by G. R. Lyons
His first class went easily enough. He managed to find a spot in the back of the room, tucked away in a corner where he could still see and hear just fine without feeling too exposed. Adrian painstakingly listened and took notes, keeping track of the assignments and readings due before next class. At least, when it came to the readings, he was already well ahead of the game. He could skim them again and be plenty prepared.
The next class was more of the same, though his anxiety ramped up a notch when he was almost one of the last to enter the room and had to take a desk that was less than ideal, hunching down in the chair so his size wouldn't attract too much attention.
He just had to be built like his father, the college football champion. Why couldn't Adrian have been more like his mother? From pictures he'd seen, she had been rather petite. Not that Adrian necessarily wanted to be that small—at least his size meant no longer being picked on physically, though the verbal taunts still came—but something less than the six-foot-three, broad shouldered oaf would have been nice.
He slumped down a few more inches, just for good measure.
Reminding himself of his goal, yet again, Adrian forced aside all thoughts of the other students around him and focused alternately on the professor's words and his own hand as he took notes.
The next class went even better, but then came his thesis prep. He actually had to talk to his adviser. The hour crawled by, Adrian having to inwardly chant, over and over, a reminder that all he had to do was get through a few more months. Just a few more months of this, and then he could leave it all behind.
It would be worth it. It had to be.
Finally, the hour came to an end, and he realized he'd somehow managed to outline a good plan for the rest of the term. His thesis would come together. Somehow, he'd get it done.
Adrian stepped out into the hallway and took a deep breath, wondering how much longer the one pill would last. He hoped it would be enough, assuming nothing else threw him off-kilter.
Just one more class. He'd go in, sit down, take notes, and then go home.
Simple, right?
Almost there. You can do this.
Adrian steadied himself and headed down the hall, only to come face-to-face with a nightmare.
Chapter 8
ZAC STROLLED into his last class of the day, quickly scanned the room, and let out a sigh. No individual desks in there. Just two-seater tables, which meant he'd have a desk partner.
Great.
Zac picked a table near the back of the room, blithely tossed his backpack onto the surface, and slumped into a chair. No one else in the room looked any more excited to be there than he did. It was one of those required core classes that all degrees seemed to include, one that every student put off as long as possible.
It was his own fault for not getting this class out of the way earlier, he knew, but that didn't stop the feelings of loathing for the next few months.
Oh well. At least he had his other classes to look forward to. Maybe he'd even get lucky and have the table to himself, assuming the class wasn't at full capacity.
Sure enough, as other students began to trickle in, minutes before class was set to start, they took one look at him and scurried away to other tables. Zac chuckled under his breath. He loved his look, but it was rather off-putting. No one wanted to be stuck sitting next to the punk rock kid. He was bound to be an asshole. Nothing but trouble.
If they only knew.
The class continued to fill, so Zac tugged a notebook out of his backpack and turned to a blank page, idly working on a new song while he waited. He tapped his foot to a beat only he could hear as the notes and words bled across the page. To the obvious annoyance of those sitting around him, he drummed the eraser end of his pencil on the page whenever he got stuck, only to twirl the thing around and go at it again.
Finally, the professor arrived, and other students hurried to take seats and pull out notebooks and texts, a quiet rush of activity while the professor got himself situated.
Zac put his music notes away with a sigh and looked around. Other than the seat beside his, the class was full.
That was when he noticed the lone figure huddling in the doorway.
No…fucking…way.
Zac blinked and looked again. Sure enough, Mr. Shadow was there.
Holy shit.
Zac fidgeted as he watched the guy from under his eyelashes, trying to make it look like he wasn't staring. Mr. Shadow slowly scanned the room, realized the only empty seat was next to Zac, and seemed to cave in on himself.
Good gods, that was the last thing Zac wanted.
He looked up and tried to offer the guy a friendly smile, but Mr. Shadow wasn't even looking. The man had his eyes fixed on the floor as he slowly crossed the room, set down his bag, and settled into the chair beside Zac, all without making a sound.
The professor called for attention, so Zac straightened in his seat and tried to focus, all the while stealing glances out of the corner of his eye at the beautiful man sitting beside him. Yeah, it was definitely him.
Gods, this was not the way he imagined them meeting.
“Where you are sitting is where you shall remain for the duration of the semester,” the professor announced. The class groaned, but the professor had Zac's complete attention. Holding up a hand, the man went on: “I know that sounds very primary-school, but it will aid in both monitoring attendance as well as designating group projects. Congratulations, everyone. The person seated beside you is your project partner for the term.”
Zac couldn't help it: He grinned. As long as the guy sitting next to him didn't drop the class entirely, Zac now had a whole sixteen weeks to get to know him, up close and in person.
He stole a glance at Mr. Shadow. The guy looked even more withdrawn than before.
That just wouldn't do.
Zac tried to pay attention throughout the class, but kept stealing glances at his table partner. Mr. Shadow took meticulous notes, never once looking up from where his pen met the paper. When class finally drew to an end, a quiet flurry of activity broke out while other students quickly gathered their books, but Mr. Shadow carefully finished his notes before precisely and methodically packing up his things.
