Sonnet 155

'S-sir? You - you wanted to see me?'

 

Hinata slips into the dark mahogany old-books-clad study of his English professor. His grip tightens around the strap of his rucksack, as he wades forward, cautious, like a man approaching a tethered white tiger.

 

Even if his English professor definitely isn't a wild white tiger, Hinata's heart is beating like so.

 

And fair enough.

 

'Take a seat,' Professor Oikawa's eyes seem to twinkle, his mouth almost twitches at a corner into a smile. Almost.

 

The professor is sat in his large, dark-wood maroon leather chair, with detailed carved arm rests, more like a throne than a chair. Which, Hinata supposes is apt; this Professor is King at English Literature.

 

And also - Hinata tries not to stare at his professor's slender wrists, or those long nimble fingers, or the v-dip of skin showing clavicle from an unbuttoned white shirt, squeezed under a navy blazer, or look into those calling eyes -

 

King of making Hinata feel like a jittery, flustered, shambolic wreck.

 

It doesn't matter if it's in a lecture theatre, down the corridor, in group work with the professor, or a random one-to-one, like now, Hinata cannot control the heat on his cheeks, the way his own words seem to trip over each other when he speaks, the sweat on his palms, or the drilling pulling penetrating feeling, like someone trapping him against a door and roughly kissing him, every time they lock eyes.

 

'S-S-Saiko said you wanted to ss-s-see me, sir.'

 

Shit.

 

Hinata bites his tongue inside his mouth.

 

Nowhere to hide. He is sat directly in front of his professor. His professor, with eyes like x-rays.

 

'W-was it - about the s-sonnets?'

 

Hinata forces himself to talk. Because talking feels better than sitting here under a microscope naked. And talking seems to take the edge off the sharp tension in the room, whenever it is just the two of them, alone together.

 

'Yes, it was about the sonnets. Particularly, sonnet sixty five. Or rather,' the professor purses his lips, and to Hinata it was as if he was trying not to smile, 'your assertion that Shakespeare was wrong.'

 

'He was wrong.'

 

Hinata speaks before he gives his voice permission to. The indignation is apparent, passionate, inescapable beyond his will.

 

Those observant eyes stay on Hinata's face long enough to make his heart race before turning to the desktop computer.

 

The professor taps a few keys on the computer to his right, lighting up the screen which in turn lights up his features, and Hinata stares in pained longing at something and someone he'll never have.

 

Scroll scroll scroll.

 

'You say here, "While Shakespeare's sonnet is arguably a kamikaze attack on Time itself, his resentment for this only unchanging constant is pointless and unfounded: it is because things decay, because things erode and die, and are not immortal, that they should have any meaning and beauty in the first place. Therefore the sonnet is nonsensical, a paradox, to which Shakespeare defeats his own point in wishing to immortalise his love." You ended your essay on this sentence without much more to support your claim. Please explain.'

 

Professor Oikawa sits back in his seat, fingertips pressed together, and waits.

 

Can we talk about something else? is the first thing that comes to Hinata's mind. How you like your coffee, which neighbourhood you live in, if you have someone. Why you always search for me in the lecture hall and almost smile when you find me. Why you bought the watch I have, and always offer me fruit or food when we bump into each other. Why do only you make me feel this way.

 

'Hinata?'

 

'S-s-sorry, sir, I was momentarily distracted - I - er - well - um - what I meant was… imagine if… nothing died. Imagine if everything lasted forever. Imagine… imagine not being able to kill yourself, if you so chose to. That would be torture. That would be terrible. To be not able to die, to not be allowed to die… if everything could just last forever… if you had to live forever… what meaning would we all have? Would you bother achieving goals knowing that you'd have to set yourself up another one straight after? You will achieve everything - there will be nothing left. What then is significant?

 

'It seems to me - the choice to live or die - and the fact that we are finite and that everything is… is what makes everything - including love - meaningful. These are choices, within limited time, we make - if even we lived forever, could we love forever? Perhaps not. Shakespeare is assuming if time was not in motion, beauty would be preserved eternally, love also - but would beauty still be beauty if it never stopped existing? And would love be love if it didn't have an end date -'

 

'What if I told you yes,' Professor Oikawa cut across, 'beautiful things, whether for a second, or for an eternity, do not detract from whether something is beautiful or not. Flowers, for instance. We as humans all agree that flowers are beautiful. And that's whether they last for a day or a million years -'

 

'But Shakespeare is saying that time erodes beauty, that he cannot stop it and because he is mortal, he will die, and so will his love with it - the only way to keep it alive is through his ink and pen. And he's upset because of this. That's the whole point of the sonnet. He's wallowing in the fact that beauty isn't eternal, neither is life, or his love. But I'm saying he should rejoice - even if beauty and life and love fades, even if it can't be preserved eternally, that is a beautiful thing. Who knows - if time was not an 'enemy' as Shakespeare supposes, maybe Shakespeare would get fed up of what he once thought was beautiful, and his love may not last as long as he thinks it would.'

 

'Or not. Do you not think love would still be love, as you put it, without an end date?'

 

Oikawa places his clasped hands against the desk and leans forward, searching Hinata's eyes.

 

'Do you not think it's possible… to be in love with someone… forever?'

 

Tick tick tick tick.

 

Hinata's heart stops for at least four seconds. Is he still alive?

 

Those eyes. Promises of silent eternal galaxies.

 

Let me drown, and I will drown happy -

 

'No.' Hinata's voice. Harsh, crisp, firm. 'I don't think it's possible.'

 

'Oh? That's a shame.’

 

A pull.

 

Everywhere.

 

All at once.

 

Hinata's body, his dick, his heart, his mind.

 

A knot of tension higher, and Hinata would've swept papers, stomped on wood, made his claim.

 

However.

 

Inscrutable.

 

Totally masked.

 

Not a hint of anything, anything at all, in those firm beautiful lips, those penetrating eyes, that perfect face.

 

Hinata's mind is a bowl of scrambled eggs.

 

The eye contact doesn't wane, and Hinata feels like he's been pinned to the floor by a dagger through his chest. Even though he can't move, he's sure he's blushing right down to his toes.

 

Oikawa stands up.

