear he’s the love of his life, and I need him to understand it before I get my degree! I’m ready to take this whole year again if not!”
“He’s right, sir,” another student stepped in from the back of the lecture hall, “we all want nothing but your happiness!”
“Especially if it means you’re in a good mood while grading us…”
“My love life doesn’t have anything to do with your final grades,” Changmin tried to say before getting interrupted again.
Those brats were not even listening to him anymore, in fact.
“Sir, anyone could see that he’s your soulmate!”
“Wait, wait, does it mean that if they’re not actually dating and that I get my degree I could have a chance with him?”
“Which one of them?”
“I said QUESTIONS ABOUT THE CLASS,” Changmin yelled desperately, struggling to make himself look impressive, before jumping in his spot when he realized that Sunwoo had slid right behind him.
“Can I?” his boyfriend asked, batting his eyelashes, and pointing at the mic.
“You aren’t helping at all,” Changmin grumbled discreetly.
With a big smile full of teeth which seemed vaguely predatory according to the professor, who was feeling like a cornered prey, Sunwoo took the microphone from his hands, not bothering too much with any other kind of detour.
“Thanks, babe,” he let out right into the mic, his delighted voice echoing clearly on the lecture hall’s walls.
Changmin closed his eyes with despair as soon as he heard a few students whistling loudly. Some others started to scream out of joy, maybe one or two were whining; and Eric jumped right on his own desk to yell a big “TOLD YOU!” at Haknyeon, who was simply choking on his own hilarity. The professor’s threat to lower his grade if he didn’t stop was not efficient at all. In the middle of pure chaos, Sunwoo was still looking at him more tenderly than ever, and ended up stretching his arm to reach him, and circling his skinny waist, right in front of all of his students.
“Since you guys find our love life this interesting, let me tell you this: if any of you end up with a bad grade in this class, I’m leaving him. And now that you won’t feel at peace anymore, I suggest you get back to work and ask this man as many questions as you can, because you surely don’t want me to lose my soulmate over your bets, right?”
He punctured his speech with a loud kiss on his professor of a boyfriend, who didn’t even try to protest, stunned. Sunwoo burst out in laughter after sending him one last seducing wink and gave him his mic back. He only allowed himself to assist Changmin’s class with his head onto the professor’s shoulder, right beside him, comfortably sitting like a purring cat.
The students eventually became serious again; more serious than they ever were, actually, many pairs of wide-open eyes directed at their couple. They patiently waited for the end of the class to throw some congratulations in the air while leaving, to which Changmin answered shyly, his cheeks looking like two red apples, but not letting go of Sunwoo’s hand. His heart was beating like crazy, and his legs were close to giving up on him, but Sunwoo’s grip was strong, confident, and protective.
He only wished he could hold this hand for every day of the rest of his life.
*