Chapter Text
The words danced in squiggly lines across the page, and Levi frowned, staring at the 12 point Times New Roman as his eyes ran over the lines once, twice, a third time. The children were napping, curled up on mats in neat little rows on the floor, and the classroom was silent save for little snuffling snores and the loose syllables of Eren mumbling in his sleep, something about cookies and a unicorn this time. The milky sunlight of early afternoon filtered in through the windows and painted Levi’s study book with shafts of gold. Gold, gold, gold, oh! That was a word that Levi recognized in the passage, and he grinned, circling it triumphantly with a firm hand that left a slight indent from where he’d pressed down on the page.
Gold. That was one word, but the feeling of victory faded quickly, the smile leaching off his face like the last vestiges of summer as the world rotated into autumn. The passage had so many more words, and try as he might, Levi couldn’t seem to make sense of it. One sentence was tricky, two sentences a struggle, three sentences dissolved into meaningless nonsense. He worried at his lower lip, eyebrows furrowed as he contemplated getting the dictionary. No, he decided, that would be even worse, even thinking about all those words and all those small blocks of text sent a headache budding in the forefront of his mind already.
Frustrated, Levi closed his practice book with a firm whap that had one of the children gasping up to the surface of wakefulness with a little frown followed by a teary sob. Setting the book down on a table, Levi hurried over to comfort him, and, one by one, the children woke up in various states of happiness, rubbing chubby hands across their faces and toddling across the classroom to pull out the only recently arranged toys and boxes of crayons from their neatly ordered cubbies.
The rest of the afternoon whirled by, finger painting and sock puppets and Story Time, and Levi was inordinately proud of himself for not stumbling over the words in the brightly painted cardboard pages of Little Red Riding Hood. Maybe that was the problem, he thought to himself as the first parents started to arrive to collect their children, all high heels and business suits and briefcases. He just needed a clearer mental picture of the passage’s main points.
Erwin took notes as the last student presented their verbal case analysis. She was the jittery sort, so he made sure to smile reassuringly should her eyes pass his way. For whatever reason, the blushing and shaking persisted. It may have even worsened.
“Now,” Erwin said as he stood to address the law students, “I think we can all agree that that was the most thorough statistical analysis of off-regulation seasonal transpacific flight patterns we’ve ever witnessed.” The students made varying sounds of awe and disbelief. Erwin eyed an inattentive one slouching in the back.
“Bossard.”
The student straightened sharply, even folded his hands on the desk in front of him.
“Mister Bossard, please explain Durberry v. People.”
“Guy was convicted of forgery.”
“Guy?”
“Pros-uh-defendant. Defendant, sir.”
“What was the People’s argument?”
“State found evidence in storage shed after neighbor testimony. Open and shut.”
“Defendant’s?”
“He…he uh…he was…I mean-”
"Mister Bossard, you may look as dreadfully bored as you wish,” Erwin said, “provided you actually do some light reading before class.” Erwin checked his watch as the room broke into snickering from those who’d come prepared, and nervous laughter from those who looked as if they’d prefer an asteroid descending over their heads to meeting the professor’s eye.
But they were spared. Erwin closed the class and announced the case studies to be memorized by tomorrow.
“So, professor…” a student started, and at the way the fifty-strong room slowed in their packing nearly in unison, Erwin had an idea of where this was heading.
“Been seeing Mister Zackarius around…I wonder why…” he said, and Erwin slowed, too, in his packing to cross his arms and give the daring student the full force of his apparently no longer convincingly innocent face.
“Only one reason he’s ever back here, you know,” said another conspiratorially to no one in particular, but loud enough to be heard. Fifty-something pairs of eyes watched Erwin as he just barely controlled the tug at his mouth. He should have known not to underestimate third years.
Erwin checked his watch and dismissed them again. He chose not to humor the instigating student’s teasing wink as he went on his way. A number of students stayed behind for advice on this or that, and Erwin accommodated them, always accommodated, even as his watch burned on his wrist and the seconds seemed to tick all the faster.
He hurried to his office to pick up his coat and a few folders of ungraded essays. He passed one hand through his unsettled hair as he fumbled with his keys only to find the door already unlocked. He opened it. His chest tightened.
“Mister Zackley,” he started, “if we could-”
“Now, not another word,” the man said. He’d made himself at home in an armchair across from a desk that might not have seen daylight in years from the paperwork perpetually strewn across it. “I can’t keep the sharks in administration waiting for much longer. Are we or are we not renewing your contract?”
“Sir, the deadline is next week-”
“Moved up.”
Erwin came into the room and leaned against his desk. “You’re kidding.”
“We’re not some third-rate institution, Erwin. Do you know how many upstarts are nipping at your ankles for your position? Or should I tell you how many applicants we’ve gotten from Harvard alone-”
“Alright. Tomorrow.”
“Today.”
Erwin watched him, but it seemed that he had reached the end of the university president’s generous slack. As he unwound his tangled thoughts, Zackley rose, clapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’ll do just fine.”
“Sir?”
“Doesn’t take a detective, Smith. I’ve seen Zackarius floating around. And I know you’ve been shaking hands with everyone from corner store janitors to state senators. Hell, I’ve been seeing your mug on local news for weeks. Run. Run for the seat.”
Erwin couldn’t believe it. He was sure he was imagining the entire exchange. He’d expected Zackley to figure it out, but never this, never an actual endorsement. He would need to have a talk with Mike. He was beginning to realize that their agreement to mention Erwin’s House aspirations to no one was less than useless if former law professor and campaign manager Mike “Never lost a single race” Zackarius could stoke fires with his presence alone.
Erwin applied for a sabbatical. Zackley approved it on the spot, shook his hand and echoed his goodwill. Flushed from the immediacy of it all, it took Erwin a moment too long to understand why his heart began to race when he turned to find the sky darkened, nearly black.
He grabbed his things and flew to his car. He was on the other side of the lot. The battered old thing was in sight. His phone rang.
Erwin had half a mind to ignore it, but his hands moved and Mike gave him two, maybe three second’s notice before he put him on the line with a city commissioner they had been trying to set a phone appointment with for two months. Erwin paced the length of the darkened lot as they spoke, and by the time goodbyes were exchanged, his hair pointed in every imaginable angle and his tie was a bent and curled and rumpled mess.
It was not a relaxing drive. Erwin glanced at the baby blue car seat through the rear-view mirror and tightened his hands on the wheel as he crafted yet another excuse, as he prepared to hear the boy tell him again that it’s okay (It isn’t.) or that it doesn’t matter (It matters.).
He navigated the dim lighting in the Pre-K after a night guard confirmed his ID. Only the main corridors were lit. He didn’t look at the time, couldn’t bear to, and only squeezed the generous tip in his pocket he’d prepared for whomever he’d forced to stay so late with his son.
Erwin ran a final hand through his hair before following the sound of soft snoring to the school’s reading room. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmed lamplight, he found Armin curled in a soft armchair. Dozing in a chair beside him was an instructor he’d only glimpsed once or twice, content as the man was to let the other teachers schmooze with the parents. Armin didn’t stir at the click of his echoing steps, but the man was a far lighter sleeper. His eyes opened at the sound and narrowed immediately. He looked as if he would like nothing more than to, rightly, tear him a new one.
“I’m so sorry,” Erwin said.