 

Hinata's eyes are at crotch level and it's a second too late -

 

Burning in shame, Hinata averts his gaze to the safety of the bookshelves to his left, while he hears footsteps approach to his right -

 

Creak.

 

Hinata all but jumps out of of his seat.

 

The professor is seated at the right end of the desk, legs slightly splayed, palms spread behind him.

 

Fuck.

 

Hinata's mind goes where it shouldn't: slotting himself between those thighs, groping, touching, stroking, feeling, kissing -

 

Roughly grabbing and bending the professor over, fucking him on his own desk.

 

Shit.

 

Between his legs, Hianta feels something that shouldn't be there.

 

'Regardless of how much I appreciate your philosophical input on the matter, for the sake of your grade I must ask that you remove your commentary on anything further than the pure analysis of the sonnets. Even if I… very much enjoy reading your thoughts.'

 

Marry me.

 

Those are in the letters. The notes the professor gets almost daily from hungup female and male students, besotted with him. The professor will smile at a passing student in the corridor - the next thing we know, the girl is convinced that prof is in love with her.

 

No.

 

Hinata will not be like the other students.

 

He cannot.

 

He gulps. 'I-I - I'm s-super happy you feel that way s-sir. And I will amend my analysis accordingly. W-was there - anything else you wished to speak to me about?'

 

Hinata braves it. Meeting those quicksand eyes.

 

Is he imagining things? But -

 

Is that longing reflected back at him?

 

A pause.

 

A heartbeat.

 

Like Oikawa is considering saying something else. A rubber band pulls taut. Any more tension and the room will snap. Hinata is sure - he is on the brink of losing self-control.

 

And then -

 

Oikawa stands up, walks back round his desk, gracefully sits, and turns to his computer.

 

'Thank you. That will be all, Hinata.'

 

 

 

 

That will be all, Hinata.

 

Such sadness. So soft.

 

That night and many nights after, Hinata lies awake recalling these words.

 

Lectures with the Professor - as usual, the prof's eyes gaze in Hinata's direction, before pulling away, all the while communicating as smoothly and articulately like an acrobat twirling through hoops.

 

I'm making it up. It's all in my mind.

 

3 months left. 3 months, and Hinata will graduate.

 

And he'll never see Oikawa ever again.

 

The thought buries a restlessness, a deep-seated gnawing sensation, like a leech lodged into his chest. In the weeks that follow, a grasping desperation seems to hover over the hairs of Hinata's skin, all over his body, that don't let up.

 

Sure he's studying for final exams, he's perfecting his essays, he's finishing his thesis -

 

He is still partying hard when he's not working hard, screwing around with whoever's drunk arms he falls into on a Friday night -

 

That will be all, Hinata.

 

Why hasn't he met anyone, in these past three years, that he feels on level with? Why do the girls seem too simpering or callous, the guys too immature, too pretentious, why is it, the only person he seems to have any kind of affinity with is -

 

'Hinata?'

 

'P-P-Professor?!' Hinata almost drops the plastic cup of his iced latte. 'What are you doing here?!'

 

'What do you mean, what am I doing here? This is the fiction section of a bookshop. What do you think I'm doing here?'

 

Hinata is too shocked to enter his usual flustered state. That said the professor is wearing a hoodie, t-shirt and jeans with trainers. Even though Hinata was sure the professor had to be maybe - what, eight years older? - he looks younger in this attire, and less intimidating. And he's holding a copy of -

 

Hinata gasps. 'Anna Karenina! Have you not read it before, sir?'

 

'Hinata, what do you take me for?' but instead of sounding scolding, the professor's eyes sparkle with a playfulness in his voice, 'I've read it four times. This copy is going to my cousin. She is considering specialising in Russian Literature.' His eyes hone in on the book lodged against Hinata's bicep. 'Ah. An excellent choice. As I would expect from you.'

 

The Blush returns.

 

'Quite fitting too after your essay. I suppose you hate Dorian for wanting to immortalise his beauty?'

 

'Don't spoil the book for me, sir! Now is there any point in me reading it?!'

 

The professor chuckles. 'Well. If you appreciate beautiful writing, that story is impossible to spoil.'

 

'I do love beautiful writing. More than anything else in the world.'

 

The professor's eyes latch onto something, something unseen to Hinata.

 

'What other books do you wish to read?'

 

Hinata only intended to spend twenty minutes in the bookshop. Two hours later, he and Oikawa have finished the A-Z of contemporary fiction, then the science fiction / fantasy section, and have now almost finished mysteries. Both are holding a pillar of books each; Hinata holds recommends from Oikawa and Oikawa is strangely holding the books that Hinata said he wishes to read.

 

When they get to the till, Oikawa leans forward, flashes a smile at the helpless cashier, hands over something and says -

 

'All on this card, please.'

 

Hinata pouts and protests and it is a dangerous game. Oikawa's eyes survey Hinata's body like a cat licking a chunk of ham, watches and smiles, glad, relishing, somehow, in Hinata's vocal and animated protestations.

 

‘I-Is this allowed, s-sir? For you, to be -’

 

‘Take this as a gift in advanced for the First you’re going to get.’

 

‘That’s not what I meant -’

 

‘I know what you meant. And I’m OK with this, if you are?’

 

How can I not be?

 

The Professor raises a seductive eyebrow and Hinata loses. They exit the bookshop and the professor has paid for everything, and - given it all to Hinata.

 

'S-s-sir - please - let me pay you back - or make it up to you- '

 

'Hmm? How will you do that?'

 

'Let me buy you a drink. And take you to dinner.'

 

The Blush is on. But Boldness has arrived too. Hinata cannot accept this gift without giving something in return.

 

Oikawa smiles. 'You know, really you should be studying. Read the books after you graduate. And after that's done, maybe I'll let you treat me.'

 

'Where do you live, do you live round here?'

 

Hinata senses a sudden slight reservation from the professor and quickly backtracks -

 

'S-sorry, sir. That was too invasive. Forgive me -'

 

'Not at all. I don't live around here but I was passing through on the way to my cousin's. I live not far from Hilldale. But if you live around here -'

 

'I live near here but I don't mind meeting you anywhere - any place, any time, any day, sir.'

 

It's too late.

 

His mouth has run away with him. He cannot take those words back.

 

The Professor's eyes gleam like the scales of a silver fish caught in the paws of a hungry cat.