Zac almost moaned aloud. That level of control shot right through him. What he would give to have Mr. Shadow exercise that much control over Zac, especially in the bedroom.
Before his mystery man could leave, Zac shoved his notebooks into his bag and turned in his seat, thrusting out a hand.
“Hi. I'm Zac.”
Mr. Shadow froze, his eyes darting to Zac's hand without raising his head. The man swallowed hard, slowly released the zipper on his bag, and quickly shook Zac's hand before yanking his arm back to his side, almost as though burned, then said something in a voice that Zac could just barely hear.
“Sorry?” Zac asked.
His mystery man swallowed hard again and said, “Adrian.”
Adrian. Zac felt a shiver go through him. His mysterious Mr. Shadow had a name.
Zac grinned. “Nice to meet you, Adrian,” he said, his voice almost a purr.
Adrian blushed, and Zac almost came in his pants at the sight.
Holy fuck. This class definitely wasn't going to be so bad, after all.
Adrian seemed to take a moment to compose himself, then finished gathering his things and deliberately rose from his seat. They were almost the last people in the room.
Grinning, Zac shoved his chair back and snatched up his bag. “See you next class, Adrian.”
He put as much flirtatious promise into his words as he could, and was rewarded with another blush as he squeezed past Adrian and left the room.
Zac grinned again. Oh, this is gonna be fun.
ADRIAN HELD his breath as he left the classroom, the last one to do so. That in itself wasn't unusual—being the last to leave meant a calmer experience, less traffic in both the classroom and the hallways, the very air around him seeming to expand and become more breathable wi
th the removal of each body from the space—but the added delay in this case was not remotely welcome. He needed to get home. Now.
Gods, this was going to be a nightmare.
He had to be table partners with that guy? Could Adrian have been stuck with anyone less suited to his anxiety? He hadn't even looked at the guy's face, but what he had seen was more than enough to torment him.
Long, dark hair with bright red streaks, the flame highlights almost a warning: Danger, stay away! Black clothing. Silver rings on his fingers and leather thongs on his wrists. Black fingernails. Torn jeans.
Tight jeans.
Holy gods, those things left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Adrian might have been turned on had he not been so wholly terrified.
Guys who dressed like that were all the same. Bullies. Tormentors. The kind of guy Adrian spent his life running away from.
Gods, the nightmares he'd had over the years of guys like that teasing him, holding him down, beating him senseless.
Granted, he was pretty sure he was bigger than this Zac guy—even with as tall as Zac appeared to be—but that didn't stop the old, familiar fear that he'd never quite gotten over. Not since childhood. Even though he'd long-since left behind the puny late-bloomer he once was, he still felt like that tiny, defenseless kid, constantly cowering in a land of giants, the lot of them led by his tyrant of a father, surrounding him with threats and danger everywhere he turned.
Adrian clutched his belly and swallowed hard. He was not going to be sick. Not out in the middle of campus where anyone could see him. If he could just make it home, find his razor, calm himself down…
He tried to tell himself the punk kid was no threat. That his slender fingers couldn't possibly do Adrian any harm, that he'd actually been civil instead of outright cruel like most guys with his look tended to be.
None of it helped.
Adrian reached his apartment, ran straight for the washroom, and spat into the sink. He waited, his stomach still churning, but nothing came up.
He wiped his face, rinsed out the sink, and sank to the floor with a sigh. If his body reacted that way just from sitting next to the guy and exchanging a greeting, how the hells would he survive actually working with him? How would he ever get through the whole term without completely losing his shit?
A partner project? There was just no fucking way.
But he had no choice. It was part of the class, and he had to pass the class in order to graduate and get his degree. And he had to get his degree if he was going to qualify for that trust fund.
Adrian clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath. He'd just have to find a way to survive it. Simple as that.
His stomach churned again. Right. Simple.
Adrian found his razor blade, dropped his pants, and sank back down to the floor. The cuts on his left thigh were still too fresh and too numerous to add anything more to that side, so he dragged the blade across the inside of his right leg instead. A shiver ran through him as the first drops of blood appeared and ran slowly over his skin.
He let out a shuddering breath. Yes. So much better.
He watched the blood for a few minutes until the trickle slowed, his hand hovering just above his leg, the razor poised to strike again.
Instead, he let his arm fall to his side. That was enough. If he could just stay focused, keep his eye on the end goal, he could probably get through the next few months.
His legs were sure to look a lot worse than they already did by the time graduation came around, but if it got him through it, so be it.
Adrian wiped off his razor, hid it away, cleaned up and bandaged the fresh cut, carefully eased his pants back up, and went to grab his school bag.
Even on just the first day, he had more than enough work to keep him busy. Adrian laid out his texts and notebooks on his desk, going through his assignments one by one, reading the necessary passages—even though he'd already read most of them before the term started—and finishing his homework. The essays and text analyses flowed across the page, his entire world narrowed down to the space of his desk.
