Cross-posted on AO3. Inspired by runicmagitek's fic "A Love of History."
Their Love For Words
Men tend to dominate the gender ratio of her class, Yuna couldn't help but notice. Those who signed up for Intro to Creative Writing were doing so to fulfill the Liberal Arts portion of their AA; at least, Yuna hoped they were here to study, and nothing more than that. She could tell the aspiring writers apart from the idle and half-hearted, and sometimes she wished she could reach out to those who wanted to learn, if it were not for the constant, harping attention of her male admirers.
Yuna justified her popularity as one of misfortune, especially after she dared to read through the student forums and discovered what the campus thought of her. They praised her as the "sugary sweet and hot" ENG 102 professor who would give anyone diabetes, because she gave too many second chances to anyone who came to her with a decent excuse. She hated that part about herself, the complete doormat. Why couldn't she be more like Auron Masamune from the history department, cool and strict?
One person gave her hope, however. Always smiling and polite, always sitting in the front. Platinum hair framed his face, serving as a stark contrast to his exotic, tan skin. The picture definition of tall, dark, and handsome, he always wore v-neck sweaters with long, open sleeves that covered his delicate hands. In the beginning, Yuna struggled to determine his real gender, because no man could be so beautiful.
In the end, his existence became her secret obsession.
He attended every single day of class without fail, either eager, or sick, or upset, and yet never late. His love for learning accompanied his love for books and story-telling. When he spoke, despite his soft-spoken voice, he did so with an intellect and maturity that surpassed his peers. Yuna noticed him more often in the semesters that followed, always present in each and every one of her classes, because he chose English - Creative Writing as his major. Over time, he opened up more, in confidence and in passion. His poetry and stories matured, just like his taste in clothing. He swapped his cargo pants and plain sweaters for dress pants and casual blazers, yet still retaining that bright aesthetic.
His natural progression into adulthood proved too much for Yuna to bear, even for her saintly patience.
Four years passed by in the blink of an eye, and the scholarly young man finally approached the time to graduate. By the start of the new Fall semester, Yuna could not control the schoolgirl blush on her face while reading an email pertaining to the teaching assistant she requested.
[Baralai will be your TA for the year] the dean typed. [He's currently attending HIS classes for his History Minor, but I understand he has already taken all of your ENG classes. I could not think of anyone else better suited for your needs.]
He was. In more ways Yuna would ever dare to confess.
The amount of male students never fluctuated in ENG 102, not then and not now, but it did not escape her notice how less and less have approached her desk or office outside of class. Maybe it had everything to do with the intimidating gentleman who warded off the flirtatious and frail-hearted with pretty words and dangerous smiles. She felt grateful, too; it spared her the trouble of turning down their affections in person.
Nowadays, peace and quiet accompanied her days more. Unlike those young boys who never respected her as an authority figure, looking up to her (and down) with perverse gazes and absent words, Baralai treated her like a woman. He was a true gentleman, one who stressed chivalry and self-discipline. Such honorable behavior had won her heart, and she often daydreamed. Baralai would sooner keep up appearances than expose his true nature, but the moment they were alone he would romance her with that silvertongue of his. Spread out above or below her, she couldn't make up her mind.
Alas, Yuna never acted on those feelings. Would he feel the same, or share her thoughts of the future? To ask would mean to confess, and she didn't feel ready yet. Maybe next year, after he left. Maybe never, if she lost the nerve.
She walked into her office one day to the sight of a pink hibiscus flower on her desk. She picked it up in its glass vase, touched by the gesture. Only one person knew her favorite flower.
"Ah. Good morning."
She turned to greet him, shocked. "You shouldn't have."
"But I wanted to." He chuckled, walking in. He handed her a tall frappuccino from Starbucks - white chocolate mocha, another favorite of hers - and leaned back against the desk facing her. "You've done so much for me, I wanted to return the favor. After all, it has been a pleasure learning with you." He said this while sipping from his Chocolate Cookie Crumble, defying his otherwise adult image with the existence of his monstrous sweet tooth.
Moments like these, she remembered that he's younger than her and illegal by technicality; in spite of those barriers, he never showed fear in expressing himself. She always gave herself a reason to hold back, and whenever she did, found herself envying his courage and subtlety. What drove him to woo her past the pretense of professionalism? Faith?
Placing the flower and drink down, Yuna decided she wanted to test fate today. "Would you like to go out for lunch?"