 

'Graduate. Get that First that I know you can. And then,' Oikawa smiles, genuine, heartfelt, and it takes Hinata every bit of him to not leap forward and kiss that mouth, 'we can celebrate.'

 

 

 

It's basically a promise.

 

And Hinata takes promises very, very seriously.

 

So he lives in the library. He polishes his essays. He revises for finals like his life depends on it. He gets feedback and feedback and more feedback on his thesis. He reads more, watches more YouTube videos, listens to more podcasts.

 

Friday nights have been swapped out for a much less noble thing: Stalk The Professor Time. It's Facebook, Instagram, TikTok - no he doesn't have TikTok - very well - 2018 photos of the Professor then instead - Google, LinkedIn, Flickr - does he have an OnlyFans? He must have an OnlyFans. What about Reddit? Tumblr? Twitter? GoodReads. He must have a GoodReads account.

 

There are three neighbourhoods surrounding Hilldate. Hinata could just… check out the charity bookshops of each one, right?

 

Snap out of it.

 

Hinata starts to feel more nervous about the possible dinner with the professor than his actual finals.

 

Was Hinata good at sex?

 

This was also an important question. Well. He was fancied around campus, for his good looks and he worked out a lot and had a good body. But was he good in bed?!? This was an entirely different kettle of fish. He was only 21. Most girls he'd slept with had been half out of it from alcohol or weed. The girlfriend he had last year briefly kept moaning in bed but he was pretty sure she was faking it. The guys he'd fooled around with too had been mostly intoxicated.

 

Shit.

 

What was he doing?

 

Could he really do this?

 

Hinata Googled, "Is it legal to date a professor" and was glad to find there was no strict laws about it, especially after graduation.

 

Wait a minute. Dating? It was dinner. Just dinner.

 

Calm down.

 

Idiot.

 

 

​

 

Hinata gets a First.

 

He is high. Higher than the Empire State Building. Higher than the pinnacle of Mount Fuji.

 

His parents and sister are ecstatic. They have taken hundreds of photos. His sister is carrying a small, slim bouquet of flowers, flowers hand selected by Hinata that are meant to be for -

 

'So where is this Professor you said was so great, Sho?'

 

'I don't know, maybe he's -'

 

Hinata has searched high and low. He's seen his other English professors, shaken hands with them, taken pictures with them. He's seen most of his classmates. Maybe -

 

The Empire State Building collapses.

 

Mount Fuji crumbles.

 

Euphoria washes away.

 

Across the crowded courtyard, teeming with families, students, gowns, hats, certificates, a man is made of flowers. He is the most beautiful man in the entire vicinity, tall, elegant, wearing a pale lilac shirt and flattering black trousers. He is carrying at least four luxurious bountiful bouquets of flowers in his arms. He is smiling, like a model, posing with different students, talking to different parents. There is a line. A line of students waiting to take photos with him. There are girls crying.

 

Hinata turns away, his face like an overcast day destined to rain.

 

His eyes fall on the humble skinny bunch of flowers he had selected in his sister's hands: a violet, daisy, rose, marigold, lily and a strand of thyme. All of which Shakespeare cites, in his works. There is also a white Thank You card. With Hinata's number in it.

 

'He's not here,' Hinata says to the flowers, like he's explaining their worthlessness. 'We should go -'

 

It's all in my mind. Wishful thinking. That's all it is. Just like every other sap here.

 

WHOOSH!!!

 

Step step step step step -

 

'NATSU!!!!!!'

 

Too late.

 

Hinata watches in horror the jumping frantic maniac shove his bouquet in Oikawa's face, in the middle of a photoshoot, and say so loud that even Hinata, fifty yards away, can hear -

 

'Sir these are from my brother, Shoyo Hinata!! The flowers are from Shakespeare's works!'

 

Kill me now. Just kill me now.

 

I just got a First.

 

I will die happy.

 

Hinata feels the bodies of his peers turning to look at him and snigger, laughter reaches his ears but it doesn't matter -

 

The one person who does matter looks past Natsu and searches until he finds Hinata. Natsu is saying something at normal volume now. Oikawa is still looking. Hinata feels the heat rise to his cheeks.

 

'Why don't you go over to your professor, Shoyo?' his mother is saying.

 

But more madness -

 

Oikawa hands some of the expensive bouquets to Natsu, offers what looks like an apology to the irked family photo-ready and the line -

 

And now he's walking, with Natsu, both adorned with flowers, towards Hinata -

 

Natsu smiling like she's the one who just graduated -

 

'Hinata.'

 

He's going to cry. He purses his lips and swallows. Oikawa's eyes are warm and affectionate.

 

'Congratulations. I heard you got a First. Just as you should. I couldn't be more proud of you.'

 

Hinata turns the shade of the rose he'd bought. Oikawa talks to Hinata's parents with a gentleness and respect Hinata has never seen from Oikawa before, so very different from the sometimes aloof and distant aura he gives off striding past simpering students. Oikawa is asking about his parents, and Hinata's mother is also turning red at the compliments and attention.

 

Oikawa talks to Hinata's parents way longer than he's spoken to anyone else's. Those smiles, that charm, completely irresistible, even to his parents. Soon enough, Hinata's father is offering Oikawa a free meal at the restaurant he works at, and Oikawa is saying he'll put in a good word for Hinata with a contact he knows at a local newspaper.

 

'I don't believe I have your number, Hinata?'

 

Hinata can almost feel the laser hatred hitting him from all angles across the courtyard as he weakly recites his number and Oikawa types it into his phone.

 

'It was lovely to meet you all. Thank you for the bouquet. I'll be in touch soon.'

 

As Oikawa strides off, getting enveloped by more fans, Hinata's parents are commenting on what a bright young man Oikawa is. Natsu is shrewdly surveying her brother.

 

'You owe me tickets to the BTS reunion concert when they’re out of the army. And flights to Korea.'

 

Hinata strangles Natsu into a hug.

 

'AHHHHHHHHH! Let go of me Shoyo!!!'

 

​

 

Oikawa texts that night and Hinata is almost just as excited about the text as he is about getting a First.

 

Oikawa: Your card. What you wrote is beautiful. Your writing never fails to astonish me

 

Oikawa: We can meet to discuss your future prospects. I have a friend who's the editor at the Crawley Tribune if you're interested

 

I'm more interested in you.

