You're Leaving
lady, i will touch you with my mind.
touch you and touch and touch
until you give
me suddenly a smile, shyly obscene
(lady i will
touch you with my mind.) Touch
you,that is all,
lightly and you utterly will become
with infinite care
the poem which i do not write.
-e.e. cummings
The heavy wooden door slams shut behind her, and she winces internally before steeling herself for what she wants- has- to say.
"You're leaving."
When he looks up at her from the stack of books he's putting into a box, he's not surprised. Indeed, there is an almost amused glint in his eye.
"Well," he says, "I was to leave after two years, and that time, unfortunately, is now."
"I just," she says a little awkwardly, inching into the room, "thought you would leave after the rest of us were gone, Professor."
"I'm needed back in London now," he says with an elegant shrug that simultaneously saddens and infuriates her. Didn't he know? Didn't he see how-
She can hardly bear to complete the sentence in her mind, a rush of emotions washing over her.
"We'll miss you," she says, and then adds with a boldness she didn't know she possessed, "I'll miss you."
He looks up at that, putting his books down to stride towards her.
"I'll miss all of you as well," he says, and she determinedly holds eye contact with him, despite the disappointment welling up in her.
"You were one of my best students, and I know you will go on to do great things," he tells her sincerely, adding, "and if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."
Oh.
The acknowledgement of her hard work by her favorite professor should make her feel contented, but it does anything but that. It makes her feel restless... hungry, almost.
He's closer now, and he's looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and warmth and something else she can't quite make out. His hand is barely inches away from her own, resting on the table, and she wonders if he'll make a move to hold hers.
"Why are you leaving in a hurry?" She asks, forcibly moving her gaze upwards to met his own..
"Snap elections have been called, and a close friend of mine is positioning himself as the next leader of the party. I've thrown my support behind him- a risky maneuver, but if he wins..."
His friend will be Prime Minister, she realizes.
"And you might get some sort of appointment out of this?" She guesses, to which he nods.
"Yes."
"Then good luck," she tells him simply, with a ghost of a smile. She doesn't know what else to say, and to her horror, she feels tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. She turns to leave, intent on not letting him see her weakness, when suddenly, a warm hand grabs her wrist.
She turns around to face him, her eyes widening, her breathing now a harsh staccato.
"Is that all you wanted?" He murmurs, his gaze falling onto her lips, and then flicking upwards, amber eyes connecting with viridian.
"I don't know what you mean," she tells him unsteadily, all the while she unconsciously moves closer to him.
"Don't you?" He breathes, his thumb grazing her cheek, catching a tear and rubbing it away. Her eyelids flutter shut at his touch.
"Professor-" she whispers, but she's silenced when his lips brush against her cheek, her jaw, his hands skimming her shoulders, resting on her waist.
"-You felt something," he rasps in her ear. "since the moment you set foot into my class- and so did I-" his tongue flicks against her earlobe, and she inhales sharply.
"You could have done something, but you didn't, and you never needed the grade, did you?" He pulls away for a moment, and she shakes her head, unable to speak.
"No," he answers his own question, a fond smile appearing on his lips, his eyes almost unbearably tender, "You were always too brilliant for your own good."
And with that, he finally, finally kisses her.
It's heated and all-encompassing and so, so desperate, as if he is grasping onto time itself, begging it to slow down, and she burns, engulfed by the fire she is sure is raging around her, but if she is going to hell for this, it's worth every moment.
Because how long has she secretly wanted this?
It's no secret that the two of them have always had a good relationship- their easy banter, her regular visits to his office, him giving her opportunities that underclassmen would otherwise never get, like Davos. No one's ever questioned it before, and she's never thought to do it as well, but all this time, was there always more?
Is there more?
When they finally break the kiss, he pulls away fully, stepping out of their embrace, and he looks at her through his darkened gaze, and she is breathless, awestruck by what she- they- have done. She can only look at him, wait for him to say something, do something, anything.
He lets out a shaky exhale before he speaks. "I won't-" he breathes, "-do anything more. Just think of this as... a goodbye kiss."
When he says that, a part of her wants to scream, all fire and rage and righteous indignation, because how does he expect her to forget something like this?
How does he expect her to be left with just a kiss and a goodbye, when all she's ever wanted-
What does she want?
Her throat is dry, she thinks suddenly, and she swallows once, exhaling softly, steeling herself for what she is about to do.
"Well, goodbye then," she says, her voice sounding strangely calm, almost disconnected from the turmoil of emotions she feels. She turns to leave.
"This isn't the end, you know," he says softly from behind her. "We will see each other again at some point- I'm sure of it."
She can't bring herself to turn around one last time, before softly shutting the door close behind her.
I'm entering this story under the "Best Romance" section of 39CluesFan-Star and 39addict101's Summer Contest
Just for clarification, Amy is Ian's 21-year old student at some blue-blooded American institution (you take your pick). Ian is a guest professor from London (and a lot older), and teaches global economics or something of the sort, and this is the scene that plays out when his time in America is up, and he is expected back in London.
Oh, and "Davos" refers to Davos, Switzerland where the yearly World Economic Forum takes place. For the sake of the story, Ian goes often, and somehow got a few of his students in as well (including Amy).
The poem above is by e.e. cummings, and I thought it fit well, because as a teacher, I guess Ian is supposed to, in a sense, "touch her mind". But much people think of the poem from a more… shall we say, overt point of view, and that works too :)
Tbh I only put it in because it is all I could think of while writing this, and my slightly twisted mind thought it fit the story well, but in hindsight, I'm not sure if it does… ah well.