When he was finished, he double-checked everything, looked over his assignments list again to make sure he hadn't forgotten any, then packed everything away, ready for the next day of classes, which wouldn't come for two days. His schedule had worked out such that all the remaining classes he needed were available back-to-back, three days a week, giving him three long days of work and the three alternating days in between with nothing to do.
Or plenty of hours to finish any assignments he didn't get done in the evenings after classes, though he certainly didn't plan on procrastinating long enough to need those days off to get his homework done.
Marday came to an end, and Adrian collapsed into sleep, exhausted by the long hours of being in public, compounded by the long night of homework, and underlined by the anxiety of enduring that last class with that guy.
Knowing he'd need time to recover and prepare himself, he spent all of Siresday indulging in self-care: lazing about with mindless entertainment, distracting himself from the fact that he was going to have to endure it all over again the next day.
But Twinsday eventually came, and Adrian choked down another pill and dragged himself off to campus once again. He made it through most of the day without incident, but he still had the last class to face, the one with the desk partner that was going to be a constant torment. He had no choice. He was going to make himself go, do whatever it took to pass, and graduate. He had to, no matter what.
Adrian gave the clock a quick glance as he took his seat beside the punk kid, though he already knew what time it was. One more hour to endure, then his second day of classes would be over. He'd be free to escape back home.
The math went easily in his head. Sixteen weeks of classes, three days a week, and he'd almost completed two days. That left only forty-six more days. Just forty-six days to endure, being in public, being next to that guy. Then it would all be over.
Gods, he couldn't wait.
ZAC FIDGETED in his chair as Adrian took the seat beside him. The man still wouldn't so much as glance in his direction. Instead, he methodically unpacked his text and notes, laying them neatly on the table in perfect, parallel lines, square with the edges of the desk.
The sight almost had Zac moaning again. Good gods, to have that kind of control exercised over him…
Clearing his throat, Zac turned to his desk partner. “Hey, Ade,” he said, keeping his voice low enough that no one nearby would be able to hear.
Adrian stiffened, barely glancing at Zac before quickly returning his eyes to the pen in his hand. He gave a sharp nod.
“How's it going?” Zac tried again.
Adrian hesitated, the mumbled, “Fine.”
Zac watched him while the class continued to fill, but Adrian resolutely refused to look at him.
Letting out a sigh, Zac rapidly tapped his own pen on his notebook, open to the last new song he'd been trying to work on. It still hadn't quite come together, but he had yet to find the proper inspiration for it. He flipped back a page, scanning his notes. There was nothing useful there, so he flipped another page.
Zac grinned. There, in the midst of a bunch of scribbles for a song that Inferno had never finished, were the opening notes for one of Zac's favorite Treble pieces. He glanced at Adrian again, then back at the page.
Making idle, nonsense doodles on the blank spaces of the page, Zac started humming the tune.
After just a few bars, he saw Adrian go even more still than he already was.
Zac grinned and kept going, pretending not to even notice the man. Out of the corner of his eye, Zac saw Adrian's chest rising and falling heavily as he continued to stare down at his hands.
Finally, halfway through the piece, Adrian turned slightly toward him.
Zac trailed off his humming and looked at the man, raising an eyebrow at him. Adrian didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, though his eyes were still cast dow
n, his chest still heaving.
“How do you know that?” Adrian whispered.
Zac grinned. “I wrote it.”
Adrian jerked, his eyes going straight to Zac's face. He searched Zac's eyes for a moment before quickly looking away, then looked back up again, his eyes going wide as he finally saw Zac for the first time.
“You…” Adrian panted, still staring at him. “Underground?”
Zac nodded.
Adrian kept staring, not saying a word, a look of total shock on his face, and only turned away when the professor strolled in and called the class to order.
There was a blush on Adrian's cheeks, and when Adrian squirmed beside him, Zac looked down to see an obvious bulge in his pants.
Oh gods. Zac shivered. Could he be so lucky?
ADRIAN TRIED to focus on the professor. He really did.
Zac was the violinist from Treble? How could it be? How could this dangerous-looking kid sitting beside him be the same elegant, talented man who had occupied his every fantasy?
In the midst of trying to take notes, he snuck another glance at the man, then wound up openly staring at his profile, trying to find the dream underneath the dark clothes and goth makeup.
But it was definitely him. There was no denying that. The longer he looked, the more he was sure of it.
What in all seven hells?
Talk about a person having a hidden side to himself. Zac was the most extreme display of total transformation he'd ever seen. There had never been so much as a hint of the goth, punk kid on the Underground stage. Not a glimpse of red highlights. Not a speck of torn, black clothing. No nail polish. No makeup. Not the tiniest indication that Zac was anyone other than he appeared to be up on that stage with a violin in his hands.
Adrian looked again, both reveling in and terrified by seeing this man up close for the first time, studying the eyes and the nose and the jawline in a way he'd never been able to before, having always been sitting too far away to make them out properly.
The dark eye makeup aside, the man was beautiful.
Pale and slender, almost delicate but in a purely masculine way. It was all too easy, in that moment, for Adrian to imagine having the man naked and tied up, at the mercy of Adrian's every whim.