 

Hinata stares at the texts.

 

To discuss your future prospets.

 

What, like, marriage?

 

For fuck sake Shoyo.

 

Oikawa: Oh and a little birdie once told me they'd buy me dinner

 

Hinata smiles.

 

Maybe…

 

Just maybe…

 

He wasn't making it up.

 

 

 

 

 

The build up to dinner is a three-day preparation.

 

Hinata visits a beauty parlour for the first time in his life for male waxing and gets all hair off. Because. Ya know. Just in case.

 

He gets a manicure, a pedicure, exfoliation -

 

He spends a day cleaning his apartment (which he needs to do anyway as he's moving back home at the end of the month). He dusts all the books in the bookshelf. Arranges the more intellectual ones at his professor's eye-level. He cleans the turntable and puts some old, jazzy romantic vinyls on display.

 

He spends a day pep-talking himself, watching YouTube videos, then porn videos, Googling the best positions for gay sex.

 

By the day of the dinner, Hinata is so exhausted, he feels like he's just prepared for a second round of finals.

 

He even recced the Italian restaurant he chose for them to meet, and handpicked the table outside, in the narrow alley. Red and white checkered tablecloth. Green wine bottle with a crimson candle. A single white carnation. Perfection.

 

But exhaustion is steamrolled over by that classic, jittery nervousness as he waits at the table before jumping up and waving as soon as he catches sight of the professor -

 

Hinata freezes.

 

Oikawa is in a crisp white shirt, an open black velvet blazer, black trousers and black shoes. His hair if flouncy and poofy and makes Hinata want to bury his face in it. Oikawa looks like an Armani model.

 

'Hi, how are you?' Oikawa stops short of the table, an invisible line between them.

 

An invisible line, that Hinata is itching to cross.

 

Dinner is everything Hinata had hoped and more. It moves naturally: university, the exams, grades, Shakespeare, Anne Hathaway, Dickens, the Eyres, Trollope, Conrad - it is like a wave of electric magic, ever turning, moving, this way and that, lolling, fluid, beautiful. Hinata can pour out of the contents of his heart, his every thought, every opinion - everything he's ever said to a peer which has merited an odd look, here it is met with considering impressed eyebrows, a subtle compliment and Oikawa's own opinion.

 

Hinata is dying to move onto unchartered territory. He wants to know things that no one else knows about the professor. He wants to kiss him. At the very least. And while Hinata thinks he can sense attraction back on Oikawa's part, he also senses some kind of reserve, a barrier, unnamed.

 

So he doesn't push.

 

He decides to let Oikawa lead.

 

It is one lunch and two dinners later that Hinata feels something shift.

 

It's upon this dinner that Oikawa's body language seems to lean in more, his eyes stray blatant to Hinata's lips, he smiles seductive, murmurs compliments that make Hinata blush, seems to lap up all of Hinata's reactions. He insists on paying, and then asks Hinata if he would like to come over, to see his book collection and have a drink.

 

'I-I - I would like that very much, s-sir.'

 

Oikawa grins a look so devious Hinata almost faints.

 

Oikawa's apartment is everything Hinata hopes for and more. It is the exact same vibe as the study at university except intensified: everything dark wood, musky, classical, exquisite - a blood-red Persian rug, kentia palm tree, coffee-brown leather sofa, Monet on the walls.

 

And a bookshelf that stretches the entire expanse of the wall.

 

'These are - all your books!!!'

 

Hinata is swept up in glee. He runs over, in his socks, gazing at the wonder before him.

 

'How old is this copy of Frankenstein? Donna Tartt! So much Proust! No Austen?! The Cat on the Mat?!?'

 

Hinata is babbling and suddenly a warm hand takes his, and pushes something cold and firm into his palm, making him gasp.

 

'Wine?'

 

It is the proximity of Oikawa's eyes, the feel of that hand on the back of his, that makes Hinata weak at the knees.

 

'Th-thank you, s-sir.'

 

'I'm glad you like my books.'

 

'Some of these books look really expensive!'

 

'They are. They are part of my private collection. Some are originals, some of the ones by contemporary authors. That is a limited edition of The Shadow of the Wind by Zafon. Actually gifted to me by The Folio Society. And that Murukami is signed. I'm waiting for the day I'll have a signed copy by Hinata Shoyo.'

 

Hinata turns darker than the wine in his hand and shakes his head. Oikawa watches through flirty eyelashes.

 

'The newspaper offer is still on the table but you'd be wasted behind a desk writing formally. You should write fiction. Your writing deserves to be read by many.'

 

'You're too kind, sir.'

 

'Kindness has nothing to do with it. It's a fact. I've read your pieces in the student magazine.'

 

If it were at all possible, Hinata hues redder. 'WHAT?!'

 

'In fact, all the professors read that magazine, and the English professors comment on them too. We all admired your piece, Through a Darknened Mirror. I was curious as to what it alluded to although I think I already know.'

 

Hinata brings his eyes up and sees the curiosity on Oikawa's face.

 

'Shall we sit on the sofa?' Oikawa offers. 'And you can tell me what it's about?'

 

How can excitement and terror live in the same vein? Every time Hinata sees Oikawa, every time they engage - it is like being electrocuted with anticipation. Never has he felt so connected to someone, never has he felt like someone has understood him the way Oikawa does now, never has anyone really seen him, for who he is and not what they perceive him to be. This type of feeling of someone truly seeing you and accepting you is wonderfully terrifying.

 

They sit on opposite ends of the couch but Hinata could just reach out -

 

'I-It's about seeing yourself clearly… and realising that you aren't who you thought you were. I used a lot of metaphors from Jung's theory of the Persona… and also some of it was based on childhood attachment theory, that I read in a psychology book.'

 

Oikawa heaves a sigh. He tucks his feet up and turns towards Hinata on the sofa, his back resting on the arm of the chair. Hinata watches Oikawa pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

'Why,' Oikawa breathes with his eyes closed, 'are you only twenty one?'

 

Hinata's heart reverbrates in his chest. It is a deep compliment. Like an outstretched hand. A link in a golden chain.

 

Oikawa opens his eyes and looks at Hinata.

 

'Do you know how old I am?'

