Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,10
needling at your nervous tendencies and subjecting you to anxiety-inducing scrutiny. Not that I understand why that, of all things, was the choice you made to show your courage.”
Summer let out a sudden low laugh; like his voice, it was a quiet thing that always seemed just a touch breathless, whispering deep in his throat. “I guess I wasn’t as obvious back then as I thought.”
“Obvious...?”
“I was in love with you when I was a student, Professor Iseya.”
Fox blinked. His chest tightened. “You most certainly were not.”
“I thought I was. At least, with who I thought you were. I know now that’s not actually who you are...so I guess you’re right that I wasn’t.” Another laugh, startled and hesitant. “God, this ‘being brave’ thing sucks. I can’t believe I just blurted that out to you, and you’re still sitting there with that same empty expression like I just told you it’s going to rain.”
“You’re speaking of feelings you had as a child. They have no bearing on now, or on our professional relationship as adults. Am I supposed to react any other way?”
“No...no, I guess not.” Summer’s laughter faded into a sigh, and he glanced at Fox—for just a moment really looking at him, Summer’s dark eyes half-lidded, messy hair framing his gaze in black tendrils. “But I do still find you attractive. And you made me angry. So I kissed you to make you stop saying those things about me. I still shouldn’t have done it.”
Fox opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Then scowled, a most disquieting feeling of uncertainty settling in the pit of his stomach, light and strange. “This has to be one of the most bizarre conversations I’ve ever had.”
“Me too.” Summer tilted his head back, looking up at the sky, lips curling. “But this is me, Professor Iseya. And I guess you need to know that if we’re going to work together. I’m a walking bundle of anxiety waiting to trip into a panic attack, but every once in a while I hit a break point and just...do what I have to do, and say what I have to say.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Don’t worry. Once I leave I’ll probably hyperventilate.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. Challenging you to be brave was never meant to upset your anxiety.”
“Sometimes I want my anxiety to be upset. Sometimes I... I...” He trailed off, lips remaining parted, before he shook his head. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. Do you want to just put this behind us?”
Fox watched Summer from the corner of his eye; the way the rising light fell over his profile—his straight, somewhat awkward nose, the stubborn set to his jaw, the softness of his mouth. In this moment he looked older than his mid-twenties; not in his fresh, clean-shaven face, perhaps, but something about the way he carried himself, some tiredness that spoke of long hours of thought, of introspection, of weary self-awareness that he carried with him heavily.
And Fox didn’t quite know what possessed him, what it was about that soft quiet air about Summer, that made him ask, “...first... I’d like you to answer a question.”
Summer was silent for some time. And it was in that moment that Fox realized Summer might actually refuse him; he didn’t know when it became a foregone conclusion that people would simply do as he said, but...
When his only human contact was with children or other teachers who were intimidated by him, it became too easy to stop seeing others as...
Others.
As entities who existed outside the thin shallow projections by which he defined their presences, ghosts he could banish at will.
He couldn’t banish Summer at will, he thought. Couldn’t summon him at will. Couldn’t compel him to speak.
And that made him a strange new thing.
Something with thin bright edges that cut at the cloud of distance surrounding Fox at all times, slicing narrow gashes that forced him to look into the harsh, raw reality of the world outside.
How strange, he thought.
How strange indeed, that the world suddenly became more real, more crisp, the colors sharper about the edges in the slow span of breaths it took to wait for Summer to answer.
“Maybe,” Summer said after those long, waiting breaths, choosing the words carefully. “It depends on the question.”
Very well, then.
“Why are you attracted to me?” Fox asked.
And Summer laughed.
He laughed, quick and startled, a short light thing that made Fox think of mayflies startled into taking flight. Wide blue eyes darted to him, then away—very firmly away, Summer