 

But Hinata has already made up his mind. In fact, he's pretty sure, he made up his mind the first time he ever laid eyes on Oikawa.

 

'I don't care,' Hinata whispers.

 

Oikawa stares. Speechless? Emotional? On the cusp of tears? Hinata isn't sure. Oikawa is a hard man to read, a hard nut to crack, and why oh why does it make Hinata all the more mesmerised?

 

'I don't care how old you are,' Hinata repeats, gripping his wine glass. 'It matters to me what's inside a person, the connection I have with them. I don't care about trivial things like age, gender, height, weight - statistics. I care about the soul.'

 

Oikawa's eyes seem to shimmer for a second in satisfaction before glancing down.

 

'I have something to read to you.'

 

Oikawa puts his glass down on the floor and goes to his bookshelf. He selects an old dusty book that looks like it's falling apart. On the way back, he stands in the middle of the room, and Hinata sees that it is Shakespeare. Oikawa clears his throat, and like an actor, begins to read.

 

'To when does soul begin to die

Of orange yearns that burn to cease

The amber in my lover's eye

Is blind by premature defeat

The endless sands of sacred youth

Know nothing of Time's wear

Dreams not yet battered, broken, bruised

Bar Hopelessness, their heir

Not Eden's gold forbidden fruit

Nor first rosebuds of spring

Or sparkles that the sky doth shoot

Hold more than what you bring

And yet you leap right from my hands

Like burning, dying, running sands'

 

Oikawa looks up. 'What is the poem about?'

 

Hinata's heart is beating mad like a peacock trying to escape a cage although he can't understand why. Oikawa is looking at him with that penetrating intensity, like he used to, across the desk.

 

'It's about… unrequited love.'

 

'Correct.'

 

'About the naivety of youth… and the feelings of age… there's a repeat of the word "burn" and "die"… the writer feels like he's burning and dying in a love he can't have.'

 

Hinata's heart is about to become a sonnet if it doesn't stop thumping against his chest. Oikawa is watching, unreadable. Hinata can feel the heat on his face from the wine and… something else… something that is stirring within him, that is only a second away from closing a gap -

 

He puts his glass of wine down on the Persian rug, to the left of the side of the sofa. He forces himself to meet Oikawa's gaze. And for the first time, permits himself to let his eyes wander -

 

Hinata can feel Oikawa tense up as his eyes travel down the professor's body, taking their sweet time. Yet still it is the professor's hair and ethereal face that draws Hinata in the most and even more than that -

 

The professor's mind.

 

'Shakespeare didn't write the poem,' Hinata stands up.

 

The professor's persona.

 

'It is only written in the style of a sonnet,' Hinata approaches Oikawa.

 

The professor's shadow.

 

'There are one hundred and fifty four sonnets. And I've read every one of them. That one, I've never read or heard before. So,' Hinata stands before Oikawa, an open book between them, the open book with a scrap of paper hidden in its pages, in recognisable handwriting. 'Who wrote the poem?'

 

The professor's soul stares back at Hinata, unwavering yet afraid, vulnerable, raw -

 

Hinata’s heart is so loud, his blood raging like waves on a stormy sea and his heart yelling like sailors taking command -

 

Oikawa's voice is barely above a whisper. 'You know who wrote the poem -'

 

GRAB -

 

Hmphf!

 

'HHHHM!'

 

Butterflies burst through the window. The room is gold. Existence hinges on a single point.

 

It is the moment Hinata has been dreaming of, ever since that poofy head turned around in the lecture theatre to reveal this face, those eyes, these lips.

 

The kiss is raging, relentless.

 

Hinata is holding the collar of Oikawa's shirt, having pulled the professor down roughly, desperate.

 

A moment of pure shock and then -

 

Thump!

 

'Mmmm!!'

 

Oikawa’s hands and mouth retaliate - grab, grope, touch, stroke - open - frenzied, mad, like he is a dying man, wilting in the dark but suddenly, through a cave, a crack of light - and it is light hope freedom he is grasping for - very life itself -

 

Oikawa’s passion is all consuming. It is a tidal wave bigger and stronger than what Hinata feels for Oikawa and it drowns the graduate in its depths. It is fizzy crackling tonic; some kind of visceral feeling that Hinata drinks down - the possibility that perhaps the professor has wanted this even more than Hinata has.

 

Hinata has to push back against the force of Oikawa’s kiss; even though Hinata is strong, Oikawa feels stronger -

 

And Hinata’s feet are moving, back, as Oikawa clutches Hinata’s hair, kissing kissing kissing him like there is no tomorow, some fancy cologne gracing Hinata’s nostrils, the taste of wine in both their mouths.

 

Oikawa's mouth starts kissing and teething Hinata's neck, and the redhead makes a low disgusting moan which serves to encourage those wondrous hands to slip under Hinata's t-shirt -

 

Cheeks flaming red, Hinata’s breath stutters as the professor’s hands drag up and down his torso, feeling. A tug. Hinata raises his arms and lets Oikawa undress him. The t-shirt goes flying and suddenly Oikawa is kissing his chest, biting into its meat, sucking on his nipple -

 

'S-s-sir -'

 

Oikawa barks a low chuckle, licking Hinata's wet nipple, making the ex-student squirm.

 

‘I love that you still call me that. Don’t stop.’

 

A hand dives into the front of Hinata's jeans, making the redhead grab onto the professor's neck, that one hand wraps around Hinata's cock and squeezes. Hinata pants like a labrador, and starts trying to buck his hips towards Oikawa's hand. The professor slightly bends and starts kissing Hinata again and the graduate gladly submits himself to these ardent kisses.

 

But the professor starts to really feel him, fingertips sliding, slow - Oikawa pulls back from the kissing, and just uses his hand, as he looks into Hinata’s eyes.

 

‘So this is what you feel like.’

 

Hinata’s blush spreads all the way down his neck. Oikawa’s hand feels incredible. The graduate wants to touch, kiss, feel some more but he is hypnotised by those large brown eyes, hooked on looking into them so freely and openly now with no wall like age, no power imbalance like student/professor, nothing holding him back.

 

Hinata’s shaking hands start unbuttoning the professor’s shirt and Oikawa doesn’t stop him. Instead, Oikawa watches Hinata’s face intently, peels his arms through the sleeves, and raises them as the white vest underneath comes off. Still, he is fixated on Hinata’s red face and lowered gaze, still with a hand wrapped around the graduate’s dick.

 

Meanwhile Hinata is spellbound. Oikawa’s skin is paler than his own, dotted with brown moles, here and there. His frame is slender, toned, with a faint outline of muscular abs and pecs but not as beefy and contoured as Hinata’s own body.

 

Oikawa, Hinata has come to realise, is a walking contradiction. The professor struts and catwalks through corridors but half-naked, he seems suddenly shy and small. The professor oozes confidence and frankness, not one for small talk, direct yet at the same time - he is indirect, mysterious, unreadable, a puzzle. He is someone Hinata feels understands him completely, yet Hinata cannot quite comprehend all of the professor.

 

Not yet.

 

It’s not a bad thing.

 

Just marvelously intriguing; it seems that hand in hand with intelligence is a love for the complicated.

 

Hinata attacks the skin like his mouth is bobbing for apples and Oikawa is one big juicy piece of fruit. He relishes in the gasp the professor makes, those sudden slim hands on his shoulders, that hand gone from his dick but the sighs and breaths from Oikawa are even better -

 

Hinata is shorter and he makes the most of it. He licks, nips, bites on skin, tastes the salt of sweat, before pulling the professor to him, grabbing that beautiful face down, and kissing firmly those thin lips.

 

They are both shirtless, and Oikawa’s hands lick their way up Hinata’s abs and chest, as they kiss like there’s no tomorrow. They are standing in the little hallway, having kissed and pushed and backed out to this space, the centre of the star of Oikawa’s apartment, connecting to various other rooms.

 

The professor’s hands suddenly start unbuttoning Hinata’s trousers and the graduate springs back, as if from shock.

 

‘What is it?’ Oikawa pants. ‘You OK?’

 

Hinata is also gasping for breath. ‘Yes, it’s just - I’m not, I haven’t -’

 

He turns beetroot red, the reddest yet, but this bashful side of Hinata makes Oikawa want to gobble him up -

 

‘Ah!!! Sir -!!’

 

Oikawa bit into his cheek after closing the gap and those lips are now making their way down, down, down -

 

‘S-S-Sir -’ it takes Hinata mammoth strength to yank himself away from this dream scenario he’s fantasised about for an entire year but he does so, backing into the doorway of the bedroom, suddenly coy, button and zip open, revealing pristine white boxer shorts and the contour of his hard dick straining against his trousers, ‘I - I haven’t shaved!!!!’

 

Hinata blurts it out like a confession and waits. Oikawa is still panting like a panther, eyes on Hinata like he’s a baby lamb.

 

‘What?!’ Oikawa breathes, ready to close the gap and tackle Hinata onto his bed.

 

‘I - I didn’t think - this would happen tonight - so I haven’t shaved or waxed - s-sir -!!’

 

Hinata would’ve fallen back onto the floor if he weighed a tiny bit less; Oikawa pounces, in an onslaught of kisses, bites and gropes, the force of Oikawa steering Hinata until the back of his calves hit something and he does fall - onto the soft firm bed -

 

‘S-Sir -’

 

Oikawa climbs on top of him and is pulling at Hinata’s trousers, dipping his hand again into the sweaty warmth of Hinata’s groin, feeling this time, lower - Hinata’s balls - rubbing, savouring all the hair that’s there. Hinata groans and closes his eyes, resting on the back of his elbows, his feet dangling off the bed, the professor looming, hovering on top of him. Oikawa pulls and tugs all the material off Hinata.

 

‘You honestly think I’d give up months of want, because of hair?’

 

Hinata’s eyes snap open in time to catch that gorgeous adorable chuckle on the professor’s face.

 

‘I wouldn’t care if you were as fluffy as a bird as long as it’s you, silly.’

 

Is it the playfulness? The flirtatious lashes? The look the professor gives him? What is it, in that moment, that pushes the arrow in his heart deeper? What is it from those mere words, this mere look administered to him, that makes Hinata want to chain himself to the professor, from now until forever?

 

His heart is in his throat and he can’t speak.

 

Which is fine. Because the professor isn’t done talking.

 

‘You think you’re the only one with insecurities? I’ve never been with a man -’

 

‘WHAT?!?!?!’

 

It is Hinata’s turn to look utterly confused. The professor is still stroking him however, and it breaks Hinata’s expression, makes him rut his hips helplessly into that hand.

 

Oikawa is spellbound by the reaction, has already decided that this time won’t be the last time (hopefully - no matter how bad he may be in bed today).

 

‘I’ve only ever been with women,’ Oikawa releases a shaky breath. ‘So forgive me if I’m nervous.’

 

Nervous? Nervous?!?! Hinata is the leaning Tower of Pisa about to collapse.

 

That, and a whole new juicy curvature has been added to tonight -

 

The professor is a virgin when it comes to men.

 

So -

 

Hinata will be Oikawa’s first.

 

And I better be his last too.

 

‘I take it you - have been?’ Oikawa’s finger gently teases the foreskin on Hinata’s dick and Hinata is long past caring about Oikawa’s sexual history.

 

‘I have. But barely conscious. Some drunk mess. It meant nothing.’

 

‘And this?’

 

Oikawa withdraws his hand. He sits back on his knees on the bed, between Hinata’s splayed legs.

 

He cocks his head to the side, his expression unreadable. ‘What does this mean to you?’

 

They have come this far and there is no point in hiding. Hinata is ready and he has been for a long time -

 

‘Everything.’

 

Oikawa pauses, drinks up the word like five hundred dollar wine, glows blush from the answer.

 

‘So it’s kinda like your first time with a guy too in a meaninful way?’ The Professor smiles hopeful and this time Hinata can grab him down and devour that mouth. Now Hinata’s hands unbuckle Oikawa’s belt, button, zip, and plunge into Oikawa’s briefs - and it is the professor’s turn to release a little gasp and moan into Hinata’s mouth, as Hinata starts stroking Oikawa’s dick in long gliding strokes -

 

‘H-Hinata -’

 

Fuck.

 

Watching the professor’s pained blissful face, a slight blush on those usually cool cheeks, is like finally opening a treasure chest. Hinata can’t stop looking at the gold, can’t stop touching it, admiring how it shimmers. It’s the stuttering of his name, those small animal noises, so primal, so natural, that Hinata is drunk on -

 

The graduate all but strips the professor, pulling off all layers, and staring, now, at the swirl of dark pubic hair - glad they’re both unshaved - and Oikawa’s big dick -

 

Shit.

 

He hadn’t brought lube either.

 

It is that exact moment the professor asks -

 

‘Do you have lube?’

 

‘No,’ Hinata says, his voice dripping in disappointment. ‘Do you?!’

 

‘Shit, no. Shall I -?’

 

‘I once used olive oil -’

 

‘But I’m sure that won’t be good to use with condoms. Do you -?’

 

Hinata nodded. Oh yes he had condoms.

 

‘I don’t think I have any lube but let me just check -’

 

Hinata can not believe, that after all his wanting and desiring, after getting this far, that this one hiccup of lube has put everything on standby. Still. He enjoys watching the naked professor with his boner search drawers and then leave the bedroom and pad around his apartment.

 

Should he touch himself? Keep the party going? Or should he just run out and get some -

 

‘You’re never going to believe what I found in the kitchen!’ The professor appears at the threshold, pale thighs, dick pointing up, hands behind his back, holding something, eyes twinkling, mouth twitching. ‘The perfect thing for our situation -!’

 

‘Olive oil? Lube?’

 

Oikawa loops the large bottle round and shows it to Hinata -

 

‘EXTRA VIRGIN olive oil! AAAAAHAHAHAHA -’

 

PFFF -

 

‘HEEHEHEHE!!!’

 

Hinata screeches like a hyena so hard his sides are about to split apart. Oikawa collapses against the doorframe, laughing tears.

 

Hinata can’t stop laughing.

 

‘Extra… extra - extra!’ and then he’s gone again, falling on the bed in hysteria.

 

Oikawa joins Hinata on the bed, both of them hysterical, cradling the bottle of extra virgin olive oil between them like its a baby.

 

Hinata’s laughter is beautiful, joyous. The sound is better than birdsong on a sunny morn and it fills Oikawa’s quiet apartment perfectly.

 

Hinata only stops laughing once he’s wiped the tears from his eyes and realises the professor has been lying on his side, watching Hinata, silent, for a while. Naturally, the graduate blushes, and drops his gaze to the dark green bottle between them.

 

‘What do you wanna do?’ Hinata mumbles to the bottle.

 

‘I don’t mind. Whatever you want to do. I just want to spend a lot of time with you.’

 

Hinata brings his eyes up and the professor’s gaze is sincere, radiant.

 

‘Stay the night. Don’t worry about the lube. I can get some later. The sex can wait. If you want it to.’

 

Hinata considers the words Oikawa is saying, words like the sweetest pink cherry blossoms beneath a perfect azure sky. Hinata wants to capture it, live it, stay beneath these swaying buds and clear blue horizon, forever.

 

‘I want… everything. I want it all. I want to - spend a lot of time with you too. I want the sex, I want to talk all night, I want to watch you eat breakfast. I have - wanted this for a while now.’

 

Hinata’s ears are burning pink and that was basically an outright confession. If he says anything more, Hinata will combust or he will turn into a mound of sugar from being sickly sweet.

 

Oikawa takes the bottle, stretches his long arm, places it on the bedside table. When he turns to Hinata again, on his side, naked, his expression is serious.

 

‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.’ Oikawa takes a deep breath. ‘You may not like what you find.’

 

‘Did you kill someone?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Rape someone?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Abuse someone in some way?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Are you polyamorous?’

 

‘No.’

 

Hinata is not sure what it will take, to make the professor realise how much Hinata has fallen for him, but Hinata is pretty sure, than unless Oikawa has committed a criminal offense, or is already in a relationship with someone, he is ready to commit.

 

‘I - I’m divorced. Two years now. I have a daughter.’ Oikawa exhales it, like a deep breath that’s been trapped in his chest for weeks.

 

He searches his student’s eyes, trying to find the flecks of an exit, of a change of mind, signs that Hinata will get up and walk out.

 

Instead, Hinata tucks his hands under his cheek, lying on his side. ‘How old is she?’

 

Pause.

 

A moment.

 

A wait.

 

And then -

 

Pounce.

 

‘Hmmmhhn!’

 

Hinata is on his back, Oikawa kissing him like a fanatic, like his lips are praise, skin and skin and more skin and Oikawa’s weight on top of him, a hand feeling him -

 

‘S-sir!’

 

‘Don’t you dare move.’

 

Hinata is shocked and scared and turned on all at the same time - but the weight shifts and suddenly the professor is stumbling around in front of the bed, grabbing socks, jeans, t-shirt - pulling clothes on -

 

‘Lube -’

 

Oikawa stumbles into the hallway, scrambling for shoes -

 

‘Wait here -’

 

Slam.

 

And Hinata is alone, naked on the professor’s white duvet, with only extra virgin olive oil to keep him company. 

 

Hinata giggles at how crazy this all his: he is on the bed of the professor he has been in love with for the past twelve months. It is surreal, bizarre, brilliant.

 

He defies orders: Hinata exits the bedroom and returns to the living room, to look at Oikawa’s book collection.

 

Of course, the sprawled Shakespeare book collapsed on top of a loose piece of paper draws his attention.

 

Hinata steps forward, stark naked in the middle of Oikawa's apartment, bends down and collects the book with the piece of paper. He stands up and closes the book, turns the paper over, reads the poem the professor wrote about him again. It is entitled, 'Sonnet 155'.

 

By the time Oikawa returns, Hinata is lying across the brown leather sofa, back against the arm of the chair, a cushion between his legs to hide his now flaccid penis, with the poem still in his hands resting atop the cushion, having read it about fifty times.

 

Hinata watches the frantic man with a blue carrier bag search the bedroom first, before turning and locking eyes with Hinata.

 

Oikawa kicks off his shoes and rushes forward, eyes wide like a man after war reuniting with a loved one -

 

Oikawa kisses him on the mouth, long and hard. He sits down, by Hinata's calves, face stunned.

 

'You're still here,' he whispers, like Hinata is an angel or apparition.

 

'I'm still here,' Hinata smiles, in his unknowingly breathing-taking way. 'You can't get rid of me just yet!'

 

Oikawa stares. Hinata is far too beautiful for his own good - wispy orange hair, lightning eyes, rosy cheeks, cherry lips. A firm, muscular body, sun tanned skin. He looks perfect, sitting here on Oikawa's sofa, the center piece of the entire living room. He makes the place complete.

 

'Are you… OK?' Hinata asks because if Oikawa stares at him any harder the professor will be able to see into his mind.

 

Move in, are the first words that surface to Oikawa's mind but he swallows them down.

 

'Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow -?'

 

'Nowhere,' Hinata answers far too quickly but the poem in his hands, and the satisfied look in Oikawa's eyes, tells him that his eagerness will not be off putting. 'I can stay as long as you like but I hope I don’t overstay. Tell me if you need me to go.'

 

Oikawa has to bite his tongue. He suddenly notices the poem in Hinata's hands.

 

For the first time in a year, Hinata witnesses the professor blush. It truly is an honor to witness.

 

'Let me put that away -'

 

Oikawa grips the book and paper with his fingers and tries to pull but Hinata holds onto them tighter. Oikawa looks up into Hinata's syrupy eyes.

 

'How long have you liked me for?'

 

Oikawa's blush increases and he averts his gaze to a spot on the carpet. He mumbles something - and the only word that comes to Hinata's mind is: adorable.

 

'Can you say that again? Louder?'

 

'When you were talking about Anne Bronte's protagonist in the Tenant of Wildfell Hall. When we were discussing the history of women writing from a man's point of view. Your fifth group study of the year. You'd said things prior, things I'd liked. But your compassion for the Brontes was heartfelt - and the passion you brought to every study, apparent. I felt confused at first - did I like you for our shared burning love for literature? Was it respect? A kindred spirit? I felt that for sure. But then I started - thinking about your face - about kissing you…'

 

Oikawa still had his gaze downcast, his cheeks red.

 

'Kissing me and?'

 

Oikawa brought his gaze up and they were like two knives pinning Hinata's chest into the arm of the chair.

 

'All the ways I could make you moan.'

 

Hinata feels the stirring in his crotch, under the cushion, and now his cheeks are tomato red too.

 

'I thought it was cute the way you'd stutter over your words, or shine when I praised you, and talk with such excited nervousness - it was only when I passed you once on campus, you were with a group of friends, that I heard you speak normally, without stuttering, without nervousness, that I began to wonder…

 

'But over time you became reticent. You stopped speaking as much in group study. And you wouldn't look me in the eye. Your stuttering worsened. I thought something had happened. Then again if I caught glimpses of your flaming red hair in the courtyard, or coming out of the library, and in lectures, you always looked happy, fine, smiling, talking, which is why -'

 

'You started calling me to your office one-on-one,' Hinata grinned, everything now making sense. 'Where I became even more of a wreck.'

 

'Could it be? I wondered. But you never gave anything away. Never said anything or hinted at anything unprofessional like -'

 

'Everyone else.' Hinata cut across. 'I couldn't bear the thought of you thinking I was just another infatuated student. I had to be different. I tried to be sincere, to be myself in all my opinions and thoughts just not - when it came to you…'

 

'When did you start liking me?'

 

Hinata's face is beetroot. He shakes his head violently as Oikawa laughs from his belly.

 

'That's hardly fair, is it? Getting me to pour my heart out while yours stays locked away -'

 

'Just not today, sir.'

 

'Not today? Well tomorrow is another day -'

 

That said, Oikawa scoots closer to Hinata's torso, finally places the carrier bag down, and starts kissing Hinata.

 

'Won't you tell your professor how long you've liked him for?' Oikawa kisses Hinata on the cheek, and the heat coming from Hinata's face makes Oikawa have to fight back a chuckle.

 

'N-No sir - you said so yourself earlier - there are many things I don't know about you. Well there are many things you don't know about me too. I would like to get you know you some more seeing as right now we both - are going on infatuation here, sir.'

 

'You aren't wrong. Though I am an excellent judge or character. I doubt my year of observing and listening to my favourite student has led me to any unreasonable conclusions.'

 

Hinata wonders if his face will ever change back to his normal skin colour.

 

It does. But not for very long.

 

That night Oikawa has sex with a man for the first time and Hinata is stunned that they use two out of the three bottles of lube Oikawa brought back with him.

 

Hinata stays the whole weekend, and a few more days after that. He truly thought he was the one more infatuated but Oikawa can't seem to stop touching him and groping him and hugging him from behind and kissing his neck and shoulders non-stop.

 

Hinata isn't complaining.

 

Two weeks later, Hinata meets Oikawa's beautiful daughter, Kassiko. The two get along super well.

 

A month later, it's a risk, they both know it, but Oikawa asks Hinata to move in and he does.

 

They have sex like rabbits, drink all of Oikawa's saved wine, read to each other their favourite passages from books, and discuss the lives of their favourite philosophers.

 

Hinata gets to find out all the things he wanted to know and more: how Oikawa likes his coffee (black with two sugars), the sound of Oikawa sleeping, the way he is a night owl, and doesn't like any tech in the bedroom. Candles only if they are scented. Chocolate only if it is dark. He has to sleep on the right side of the bed.

 

It is around this time that Hinata admits to when he first started liking Oikawa - pretty much by the third study group, although he fancied the professor from the moment he laid eyes on him. Which, Hinata is quick to nullify - seeing as he is sure the majority of students feel this way they moment they lock eyes on the professor. Nevertheless, Oikawa swags around the apartment for the rest of that evening, and will happily bring this fact to light at randoms times.

 

At the end of the summer, Oikawa returns to lecturing and Hinata takes the job at a nearby local newspaper.

 

Their days still end entangled in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings to each other, gazing into each other's eyes and sharing more of who they are.

 

Despite his English Literature degree, despite all his readings on love, and what love is, even after reading all of Shakespeare's works and his love sonnets, Hinata finally realises he's experiencing everything he's read about, now, for the first time.

 

It is as dizzying terrifying exhilirating amazing and addicting as they say, and Hinata feels like he can understand every loved up writer better.

 

Yet still, even if he's marveled through 154 of Shakespeare's sonnets, his favourite is the one hanging above his bedside table, framed, written by the man breathing softly deeply next to him - sonnet 155.